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Meeting the Sister
Last Updated:
2025-03-15 04:24:44
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Divorced My CEO Husband, He Came Begging Family Trait
I arrived at Bistro Lucien twenty minutes early, a habit ingrained from years with Daniel who considered tardiness a personal insult. The lunch crowd hadn't materialized yet, giving me my pick of tables. I chose one by the window—good lighting, clear view of both entrances, easy exit if needed. Old survival instincts die hard."Just water for now," I told the waiter. "I'm waiting for someone."My fingers drummed nervously on the tablecloth as I checked my phone again. No messages from Sarah canceling. No threats from Daniel. No apologies from Alex. Just the time—11:42—and my racing thoughts.Three days had passed since the surprise meeting at Thorne. Three days of vacillating between excitement about Paris and paralyzing fear that it was all some elaborate trap. Three days of Olivia reassuring me that Lumière Gallery was legitimate, prestigious, and—most importantly—financially independent from Thorne Designs."Their connection is purely familial," she'd said, showing me articles and
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I thought of his face when I'd confronted him about the investigation—not defensive or angry, but genuinely pained at having hurt me. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it added a dimension I'd been reluctant to acknowledge."Enough about my brother," Sarah declared, clearly sensing my discomfort. "Let's talk Paris. If you accept the showcase offer, you'd come for eight weeks. We'd provide an apartment, studio space, materials budget, and a stipend."My pulse quickened at the concrete details, making the opportunity real in a way it hadn't been before. "And I'd have complete creative control?""Absolutely. Our role is support, not direction. We help with production resources, technical challenges, and of course, publicity and sales." She leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. "Maya, your work could be in major European collections by spring. We're talking career-changing exposure."I took a deep breath, allowing myself to imagine it. My name, my vision, recognized international
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"That's my ex," I said quietly. "The one I told you about."Sarah's expression hardened. "Want me to stay? I'm pretty good at telling men to fuck off."The offer was tempting, but I'd spent too long hiding behind others' protection. "I'll handle it," I said, gathering my purse. "But thanks.""At least take my number," Sarah insisted, scribbling on the back of another business card. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything."I tucked the card away, touched by her concern. "I'll be fine. And Sarah? Thank you for lunch. For everything.""We're not done," she assured me with a smile. "I'm in town for a week, and I intend to convince you about Paris before I leave."I stepped out of the car, straightening my shoulders as I prepared to face Daniel. Sarah waited, engine idling, making sure I reached the sidewalk safely before pulling away with a small wave.Daniel spotted me immediately, pushing off from his car with practiced nonchalance. His eyes flickered to Sarah's departing co
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Sarah's business card lay on my kitchen table, mocking me with its elegant simplicity. I'd smoothed out the wrinkles from my earlier breakdown, though the creases remained—permanent reminders of damaged possibilities. My finger traced the embossed lettering as I stared at her number, the phone heavy in my other hand.One call. One fucking call to change the trajectory of my life. All I had to do was say yes.Except I couldn't.The memory of Daniel's video burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked. The way my face had looked on that screen—glassy-eyed, vulnerable, stripped of all defenses. Not just physically naked, but emotionally exposed in a way that made me want to crawl out of my skin.Bali. Our third anniversary. Daniel had surprised me with the trip, playing the devoted husband with such conviction that I'd almost believed we were happy."Just us," he'd whispered on the plane, his fingers tangled possessively in my hair. "No distractions, no work. Just my beautiful wife and
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The empty apartment closed in around me, every surface a reminder of what Daniel had taken. My designs on the wall. My beaded lamp I'd rescued from the break-in. My life, still circumscribed by his influence even after I'd escaped.Fuck this. Fuck him. I wasn't going to just sit here and marinate in self-pity.I grabbed my laptop and settled grimly at the kitchen table. If Paris was off the table, I needed a regular job. Something stable, with a steady paycheck to cover rent and Mami Lulu's care.Four hours and seventeen applications later, I'd received three automated rejections, two "we'll keep your resume on file" responses, and a stunning silence from the rest. Even entry-level positions at second-tier design houses seemed beyond reach—Daniel's influence tainting my prospects with methodical precision.By early afternoon, claustrophobia drove me from the apartment. I needed to see Mami Lulu—the one person in my life untouched by Daniel's machinations, even if she barely remembered
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Alex straightened as I approached, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression carefully neutral. My steps faltered as our eyes met, but there was nowhere to retreat."Maya," he said, voice low and controlled. "We need to talk.""No, we don't." I moved to step around him, fumbling for my keys. "I have nothing to say to you.""Then just listen." He didn't touch me, didn't block my path, but his presence felt like a physical barrier nonetheless. "Sarah told me you turned down the Paris offer."Of course she had. Because nothing in my life could remain private, could stay my decision alone."And?" I finally found my keys, gripping them tightly enough to leave imprints on my palm."Why?" The single word carried more weight than a paragraph of accusations. "It's everything you've been working toward.""Maybe I changed my mind," I said, voice deliberately flat. "People do that.""Not you. Not about this." His eyes searched my face, seeing too much, understanding too little. "Something happ
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The envelope from Sunset Valley Care Center sat unopened on my counter for two days, its official logo like a bright red warning sign. I didn't need to read it to know what it said—I was three months behind on payments, and their patience was wearing thin. The phone calls had made that clear enough.I finally tore it open while drinking my morning coffee, a luxury I couldn't really afford anymore but refused to give up. My last remaining fuck-you to financial reality.Final Notice: Payment Required Within 7 DaysThe letter outlined the consequences in polite, sanitized language that couldn't hide the brutal truth: pay up or we move your mother to a state facility. I'd visited one of those places when first arranging Mami Lulu's care. Overcrowded, understaffed, with that unmistakable smell of neglect barely masked by industrial disinfectant.I couldn't let that happen. Not to the woman who'd raised me, loved me, taught me everything that mattered.With shaking hands, I spread my bills
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Outside his office, I bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairwell, needing movement, exertion, anything to burn off the toxic cocktail of rage and helplessness consuming me from the inside.I burst into the lobby, gulping humid air that barely qualified as fresh but at least didn't taste like Daniel's expensive cologne. My hands trembled as I fumbled with my visitor badge, eager to remove any trace of my connection to this place."Maya? Maya Russo?"I turned at the sound of my name, confusion momentarily displacing distress. A woman approached—vaguely familiar, with short-cropped dark hair and intelligent eyes behind chunky glasses."It's Zoe," she said, registering my blank expression. "Zoe Chen? From Parsons?"Recognition clicked. "Oh my god, Zoe. It's been—""Seven years, at least," she finished, grinning. "What are you doing here? Wait, stupid question. You're married to Daniel Russo." Her eyes flicked to my bare ring finger. "Or...were?""Were," I confirmed. "We're separated.
Last Updated : 2025-03-18
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"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
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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
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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
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“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
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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
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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
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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!”
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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
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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
