Angela's POVLyle’s words echo in the cold, sterile room, sharp and biting. “You were pregnant, then you had an abortion. You killed my child, didn’t you? You killed my child to get rid of me, didn’t you? That was the plan all along—leave me, so you could be with another man.”The accusation slams into me, making it hard to breathe. A crushing weight presses against my chest, every word twisting deeper, each one heavier than the last. I step back, my hand flying to my chest as if I can physically hold my heart together. “How… how could you even say that?” My voice cracks, the disbelief cutting through my anger. “Do you really think I’d do something like that on purpose, just to hurt you?”Lyle’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Then explain it to me, Angela,” he snaps. “Explain why my child is gone. Make me understand.”I clench my fists, the grief boiling into rage. “You think I wanted this?” My voice rises, and I feel the tension in my muscles, the w
Lyle's POVI sit in my car, flicking ash out the window, the faint glow of my cigarette illuminating the darkened interior. The engine’s off; I haven’t even bothered to start it. My mind keeps circling back to Angela’s face in the consulting room, the mix of anger and sadness in her eyes that I can’t shake. It’s been a while since she looked at me like that, with that quiet accusation, like I’m somehow the one who’s wronged her.I can’t shake the image of her eyes, the way they seemed to search for some answer, some proof that I’m more than the person I’ve become. What does she expect from me? An apology? A confession? I’m doing the best I can, juggling responsibilities she doesn’t even know the half of.I take another long drag, exhaling slowly, trying to let it go. Why is she like this? It used to be different—she used to be different. Three years ago, she was calm, capable, even gentle. There was none of this jealousy, none of the pointless arguments she seems so eager to start
Lyle's POVI rub my temples, feeling the exhaustion settling deep into my bones. I just don’t have it in me to console Fiona right now. Not after everything that happened with Angela. My patience is shot, my mind a tangled mess. Without much thought, I type out a reply: I’m dealing with something urgent. We’ll talk later.I toss my phone onto the passenger seat, let out a tired sigh, and start the car. The engine roars to life, but it doesn’t fill the emptiness pressing against my chest. Angela’s face still haunts me, that look of quiet devastation, the bitterness that came with it. Even now, I can’t shake it.Ever since Angela moved out, our house has become a place I’ve avoided at all costs. The idea of going back there, to the space that now feels cold and abandoned, makes me feel more alone than I care to admit. So, instead of driving home, I steer toward my parents’ house. It’s not a comforting choice, but it’s better than the alternative.The memory of coming home the night
Angela's POVI sit on the cold, hard bench outside the emergency room, my heart pounding in my chest. The minutes stretch into an eternity, each one heavier than the last. My fingers drum against my knees, my foot taps restlessly on the floor, but none of it eases the anxiety twisting inside me.When the doctor finally emerges, I’m on my feet before he even finishes stepping through the doors. “How is he?” I ask, my voice thin and wavering.The doctor gives me a kind, professional nod. “Your father is out of danger,” he says, and I exhale, feeling some of the weight lift from my shoulders. “He hasn’t woken up yet. We’ll continue to monitor him closely.”I feel a slight rush of relief, and I dare to hope that things will be okay. “Thank you,” I manage, my voice soft. “Will he… is there anything else I should be worried about?”The doctor offers a reassuring smile. “He’s responding well to treatment. Once he wakes up, we’ll keep him in for a few days; just in case there are any changes.
Angela's POVI sit beside my father’s hospital bed, my eyes fixed on the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The tension in my shoulders refuses to ease, even as I try to tell myself that he’s safe for now. My mind keeps drifting back to Fiona, to the way I slapped her across the face, to the twisted smirk she wore even as she cradled her injury. I’m worried about the fallout. Lyle’s family is powerful and vengeful, and Fiona won’t hesitate to use every resource at her disposal to make my life hell. I don’t regret it. That bitch had it coming, and the look of shock on her face when I finally fought back was worth every ounce of trouble it might bring.Taking a deep breath, I push those thoughts away. Worrying about it now won’t help my father, and I need my focus here. The room feels stifling, the air heavy, so I decide to step outside for some fresh air. I rise from the chair, give my father’s hand a gentle squeeze, and quietly slip out.At the hospital entrance, I nearly co
Lyle's POVI can’t shake this gnawing feeling of unease. It started earlier, after Angela’s uncle showed up at my house.I remember how the visit began—Angela’s uncle standing at my door. I didn’t want to let him in. His presence was a disruption I don’t need, but I didn’t have much choice.Now, he sits across from me in the living room, and I struggle to keep my irritation in check. He wastes no time getting to the point, launching into a monologue about Angela’s behavior. “You understand how much pressure she’s been under,” he tells me firmly. “We’re worried about her. The family, I mean. We can all see something is wrong.”I listen, but my patience is thin. Sure, Angela’s been acting erratically, but what does that have to do with him?That old, familiar greed drips from every word he says, and my stomach turns.“She needs support,” he says, wringing his hands in a display of false concern. “She’s not herself. If you could reconsider the breakup, maybe things could stabilize.”I
Lyle's POVI stand outside the hospital entrance, gripping my phone in one hand, replaying Fiona’s words in my mind. Her voice, filled with accusations and complaints about Angela, still rings in my ears. My head throbs, and I try to shake off the frustration. Why can’t the two of them just get along? What was so impossible about some basic respect?As much as I know I should focus on Fiona’s concerns, my mind keeps drifting back to Angela. It feels natural, almost instinctual, to want to defend her—even against my sister. I can’t explain why. I run a hand over my face, exhausted. I think about Angela as she was when we first started, back when we weren’t fighting or accusing each other, back when we were… happy. A specific night comes to mind—a memory of a night at the office that feels a world away from where we are now.It was late. The building was quiet, the hum of the AC the only sound breaking the silence. I was sitting at my desk, drowning in paperwork, but I couldn’t focus
Angela's POVSeeing Lyle standing in front of me, fury practically radiating from him, catches me completely off guard. A swirl of emotions rises inside me—surprise, resentment, a flicker of sadness. What is he even doing here? The way he’s looking at me, as though I’ve done something wrong just by standing beside Michael, stirs a fire I’d been trying to keep under control.“Angela,” he says, his voice biting. “Is this why you wanted to break up?”For a moment, I’m speechless, too stunned by the accusation in his tone. This is how he chooses to confront me? After everything, he’s really here, trying to make me feel guilty for talking to a friend? I take a deep breath, steadying myself before meeting his gaze.“Lyle, this isn’t your concern anymore,” I reply, my voice as calm as I can manage. “We broke up. You have no right to interfere in my personal life.”His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing in them. “Friends?” he scoffs, glancing dismissively at Michael. “Is that your exc
Angela’s POVThe notification pops up on my phone just as I finish packing the last of my things. I hesitate for a moment before swiping to unlock the screen, my fingers tightening slightly around the device.Grayson Industries Shake-Up: Fiona Grayson Committed to Mental Institution, Margaret Grayson Resigns From Company Affairs.I let out a slow breath, my eyes scanning the article despite knowing I shouldn’t. The news spread faster than I expected. The public is eating up the scandal, debating whether Fiona deserves sympathy or punishment, whether Margaret stepping down means Grayson Industries will shift in a new direction. What catches my attention most is one single line buried at the end of the article.CEO Lyle Grayson refused to comment.I stare at those words longer than I should.A part of me wonders what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling now that he’s severed himself from them—from the family he once prioritized over everything.I exit the app before I can spiral further.A
Lyle POVFiona looks smaller than I remember.She’s curled up in the sterile hospital bed, her arms wrapped around her frail frame, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes wide and rimmed with red. But as soon as she sees my mother, her entire face crumbles.“Mother,” she whispers, voice hoarse and trembling, then louder, more desperate, “Mother!”My mother rushes forward, gathering Fiona into her arms as if she’s still a child in need of comfort. Fiona clings to her, sobbing against her shoulder, her fingers twisting into the expensive silk of my mother’s blouse like she’s afraid she’ll be torn away.“Shh, sweetheart, I’m here,” my mother soothes, stroking Fiona’s hair as tears slip down her own face. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”“Please,” Fiona chokes out, her voice raw, shaking. “Don’t let them keep me here. Don’t let them treat me like I’m some kind of criminal.”My mother tightens her hold. “You’re not, darling. You’re not. You’re just sick, that’s all. And we’ll get you
Lyle POVThe silence in the car stretches long and heavy, thick with things left unsaid. My mother sits beside me, her posture elegant and composed as always, but I know her too well to be fooled by the calm exterior. She’s waiting. Waiting for me to speak first, waiting for me to say something that makes this entire situation more bearable.I don’t. The only reason I’m here, the only reason I agreed to this visit at all, is because Fiona is my sister. No matter what she’s done, no matter how much she’s broken, no matter how much I want to walk away and never look back—she is still my responsibility.My mother shifts slightly, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee before she finally breaks the silence. “I know you’re still upset.”I let out a sharp, humorless breath. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it.“She’s still your sister, Lyle,” she says carefully.I keep my eyes on the road, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. “I know.”She exhales, turning to fully face
Angela's POVLyle turns and walks toward his car, his shoulders tense, his pace steady. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say another word. I tell myself I should do the same—step inside, close the door, and leave him behind, just like I’ve been trying to do for months.I don’t.Instead, I watch him.My arms stay crossed, my fingers gripping my sleeves a little too tightly as I track every movement he makes. The way his hand tightens around the bouquet, the way he exhales deeply before finally tossing the flowers onto the passenger seat of his car. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before getting in, and then, with the smooth precision I know so well, he starts the engine and pulls away from the curb.I stand in the doorway, eyes fixed on the taillights as they fade into the night.“You’re still watching,” a voice deadpans behind me.I flinch slightly, tearing my gaze away and turning toward Jodelle, who is leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, looking far too please
Angela's POVSeeing Lyle standing there with flowers in his hands, I feel my breath catch, my mind torn between emotions I don’t have the energy to sort through.I don’t want to deal with him. Not tonight.I tighten my grip on my bag, willing my feet to move, to walk past him, to pretend I don’t see him. But before I can decide what to do, a sharp voice cuts through the air.“Oh, hell no. What do you think you’re doing here?”I snap my head to the side and see Jodelle storming toward us, her eyes blazing with protective fury. She stops in front of Lyle, arms crossed, planting herself like a human barricade between us.“Get lost, Grayson,” she snaps. “You’ve done enough damage.”Lyle doesn’t flinch. He shifts his gaze from her to me, his expression unreadable. “Angela,” he says, his voice quieter, steadier than I expect. “Can we talk?”“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jodelle answers before I can. “Whatever you have to say, she doesn’t need to hear it.”I can feel my pulse in my throat
Angela's POVThe day stretches on, steady and unrelenting. I bury myself in work, pushing aside every stray thought that tries to surface. Although I had Richard's approval, apparently, it wasn't enough.I move from one task to the next, flipping through contracts, revising policies, drafting documents that need my approval. It’s methodical, logical, something I can control. Every keystroke, every note scribbled in the margins, reminds me that I’m here because I earned it, because I fought for it.Even as I work, I can feel the attention. The quiet stares when I walk down the hallway, the way conversations shift the moment I step into a room. Some people don’t bother hiding their curiosity, their confusion. Others are more discreet, exchanging glances behind their monitors, whispering as I pass.It’s not surprising, really. To them, I was Lyle Grayson’s secretary, the woman who sat outside his office, managing his schedule and answering his calls. Now, I walk these halls in an entir
Angela's POVReturning to Grayson Enterprises feels strange.The glass doors slide open with a soft hiss, and I step into the familiar lobby, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Everything looks the same—the sleek, modern interior, the meticulously arranged floral centerpiece, the front desk where I used to check Lyle’s schedule a hundred times a day.I’m different now.I’m no longer Lyle Grayson’s secretary. I’m here as a lawyer, an independent professional, not someone who runs after his coffee or clears his calendar. Still, as I walk toward the elevator, I feel the weight of curious gazes on me.People recognize me. I can hear the whispers, feel their eyes tracking my every move."Is that Angela?""Didn’t she used to be the CEO’s secretary?""She’s a lawyer now, seriously?"I keep my face neutral, my back straight. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing any hesitation in my steps. I earned this.As I enter the elevator, a voice calls out behind me.“Angela?”
Angela's POVThe air in the restaurant shifts the moment Michael reaches into his pocket.I watch him carefully, my breath catching slightly, my fingers tightening around the base of my wine glass. A part of me already knows what’s coming, but I don’t want to acknowledge it—not yet.He looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips part and the words come out, steady and sure.“I love you, Angela.”The sound of it, so simple yet so heavy, knocks the wind out of me.My fingers go slack against the glass, and I nearly forget to breathe. “What?”Michael leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table as he watches me with unwavering intensity. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says again, more certain this time. “Even back in college. Even when you didn’t notice me that way.”I blink, trying to process, but my mind is stuck. College?“I always admired you, Angela,” he continues, his voice softer now, as if confessing something long buried. “Not just for how smar
Angela's POVToday was too much. Too many emotions, too many memories, and too many things I never wanted to think about again forcing their way to the surface. I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to release the tension.“What’s wrong?” Michael asks immediately, his voice low but firm.I sigh and shake my head, forcing a small, tired smile. “Nothing. Just a long day.”Michael doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick over me, studying every detail—my slightly slumped shoulders, the tightness in my jaw, the way my fingers are gripping the strap of my bag just a little too hard. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I know him well enough to know that he probably has found something.I slide into the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne familiar, grounding. The door closes with a soft click, sealing us inside. He pulls away from the curb, he glances at me again.“Angela.” His tone is gentle but insistent. “Talk to me.”I stare straight ahead, my fingers tightening i