The drive to work is a blur. My mind keeps wandering back to that late-night call with Luke. I hadn’t expected him to answer, let alone cheer me up with his random stories and crazy humor. I can't shake the strange feeling I’ve had since that call. I’m… happy. Genuinely happy. And it's not something I'm used to, especially in the last few months. I smile as I walk through the glass doors of Paragon Jewels. It’s a place I’ve spent years building my career, climbing to the top—yet today, even the heavy, corporate atmosphere feels lighter. I make my way across the lobby, past the reception desk. The receptionist, Karen, smiles at me, though her usual greeting seems to be slightly delayed. She’s staring at me as if something’s different.“Good morning, Mrs. O’Brien,” she says.“Good morning, Karen,” I reply, smiling back.I catch the surprise in her eyes. Maybe I don’t usually smile this much. I know I don’t.“Have a nice day,” I say, giving her one last smile before walking on.As I m
The name hits me like a punch to the face. Lucas Martinez? Luke is the CEO of Couture Collective? The biggest fashion company in North and South America? How the hell did I not know this?I blink, still processing. The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room for a second, and all I can hear is the rushing sound of blood in my ears. But there he is. Sitting casually, grinning, as if he’s enjoying every second of my discomfort. He stands up, extending his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. O’Brien,” he says, his voice calm and collected, but there’s a twinkle of mischief in his gaze. I force a smile, slipping into autopilot mode as I shake his hand. Keep it together, Julie. Keep it together. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Martinez,” I reply, my voice just a little too formal. The contact of his hand is warm—familiar. A little too familiar, given the circumstances.Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “Please, call me Luke,” he says. His tone is casual, as
~~Luke~~Today’s not going as well as I planned. Well, on the business side, it is. But on the pleasure aspect, I think I’m screwed.When Julie sent me the address earlier today, I thought it was just a coincidence. The same restaurant I’m meeting my newest business partner happens to be where I’ll be having lunch with Julie and her husband. I should have seen this coming. It’s just like they say: when something’s too good to be true, it usually is.I run a hand through my hair, pretending to listen to Ryan’s rambling about his company’s future while my mind is busy dissecting every single choice that led me here. I should have had my private investigator run a more thorough check on Julie. I can’t believe I’d been so careless. This wasn’t just bad luck—this was karma coming for me."So, Mr. Martinez—" Ryan says.“Luke, please,” I cut in, giving him a tight smile. I need to keep things light, professional. Act like I’m not currently wading through an awkward situation with my “busines
As I approach the table, I make a point of keeping my eyes on Ryan. But out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but notice Julie’s blouse. It's been torture keeping my eyes out of the undone buttons. Focus, Luke. Don’t even go there.“So, Ryan,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’d love to get a tour of Paragon Jewels sometime. See where the magic happens.”Ryan’s face lights up, clearly thrilled by the idea. “Absolutely! I’d love to show you around. We could set that up right now, actually.”Julie is silent beside him, her eyes fixed on the table as if she’s trying to disappear. She’s still fuming, but Ryan’s too busy playing host to notice.“Would you like to come along, Julie?” I ask, the question innocent enough, but the tension between us is palpable. I’m giving her an out—she can decline, stay away from me for the rest of the day. Or she can come and we’ll be forced to play this game a little longer.Julie looks up, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment before she turns to
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just… I couldn’t stand it anymore.”“Stand what?” Julie snaps. Her arms are crossed so tightly, I’m surprised her blouse doesn’t tear at the seams. She’s glaring at me like she wants to strangle me.I take a deep breath, my eyes locking on hers. “Seeing you like that. You were barely holding it together back there, Julie. I couldn’t take it anymore.”Her face falls, just for a second. I know I’ve hit a nerve. “And what do you think you’re going to do about it?” she shoots back. “Drag me into a supply closet and fix my life?”“Wouldn’t be the worst idea.” I lean against the door. “I mean, this is a multi-purpose room, right? Might as well use it to solve a couple of personal crises.”“Wow, Luke,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes so hard I’m pretty sure they’re going to pop out of her head and roll away. “Very original. If this is your grand plan, you’ve lost it.”“You’re right. I’ve lost it,” I reply, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “I’ve lost the patience to wat
~~Julie~~ Oh, god. I don't know what came over me. The person standing at the door, eyes wide, is a cleaning guy. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbles, backing away quickly, clearly not wanting to deal with whatever weird situation he just walked into. I step away from Luke, shaking my head. “See? This is what happens when you drag me into a closet to fix my life.” “What happens?” he asks, leaning against the wall. “People see.” “And?” I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.” “Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he says with a wink. I don't say anything else. I just grip Luke's hand and start pulling him out of the closet, toward the hallway. My pulse is racing, though whether it's from the cleaning guy busting in or the fact that Luke had been way too close just a minute ago, I’m not sure. “Alright, Mr. Martinez,” I say, once we're fully outside. “Back to the real world.” Luke raises an eyebrow. “We were just getting started.” I shoot him a look. “I don’t know what kind of start you think
I feel the blood drain from my face as Ryan’s eyes slowly turn toward me, his expression unreadable. That stare—cold, calculating—sends a chill down my spine, but I don’t flinch. I won’t give him the satisfaction.“What the hell is this, Julie?”I take a deep breath, trying to play it cool even though my heart is pounding in my chest. “What does it look like?” I ask. I lean back into my seat and cross one leg over the other.Ryan's jaw tightens. “It looks like you’ve got some explaining to do.”“Do I?”God, I hate this. Why is it always a performance with him? Why does he get to be the one who’s angry?Emily, who’s still clutching her phone like it’s a live grenade, glances nervously between the two of us. I can tell she’s trying to figure out how to mediate without getting caught in the crossfire. Good luck with that.“Uh, maybe we should just…” she starts.I cut her off with a sharp look. “Who sent that video, Emily?”She hesitates, eyes flicking to Ryan as if hoping he’ll rescue he
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Excuse me?”“You heard me,” he says, stepping closer, his eyes blazing with fury. “Whatever you’ve started with Luke—it ends. Now.”I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “I don’t tell you who to date, Ryan. So what gives you the right to dictate who I see?”“This is different, Julie!” Ryan shouts, his voice booming through the room. “He’s my business partner! This could ruin everything!”“Everything?” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “By ‘everything,’ do you mean your business, or your little arrangement with Emily?”Ryan’s face flushes with anger, and I can see the veins in his neck bulging. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”“Oh, why not?” I fire back. “She’s already here, isn’t she? I mean, she’s right there, living in our house, sitting on my couch. So why the hell shouldn’t I bring her into it?”Ryan clenches his fists, and for a moment, I think he’s going to explode. But instead, he takes a deep breath, his voice low. “E
~~Julie~~ The pain started several hours ago. At first, it was manageable—a dull ache radiating through my lower abdomen. It felt like my body was whispering its warnings. But now, hours later, it’s no whisper. It’s a full-blown scream. Sharp, relentless waves of pain grip me, tightening like a vice around my insides. I’ve been timing the contractions, because the last time this happened, Dr. Casey Patel had sent me home with enough instructions on how to detect real labor. If this isn’t labor, then God help me, because it feels like this baby is about to crawl up my spine and burst out of my chest. I clutch the bannister with one hand and my lower abdomen with the other, pausing halfway down the stairs to catch my breath. Every step feels like a test of endurance, like I’m descending a mountain instead of my own staircase. “Paula!” I shout, hoping the cook will come running. But it isn’t Paula who appears. Instead, Javier rolls into view at the bottom of the stairs, his expressio
~~Julie~~I have to say this: Luke’s family knows how to party. It’s like everyone’s high and energetic. Even the children aren’t left out. It’s one thing to practice a dance, and it’s another to actually use those moves. I’m stumbling, but I don’t care. Because I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I can’t keep track of the number of people I’ve danced with. I’ve lost Luke for the hundredth time tonight. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged into a conga line by his mother, who seemed to have the stamina of a teenager. Somewhere between the flashing lights and the sea of bodies spinning and stomping, he’d disappeared again.I stumble slightly in my heels, though at this point they feel more like medieval torture devices. My silver dress—once sleek and elegant—is now sticking to me like a second skin, the fabric damp with sweat from almost an hour of dancing. I brush confetti out of my hair. It’s everywhere—on my shoulders, even stuck to the perspiration on my arms.A
It’s our first dance as a couple, and Julie’s arms are draped around my neck, her warmth melting into mine as we sway to the soft rhythm of the music. Her dress catches the golden glow of the chandeliers, shimmering like something out of a dream. But it’s not the dress or the lights that have me mesmerized—it’s her.Her cheeks are flushed, a shade of pink that makes my heart stutter, and her eyes, those deep, captivating pools, glisten with unshed tears. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but all I can manage is, “You’re beautiful.”Julie’s blush deepens, and she looks away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “You’ve already said that. Twice.”“Because it’s true.”Around us, everyone is watching.Julie bites her lip, a nervous gesture that only makes her more endearing. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Feeling this… shy?”I chuckle. “Like teenagers on a first date.”“Exactly. The entire room is watching, and I don’t know where to look.”“You’re doing great so far,” I say. “Jus
~~Luke~~I don’t know if it’s appropriate for the groom to cry on his wedding day, but right now, it’s taking my entire self-control not to sob. My throat feels tight, my chest is heavy, and every muscle in my face is fighting. Screw it—who made that rule anyway?Julie is walking toward me. Julie. My Julie. And it feels like the first time all over again—the day I saw her sitting on that barstool, drowning her sorrows in a glass of whiskey. I hadn’t planned to approach her. I was headed toward the fire exit, escaping someone whose face I can’t remember now. But then I saw her, and something in me shifted.Now, here she is, making her way down the aisle, radiant in a dress that looks like it was sewn from clouds and moonlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if it’s possible to actually combust from sheer awe.Her maid of honor walks beside her, clutching her arm with a steadying hand, but Julie doesn’t need it. She’s poised, her eyes locked on mine.“You’re far gone, man,
~~Julie~~People say all brides are late to their weddings. It’s practically a tradition, isn’t it? But me? I was not going to be one of those brides. I had a plan. I gave myself a generous window—ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops—because, really, what could possibly make me late?The answer, apparently, is everything. Here I am, forty minutes behind schedule, crammed in the backseat of a car with Marissa, my maid of honor, wrestling with my veil like it’s some kind of unruly octopus.“Hold still,” Marissa says, her fingers tangled in the fabric. “You keep moving, and this thing’s going to look like a bird nested in your hair.”“I wouldn’t be moving if we weren’t speeding down the road like we’re in a car chase,” I shoot back, my head jerking as the driver swerves to avoid another car.The blame? It falls squarely on last night’s rehearsal dinner. It felt like the entire world showed up. Luke’s family alone must have taken up half the venue, and their energy? Boundless. How do they eve
~~Ryan O’Brien~~ It’s fifteen minutes before the pre-trial, and Ryan’s car pulls into the courthouse. As Justin, his chauffeur and bodyguard, cuts the ignition, Ryan stares through the tinted window at the swarm of reporters and onlookers gathered outside like vultures, cameras poised for the kill. He can practically hear the click of shutters, the incessant questions ready to pounce, though he hasn’t even stepped out yet. Adeline is beside him, looking as bored as ever. Adeline taps her manicured nails against the leather armrest. She looks as though she’d rather be anywhere else, though Ryan knows better. His mother thrives on drama, especially when she’s not the one under fire. “How long is this circus going to take?” she says. “You didn’t have to come.” Ryan loosens his tie, the knot around his neck nothing compared to the one in his chest. Adeline shrugs. “I had nothing better to do. Besides, someone has to ensure you don’t embarrass the family name more than you already hav
I and Marissa, the vice president of marketing, have formed a new habit of meeting for lunch. It started as casual, a convenience thing—we both needed a break from the relentless grind at Illusionaire. Now, it’s become a ritual. I’m still unsure if this qualifies as friendship, mainly because I don’t know what friendship actually looks like. But Marissa talks a lot, and I love to listen. Her stories have this wild, messy charm, like someone spilling glitter across a chaotic art project.We’re at a cozy little café a few blocks from work, the kind of place that tries too hard to be trendy with its mismatched furniture and aggressively minimalist menu. Marissa is mid-rant about her current boyfriend and her dog, gesturing with a fork that’s dangerously close to flinging her salad across the room.“I swear, Nathan only comes over to spend time with Chubbs.”I choke on my sip of iced tea. “Chubbs?”She nods. “My French bulldog. He’s—how do I put this—larger than life. And I mean larger. T
~~Julie~~We’re at a bridal boutique, and Carolina’s excitement could power a small city. Baby Valeria is strapped to her chest, a tiny, sleeping bundle of calm amidst the chaos her mother is stirring up. Carolina jumps from one gown to the next. Her enthusiasm is contagious, even though I’m already sweating from the sheer force of it.“Isn’t Valeria heavy?” I ask, watching as the baby shifts against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t need a break?”She waves me off. “No. You get used to it. It’s like she isn’t there.”“Oh.”Before I can say anything else, Carolina turns to me. She places a hand on my stomach.“You’re already showing!” she exclaims. “Know the sex yet?”I smile. “No, I was thinking we could work a surprise reveal into the wedding.”“Ohhhh!” she squeals. Her face lights up. “That’s magnificent. The family’s going to go ballistic.”“Careful so you don’t wake her,” I say, nodding toward Valeria, who stirs at the sound of her mother’s excitement.“Don’t worry. When she’s
~~Ryan O’Brien~~The cold splash of water shocks Ryan awake. His head is throbbing, each pulse like a mallet pounding against his skull. He groans, squinting against the morning light. Everywhere is bright. Too bright. It’s like a thousand needles piercing his eyes. His mouth feels dry and cottony. He tries to swallow, but his throat is parched. As he tries to sit up, the room spins. You’d think after two months, he’d get used to this feeling. But it hurts every single time."Aww," he says, clutching his head. "What the hell—""Don’t get up too fast."The voice is sharp, familiar, and unapologetic. He blinks away the fog until his mother’s silhouette sharpens before him. She’s standing tall and imposing, dressed in a cream suit that somehow looks both effortless and intimidating. In one hand, she holds a half-emptied glass of water, the one she’d poured on his face. In the other, two white pills."Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to kill me," Ryan says."What?”"Poison me."She sn