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[Addison]
I thought we were in love. I thought we were a family.
It’s funny the way things can change in a snap.
My world changed the day of my son‘s sixth birthday.
It’s not everyday that your only child turns six, so I wanted to make the day extra special for my son. I work overtime every day, securing business for our family law firm, but I left early, squeezing as much as in to the early morning hours, so I could take the rest of the day off to make his favorite meal from scratch and bake his very special birthday treats.
He is my miracle child and deserves the very best.
Donning a fancy outfit I selected for this occasion, I floated out of the house on a cloud of happiness. He is going to be so surprised! I can’t wait to see the look of joy on his smiling face.
“Mrs. Stone,” the crossing guard., Mrs. Jenkins greets me as I approach my son’s school. “What’s the occasion? This wouldn’t be for a special little gentlemen’s special day?”
Her eyes sparkle as she gazes up at the balloons in my hands, and looks down to see my knee-length, rhinestone dress that floats from my waist like a cloud of cotton candy.
“Well, it isn’t every day Jayson turns 6,” I smile back at her. I never dress like this, preferring the practicality of a smartly tailored suit and the simplicity of a face clean of makeup, but Jayson always wanted me to be like “the other mommies,” who wore fancy jewelry and sparkling dresses.
“I thought I’d be a princess for him today.” I point at the tiara and glitter.
“Well you look spectacular, Mrs. Stone,” Mrs. Jenkins nods in approval her gentle smile extending across her face as she holds back the cars for me. My heart lifts, feeling her warm gaze follow my movements as I safely approach the main gates of Westwind Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in the Upper East Side.
It’s a rare occasion that I can take this much time off just to be with my little guy. I work in my husband’s law office and often work later hours than he does as his assistant and co-council.
I was a top law school graduate, but after marrying my husband, Michael, I turned down a huge offer without hesitation and chose to work as a legal advisor for his small company instead. The law waits for no one, but neither does childhood. Jayson is growing up so quickly. Before I know it he’ll be off and gone, heading to college and I’ll miss all these small moments.
But where is he? His teacher should have brought him to the gate.
“Jayson!” I call out, my heart racing. This school is safe. Nobody but family could take him so he must be around here somewhere.
“Jayson, where are you?” I try again. This is strange. I even sent a text to his teacher reminding her that I’d be picking my son up early for his birthday. And now he seems to be missing.
“Did I make a mistake?” My fingers grip the cast-iron bars of the school gate as I pull my phone from my purse. No, it is Monday the 7th, 1 pm. The reminder is in my calendar with a note reminding me to pick him up early. There are no text messages saying that anything has changed, no note from his father or his school. He should be standing right there, in his usual spot, next to the lilacs.
Just as I turn towards the school office, my son’s lilting laughter carries on the wind like birdsong. My skirt floats around me, twirling as I look for the source, hoping to find my son laughing as he runs towards me.
What I see instead is a beautiful family–mother, father, and child. The man, tall and handsome has beautiful cheekbones and the brightest blue eyes. Holding onto him is a little boy with hair so blonde it looks almost white, a shade or two brighter than my own. On the little one’s other side, the mother is holding onto him, her petite hand griping his small one with tenderness, her perfect golden blonde hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, diamonds glistening on her ears and wrists.
It is a beautiful scene except for one thing–that’s my family. My husband and my son. But that woman with her elegant clothes and her effortless beauty isn’t me.
As she turns her head towards the gate, the sunlight illuminates her profile, making her hair glow like a halo of gold. She has the face of an angel, with small, perfectly formed lips and luminescent eyes, large and golden-brown like a cat, like a more vibrant version of my hazel.
She is stunning. And familiar.
No. I must be mistaken. It can’t be her. Michael would have told me if she were back in town.
The woman raises her eyes and our gazes connect from across the field. She places a hand on Michael's shoulder before pointing in my direction, smiling warmly and I know at once I am not mistaken after all.
That’s Michael’s first love, the girl who broke his heart and left him a shattered mess for me to heal in her wake. His college girlfriend whose picture still resides behind his driver’s license in the front pocket of his wallet, right behind our wedding picture and the baby picture of his son.
The woman of my nightmares.
Evelyn Valentine.
[Desmond] The nurse’s words still hung hollow in my chest. Gone. Both of them, gone. Jessica and our son, Davin. My heart shriveled into a hard rock. Evelyn did this. She made this happen and now I can’t even make her pay for what she did because the bitch is already dead. Placing my face in my hands, I exhale slowly, the last of my breath leaving me in a long, even path. So that’s it. That’s everything. What is the point of building my empire without legacy? It’s all over. “Are you okay?” I lift my head at the sound of the small, forgotten voice by my side and for a moment, I blink, confused. It’s like a ghost, looking at his face. He has Evelyn’s eyes and golden blonde hair, but the cut of his chin, the angle of his cheek bones, and the cunning edge in his stare are pure Debrassy. He looks so much like my lost brother. Like my grandfather as a child. And I guess, in many ways, like me. This little boy, Jayson Stone, is the last of us. My son. My only living heir. The onl
[Desmond]So this is all that is left of my legacy. The spare. Evelyn’s bastard. His bright blue eyes look up at me with so much awe and uncertainty. But underneath that is a shrewdness so much older than his years. He’s young, but not naive. At six and a half years old, he’s already lost so much of his innocence. He was pulled into this world too soon, not allowed to be a little boy. That’s Evelyn’s fault.She had no business being a mother. I knew that. But that greedy whore never could leave well enough alone.Not that I can do anything about that now. She fucked up and now she’s dead.And I’m stuck with him. The child I never wanted. I told her to get rid of the spawn when I found out she was pregnant, but she insisted on keeping him, seeing her ticket to the Debrassy name. “I won’t marry you,” I had informed her flatly, “That child is yours, not mine. Your problem, your issue. But if you want to continue working for me, you’ll have to get rid of it. Our work has no space for
[Jayson]Adults can’t be trusted. They never stay with you, even when they promise that they will. First my mom left me. She doesn’t want me, she has a new family to love. That crazy little brat calls her mama now. She’s my mama! That little r**@rd bitch shouldn’t get to call her mama. Mama Evelyn told me that she wasn’t my real mom. She even showed me some stupid piece of paper that said SHE was my real mom.”“You’re stupid," I laughed. "That stupid paper doesn’t prove anything!” Didn’t she realize how much her words hurt. If my mother wasn’t my mother then my whole world was a lie. And if none of that is real, then what is real? The thought made my chest tight, like I couldn’t breathe, like my whole body would break apart. But she wouldn’t stop talking. She kept saying that my father wasn't my real father either. "Your real dad is a strong, important man." I told her she was a crazy lying bitch. She smacked me hard for that one, and took away my tablet too. Locked me in my roo
[Michael]“Sir, your wife’s out of surgery,” the ragged nurse announced as she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You can go see her now.” Opening my eyes, a swell of gratitude fills my chest. “And the baby?” She didn’t mention the child and my heart stutters. The nurse looks from me to my son sitting next to me. But Jayson, like usual these days, is entrenched in the world of his game, not registering what is happening around him. My voice is low, hushed as I ask hesitantly. “Please tell me, is the baby alive?”The nurse responds in careful, clipped words. “I’m sorry, sir, but she didn’t survive. The bullet pierced her gestational sack. If she had been delivered immediately, she may have survived, but by the time…”Sorrow and relief filled me in equal measures. That child had been a mistake, one that ruined my marriage, and while I regretted the death of the little one that I was prepared to love no matter how she came to be, I hate to admit that part of me is glad she isn’t go
For a moment, I consider going back into the room where Adam lay dying in his own blood. As unsafe as that room is, how disastrous it would be to find myself caught there, holding my little girl, waiting for death to come through the door, what I’ve come out into might be worse. I had thought I’d make it to the service elevator, or maybe the emergency stairs, but both exits are blocked by broken bodies, their hands loosely clutched to weapons that have fallen from their hands, as their comrades file in over them, creating a mob scene out of Vandersteele Tower executive floor lobby.Clutching Livy even tighter to my chest, I block her ears from the sounds of gunfire and screams as I scan the room for any way out. Maybe, if I head down this hall a bit further, there might be another exit. If Vandersteele Tower is anything like Grant Group’s main office, there are several emergency exits. Nobody wanted to be stuck in a building that could easily switch to a death trap if something drast
Gargling, Adam stumbles, his hand grasping his stomach as he falls to his knees, his body slamming into the ground with a bone-shattering force. If my captor feels it, he doesn’t show it on his face, which is blank with shock and confusion, as if he isn’t sure how he ended up on the ground when just a moment ago he was charging towards my little girl. Wrapping my arms protectively around Olivia, I hold her shaking body to my chest. She’s only 6 years old. I’m not sure there is enough therapy in the world to help her overcome this moment of terror. She was just driven to pick up a gun to protect herself and the only woman she’s called mama since the death of her real mother, Jane. The wound may have been accidental, but the sight of this man dying because she threw a gun at him in fear and self-defense will stick with her. Like every other wound she’s received this year at the hands of Debrassy and his men. The weight of that thought settles heavy around my shoulders. Vanessa Vander







