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Confronting the Goat
Huling Na-update:
2025-03-21 07:00:39The email from Zoe arrived at 9:16 AM, just as I was making my second cup of coffee, desperately trying to shake off the fog of a night spent at Mami Lulu's bedside. I'd managed maybe two hours of restless sleep after the car service dropped me home.
Subject: Vega Davidson - Status Update
Maya,
I'm sorry to be the bearer of disappointing news. Despite my best efforts and the creative team's genuine enthusiasm for your designs, our executive committee has decided not to move forward with the collaboration we discussed.
I wish I could say this was purely a business decision, but in the interest of transparency, I should tell you that concerns were raised about potential "complications" with Russo Designs. While no one stated it explicitly, the implica
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I took the subway downtown, fury propelling me forward. The Russo Design headquarters occupied the top three floors of a sleek high-rise, all glass and steel and money. I'd worked here for years, my designs making millions while I remained a carefully managed asset.The security guard recognized me, hesitating when I approached the desk."Mrs. Russo. I, uh... don't see you on the appointment calendar.""That's because I don't have an appointment. But I'm sure my husband will make time for me."I still had my access badge—Daniel had never bothered to deactivate it, probably assuming I wouldn't have the nerve to return. But today, I'm using it. I swiped it at the elevator, relieved when the light turned green. At least I'd avoid the awkwardness of being escorted up by security.The executive floor was quiet when I arrived, most offices dark. It was after seven; the regular staff had gone home. But I knew Daniel would still be here. He always worked late, his dedication to the company on
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-21Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging One Final Twist
Outside, the night air hit me like a slap, clearing some of the fog from my brain. I walked aimlessly for several blocks, processing the conversation with Daniel, the mysterious woman, the impossible situation I found myself in.By the time I reached my apartment, a plan had begun to take shape. If manufacturers wouldn't work with me, I'd create pieces that didn't require them. If traditional materials were inaccessible, I'd work with unconventional ones. If established channels were closed to me, I'd forge new ones.I stayed up until dawn, sketching designs that could be executed with minimal equipment, researching techniques I could master quickly, sourcing materials that wouldn't require industry connections to obtain.By morning, Maya Vega Designs had evolved from a desperate dream into a concrete plan. I studied my own pendant—the glass bead necklace from my childhood—and sketched variations I could produce with minimal equipment. I'd need to work with what I had and maximize eve
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-21Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Welcome to Vera Davidson
The post that changed everything wasn't even my favorite piece. It was a jagged cuff bracelet—asymmetrical copper wire wrapped around rough-cut smoky quartz that I'd found at a gem show years ago and squirreled away. I'd photographed it on my wrist against the peeling paint of my windowsill, morning light catching the raw edges of metal.Caption: Some days we're all just broken things holding tighter to our broken parts.I'd hit share at 3 AM, exhausted and emotional after another day of working, visiting Mami Lulu, and trying not to think about Natalie Bryant's perfect manicure or the photo of her with Alex at that gala.By morning, the post had gone viral in design circles, with over fifty thousand likes and comments flooding in. Not mainstream famous, but niche-famous in the exact community I needed to reach. A popular queer fashion blogger had shared it with a lengthy post about resilience and authentic voice in an industry built on artifice. From there, it had spread through desi
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-22Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Alex’s Meltdown
I spent the weekend finalizing designs for both the collaboration and my independent line, organizing the new workload, and visiting Mami Lulu, whose condition remained stable but unchanged. I'd managed to pay enough to maintain her current care level, but the better treatments—the ones that might actually help her recover—remained financially out of reach.Monday morning, I arrived at Vega Davidson's downtown studio an hour early, prepared for the scrutiny I knew would come with being the controversial new designer. The security guard issued me a temporary badge with my photo taken against a white wall—a stark reminder of my provisional status."First floor is administration, second is design, third is marketing and executive," he explained, handing me a map. "You'll be in Studio B on the second floor."Studio B turned out to be a spacious workspace with natural light flooding through west-facing windows. Several designers were already at their stations, glancing up curiously as I en
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"Your forbidden fruit is downstairs demanding to see you. Security won't let him up because he's not on the approved visitor list, and he's refusing to leave without talking to you." Troy's eyes gleamed with the joy of someone witnessing prime workplace drama. "It's delicious.""Shit." I ran a hand through my hair. "How long has he been there?""About ten minutes. Richard is having an aneurysm. You should have seen his face when security called up."The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, revealing the scene: Alex in an impeccable charcoal suit, hands braced on the security desk as he leaned toward the increasingly uncomfortable guard. Richard Davidson stood nearby, arms crossed, face set in a mask of professional displeasure."I don't care about your protocols," Alex was saying, voice tight with controlled frustration. "I need five minutes with Maya Russo. It's a personal matter.""Mr. Thorne," Richard's voice was glacial. "As I've explained, Ms. Russo is in meetings all after
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-23Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging More Damage from the Goat
We stood there, drenched and staring at each other, the rain creating a strange intimacy—a world of just the two of us on the crowded sidewalk where pedestrians hurried past with umbrellas and newspapers held over their heads. The storm had been building all day, but we'd somehow ended up arguing in its worst moments, neither of us willing to postpone the confrontation for better weather."My contract with Vega Davidson prohibits professional contact with you," I said finally."I'm not here professionally. You stated that yourself" He said nodding towards the entrance,water running down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. "I'm here because I can't stand another day of you thinking I lied to you. That what happened between us wasn't real.""What did happen between us, Alex? We kissed. We almost went further. Then real life interrupted, like it always does.""Real life is why I'm standing in the rain right now, making a scene outside your office." He reached out, his fingers brus
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Daniel waited exactly twenty-six hours to destroy me.I was in the subway when the first message arrived, my phone buzzing against my hip as the train lurched between stations. Service was spotty underground, so it wasn't until we pulled into Union Square that the avalanche of notifications hit—seventeen text messages, twenty-three emails, and thirty-eight social media alerts.The first text was from Troy: DO NOT COME TO THE STUDIO. Call me NOW.The second was from Olivia: Have you seen Design Weekly? Daniel leaked the photos.My stomach dropped as I opened the link Olivia had sent. There it was, splashed across the digital front page of the industry's most influential p
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-24Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Summon
Outside, the bright spring day felt like an insult. I walked aimlessly for several blocks, my mind racing through options that dwindled with each step. Without Vega Davidson's manufacturing capabilities, I was back to creating pieces by hand in my apartment. Without their distribution channels, I was limited to online sales. Without their industry connection, I was just another independent designer making unsubstantiated claims about my talent.By the time I reached Washington Square Park, my phone had died from the constant notifications. I sat on a bench, watching students sprawled on the grass enjoying the sunshine, their lives uncomplicated by vengeful ex-husbands or industry blacklisting."Quite a morning you've had."I looked up to find Troy standing beside my bench, two coffee cups in hand. He offered one to me."How did you find me?""I didn't." He sat beside me. "I got fired too. Was walking to drown my sorrows in caffeine and spotted you looking pathetic.""They fired you?"
Huling Na-update : 2025-03-24
Pinakabagong kabanata
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"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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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I spent the afternoon gathering supplies, then worked through the night preparing pieces for the fair. I created six more complete jewelry sets, each built around those distinctive spiral beads. By dawn, I had enough inventory to fill a small display, if not a full booth.I arrived at the square precisely at eight, carrying a folding table I'd found in the cabin's shed and a wooden tray that displayed my pieces against dark velvet. A few other vendors were already setting up, arranging pottery or paintings or handwoven textiles. Eleanor pointed me to a corner spot beneath a massive oak tree, the dappled shade perfect for displaying jewelry without harsh glare."You have your own table. Good." Her tone was clipped, but not unfriendly. "Need anything else?""I'm all set, thanks."She nodded and moved on, but I noticed her watching me from time to time as I arranged my pieces. Something about her attention felt oddly specific, though I couldn't place why.I wondered if she recognized me.
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Two weeks passed in a blur. I'd fallen into a routine that felt both new and achingly familiar. Wake with the sun. Coffee on the porch. Hike the overgrown trails that surrounded the cabin until my legs ached. Sketch whatever caught my eye—a particular twist of tree branch, the pattern of lichen on stone, the way light filtered through pine needles. Then work with glass until my fingers were raw and my back screamed from hunching over the flame.I'd cleaned out the workshop properly now, scrubbing years of dust and grime from every surface. I'd cataloged all the supplies, surprised by how much Mami Lulu had left behind. Hundreds of glass rods in every imaginable color. Tools in pristine condition, despite the years of neglect. A small kiln that, miraculously, still worked when I plugged it into the generator I'd bought during my first supply run to town.The cabin itself had transformed too. I'd scrubbed every surface, repaired what I could with my limited skills, and arranged my meage
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I spent the next several hours continuing the cleaning I'd started yesterday—more sweeping, more scrubbing, removing sheets from the bedroom furniture I hadn't gotten to yet. After more fiddling with the water system, I finally located the main valve outside and, after several attempts, managed to get the old pipes to deliver rust-colored water that eventually ran clear. The electricity was another matter—apparently disconnected long ago—but I'd come prepared with battery-powered lanterns and the camping stove I'd used last night.By mid-afternoon, I was filthy, sweaty, and oddly satisfied. The bedroom was now reasonably clean to match the progress I'd made in the main room yesterday, the bathroom was functional if primitive, and I'd aired out more of the musty odor. My arms ached from scrubbing and carrying water, but the physical exhaustion felt good—clarifying, somehow.I dragged an old wooden chair onto the front porch and collapsed into it, watching as the sun began its descent t
