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The Goat’s Arrival
Last Updated:
2025-03-20 15:22:26
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Daniel stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed despite the late hour, his face a mask of controlled rage as he stared at Alex.Perfect. Just fucking perfect."Daniel, this isn't the place," I said, moving toward him to block his view of Mami Lulu.He ignored me, addressing Dr. Patel who had appeared beside him. "Doctor, I understand there's been some confusion about my mother-in-law's care. I'm Daniel Russo, Maya's husband.""Soon-to-be ex-husband," I corrected."A technicality that hasn't been finalized," Daniel smiled tightly at the doctor. "I'll be handling all financial matters for Mrs. Vega's care from now on."Alex stepped forward. "Maya's already making arrangements.""Is she?" Daniel raised an eyebrow. "With what money? The accounts are frozen during our... marital adjustment."Dr. Patel looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Perhaps we should discuss the medical situation first? Mrs. Vega's condition requires immediate decisions about her treatment plan.""Of course," Daniel sa
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The 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 UpdateMaya,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
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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
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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
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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
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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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I hung up and stared at the cabin. Warm light, dark outside. Maya moved around in there, her shadow crossing windows. What was she thinking? How much did she hate me right now? I wanted to go to her. Explain everything. Make her understand.I popped the trunk instead. Grabbed my overnight bag. Underneath sat that fucking folder. Twenty years of Maya's life. News clippings, surveillance photos, background checks. All the shit I'd told myself was necessary. Protection. Due diligence.Opened it. Looked different tonight. Not thorough research anymore. Just—stalking. Obsession.Dr. Winters' voice in my head: "Where were you most afraid as a child, Alex?""Not knowing what was coming. When Victoria would be waiting after school, but I wouldn't know what for this time.""So you learned information means safety.""Knowledge is control.""Or just the illusion of it?"I slammed the folder shut. Maya's words echoed: "Everyone in my life has tried to own me." Had I been different? Really? I'd to
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The specific amount hit me like a slap. Ten million. Ten. Million. Dollars. My brain couldn't even process it. That's like... what? How many zeros is that? One, two... Jesus. The vague mention in Eleanor's book hadn't prepared me for that reality. Ten million fucking dollars sitting somewhere with my name on it while I'd been eating ramen three nights a week, calculating if I could pay both rent and Mami Lulu's care or if I needed to sell another piece of jewelry just to keep the lights on."So you've been watching me stumble around piecing things together when you had all the answers? While I was struggling with Daniel, fighting for independence... you knew there was money waiting for me?""I tried to tell you, Maya—""No." I cut him off. "Trying would be saying something. Having a fucking conversation instead of dumping a mysterious envelope in my lap and walking away clean.""That's not fair.""Fair?" I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "You know what's not fair? Everyo
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"Don't even think about it," he warned. "You're coming with me. We're going to fix this—fix everything you've broken.""I'm not going anywhere with you."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 fought harder, kicking at his shins, trying to wrench my arm free. Something in Daniel snapped. He grabbed both my arms, his fingers digging painfully into my skin as our struggle intensified. We stumbled backwards, him pushing, me pulling, neither of us paying attention to our surroundings until I felt empty air behind my heels.We'd reached the steep drop-off I'd discovered during my first week here. Daniel held me there, at the edge, my feet half on solid
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The next morning, I woke with newfound clarity. My entire life, I'd been running or hiding—first with Mami Lulu in these mountains, then within my marriage to Daniel, then from the truth about my past. I was done with all of it. Whatever came through my door, I'd face it head-on.I made coffee and carried it to the porch, watching dawn break over the trees. 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 adrenaline had been real enough.Instead of hiding inside all day jumping at shadows, I decided to work. Kept my hands busy with the torch, tried some color combinations I'd been thinking about. Work had always been my escape. Glass didn't lie or manipulate. It just did exactly what it was supposed to do when you handled it right.By noon, I needed a break. My back ached from hunching over the torch, and my eyes burned from focusing on tiny details. I decided to gathe
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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
