I left without waiting for her response, clutching my earnings—just over six hundred dollars—and my remaining jewelry. Instead of heading directly to my truck, I ducked into the general store and waited near the window, watching the street. The SUV had disappeared, but my nerves remained on high alert.After fifteen minutes with no sign of the vehicle, I hurried to my truck and drove back to the cabin, taking two wrong turns just to make sure I wasn't followed.Back at the cabin, I tried to research "Vega technique" and "Lupe Vega" online, but the internet connection was spotty at best, and my searches yielded little useful information. A few obscure references to innovative glass bead techniques from the 1980s. A mention in an archived design magazine about "promising newcomer Lupe Vega." Nothing that definitively connected this designer to my Mami
FionaThe white walls of the rehab center wouldn't stop spinning. Thirty days sober and I still couldn't get my balance. The therapist said it would pass, but what the fuck did she know? She hadn't lost everything in one night.I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. They'd taken my makeup during the "contraband check," claiming the compact mirror was a "cutting risk." As if I'd slice my wrists with a cheap plastic mirror. If I wanted to die, I'd do it with style. Nothing half-assed for Fiona Kingston.Kingston. I traced the outline of my face, searching for traces of them in my features. Was my nose Robert's? My eyes Caroline's? I'd spent years finding family resemblance where there was none."You're making excellent progress, Fiona." Dr. Levine's voice echoed in my head, that patronizing tone she used when lying to make patients feel better. "These breakthrough revelations about your adoption are painful but necessary for healing."Breakthrough. Like I hadn't known since I w
I hurled the notebook across the room, my carefully maintained composure cracking. The soccer mom—Tracy? Stacy?—jumped in her bed, eyes wide with alarm."Sorry," I muttered. "Bad memory."She nodded with the instant forgiveness of the perpetually frightened and turned back to her recovery romance novel.I closed my eyes, but the memories kept coming. The day my parents brought Maya "home." The press conference, the tearful reunion carefully staged for maximum emotional impact. Me, standing to the side, watching Caroline Kingston touch Maya's face with a reverence she'd never shown me."Look at you," she'd whispered. "You have your grandmother's eyes. We thought we'd never see them again."I'd given interviews, playing the ecstatic sister. I'd shared my room, my clothes, my parents. I'd shown her the family business, introduced her to industry contacts I'd cultivated for years. All while watching Caroline and Robert orbit around her like she was the sun and I was just some distant, dis
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. One of the staff, not bothering to wait for an answer before entering."Phone call for you, Fiona. Your mother."I followed her to the communal phone, accepting the receiver with a practiced neutral expression."Hello, Mother.""Fiona." Caroline's voice was tight, controlled. "How are you progressing?""Excellently. I'm journaling my feelings and embracing sobriety one day at a time."The sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast, but Caroline ignored it, as she ignored anything unpleasant that couldn't be fixed with money or public relations."Good. We've arranged for you to stay at The Residence when you're released next week. It's a transitional living facility for people in recovery. Very discreet.""I thought I'd be coming home." I knew the answer even as I said it."That wouldn't be best for your recovery." The practiced line of someone who'd consulted experts for the right way to abandon their child. "Besides, your father and I are
A week passed in self-imposed isolation. I'd barely left the cabin since returning from town, the memory of that black SUV creeping through Spring Creek still nagging at me. Could have been anyone—some rich tourist looking for a quaint mountain café, some lost city driver checking addresses. But instinct told me otherwise. Daniel had resources, connections. Just because he hadn't found me yet didn't mean he wasn't looking.I'd turned the place into a glass workshop that would've given safety inspectors a heart attack. Beads piled on every flat surface, tools scattered wherever I'd last dropped them. My latest obsession was taking photos of everything I made—setting pieces against the east window where the light hit best, snapping them from every angle. If someone tried to steal my work again, I'd have dates, images, proof it was mine first. Paranoid? Maybe. But paranoid people sometimes have real enemies.I'd been saving the best shots as Instagram drafts, ready to post when I finally
"It wasn't revenge," I countered instinctively. "She was protecting me.""Was she?" Eleanor asked, voice neutral. "Or was she protecting her legacy through you? The line between protection and possession can be remarkably thin."That struck uncomfortably close to what I'd been wrestling with since finding the journal. Had Mami Lulu loved me for myself, or as a vessel for her stolen techniques? Had she been genuinely maternal, or calculating in a different way than the Kingstons?"Why are you here?" I asked, changing the subject. "What do you want?""I watched you work at the fair." Eleanor set her cup down. "It was like seeing a ghost. Not just the technical execution, which was flawless, but the intention behind it. Lupe's techniques perfectly preserved, down to the way you angle the mandrel during the final turn."I didn't respond. There was nothing to confirm or deny."When I heard someone had bought Lupe's old cabin, I wondered if it might be you. Few people would have reason to w
The next morning, I woke up with this weird feeling. Not dread exactly. Not courage either. Something else. My throat was dry as hell, and I had to pee so bad my eyes were watering, but I just lay there, staring at the ceiling.Fuck running. Fuck hiding. That's all I kept thinking. I'd spent my whole damn life doing both—with Mami Lulu in these mountains, in my joke of a marriage to Daniel, from everything I'd learned about my past. Just... done. Completely fucking done.I made coffee, burnt the shit out of my tongue on the first sip—always too impatient—and carried it to the porch. The sun was just breaking over the trees, turning the morning mist this weird golden color that reminded me of the glass pieces Mami Lulu used to make when she'd had an extra glass of wine with dinner. "Happy accidents," she'd called them.The SUV from last night had turned out to be nothing more sinister than the local vet making a house call to a neighbor I didn't even know I had. False alarm. But the adr
A chill ran down my spine as he took another step toward me. I glanced toward the cabin, gauging whether I could make it inside and lock the door before he reached me. There were knives in the kitchen. My phone."Don't even think about it," he warned, following my gaze. "You're coming with me. We're going to fix this—fix everything you've broken.""I'm not going anywhere with you." I took a step backward, my heel catching on a rock. I stumbled slightly.He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with bruising force. "You don't get to decide anymore. I'm taking back control."I twisted, trying to break his grip, but his fingers dug deeper into my flesh. "Let go of me!""Or what?" he hissed, dragging me toward the path that led to the driveway. "You'll slap me like you slapped your sister? Make a scene? There's no audience here, Maya."I struggled with him, kicking at his shins, twisting to get my arm free. Something in him just... snapped. He grabbed both my arms so hard I knew they'd bruise, a
"Maya," Father said, setting down his fork. "Let's be direct. The foundation you've established is creating a narrative that directly threatens our company's standing. Your use of the Vega name, your public statements about design appropriation—it's being interpreted as an attack on us.""It's not an attack," Maya replied. "It's the truth.""Truth is subjective in business," Father countered. "Perception is what matters. And the perception you're creating could do real damage.""To your profits," Maya said flatly."To our legacy," Mother corrected. "Everything we built—everything that would have been yours one day—is at risk because of this... crusade."Maya laughed, the sound startlingly everyone in the roo
We moved to the dining room, a procession of expensive clothes and cold fury. I hung back, retrieving my phone, before moving to join them..The dining room looked like a spread from Architectural Digest—crystal chandeliers reflecting off polished silver, white roses arranged in perfect symmetry down the center of the mahogany table. It was the same setting Mother had used for every important dinner since I was a child.Maya paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning the familiar opulence. I could see the familiar expression that passed her face—recognition, remembrance, then it gave way to revulsion. Then it was gone, replaced by the careful mask she'd worn since arriving."You've redecorated," she observed, taking her seat. Alex sat beside her, his presence altering the careful balance of the table. Wher
FionaThe Kingston mansion always reeked of money and misery. Standing in the foyer, I repositioned the heavy crystal vase on the antique table—my third adjustment in ten minutes. Mother insisted fresh-cut lilies were the only acceptable centerpiece for the entry. Anything else would be "common."I glanced at my phone: 6:54 PM. Maya would be here soon, assuming she kept her word. The knot in my stomach tightened. Daniel had messaged four times already, demanding updates. I still couldn't figure out how he had access to a phone in the psychiatric facility, but then again, this was Daniel Russo we were talking about. Money and connections could breach any barrier—even the walls of a secure mental health unit.On schedule. Relax.I'd added the second part against my bett
“Come here.”"I've been thinking about this for the last hour," he admitted, fingers already working at the button of my jeans. "You, just like this."I rocked against his hardened cock already evident beneath me. "You were supposed to be working.""Not with you biting your lip every time you read something challenging." His hands slipped inside my jeans, panties giving way, immediately finding my pussy like it was normal. "It's distracting.""Sorry," I said, with a slight shiver, but I wasn’t sorry at all."No, you're not." He squeezed, fingers digging into flesh in a way that made me gasp. "But you will be. Maya"The Mention of my name made something break loos
The rest of the morning passed in a strangely comfortable rhythm. I showered while he took calls in the living room. When I came out, hair still damp, he was back in full CEO mode—laptop open, phone pressed to his ear, focused and professional.I settled at the dining table with my own laptop, diving into the foundation emails. Across from me, Alex argued with someone about supply chain issues, his voice firm but reasonable. It should have been awkward, this domesticity. Instead, it felt oddly natural.Around noon, he closed his laptop and stretched. I tried not to stare at the strip of skin exposed as his shirt rode up, but failed miserably. He caught me looking and smiled, slow and deliberate."Are you hungry?" he asked."Starving." I hadn't eaten since Troy&rsqu
I woke to the smell of coffee and unfamiliar sounds in my kitchen. For a disorienting second, panic flared—someone was in my house—until the memory returned. Alex. Beach. Car. Couch. Bed. Floor at some point. Then bed again.My body ached in ways both foreign and familiar. My pussy was raw and swollen from fucking all night. It felt good. We had fucked again even after Alex came in me. I stopped at that thought. Alex had cummed in me multiple times last night. The thought of it somehow made my pussy ache again, I could feel it getting moist again. I snapped. Shit. I would need to sort that out later —getting backup.I stretched, taking inventory of what Alex had done to me. Purple marks dotted my inner thighs. Finger-shaped bruises colored my hips w
He pushed inside, one long, slow thrust that made me gasp. The sensation was different without the condom—It was warm. The feeling of his warm cock against the wall of my pussy made me squirm. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on."Fuck, Maya," he groaned, holding still for a moment. "You feel—""I know," I cut him off. "Move."“Fuck me!”He did, setting a pace that had me digging my nails into his shoulders. He wasn’t holding back this time like he had done initially on the beach. Each thrust hit somehow hit that sweet spot inside me that made the pleasure build up.“Go harder Alex!” I moaned, “Please don’t stop. Fuck me!”
The drive back to my apartment was torture. Good torture, but torture nonetheless. Every red light felt like it lasted an hour. Alex's hand rested high on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that made it nearly impossible to focus on the road."You're going to make me crash," I muttered as his fingers inched higher, slipping beneath the edge of my underwear."Then drive faster," he replied, voice rough in a way I'd never heard from him before.He didn't stop. His fingers slid lower, finding me still wet from the beach. I gasped, my foot instinctively pressing harder on the accelerator as he stroked me."Alex," I warned, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles went white. "This isn't—""Keep your eyes on the road," he instructed, his other hand moving to my breast, thumb circling my nipple through my shirt.The speedometer crept higher as his fingers moved faster between my legs. My vision blurred at the edges, body torn between focusing on driving and surrendering to th
He kissed me with an urgency that matched my own, hands moving beneath my t-shirt to find skin. His palms were callused and warm against my ribs as they moved upward, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. I arched into the touch, impatient for more.We were still awkwardly positioned against the post, and my shoulder blade dug painfully into the weathered wood. "Not here," I said against his mouth.He immediately stepped back, misunderstanding. "We can go—""No, I mean, not against this post. It's digging into my back." I took his hand, led him away from the post to where a dune created some shelter from the wind. I pulled him down with me onto the sand.The cold immediately seeped through my jeans, but the discomfort seemed irrelevant compared to the heat