Shadows of the Past

I stood there, frozen, my glass of champagne hovering in midair. I could feel my mother’s eager eyes burning into the side of my face, her grip tightening around my arm as if to say, Smile, be grateful!

Perfect? Perfect for what, exactly? Working under Logan Sinclair, the guy who had single-handedly made my teenage years a living hell? And not just any job—his secretary?

Oh no. Nope. No way.

But before I could protest—before I could even think of a half-decent excuse—my mother chimed in with that sugary, sweet voice she used whenever she was trying to convince people we were a perfect, functional family.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Robert! Isn’t it, Isabelle? What a fantastic opportunity!”

Opportunity. That word made me want to scream. But instead, I forced the most unconvincing smile of my life; my mouth stretched so tight I thought my face might crack.

“Uh… yeah. Great,” I managed, though my voice sounded strained even to my own ears.

Logan, who had been standing a few feet away, must’ve caught the tail end of the conversation. His eyes flicked to mine. He hadn’t spoken yet, but the look on his face—was that surprise? Or was it amusement? Knowing Logan, it was probably both.

I could already hear the internal monologue in his head: Isabelle as my secretary? This should be fun.

My mind raced, trying to find an out—any out—but I was trapped. There was no way I could reject the offer without making a scene, and my mother was giving me that look. Her eyes screamed, Don’t mess this up.

I wanted to scream.

Robert, oblivious to my inner turmoil, clapped his hands together as if the decision were final. “Fantastic! Logan, you’ll show Isabelle the ropes, won’t you?”

Logan shifted, his lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

Happy. Sure. I could already feel the humiliation brewing.

“Well, that’s settled then!” Robert declared, as if we had just solved world hunger and not consigned me to months—no, possibly years—of working under the guy who used to make me cry in high school.

My mother beamed, clearly thrilled at the prospect of her daughter being folded into the Sinclair empire. “Isn’t this just perfect?” she cooed, patting my arm. “Logan and Isabelle, working together—it’s so lovely to see family supporting each other.”

Oh yeah, it was just lovely.

I glanced at Logan. There was something else in his eyes, something that almost looked like... remorse? But that couldn't be right. Logan didn’t do remorse.

“Well, I look forward to having you on board, Isabelle,” Logan said, his voice smooth and confident. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”

I bit back a sarcastic retort, instead nodding stiffly. “Yeah. Great.”

What could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Absolutely everything.

I could already picture the daily torment. I would be the butt of his inside jokes. I’d spill coffee on his papers. He’d “accidentally” forget to tell me about important meetings, and I’d be left scrambling like an idiot. All the while, he’d be sitting there in his sleek office chair, enjoying every moment of my misery.

Logan and I weren’t “family.” Not really. And the idea of working for him was about as appealing as walking barefoot across hot coals.

I waited for the right moment to pull my mother aside. I knew how she’d react—so I had to pick my words carefully. As Robert and Logan were distracted by some business talk, I grabbed my mother’s arm, pulling her gently towards a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Mum, I need to talk to you,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm.

She looked up at me with that sparkling, socialite smile plastered across her face. I hated that smile. It was the same one she used when she was about to bulldoze over my feelings.

“What is it, darling?” She asked, her eyes glancing back towards Robert and Logan. “This isn’t the best time—”

“Mum,” I interrupted, my voice sharp enough to get her attention. “I don’t want to work for Logan.”