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Morning After
Last Updated:
2025-03-11 18:42:20
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I hesitated, then took a seat on one of the sleek stools. The eggs were perfect, like everything else in Alex Thorne's carefully controlled world."I have a spare set of clothes you can borrow," he said, refilling my coffee. "Someone left things here for when they visit. They might be a bit loose, but better than putting that dress back on.""Someone?" I raised an eyebrow, curiosity warring with the desire not to pry.Alex's expression remained neutral. "A houseguest. The clothes should fit well enough."I had a hundred questions about whose clothes I was about to wear, but I swallowed them with another sip of coffee. Not my business. Not relevant. "Thanks. I appreciate it.""The Cartwright designs are coming along well," he
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Alex turned to face me fully, his expression more open than I'd ever seen it. "When I was twelve, I got lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains during a family vacation. I wandered for hours in the dark, cold and scared. And then..." He hesitated. "A girl found me. She was young, probably around my age. She brought me to her cabin, gave me food, let me warm up. She saved my life."The chill spread through my entire body now. This couldn't be what it sounded like."Before I left the next morning, she gave me a bracelet," he continued. "Made of glass beads she'd created herself. For luck, she said."My mouth went dry. "A lot of people make glass beads.""Not like these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that caught the morning light, sending tiny rainbows danci
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I slammed my apartment door behind me and tore off Alex's sister's—no, his "houseguest's"—clothes like they were burning my skin. The sweater caught on my earring, ripping it from my lobe with a sharp sting that barely registered through the white-hot rage pulsing behind my eyes."Fuck!" The word exploded from my chest, bouncing off the bare walls of my apartment. "FUCK!"I stormed into my bedroom, grabbed my pillow and drove my fist into it once, twice—not enough. I pressed it against my face and screamed until my lungs burned for air, the fabric muffling sounds that would've had the neighbors calling police. My throat felt raw when I finally stopped, collapsing onto the mattress, chest heaving.The lost boy from the woods. The same fucking person as my boss. What kind of cosmic joke was this?
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I slammed my alarm clock for the third time, burying my face deeper into my pillow. Fuck Monday. Fuck work. Fuck Alex Thorne and his lost-boy-from-the-woods bullshit.I'd spent the weekend alternating between rage-cleaning my apartment and staring at my phone, hovering between blocking Alex's number and calling to demand more explanations. I did neither. Instead, I sketched until my hand cramped, drank enough wine to blur the edges, and ignored the outside world entirely.Now reality crashed back in the form of a job I couldn't afford to lose, regardless of how fucked up things had gotten with my boss."You're going in late," I told my reflection as I dragged a brush through tangled hair. "Avoid him completely. Just do your job."I dressed with deliberate care—black pencil skirt, crisp white blouse, heels high enough to be professional but comfortable enough to run in if needed. Armor against whatever today might throw at me.The design floor was unusually quiet when I finally arrived
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As the meeting finally broke up, Emma caught my arm. "Alex wants to see any preliminary sketches for the Meridian account. Can you bring them to his office this afternoon?"My stomach clenched. "Why can't you take them?""Because he asked for you specifically." Her expression softened slightly. "Maya, he's fighting for you with the board. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. First things first: I needed to breathe, to think.The design floor hummed with whispered conversations as I returned to my desk. Faces turned toward me, then quickly away when I met their eyes."Hey," Mark from materials development said, approaching hesitantly. "A bunch of us are going to grab lunch at that new Thai place. Want to join?"Before I could answer, Sophie sauntered over. "Actually, Mark, we're at capacity for the reservation. Maybe next time, Maya?"Her smile oozed false sympathy. I watched as she led Mark away, his backward glance apologetic bu
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"What the fuck is this?" I demanded, voice shaking with rage.Alex closed the door behind him, moving slowly as if approaching a cornered animal. "I can explain.""Explain?" I brandished the papers. "Explain why you have surveillance photos of me? Medical records? Financial statements? Were you investigating me or fucking stalking me?""Neither." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I was building a case against Daniel.""By digging through my entire life?" The betrayal cut deeper than I wanted to admit. "Without my knowledge or consent?""Maya, please. Let me explain properly.""Fine." I crossed my arms, heart hammering against my ribs. "Explain why the CEO of a major design firm is playing private detective. Explain why you didn't tell me when you hired me that you'd been watching me for god knows how long."Alex sighed, gesturing toward the chairs by the window. "Will you sit? Please?""I'll stand.""Okay." He leaned against his desk, keeping
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Day one of unemployment, I stayed in bed until two, wrapped in blankets despite the stuffy heat of my apartment. My phone buzzed constantly—mostly Alex, occasionally Olivia. I ignored them all. Even getting up to pee felt like a monumental achievement.Day two, I moved from bed to couch, upgrading from total paralysis to mindless TV binging while my brain looped through increasingly catastrophic scenarios. I'd never work in design again. I'd have to crawl back to Daniel. I'd lose my apartment. Mami Lulu would end up in some state-run hellhole because I couldn't afford her care.By day three, anxiety had burned away, replaced by a hollow, ringing fury. I paced my small apartment like a caged animal, fingers itching to create, to destroy, to do fucking something besides spin in endless circles of panic."You'll find another job," I told my reflection as I finally showered, hot water turning my skin pink. "You have talent. You have experience. You have—"My phone rang again. Alex's numbe
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Despite Olivia's advice, I chose the plain black flats instead of my most intimidating heels. This wasn't about impression or power—it was about dignity and closure. Simple black pants, white blouse, minimal makeup.Thorne Designs looked exactly the same as I approached the building, which felt wrong somehow. My world had imploded, yet the revolving doors still turned, the security desk still buzzed with the same morning energy, the lobby's marble floors still gleamed under soft lighting."Ms. Russo," the receptionist greeted me, surprise evident in her tone. "You're... um... not in the system anymore.""I have a meeting with HR at ten," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady."Oh! Yes, here it is. I'll need to issue a temporary pass." She tapped at her computer, glancing up occasionally as if expecting me to cause another scene.The elevator ride was mercifully empty. I watched the numbers tick upward, breathing deeply to calm the nausea bubbling in my stomach. Tenth floor. HR's d
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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
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MayaI woke with a start, disoriented by the unfamiliar shadows cast across rough-hewn beams. For a moment, panic seized me—where the hell was I? Then the scent registered: pine, wood smoke, and something else—something that tugged at memories buried so deep they felt more like dreams than lived experience.The cabin. My cabin.Sunlight filtered through the windows I'd wiped down yesterday, catching dust particles that still danced in the early morning light despite my cleaning efforts. The fire I'd built last night had died to embers, leaving a slight chill in the air. Now, in the revealing daylight, I saw my childhood home properly, the areas I hadn't managed to clean yet standing in stark contrast to the parts I'd already restored.It was smaller than I remembered. Childhood memories have a way of making everything seem larger, more expansive. But the essentials were exactly as they'd lived in my mind: the stone fireplace dominating one wall, the rough wooden table beneath the east
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AlexI made it to my car before my composure cracked. Sitting behind the wheel, I slammed my palm against it hard enough to hurt, cursing under my breath. I'd handled that all wrong. Again.The look on Maya's face when I admitted hiring a PI—pure betrayal. Rage. Fear. All justified.I started the engine but didn't move, just sat there staring up at the lights of her apartment building. She'd tried to slap me. Again. I couldn't blame her."Not investigating you anymore." Christ. As if stopping was some kind of favor I'd done her. No wonder she'd exploded.The envelope of evidence sat on the passenger seat where I'd placed a second copy before heading up to her apartment. I'd known she might destroy the first one. Might not believe me. Might throw me out.I'd been right about all of it, and still managed to fuck up the execution completely.The dashboard clock read 8:47 PM. Not even nine, but I felt as if I'd aged a decade in the last forty minutes. I pulled away from the curb, forcing
