"Alex, I didn't—" I started, shock replacing anger.He moved before I could finish. His hand caught my wrist again, but this time he pulled me toward him, not away. In one fluid motion, his other hand was in my hair, and his mouth was on mine.The kiss wasn't gentle. It was hungry, desperate, months of tension exploding between us like a dam breaking. His lips were firm, demanding, his hand tightening in my hair as he angled my face up to his.For a heartbeat, I froze. Then something wild and reckless flared inside me, and I was kissing him back, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He tasted like coffee and anger and something uniquely him. His body was hard against mine, his heart hammering as fast as my own.He backed me against his desk, lifting me slightly so I was perched on the edge. My skirt rode up as his body pressed between my thighs. Some distant part of my brain screamed that this was insane—he was my boss, we were in his office, I had just slapped him—but then his teeth
Alex"I'm afraid the board has concerns, Alex."Richard Whitmore's voice was mild but pointed. I kept my face impassive as I surveyed the boardroom. Eight board members, eight potential obstacles."Concerns about what, exactly?" I knew, but I wanted them to say it.Whitmore straightened his tie. "About hiring Maya Russo. The optics are... problematic.""The optics," I repeated. "Of hiring one of the most talented designers in the industry?""Of hiring Daniel Russo's wife in the middle of a messy divorce," Victoria Reynolds interjected from my left. "A divorce that's becoming increasingly public.""Soon-to-be ex-wife," I corrected. "And her talent isn't in question.""Her stability is." James Porter, our general counsel, tapped his pen against the table. "Her recent behavior at the industry gala, the public confrontation with her sister, now the break-in at her apartment... It raises questions, Alex."I shouldn't have mentioned the break-in to Bernard. That was a mistake. The informatio
MayaI stared through the Uber window at Saint Joseph's Medical Center as we pulled up. Fucking hospitals. Same antiseptic smell, same fluorescent despair, same shitty memories. I'd spent too many nights in places like this—sitting beside Mami Lulu as she deteriorated, or my own visits after Daniel's "accidental" shoves down the stairs. And now Grandfather."Hope everything's okay," my driver said, eyeing me in the rearview.I managed something resembling a smile. "Yeah, thanks."The hospital smell hit me like a slap—bleach trying to cover up sickness and fear. I breathed through my mouth as I approached the information desk, where a tired-looking woman tapped at her computer."I'm here for Giuseppe Russo," I said, trying not to sound as frayed as I felt.Her fingers clicked across the keyboard. "Ah, yes. Mr. Russo. Cardiac care unit, sixth floor." She gave me a practiced once-over. "Family only at this time.""I'm his granddaughter-in-law." The words tasted weird. Was I still that? Wi
The apology—so unexpected, so genuine—left me momentarily speechless. How long had I waited for someone in the Russo family to acknowledge what was happening? To see me?Before I could respond, a nurse entered to check Grandfather's vitals. I used the interruption to compose myself, blinking back unexpected tears."Your numbers are looking good, Mr. Russo," the nurse said cheerfully. "But don't overdo it with visitors, okay? Your heart needs rest.""My heart has been resting for too long," Grandfather grumbled, but there was no heat in it.When the nurse left, Grandfather turned back to me, his expression serious. "Maya, I need to ask you something important.""What is it?" I leaned closer, concerned by his sudden intensity."Are you truly happy at Thorne Designs?"The question seemed oddly specific. "I... yes, I think so. It's been an adjustment, but the work is challenging, and I'm learning a lot.""And Alex Thorne? How is he as an employer?"I hesitated, our argument from earlier fl
"Are you?" Alex's voice carried a dangerous edge. "Like you took care of her apartment?"The accusation hung in the air between them. Daniel's expression didn't change, but something dark flickered in his eyes."I don't know what you're implying," he said smoothly. "Maya's apartment was broken into, which is unfortunate. But accidents happen, especially in that neighborhood.""It wasn't an accident," I said, unable to stay silent in the face of such blatant gaslighting. "And we both know it."Daniel turned to me, his smile never wavering. "Maya, sweetheart, you're upset. Understandably so, with Grandfather's condition. But throwing around accusations isn't helpful."The familiar patronizing tone made my blood boil. "Don't 'sweetheart' me. And don't pretend you give a damn about my feelings.""Maya—" Daniel started, reaching for my arm.Alex stepped forward instantly, intercepting Daniel's hand. "Don't touch her."The movement was quick, defensive rather than aggressive, but Daniel's ey
When I returned to Grandfather's room, Daniel was sitting beside the bed, head bent close as they spoke in low voices. They both looked up as I entered, their conversation cutting off abruptly."Maya, come in," Grandfather beckoned, his expression brightening. "Daniel was just updating me on company matters."I approached the other side of the bed, acutely aware of Daniel's eyes tracking my movement. "Nothing too stressful, I hope. You're supposed to be resting.""Bah," Grandfather waved off my concern. "Business keeps me sharp. Idle minds are the first to fade."Despite everything, I smiled. Even bedridden, Giuseppe Russo remained indomitable."Daniel tells me you've been having some trouble at your new job," Grandfather continued, his gaze shrewd. "Something about office politics?"I shot Daniel a sharp look. Of course he'd been keeping tabs on me, gathering ammunition for moments like this."Nothing I can't handle," I said carefully. "Every workplace has its challenges.""Indeed." G
The ATM screen stared back at me like it was personally offended.UNABLE TO PROCESS REQUEST. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR FINANCIAL INSTITUTION."What the fuck?" I jabbed the button again, harder this time, as if that might change anything. Same message. I tried another transaction—just checking my balance. Maybe the machine was glitching.ACCOUNT ACCESS RESTRICTED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR FINANCIAL INSTITUTION.A cold feeling spread through my chest. I knew exactly what this meant. Or rather, who."Ma'am? Are you finished?" The woman behind me shifted impatiently, clutching her wallet.I yanked my card from the slot. "Machine's broken."Outside the bank, I pulled out my phone and logged into my banking app. The password I'd changed just last week still worked, but when the app loaded, a red notification banner stretched across the top of the screen.ACCOUNTS FROZEN - LEGAL HOLD."Goddamn it, Daniel." I leaned against the bank's brick wall, fighting the urge to hurl my phone into traffic. This was
Sunset Valley Care Center smelled like industrial cleaner trying to mask the underlying scent of sickness and age. I'd always hated it here, but at least they took good care of Mami Lulu. The nurses knew her quirks, understood her condition, treated her with dignity.Now I might have to move her to a state facility with overworked staff and cramped rooms. The thought made me sick."Maya! So nice to see you." Rebecca greeted me at the billing office, her professional smile not quite reaching her eyes. She was younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with a practical bob and sensible shoes. "Come in, please."I followed her into a small office cluttered with files and family photos. She pulled up Mami Lulu's account on her computer, angling the screen so I could see."As I mentioned on the phone, the account is three months past due. That's $11,400, plus late fees." She pointed to the total at the bottom of the screen: $12,347.82."I understand." I swallowed hard. "My ex-husband wa
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
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
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 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
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.
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
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
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
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