《Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You》


 Chapter 1: Prologue

    <h4>Chapter 1: Prologue</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I stand before my new husband, my heart racing. The satin dress clings tightly to my skin, making it hard to breathe.


    "Matthew?" I whisper, my voice trembling. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I see the storm brewing in his eyes, the cold, unfeeling look.


    I''ve never seen someone look at me like this before. So angry. So full of hatred.


    "You wouldn''t force me to have sex with you tonight, would you? I thought you hated me," I plead meekly.


    He wouldn''t force me, no way. Matthew isn''t like that.


    For a moment, there''s nothing but silence, thick and suffocating. His gaze locks on me, hard, cold.


    Matthew wouldn''t hurt me. He''s not that kind of man. I keep repeating in my head as if it will change anything.


    "I do hate you," he snarls, the wordsced with venom, as he grabs the edges of my gown, his hands rough and relentless. With a sharp motion, he rips the delicate fabric down the center, leaving me naked and vulnerable.


    God, I am an idiot.


    A sudden burst of cold air hit my bare skin as the air conditioning unit sprang to life. The cool draft sent a shiver down my spine, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms and legs.


    I wrap my arms around myself and tremble, partly because I am cold but mostly because I am scared out of my wits.


    I had never imagined that on the night I had dreamed of for so long, Matthew would reveal the truth of his hatred for me.


    "The...then we shouldn''t do this tonight," I say. "We can figure it out in the morning."


    He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Oh no, Sarah. Just because you had your way up until now, you get to call the shots? I won''t let you. I am done being your little puppet. Tonight is our wedding night. We are here because of you, and tonight, I will get to call the shots."


    My throat tightens as I try to swallow, confusion clouding my mind. "I... I don''t understand," I whisper, my voice breaking. "What do you mean? Why would you want to sleep with me if you hate me?"


    He suddenly grabs my throat and pushes me toward the bed.


    The back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I tumble onto the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Matthew looms over me, his eyes dark and menacing.


    "Don''t act innocent now. You''ve been ying me for a fool all this time," he growls, his grip on my throat tightening. "Telling your Daddy that you love me so you could treat me like your little toy?"


    Tears sting my eyes as I try to shake my head, but his hold is too strong. "No, Matthew, please," I choke out. "I do love you. I''ve always loved you."


    "LIAR!" he roars, his face contorting with rage. "You never loved me. You only wanted to use me, to manipte me, because that''s who you are."


    I sob, my body trembling beneath him. How could he think such terrible things? How could he not see the truth of my feelings for him?


    "Matthew, stop," I plead. "You are hurting me."


    For a moment, he stills, his eyes searching mine. I see a flicker of the man I fell in love with, the man I thought I knew. But just as quickly, it vanishes, reced by a cold, hard stranger.


    "You don''t get to tell me what to do anymore," he says, his tone eerily calm. "Tonight, I''m going to show you what real pain feels like."


    With a brutal yank, he flips me onto my stomach, pinning me down with the weight of his body.


    "What are you doing?" I cry out, trying to get up, but he is too strong.


    "Making your dreamse true, ''wife,'' he murmurs in my ear. "This is what you always wanted, right?"


    My voice breaks into a whimper, and tears flow down my cheeks before I can hold them back. "Please, Matthew, don''t do this," I plead, "I am your wife. Can we please talk about this?"


    "Wife?" Matthew''sughter is dark and mocking. "This marriage means nothing to me. It''s all just a big joke."


    "That''s not true..." I try to defend our rtionship, but he yanks on my underwear with a loud rip.


    He is really going to do this. He will hurt me.


    "No, Matthew...stop. Let go of me," I cry and try to squirm out of his grasp, but he is too strong.


    I had spent countless hours fantasizing about these arms, picturing myself in his embrace and trying to imagine what it would feel like.


    "What''s wrong, Sarah? Isn''t this what you wanted? I thought you wanted me so bad that you had to convince your daddy dearest to force me into marrying you. Now, you will finally have what you''ve always wanted. So why try to push me away?" he hissed.


    "Not like this. I didn''t want it like this," I sob.


    Yes, he was right. I have done things. Terrible, stupid things to make him mine. And now, fate is punishing me for it.


    "I hate you," Matthew says as he forces my legs apart. "I hate you, Sarah. You''ve ruined my life, and now it''s my turn to ruin yours."


    I didn''t mean to ruin his life.


    That''s what I want to say, but no wordse out of my mouth.


    Because he isn''t wrong.


    The guilt overwhelms me, but nothinges out. He''s right. I ruined his rtionship with the one he truly loves. And now, he wants to make me pay the price for it.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable agony toe. Tears stream down my face, soaking into the sheets under me.


    I never thought it would end like this. I never thought the man I loved would be capable of such cruelty, such betrayal.


    "I will never love you, Sarah Wilson. Never," he growls.

 Chapter 2: Meet Cute?

    <h4>Chapter 2: Meet Cute?</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    One year ago...


    I walk straight into the lobby of Wilson Pharma, clutching the box containing Dad''s favorite turkey club sandwich.


    "Good afternoon, Miss Wilson," the receptionist chirps with practiced cheerfulness.


    I offer a distracted smile. "Hi Donna. Is my father in his office?"


    "He is. Shall I let him know you''re here?"


    "No need," I say, already moving towards the elevators. "I''ll surprise him."


    Donna nods and looks down at her papers. She knows better than to argue. I have the free reign of Dad''spany. I am, after all, expected to take it over once my father passes.


    But as soon as I reach Dad''s office, I freeze in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat.


    A man is standing by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the city skyline. Even from behind, the breadth of his shoulders and the confident set of his stance make my pulse quicken.


    Who is this man? I''ve never seen him before.


    As if sensing my presence, he turns. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world blurs.


    God, he is gorgeous. Devastatingly so.


    Those dark, brooding eyes that seem to pierce right through me. The sharp angle of his jaw, softened by just a hint of stubble. His full lips, currently pressed into a hard line that speaks of barely restrained intensity.


    I want to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. To trace the strong lines of his face. To feel the heat of his skin beneath my palms.


    My father''s voice snaps me back to reality. "Sarah! What a lovely surprise."


    I tear my gaze away from the man, stering on a bright smile. "Hi, Dad. I brought you lunch."


    As I move closer to my father''s desk, I''m hyper-aware of the man''s presence. I try to act casual, hoping he can''t hear my heart thundering against my chest.


    "That''s very thoughtful of you, sweetheart," Dad says,pletely oblivious to my inner turmoil. "This here is Matthew Jameson. He just started as the head of the finance department."


    I turn back to Matthew, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Oh. It''s nice to meet you, Mr. Jameson."


    His eyes narrow slightly as he regards me. When he speaks, his deep voice makes my stomach tremble. "Nice to meet you too, Miss Wilson."


    I hate the formality. I want to hear my first namee out of those beautiful lips, but I can hardly say that in front of my Dad!


    Matthew clears his throat. "If you''ll excuse me, I will head back to my office now."


    With a nod to my father, Matthew strides past me. The scent of his cologne lingers, spicy and masculine. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to reach out and stop him.


    As the door closes behind him, I release a shaky breath. My skin tingles when he brushes past me.


    I want him.


    God help me, I want him more than I''ve ever wanted anything.


    I force a smile for Dad''s benefit, but my mind is racing. That moment when our eyes met... there was something there. A spark, a connection. I''m sure of it.


    "Sarah? Are you alright?" Dad''s voice breaks through my jumbling thoughts.


    "Oh, yes. Sorry, just a bit distracted." Iugh, aiming for nonchnce. "Actually, I was wondering if Mr. Jameson might be able to show me what he does here? I''d love to learn more about the...um...financial aspects of thepany."


    Please, god...don''t let my father realize I am hot for his employee.


    Dad beams, pride evident in his voice. "That''s my girl, always taking an interest. I''m sure Matthew wouldn''t mind. Let me call him and tell him you are on your way to his office."


    As Dad reaches for the phone, my heart races.


    And then, a few minutester, I find myself standing inside Matthew''s stuffy office.


    I close the door behind me and walk in confidently. Matthew stands behind his desk, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. Those dark eyes bore into mine, and I feel stripped bare under his intense scrutiny.


    What will be the expression in his eyes if I was standing in front of him,pletely naked?


    "Miss Wilson," he says, his voice low and controlled. "Your father said you wanted to learn about the financial aspects of thepany."


    I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Yes, that''s right."


    He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."


    I sit down on the chair and smile at him. His cold demeanor doesn''t bother me. I can break through that tough exterior, I am sure of it.


    Matthew sits down, not smiling back. "So, what exactly do you want to know?" he asks.


    I lick my lips, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Well, I... I''m curious about your role here. What does being the head of finance mean?"


    A flicker of amusement crosses his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. "It involves managing thepany''s financial health. Budgeting, forecasting, risk assessment. Ensuring that the numbers align with the overall strategy."


    I have no idea what the hell he is talking about. I''m too focused on the way his lips move, the deep tone of his voice, the subtle flex of his forearms as he gestures.


    "I see," I murmur. "And what made you be so interested in...um...all of that?"


    He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I have a talent for it. For seeing patterns, predicting oues. For making tough decisions when necessary. I wanted a job I will be good at. This is a greatpany so why not?"


    "I bet you''re very good at getting what you want," I say, trying to sound as smooth as I can be.


    His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening. "I am. You don''t seem like the kind of person who would be interested in finance. Is there a reason for your interest in learning from me?"


    I shrug. "I am expected to take over thispany, so I thought I should start here."


    Way to go, Sarah! I praise myself in my head foring up with this great excuse to be close to this man.


    "I see," he says quietly. "Well, I am kind of mmed at the moment. As a new employee, I am still working on organizing everything so I am afraid today is not a good day for me to teach you."


    "Tomorrow then!" I exim and stand up.


    Matthew furrows his brows. "Well, actually..."


    "I will be here tomorrow," I say quickly and run out of his office before he has the chance to say no.


    ~-~


    The next day, I find myself back at Dad''s office. But before I can reach his office, I spot Matthew.


    He''s leaning against a desk, talking to a blonde woman. She''s gorgeous, all legs and perfect teeth. One of those sexy professional types. Jealousy res hot in my chest as I watch her touch his arm,ughing at something he''s said.


    I clench my fists, willing Matthew to look my way.


    He doesn''t.


    "Focus on me," I whisper, as if I couldmand his attention through sheer force of will. "I''m right here."


    The blonde says something, and Matthew''s face softens. He almost smiles. It''s an expression I''ve never seen on him, and it tears at me. That smile should be mine.


    I turn away, unable to watch anymore. I walk out of the building and frantically make a call.


    "Ba? I need you. Now."


    An hourter, I''m curled up on my best friend Reba''s couch, spilling everything.


    "He barely looked at me, Bec. And then today, with that... that woman. You should have seen how she was fawning all over him."


    Reba''s eyes widen. "Wow, Sarah. You''ve got it bad, huh? You only met him once, Sarah."


    I nod miserably. "I know that! But I can''t stop thinking about him. It''s like... like he''s gotten under my skin."


    "Well, honey, you know what they say. The best ones are always a challenge." Reba grins, nudging me. "So, what''s the n?"


    "n?" I blink at her.


    "Oh,e on. You''re Sarah Wilson." She leans in, eyes sparkling. "You are going to make Matthew Jameson fall head over heels for you, aren''t you?"


    A slow smile spreads across my face. Reba''s right. I''m not giving up that easily.


    "Yes," I say, sitting up straighter.


    I lean back into the plush cushions of Reba''s designer couch, running my fingers along the soft fabric. It''s the same brand my mother insisted on having in our summer home in the Hamptons. The familiarity of luxury soothes me, reminding me of my ce in the world.


    I am Sarah Wilson, and I always get what I want.


    "Where do we start?" I muse, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against my chin.


    "We?" Reba raises an eyebrow.


    "Yes, we. You will help me get the man of my dreams. Daddy''s always said that Wilsons don''t wait for opportunities, we create them."


    Reba nods enthusiastically. "Right! And you''ve never had trouble getting what you want before. Remember that internship at Vogue? You made it happen."


    I smile, recalling how I''d convinced Daddy to make a few calls. It had been so easy. "You''re right, Bec. Matthew''s just another goal to achieve. And I always achieve my goals."


    "That''s my girl," Reba beams, reaching for her tablet. "Let''s brainstorm. What do we know about Matthew?"


    I close my eyes, picturing his strong jawline, those piercing eyes. "He is hot."


    Reba rolls her eyes. "What else?"


    "Nothing," I say, sighing.


    "Seriously?" Reba gives me a disbelief look. "And you think he is your perfect man?"


    "I have a feeling," I say, shrugging again.


    Reba shakes her head. "Alright. A heart wants what a hear wants I guess. Oh, I know! What if we arrange some sort of business event? Something where you can showcase your connections, impress him with your influence?"


    A n begins to form in my mind. "Daddy''s charity g ising up. Matthew will be there, I am sure. It''s the perfect opportunity to show him what I bring to the table."


    Reba''s eyes light up. "Oh, that''s brilliant! We''ll get you the most stunning dress, make sure you''re the belle of the ball. He won''t be able to take his eyes off you."


    I nod, feeling a surge of confidence. "And once I have his attention, I''ll make sure he sees how great I am. I''m exactly what an ambitious man like Matthew needs."


    "He''d be a fool not to see it," Reba agrees, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "And if he doesn''t, well... there are ways to make him see."


    I meet her gaze, seeing the fierce loyalty there. "You always have my back, don''t you, Bec?"


    "Always," she says firmly.


    A familiar warmth spreads through me. This is how it should be. The world bending to my will, everything falling into ce.


    Matthew Jameson doesn''t stand a chance.

 Chapter 3: Call Me Sarah

    <h4>Chapter 3: Call Me Sarah</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    The night of the charity g arrives, and I''m a vision in a shimmering emerald gown that clings to my curves like a second skin. My auburn hair falls in soft waves around my face, and my lips are painted a daring shade of red. I am not always 100 percent confident in how I look, but tonight, I feel great.


    Daddy escorts me into the ballroom, and I feel the crowd''s eyes turn towards us.


    But there''s only one pair of eyes I care about tonight.


    I scan the room, my heart racing in anticipation. And then, I see him.


    Matthew is standing near the bar, his tall frame impably dressed in a tailored tuxedo. He''s talking to a group of men, his expression serious, his posturemanding. Even from across the room, his presence is maic.


    I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders. It''s showtime.


    I look at my father and smile. "Do you mind if I leave you to mingle?"


    He smiles back at me admiringly. "Of course I don''t mind, sweetheart. You don''t need your old dad following you around. Go ahead and have fun."


    "Thank you," I say and give him a kiss on the cheek before making my way toward Matthew.


    As I draw closer, I catch snippets of his conversation. He''s discussing thepany''stest financial projections.


    Good. Let them see how brilliant he is. Let them see the man I''ve chosen.


    I pause a few feet away, waiting for a break in the conversation. When ites, I step forward, a dazzling smile on my lips.


    "Matthew," I say, my voice a purr. "I''m so d you could make it tonight."


    Matthew turns, his dark eyes locking with mine. For a moment, I see a flicker of surprise in his gaze, quickly reced by cool appraisal. His eyes sweep over me, taking in my appearance, and I feel a thrill of triumph at the subtle appreciation I see there.


    "Miss Wilson," he says, inclining his head. "You look lovely this evening."


    "Thank you," I reply, my smile widening. "I was hoping I might steal you away for a moment? There''s something I''d like to discuss."


    The men around us exchange nces, a few of them smirking knowingly. I ignore them, keeping my eyes on Matthew.


    He hesitates for a beat, then nods. "Of course. If you''ll excuse me, gentlemen."


    I lead him away from the group, towards a quieter corner of the ballroom. My heart pounds as I feel the heat of his presence behind me, the subtle scent of his cologne teasing my senses.


    When we''re alone, I turn to face him, looking up at him through myshes. "I wanted to thank you for taking the time to meet with me the other day. I know you''re very busy."


    "It''s no trouble," he says, his expression guarded. "Though I must admit, I''m still not entirely sure what you need to discuss with me, Miss Wilson."


    "Please call me Sarah," I quickly remind him.


    "That wouldn''t be appropriate, Miss Wilson," he says curtly.


    His formality stings, but I refuse to let it keep me down. This was a mission.


    I step closer, my eyes never leaving his. "I don''t mind and I know my father won''t mind either, Matthew. But I prefer us to be friends so I can learn from you. I want to be prepared for my role in thepany."


    "And you believe I''m the best person to teach you?" There''s a challenge in his tone, an undercurrent of skepticism.


    I lift my chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I do. Daddy said you were talented and reliable."


    Something flickers in his eyes, gone too quickly for me to understand. "I see," he says.


    Gosh...what do I need to do to open him up more?


    I take another step closer, so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. The scent of his cologne is intoxicating, making my head spin. I have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.


    "Matthew," I say softly, my voice almost a whisper. "I know we''ve only just met, but I feel like there''s a connection between us. Don''t you feel it too?"


    His jaw clenches, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something in his gaze - desire, perhaps? But it''s gone as quickly as it appeared, reced by that cool, unreadable expression.


    "Miss Wilson," he says, his voice low and controlled. "I think you may be misinterpreting the situation. I am your father''s employee, nothing more."


    His words are like a p in the face, but I refuse to let them deter me. I know what I want, and I always get what I want.


    I reach out, cing my hand on his arm. The fabric of his tuxedo jacket is smooth beneath my fingers. "But it could be more," I murmur, looking up at him through myshes. "We could be so good together, Matthew. Can''t you see that?"


    He stares down at my hand on his arm, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches up and removes my hand, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me.


    "I am seeing someone else," he says quietly.


    I blink, his words hitting me like a physical blow. "What?"


    Matthew releases my wrist, stepping back. "I have a girlfriend, Miss Wilson. I''m not avable for whatever it is you''re proposing."


    A hot flush of anger and humiliation rises in my cheeks. How dare he reject me? Doesn''t he know who I am?


    "Who is she?" I demand, my voice rising. "That blonde I saw you with at the office?"


    His eyes narrow. "My personal life is none of your concern."


    "It is if it interferes with what I want," I snap, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.


    Matthew''s expression hardens, his eyes turning to ice. "Let me be very clear, Miss Wilson. There is no ''us''. There never will be. I suggest you focus your attention elsewhere."


    With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, disappearing into the crowd.


    I stand there, trembling with rage and embarrassment.


    No...I won''t give up just yet, I decide. I will steal him from her if I have to.


    Little did I know pursuing him like that would be the biggest mistake of my life.

 Chapter 4: What Did You Do?

    <h4>Chapter 4: What Did You Do?</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Back to wedding night...


    I''m frozen in terror, naked and trapped under Matthew''s muscr frame. His dark eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. My heart pounds as he roughly spreads my legs, his intentions clear.


    "Please, Matthew," I whimper. "Don''t hurt me. Please."


    He doesn''t respond, just continues to re down at me with so much rage and disgust that it makes me want to disappear. I try again, desperation creeping into my tone.


    "Matthew, I''m begging you. This isn''t you. Don''t do something you''ll regret."


    A harshugh escapes him. "Regret? The only thing I regret is letting you force me into this so called marriage."


    His words cut deep, but I push past the pain. I have to reach him somehow. "I know I made you lose the one you love, but this won''t solve anything. Please, just talk to me."


    For a moment, I see a flicker of something softer in his eyes. But then it''s gone, reced by that awful coldness again.


    "There''s nothing left to say," he snarls.


    As he shifts his weight, pressing me further into the mattress, panic overwhelms me. This can''t be happening. Not on my wedding night. I dreamed about making love to him endlessly. It was a distant fantasy now.


    "Matthew, no!" I cry out, struggling against his iron grip. "You''re scaring me!"


    His eyes sh with a fury I''ve never seen before, dark and bottomless. "Scare you?" Matthew hisses, his face inches from mine. "You haven''t begun to know fear, Sarah. Not like the fear of realizing everything¡ªevery goddamn thing¡ªwas a lie."


    I flinch at the venom in his voice, my heart racing. "Yes, I lied to get what I wanted but my feelings for you aren''t lies," I plead, tears streaming down my face. "I love you, Matthew. I still do. Why won''t you give me a chance?"


    "Love?" He spits the word like poison. "You don''t know the meaning of the word. You''re nothing but a spoiled little girl ying games with people''s lives."


    He is not wrong about me ying games but still. Each word feels like a dagger to my heart. I want to defend myself, to make him understand, but terror has stolen my voice.


    Suddenly, his hand is at my throat, fingers digging into my skin. I gasp, wing at his wrist as he bears down on me.


    "Did you think I will just forget about it?" Matthew growls, his grip tightening. "Did you think you could manipte me forever and not suffer the consequences?"


    I struggle to breathe, to speak. "Matthew... please..." I manage to choke out.


    But he''s beyond reason now, consumed by his rage and betrayal. "I trusted you once," he snarls. "I let you in, and you made fool of me."


    Sobs wrack my body. What have I done? How did we end up here? My mind races, searching desperately for a way to reach him, to stop this nightmare before it''s toote.


    "I...I''m so...sorry," I manage to say.


    Matthew''s eyes sh with a dangerous glint. "I''ll show you real pain," he growls, his voice low and menacing.


    His hands move to my hips, gripping bruisingly tight. I feel the heat of his body as he positions himself between my legs. Terror floods through me, my heart pounding so hard I think it might burst.


    "No...," I choke, still struggling to breathe.


    For a moment, he hesitates, and I see a flicker of something¡ªdoubt, perhaps?¡ªin his eyes.


    I can''t stop the flood of tears now, my body shaking uncontrobly. "Please," I beg again, my words choked and broken.


    Suddenly, Matthew releases me, pushing himself away as if burned. He stands at the edge of the bed, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.


    "You''re not even worth it," he spits, disgust dripping from every word. "I''d rather never touch anyone again than soil myself with you."


    His words make me flinch, and I curl into myself, trying to disappear.


    Without another word, Matthew storms toward the door. It ms behind him with such force that the walls seem to shake.


    I''m left alone, naked and trembling, the echo of his fury lingering in the air.


    How did my dreams of love turn into this nightmare?


    I wrap my arms around myself, but nothing can shield me from the cold reality of what just happened¡ªor what almost happened.


    ~-~


    I don''t know how or when I fell asleep, but when I opened my eyes next, it was already morning.


    The memories of my wedding nighte flooding back and I force myself not to start crying again.


    Blinking my tears back, I turn to my side, expecting to see Matthew''s sleeping form next to me. But the bed is empty and neatly made, showing no signs of having been disturbed.


    It is clear that he had not spent the night here with me after all. A hollow feeling settles in my chest as I realize something. I was alone on the first day of my marriage.


    So much for marrying my dream guy.


    I drag myself out of bed and look at my torn wedding gown crumpled on the floor.


    I sigh, pick it up, and put it aside, unwilling to look at it.


    I force myself to shower and dress, going through the motions like a robot.


    But when I make my way downstairs, a sense of dread settles in my stomach. How can I face Matthew after what happenedst night?


    The house is eerily quiet. I find myself alone in the huge living room.


    My father gave me this house as a wedding gift so I could start my life with Matthew. But it doesn''t feel like a home right now.


    Suddenly, a door ms somewhere. I jump, my heart leaping into my throat. Footsteps approach, and then Matthew is there, standing in the doorway. He looks haggard, his eyes bloodshot and his clothes rumpled.


    For a long moment, we just stare at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.


    "Matthew..." I begin, but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.


    "Princess is awake," he says, his voice rough.


    "We need to talk aboutst night," I say softly, gathering my courage.


    Matthew''s shoulders tense. "There''s nothing to talk about."


    "Yes, there is," I insist, taking a step toward him. "What happened...it can''t happen again. We need to-"


    "What?" he snaps, whirling to face me. "We need to what, Sarah? Pretend everything is fine? y happy newlyweds while you continue to lie and manipte me?"


    His words are like a p. I flinch back, tears stinging my eyes. "That''s not what I want. I''m trying to fix this, Matthew. I want to make things right."


    A harshugh escapes him. "Right. Because you''ve been so concerned with doing the right thing up until now."


    Someone clears their throat, and we both turn to look.


    Marishka stands in the doorway, looking at Matthew and me with worried eyes. "I wanted to check and see if you two are ready for breakfast," she says.


    Marishka is my nanny who raised me since childhood. She doesn''t have any other family. While I loved my own mother, too, Marishka had a special ce in my heart. Which is why I insisted she stay with me even after I moved into my marital home.


    I force a smile for Marishka''s sake. "Thank you, Marishka. We''ll be there in a moment."


    She hesitates, clearly sensing the tension between Matthew and me. But after a moment, she nods and retreats, closing the door softly behind her.


    I turn back to Matthew, my heart in my throat. "Let''s sit down for breakfast, and we can..."


    His jaw clenches. "No thanks. I don''t think I can keep my food down if I have to look at you while I eat."


    "I know what I did was wrong," I say, my voice shaking slightly. "But I did it because I love you, Matthew."


    He scoffs and starts to turn away, but I reach out, grabbing his arm. "Please, Matthew. Just eat breakfast with me. We are already married, so what''s the point of fighting?"


    He yanks his arm from my grasp, his eyes shing dangerously. "I am going out. Don''t expect me home before midnight."


    With that, he storms out, mming the door behind him. I flinch at the sound.


    I sigh and walk over to the living room alone.


    My legs feel shaky as I sit down, my heart still racing from the confrontation with Matthew. Staring nkly ahead, I try to process everything that''s happened in thest 24 hours.


    A gentle hand on my shoulder startles me out of my spiraling thoughts. I look up to see Marishka''s kind, weathered face, her eyes filled with concern.


    "Sweetheart, what''s wrong?" she asks softly, taking a seat beside me.


    I open my mouth to respond, but only a choked sob escapes. Marishka pulls me into her arms without hesitation, cradling me against her like she did when I was a little girl. The dam inside me breaks and I weep into her shoulder, my body shaking with the force of my cries.


    "Shh, it''s alright," she soothes, stroking my hair. "Tell me what''s wrong, little one."


    "I''ve ruined everything," I whisper brokenly. "He hates me, Marishka. My own husband despises me."


    She''s quiet for a long moment, just holding me close. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle but firm.


    "What did you do, Sarah?" she asks.

 Chapter 5: Where Are You?

    <h4>Chapter 5: Where Are You?</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    "Sarah? Talk to me," Marishka says, shaking me gently.


    I look up at her. "Nothing. It''s nothing I can change now. And I''d rather not tell you," I say.


    The truth is, I don''t want Marishka to know. Marishka still looks at me like how she did when I was a little girl. Pure and innocent. If she knows about the things I did to get what I want...she will be disappointed. She might even start to hate me like Matthew does.


    I can''t bear the thought of disappointing Marishka. She loved me. Possibly more than my own parents.


    "Please, Marishka," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Just let it go. I can handle this on my own."


    Marishka''s brow furrows with concern, but she nods slowly, respecting my wishes even as worry etches itself into the lines of her face. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and for a moment, I allow myself to sink into thefort of her arms, the warmth of her love enveloping me.


    "Alright, dear. Tell me when you are ready, okay?" she says. "You know you can trust me, right?"


    I nod silently before standing up. "I better go get ready."


    She furrows her brows. "Get ready for what?"


    "I need to go see Daddy at thepany. He wants to sign everything over before he leaves for France," I reply.


    Marishka brightens at that. "Oh! He is doing that today, is he?"


    I smile for the first time. "Yes. I told him there was no rush, but he says he can''t wait to hand over all the responsibilities to me and retire in Paris."


    She smiles. "Then you better go."


    I head upstairs to get dressed, but when I stand in front of the mirror, I freeze.


    There is an ugly bruise forming on my throat.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory ofst night gues my mind, unwee and vivid: Matthew''s handsome face twisted into a mask of fury as he was choking mest night.


    I choose a soft cashmere turtleneck. The high cor conceals the ugliness. My father can never know how Matthew had hurt me. He will probably have a heart attack!


    The drive to thepany building is short, so when I finally arrive, I take a deep breath and step out of the car.


    My father greets me with a warm smile and a hug. "Sarah, my dear, you look lovely as always," he says, his voice filled with pride.


    I force a smile, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. "Thank you, Daddy."


    He pulls back and narrows his eyes. "What''s wrong?"


    I let out a nervousugh. "What do you mean? Nothing''s wrong."


    My father studies my face intently, his eyes searching mine. "Sarah, I know you better than anyone. Something is bothering you."


    I look away, unable to meet his eyes. "It''s nothing, Daddy. Nothing for you to worry about."


    He frowns, unconvinced. "Don''t lie to me, Sarah. This is the day after your wedding. You should look happy, and yet..."


    "Please, Dad...just...let it go, okay?" I snap.


    I regret being so harsh instantly. I soften my expression, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I''m sorry, Daddy. I didn''t mean to be short with you. I am fine, really."


    He nods slowly, his eyes still filled with concern. "Alright, sweetheart. But remember, I''m always here for you, no matter what."


    I swallow back the lump in my throat, forcing another smile. "I know. Thank you."


    We make our way to his office.


    "Here it is, Sarah. The papers for thepany. I have already signed everything, and after you sign, it will all be yours," he says, his voice thick with emotion.


    I stare down at the papers. This is another thing I''ve always wanted. So why do I feel so hollow inside?


    "Are you sure I deserve this, Daddy?" I whisper.


    "Of course you do, Sarah! You are my only child. And I am sure with Matthew by your side, you will take good care of thispany," he says firmly.


    I flinch at the mention of Matthew''s name, my heart clenching painfully. If only my father knew the truth. But I can''t bear to shatter his illusions, to see the disappointment and worry cloud his eyes.


    "Thank you, Daddy," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I''ll do my best to make you proud."


    With a shaky hand, I reach for the pen, my fingers trembling as I sign my name on the dotted line.


    "Congrattions, my dear," my father says, his smile wide and genuine. "I know you''ll do great things."


    I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The papers blur before my eyes, and I blink back the tears that threaten to fall. This should be a moment of triumph, of celebration, but all I feel is a hollow ache in my chest.


    Because I have no one to share it with.


    "Where is Matthew? I expected you two toe together this afternoon," Dad inquires.


    "He...he had some business to take care of," I lie, forcing a brittle smile. "You know how busy he is."


    My father nods, epting my exnation without question. "Of course, of course. Well, I''m sure he''ll be thrilled to hear the good news."


    I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Yeah, I''m sure he will be," I murmur.


    My father ps his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "This calls for a celebration! Let''s have dinner tonight. You, me, your mother, and Matthew."


    I suddenly feel panicked. "Um...I don''t know if he can make it tonight."


    Dad''s expression darkened. "Why not?"


    My mind races as I try toe up with an excuse.


    "He...he mentioned he has to see some friends tonight," I say.


    Dad frowns, his brow furrowing. "Without you?"


    "Um...an old friend. Someone I don''t know. I wasn''t going to go with him since...um...I don''t know this person very well yet," I ramble on.


    Dad looks at me suspiciously. "Surely he can reschedule to have a celebratory dinner with his new bride and his family, Sarah. This is a special asion. I want us all to be together to celebrate your sess."


    I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I''ll talk to him, Daddy."


    He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See that you do. If not, I can talk to him for you."


    "No, no. Let me," I say quickly.


    "Alright. Well, I won''t keep you here anymore. This is only the day after your wedding. I am sure Matthew will want you home," he says.


    If only that was true.


    I leave his office with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my stomach churning with dread.


    How am I going to convince Matthew toe to this dinner? How can I sit across from him, pretending everything is fine when the bruises on my throat throb with every breath?


    And to top it all, Matthew announced he won''t be home until midnight this morning!


    I take a deep breath as I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dial Matthew''s number. The line rings once, twice, three times before he finally picks up.


    "What is it, Sarah?" he snaps.


    I flinch at his tone, my heart sinking. "I...I was just wondering where you are," I say softly, trying to keep my voice steady.


    "I told you this morning I''m out with friends," he replies impatiently. In the background, I can hearughter and music, the clink of sses, and the hum of conversation.


    "Which friends?" I ask hesitantly, dreading the answer.


    There''s a pause, and I can practically see the anger shing in Matthew''s eyes. "None of your damn business."


    I swallow hard, my throat tight. "I just...I thought maybe you coulde home early tonight. My father wants us to have a celebratory dinner together. He just signed thepany over to me and-"


    "Oh, congratu-fuckingtions, Sarah," Matthew interrupts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I''m very happy for you, but I have ns. I''m not going to drop everything just because Daddy dearest snaps his fingers."


    Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. "Please, Matthew. This is important to me. To us. Can''t you just-"


    "No, I can''t," he cuts me off again, his tone final. "I''m not in the mood to y happy family with you and your parents tonight. You''ll just have to make my excuses."


    "But Matthew-"


    The line goes dead before I can finish my sentence.


    Fuck it. I am not going to just ept this.


    I call him again.


    "WHAT?" he barks on the other line.


    "Where are you, Matthew? If you are noting home, I am going toe to pick you up instead," I dere.


    "Don''t you dare!" Matthew snarls into the phone. "I told you, I have ns. I''m not your fuckingpdog, Sarah. You can''t just order me around."


    I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "I am your wife, Matthew."


    "Wife?" he scoffs.


    Here we go again.


    "Where the hell are you, Matthew?" I repeat, my voice growing louder. "Just tell me where you are, or else-"


    "Or else what?" he interrupts, his tone dripping with sarcasm.


    "I''ll start contacting every one of your friends. Surely someone must know where you are hiding," I threaten, fully aware that this would not sit well with Matthew.


    "For fuck''s sake, Sarah..."


    "Are you going to tell me, or should I start making calls?" I ask.


    There''s a long, tense pause on the other end of the line. I hear someone giggle in the background.


    "Fine," Matthew finally grits out, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "I''m at the Crimson Lounge on 5th Street. But I''m warning you, Sarah, you''re not going to like what you find here."


    "I''ll be there in 20 minutes," I say.


    "Suit yourself," Matthew replies coldly before the line goes dead.


    I stare at my phone for a long moment.


    The Crimson Lounge...he is at a goddamn strip club instead of being home with his wife.


    I scurry inside the car and tell the driver to drive me to the club.

 Chapter 6: Anger and Arousal

    <h4>Chapter 6: Anger and Arousal</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    The neon sign above the strip club door isn''t on. The club was clearly closed, but I burst through the door anyway. Thankfully, the door was unlocked.


    My eyes dart wildly, ignoring the staff members'' curious nces, my mind focused on one goal: finding my unruly husband.


    A middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair and hard eyes approaches. "We''re not open yet, sweetheart," she says. "Come back in another four hours."


    "Where is he?" I demand, my voice sharper than I intend. The woman''s eyebrows shoot up.


    "Whoa there, sweetheart," she says. "Who exactly are you looking for, and what''s your business with him?"


    I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to scream. "Matthew," I manage. "Matthew Jameson. I need to see him now."


    The owner''s eyes narrow. "And who might you be?" she asks, her voiceced with suspicion.


    I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I''m his wife," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Sarah Wilson-Jameson. And I don''t care what he''s told you or anyone else. I have every right to see my husband."


    The woman''s expression shifts, and I see pity on her face. She sighs, running a hand through her graying hair. "Look," she begins, her voice softening slightly. "I don''t know what''s going on between you two, but maybe this isn''t the best¡ª"


    "Tell me where he is," I interrupt curtly."


    She hesitates for a moment longer, then nods reluctantly. "Alright," she concedes. "He''s in booth number 5. But I''m warning you, you might want to take a deep breath and calm down before you go in there."


    "Thanks," I cut her off abruptly before striding toward the booth.


    "Fucking asshole," I whisper to myself, clenching my fists at my sides.


    What will I find behind that curtain? The thought of Matthew with another woman makes my chest tighten painfully.


    I reach the booth, my hand trembling as I pull the curtain aside, my eyes flying open to confront the scene inside.


    Of course.


    Matthew is lounging on a plush leather couch, his posture rxed and arrogant. A woman with ck hair and big breasts is draped across hisp, her long legs intertwined with his.


    My stomach lurches, but I take a deep breath. I need to stay calm.


    Matthew''s dark eyes meet mine, and I watch as his expression shifts. The initial sh of surprise quickly morphs into a smug grin that sends ice through my veins.


    "I told you you won''t like what you will see here," Matthew drawls.


    I ignore him and lock eyes with the woman. "Get off my husband''sp. NOW."


    The stripper shifts uneasily.


    "Stay right where you are, sweetheart," Matthew orders, his voice sharp with irritation. His arm tightens possessively around her waist, and I feel a surge of nausea.


    So this is how you want to y, Matthew.


    My heart pounds, but I force myself to stand tall. "Look at me," I say to the woman, my voice low but firm. "Get..the fuck...off my...goddamned husband."


    "I said don''t move," Matthew snarls at the woman, but his control is slipping. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the tightening of his jaw.


    The woman scrambles off Matthew''sp. "I am just going to let you handle this, Matty," she mutters.


    "Great idea. You are smarter than you look," I drawl, inching toward my beloved husband.


    As she rushes past me, I re at Matthew.


    "Well," Matthew snarls. "You think you''ve won something here?"


    "I thought you were with friends, Matthew. You have the audacity to call me a liar when you straight up lie to me on the phone?" I use.


    Matthew rolls his eyes. "I didn''t lie. I was with friends. They left. And L here is a very good friend of mine who happens to give excellentp dances."


    I let out a harshugh, the sound grating against my own ears. "Oh, I''m sure she does, Matthew. Anyway, I am not here to argue with you. I am here to take you back home so you can get ready for dinner with my parents."


    Matthew leans back on the couch. "No."


    I stare at Matthew, my heart pounding in my chest. "What do you mean, ''no''?" I demand, my voice rising.


    Matthew''s dark eyes bore into mine, a cruel smile ying on his lips. "I mean exactly what I said, Sarah. I''m not going anywhere with you. Now, be a good wife and tell L toe back here and finish herpdance."


    I take a step toward him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "You are being immature, Matthew."


    Heughs at that. "That''s riching from you. Shall I remind you of all the immature things you''ve done to get us here, Sarah?"


    I freeze, Matthew''s words hitting me like a p in the face. As much as I want to deny it, to scream at him that he''s wrong, I can''t. Because deep down, I know there''s truth in what he says.


    Matthew watches me, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it, Sarah?" he sneers. "How does it feel to be humiliated?"


    I sigh. "Fine. You want yourpdance? You will get it. But you areing with me right after," I dere, then storm out of the booth to find Matthew''s ''friend.''


    It doesn''t take me long before I spot L by the bar. "Hey, you!" I call out.


    L turns to face me, her eyes wide. "Yes?"


    "Matthew wants you back in the booth," I say, keeping my tone neutral though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to let loose.


    L hesitates, her gaze darting between me and the bar. "I don''t think that''s a good idea," she says nervously.


    "I will pay you extra," I tell her.


    L nces around, clearly weighing her options, before sighing. "Fine," she mutters, grabbing her drink and downing the rest of it in one gulp. She brushes past me without another word, heading toward the booth.


    I follow close behind, my jaw clenched so tightly it feels like my teeth might crack.


    When we arrive, Matthew is lounging in the same position, his arrogant smirk firmly in ce. He looks past L to me, clearly enjoying the show.


    "You''re really something, Sarah," he drawls. "I''ll give you that."


    "Save it," I snap, standing by the entrance of the booth. "You have five minutes to enjoy this little charade, Matthew. Then we''re leaving."


    Matthew shrugs as if my words mean nothing to him and motions for L to sit.


    She hesitates. "This is weird," she says as Matthew hands her a wad of cash.


    "Go ahead, girl. Give him what he wants," I reply tly, my voiceced with sarcasm. "This is exactly how I envisioned spending my afternoon¡ªwatching my husband grope a stripper in a dingy booth."


    L stands up. "Sorry, Matty. You need to figure this out on your own. I don''t want to get in the middle of this."


    "Smart girl," I snap, stepping forward. "You''re free to go, L. Keep the money."


    "I''m out," L mutters, clutching her money and disappearing through the curtain.


    As soon as she''s gone, I stand over him, my fists clenched at my sides. "Well, ''Matty''. It looks like you won''t be getting yourpdance today. Now, get up."


    He suddenly grabs me and roughly pulls me toward him.


    I gasp as Ind hard on his thighs, his strong hands gripping my waist. My heart races as I feel the heat of his body pressed against mine.


    "Let me go," I hiss, trying to wriggle free. But his hold only tightens, his fingers digging possessively into my flesh.


    "You wanted my attention, sweetheart? Well, now you''ve got it," Matthew growls.


    I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "This isn''t a game, Matthew. I''m serious. We need to leave."


    "Oh, I think we''re exactly where we need to be," he replies, his voice low and dangerous. One hand slides up my back to tangle in my hair, jerking my head back. I whimper at the sharp tug.


    "Always trying to control me, aren''t you Sarah?" he snarls against my throat, his stubble scraping my sensitive skin. "When are you going to learn that I won''t be tamed?"


    "I just want us to be happy," I whisper brokenly. "I want my husband back."


    Matthewughs a harsh, bitter sound. "You never had me, princess. You had an illusion. A lie you told yourself."


    His mouth crashes down on mine in a punishing kiss, his tongue forcing its way past my lips to plunder and possess. I moan helplessly, my body betraying me as I melt against him.


    He bites down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I cry out in pain and shock as he shoves me roughly back against the couch cushions. My head spins from the sudden movement and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.


    Matthew stands up and straightens his jacket. "Well then. Let''s get this stupid dinner over with."


    I stare up at him, my chest heaving, anger and arousal making my head spin.


    I slowly rise to my feet, swiping at the trickle of blood on my lip with the back of my hand, refusing to cry.

 Chapter 7: The Bruise

    <h4>Chapter 7: The Bruise</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    On the way home, I keep thinking about Matthew''s hands on L''s body. My fingers clench in myp, nails biting into my palms. I don''t know how I controlled myself from hitting him and then her.


    Matthew sits beside me, a statue carved from ice and stone. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I want to scream, to shatter this brittle quiet, but the words catch in my throat.


    "Nice turtleneck." Matthew''s mocking voice breaks the silence. "Did you borrow that from your grandma''s grave?"


    Is he serious right now?


    I turn to face him. "Actually," I say, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging inside me, "I''m wearing this turtleneck to hide the bruises you left on my neckst night. I went to see Dad today. Would you rather I show them off to him?"


    Matthew''s jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes darken, and I see a flicker of something. Regret maybe?


    "I don''t give a fuck," he spits out, his wordsced with venom. "Show him, don''t show him. It makes no difference to me."


    I feel a familiar ache in my chest, but I push it down. I won''t let him see how much his words hurt.


    Matthew shifts in his seat, a cruel smirk ying on his lips. "You know, L is quite the entertainer," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "She knows how to please a man, unlike some people I know."


    I dig my nails into my palms, willing myself to stayposed. He''s trying to provoke me, to make mesh out or break down. I won''t give him the satisfaction.


    "She has this move," he continues, his eyes gleaming with calcted cruelty, "where she¡ª"


    "That''s enough, Matthew," I interrupt, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "I''m not interested in the sordid details of your evening."


    Heughs, a harsh, grating sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, but I think you are, Sarah. I think you''re dying to know every little thing I did with her. It''s eating you up inside, isn''t it?"


    I take a deep breath. "Actually, L seems like a nice girl," I say, my voice calm and measured.


    The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force a small smile. I won''t let him see how deeply his barbs have cut.


    Matthew''s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. For a moment, surprise flickers across his face before it''s reced by irritation. He hadn''t expected this reaction, and I can see it''s thrown him off bnce.


    "Oh really?" he snarls.


    I shrug, maintaining myposure. "Yes. Really."


    His expression hardens and he looks away.


    Suddenly, he asks, "How bad are they?"


    "What?" I blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic.


    "The bruises," he rifies, his voice gruff. "On your neck. How bad are they?"


    I swallow hard. "What do you care?" I ask.


    "I don''t," he replies.


    Silence again.


    "Why did you kiss me back there?" I ask him.


    Matthew''s eyes snap to mine. I hold my breath, waiting for his response, my stomach twisting.


    Finally, Matthew''s lips curl into a sardonic smirk. "Kiss you?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don''t tter yourself, princess. It was hardly a kiss. More like... pest control."


    "That''s not an answer," I press, my voice soft but insistent. "Why did you do it?"


    "Why does it matter?" he sneers, his voice harsh. "Trying to build some romantic fantasy in that pretty little head of yours? Sorry to burst your bubble, but it meant nothing. Just a moment of boredom, nothing more."


    I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Right. Of course," I murmur.


    The car pulls to a stop, and I realize we are home. Without another word, Matthew storms out, mming the door behind him. I follow, my legs shaky as I climb the stairs to our room.


    Inside, I peel off my turtleneck, desperate to escape its suffocating embrace. As I reach for the dressid out on the bed, I catch sight of Matthew in the mirror. He''s frozen in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.


    I turn slowly, meeting his gaze. There''s something different in his expression now, a hunger that sends a jolt of electricity through my body.


    "I am just getting changed for dinner," I say.


    Matthew stalks towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand my ground, heart racing as he stops inches away. His hand reaches out, fingertip tracing the outline of the bruise on my neck. I flinch involuntarily, a mixture of pain and something else. Something I don''t want to name coursing through me.


    "Will you tell them?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "About these?" His finger presses slightly harder, making me gasp.


    I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. "Tell who?"


    "Your parents," he rifies, a cruel smirk ying on his lips. "About the bruises. I wouldn''t mind, you know. Might be worth a stint in prison if it means getting away from you."


    The words sting, but I force out a dryugh. "Not a chance, Matthew," I say, meeting his gaze defiantly. "You''re not getting away from me that easily."


    His eyebrow arches, surprise flickering across his face before it''s reced by that familiar mask of contempt. I turn my back to him, gathering my courage before speaking again.


    "Zip me up?" I ask, gesturing to my dress.


    There''s a moment of tense silence before I feel his hands on my back, fingers grazing my skin as he slowly pulls the zipper up.


    I close my eyes, trying to enjoy his touch. He will never touch me this gently on purpose, I know that. I might as well enjoy this short moment of bliss.


    "There," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "All wrapped up like the gift you think you are. The one I never asked for."


    "Good one," I say dryly.


    He walks out, and I''m left standing alone, my skin still tingling from his touch.


    ~-~


    I quickly applied concealer and foundation to the purple-colored bruise on my neck before carefully blending it in. I then selected a delicate ne, its silver chain glinting under the bathroom light, and fastened it around my neck. I ther on my red lips to hide the fresh bite mark left on my lower lip. Is this going to be my life now? Covering bruises and cuts left by Matthew.


    You did this to yourself, my inner me screams at me.


    With a deep breath, I force a smile at my reflection in the mirror, determined to hide any trace of pain or sadness.


    My father is about to retire, and I can''t bear the thought of him worrying about me before he leaves for his well-deserved break. I would do whatever it takes to conceal them and make my dad believe that everything was fine.


    "Ah, there she is," my dad says, his voice booming as I approach their table. "Come here, Sarah. Sit next to me."


    I smile brightly and allow Matthew to pull a chair for me.


    Matthew''s hand lingers on the back of my chair for a fraction of a second too long as I sit down. My father doesn''t notice the tension radiating between us. He''s too busy pouring wine into my ss, his proud smile warming the atmosphere despite the frost clinging to my insides.


    "How''s work treating you, Matthew?" Dad asks, his tone jovial.


    Matthew''s lips curve into the kind of polite smile he reserves for asions like these. "Busy, as always. But I enjoy the challenge," he replies smoothly.


    Dad nods approvingly. "Good, good. A man who works hard is a man worth respecting. I take it Sarah already told you the good news."


    "Yes, she did. I guess this means she will be my boss," Matthew says dryly.


    "Oh, don''t look at it that way, dear." My motherughs lightly, her eyes twinkling with a patronizing amusement that makes my stomach clench. "You know our Sarah has never been particrly adept at taking charge."


    Thanks for the support, Mom, I think sarcastically.


    She takes a delicate sip of her wine before continuing. "One time she tried to organize that charity event in high school? The caterer never showed the decorations were a mess, and poor Sarah was running around like a headless chicken trying to salvage the situation. I do believe you will be the one running thepany anyway, Matthew."


    I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation. Leave it to my mother for downying everything I do. I nce at Matthew, expecting to see a smug satisfaction on his face, but instead, his expression is unreadable.


    "And then there was the time she tried to lead that group project in college," my mother continues, oblivious to the difort her words are causing. "She had such grand ideas, but in the end, her teammates had to step in and take over. Our Sarah just doesn''t have that natural leadership quality, I''m afraid."


    She reaches over and pats my hand. "But that''s alright, dear. Not everyone is cut out for such roles. I''m sure you''ll do just fine working under Matthew''s guidance."


    My father clears his throat, his brow furrowed with concern. "Now, now, Evelyn," he says gently, "I''m sure Sarah will excel in her new position. She''s a bright girl with a lot of potential."


    But my mother merely waves her hand dismissively, as if my father''s words are nothing more than a pesky fly to be swatted away. "Of course, Charles. I''m not saying she won''t do well. I''m just pointing out that leadership has never been her strong suit. But I''m sure Matthew will be there to help her along the way, won''t you, dear?"


    She turns her gaze to Matthew, her eyes glinting with a knowing look that makes my skin crawl. I can''t bear to see his reaction, so I focus on the intricate pattern of the tablecloth, tracing the swirls and loops with my eyes.


    "I''ll do whatever is necessary to support her," Matthew replies, his voice smooth and even. "And I have no doubt that Sarah will run it just as well as Charles."


    I risk a nce at him, surprised by his words. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I see something flicker in their depths - a hint of understanding, perhaps even sympathy. But it''s gone as quickly as it appeared.

 Chapter 8: Old Flame

    <h4>Chapter 8: Old me</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    As the conversation shifts to more mundane topics, I find my attention drifting. I take a sip of my wine, hoping it will ease the tightness in my chest.


    It''s then that I notice Matthew looking at something. I follow his line of sight, and then I see her.


    She''s seated at a table near the far wall, a vision in a form-fitting emerald dress that highlights her curves in all the right ces. Her hair, a vibrant shade of red, falls in loose waves around her shoulders.


    But it''s not her beauty that makes my breath catch in my throat. It''s the way Matthew is looking at her, his gaze filled with longing and intensity I am much too familiar with.


    Recognition ms into me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.


    Amanda. Matthew''s ex-girlfriend. The one that got away because of me.


    And now she''s here, mere feet away.


    I feel sick to my stomach, a wave of nausea that has nothing to do with the rich food or the wine. It''s as if the ground beneath me has suddenly shifted.


    My mother is saying something, her voice a distant buzz in my ears. I nod along, a stic smile fixed on my face, but inside, I''m screaming. I want to grab Matthew by the shoulders and shake him until he looks at me, really looks at me.


    But I can''t do that.


    Matthew''s eyes remain glued to Amanda, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as she leans closer to the man sitting next to her.


    His hand, casually resting on the table, suddenly clenches into a fist. He is angry, I realize.


    Amanda says something to herpanion, stands up and walks away.


    "Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom," Matthew says abruptly and stands up, too.


    He is going to see her, I think to myself.


    Panic bubbles up inside me, but I keep my expression neutral. My parents are still engaged in conversation,pletely oblivious.


    "Of course," my mother says absently.


    I clutch my winess, my knuckles whitening as I watch him walk away, his movements purposeful and tense. I don''t need to follow him to know where he''s going, but the thought of sitting here while he seeks her out is unbearable.


    "Excuse me," I say quickly, pushing back my chair when he doesn''te back in the next two minutes.


    My father nces at me, his brow furrowing. "Sarah, is everything alright?"


    I force a reassuring smile. "Just need a moment. I just need to go to thedy''s room."


    Before he can press further, I turn and make my way toward the restrooms, my heart pounding in my chest.


    As I hurry down the hallway, a sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach.


    I round the corner, my breath catching in my throat as I spot them. Matthew and Amanda stand mere inches apart, their bodies angled towards each other in a way that speaks of intimacy and familiarity.


    Mathew''s hand moves up, and he grazes her cheek, and I contain myself from screaming at them.


    My chest tightens painfully as I take in the scene before me. Matthew''s hand lingers against Amanda''s cheek, and she leans into his touch ever so slightly, her eyes shimmering with tears.


    They haven''t noticed me yet, but the hallway feels too small, the air too thick. I want to turn around and walk away to spare myself the agony of hearing whateveres next.


    But I can''t. My feet are frozen in ce, and my heart is thundering in my chest, drowning out every rational thought.


    Amanda speaks first, her voice soft but clear in the quiet corridor. "You can''t do this to me, Matthew. Not anymore. You are married now."


    Matthew takes a sharp breath, dropping his hand from Amanda''s cheek as if her words had physically hurt him.


    "I understand," he says, his voice filled with conflict. "I know you don''t believe me, but I never wanted this. It''s because of her..."


    "Don''t," Amanda interrupts sharply. "You can''t me everything on Sarah."


    Matthew''s expression turns cold. "But it''s the truth. Everything that has happened to us is because of her. And now, I''m stuck with her. I hate her so fucking much, Amanda."


    A wave of ice rushes through me, numbing my senses and making it impossible to breathe. I heard him say how much he hated me before. Heard it over and over again and yet, it never gets easier.


    "It doesn''t matter if you hate her or not, Matt. What''s done is done and now you are married to her. Now, please. Let me get back to my date," Amanda says and attempts to push him off.


    Matthew grabs her shoulders. "Amanda, please..."


    "Let her go, Matthew," I interject weakly. "This is not the time or ce."


    The moment I speak, both Matthew and Amanda freeze, their eyes snapping to me. I can barely hold their gaze, my heart crashing against my ribcage.


    Matthew''s face tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line.


    Amanda straightens, brushing herself off.


    "Sarah," she begins, her voice gentle but cutting, "I am sorry. I didn''te here to cause trouble. I didn''t know we would run into each other." She gestures slightly toward Matthew.


    I can barely breathe as I stare at her.


    Matthew finally speaks, his voice hoarse. "Don''t apologize to her, Amanda. Sarah knows she will always be the other woman, not you."


    "The ring on my finger says otherwise," I argue.


    Matthew''s gaze drops to my hand, lingering on the glittering diamond for a moment before he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed. "A ring doesn''t mean shit, Sarah. It''s just a meaningless piece of metal."


    Of course, he would say that. What did I expect?


    Amanda shifts ufortably, her eyes darting between us. "I should go," she murmurs, taking a step back. "This isn''t... I never meant for this to happen."


    "No, stay," Matthew says, his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist. "We''re not done here."


    Anger res inside me, hot and fierce. "Let her go, Matthew," I snap, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You are here with me."


    Matthew ignores me, his attention solely focused on Amanda. "Just tell me one thing," he says, his voice low and intense. "Do you still love me? Did you ever really stop?"


    Amanda''s eyes widen, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in their depths - longing, perhaps, or regret. But then she pulls her wrist from his grasp, taking another step back.


    "I can''t do this," she whispers, shaking her head. "I''m sorry, Matthew. But I have to go."


    With that, she turns and hurries away, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Matthew watches her go, his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.


    I stand there. How many more times can my heart survive being shattered, I wonder?


    Finally, Matthew turns to me, his eyes zing with a fury that takes my breath away. "You feel like real winner, I bet," he hisses, advancing on me until I''m backed against the wall. "If it wasn''t for you, Amanda and I would still be together. We would be happy."


    "Well, I did win because you are with me now. So get used to it." I choke out, tears stinging my eyes.


    Matthew ms his hand against the wall beside my head, making me flinch.


    "Whatever. Let''s just get this dinner over with so I can go home," he hisses, then walks away without looking back.


    I take a moment to breathe before following him. Time to put on a happy face for Dad again.


    ~-~


    As soon as we step inside our home, the facade crumbles.


    Matthew strides upstairs without another word and I follow him, refusing to let him off the hook.


    "You almost ruined everything, Matthew," I dere, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. "What if my parents saw you with her? Touching her?"


    He spins to face me, his eyes shing dangerously in the dim light. "And what if they had? What would mommy and daddy think of their precious little girl then? That she can''t even keep her husband interested?"


    His words feel like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.


    "That''s not fair," I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.


    "I never wanted this, any of it! You trapped me in this sham of a marriage, and now you expect me to do what? Thank you for it?" Matthew roars.


    "I didn''t trap you," I argue, but even to my own ears, the words sound weak and uncertain. "We both made choices-"


    "No, you made choices," he interrupts, jabbing a finger at me. "You chose to interfere in my life. I don''t know why I need to keep reminding you, Sarah."


    He turns away, his broad shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. I watch him pour himself a generous ss of scotch from the decanter on the side table. He downs it in one swift gulp, then pours another.


    "Do you really hate me that much?" I ask softly. "For how long will you hate me?"


    Matthew''s hand stills on the decanter, his back to me. "For the rest of your sorry life."


    "Well, I don''t ept it!" I cry out. "I am your wife now, and you...you are my husband, and you will act like it!"


    Matthewughs. "My wife, huh? Let me remind you, sweetheart. You are my wife by name only. In case you forgot. We never did consummate our marriage because the thought of lying with you makes me sick."


    "Stop it," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Stop saying those things."


    But he presses on, relentless, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Poor little rich girl, so used to having the world handed to her on a silver tter. Well, guess what, sweetheart? You may have trapped me in this farce of a marriage, but you will never have my heart. That will always belong to Amanda."


    Something snaps inside me, a dam bursting after too much pressure. "Enough!" I scream, shoving him hard. He stumbles back, surprise flickering across his face. "I am so sick of you throwing her in my face every chance you get! I am your wife, Matthew. Me! Not her!"


    "My wife in name only," he sneers, regaining his footing. "A title you ckmailed me into. But you will never be my wife where it counts."


    Red-hot rage courses through me, burning away the pain. "I am your wife in every way that matters," I hiss through clenched teeth. "And it''s time you started treating me like it."


    With a fierce grip on his face, I crush my lips against his, channeling all of my anger and resentment into the kiss.


    I expect him to push me away, but he kisses me back.

 Chapter 9: Pain and Pleasure

    <h4>Chapter 9: Pain and Pleasure</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Matthew''s hands grip my waist roughly, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me flush against his body. His lips crash against mine, hungry and demanding, and I meet him with equal hunger.


    We stumble backward until my back hits the wall. Matthew''s hands roam over my body, tugging impatiently at the fabric of my dress. I arch into his touch, a gasp escaping my lips as his hand finds my breast, kneading it roughly through the thin material.


    With a growl, Matthew rips the straps of my dress, exposing my skin to his heated gaze. His mouth trails down my neck, biting and sucking. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him close, needing to feel him against me.


    I don''t think I can stop him tonight. I don''t think I want to.


    Matthew lifts me suddenly and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress. He sheds his shirt before crawling over me, his eyes dark with lust and anger.


    I reach for him, my nails raking down his back as he settles between my thighs. I can feel his hardness pressing against me and I buck my hips. Matthew hisses through clenched teeth.


    "Is this what you want, Sarah?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to fuck you?"


    "Yes," I breathe, too far gone to care about anything else.


    With a muttered curse, he thrusts into me, filling mepletely. I cry out, my back arching off the bed at the sudden intrusion. Matthew sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against mine with bruising force.


    It hurts. It hurts so much it makes my head spin. I feel like a worm on a hook, but I ignore it.


    All that mattered was the feeling of him inside me, stretching me, filling me sopletely that I thought I might shatter from the sheer intensity of it. I am willing to endure any amount of pain because he is finally bing one with me.


    Pathetic, I know.


    "Is this what you wanted?" Matthew growls against my skin, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. "To be fucked like a whore by the husband you trapped into marriage?"


    Tears sting my eyes at his cruel words, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.


    Even now, in the midst of this brutal, punishing act, I can feel the pain radiating off him in waves. It''s in the tension of his muscles, the harsh rasp of his breath against my skin.


    This isn''t just anger. It''s anguish, raw and bleeding. The anguish of a man whose heart has been shattered into jagged shards. And I put those shards there.


    "Matthew," I whisper, my voice breaking on his name. I reach up to cup his face, my thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. He flinches at my touch, his eyes squeezing shut as if he can''t bear to look at me.


    "I''m sorry," I breathe, the words tearing from my throat. "I''m so sorry for everything."


    He stills above me, his breathing in harsh pants. For a long moment, he doesn''t move, doesn''t speak. Then, slowly, he opens his eyes. They''re dark and stormy.


    "Sorry isn''t enough," he rasps. "Sorry will never be enough."


    He starts to move again, but the frenzied urgency from before is gone. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs wrapped tight around his waist as the pain slowly starts to turn into pleasure.


    I know I should hate this, hate him. But I can''t. Even now, even like this, I love him. I love him so much it consumes me. He is mine. MINE.


    "I know," I manage, my words hitching on a gasp as he hits a particrly sensitive spot deep inside me.


    Matthew thrusts into me again and again. The pleasure builds inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally shatters. I cry out, my body arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me.


    Matthew follows a momentter with a guttural groan, his hips faltering against mine as he finds his own release. For a few blissful seconds, we are lost in the haze of pleasure, our bodies still intimately joined.


    But then the moment passes, and realityes crashing back in.


    Matthew rolls off me, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. I turn my head to look at him, taking in the sharp angles of his profile, the clenched set of his jaw. He won''t meet my eyes.


    Matthew sits up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement makes me flinch, my body still raw and tender from his brutal possession.


    He stands, his back to me, as he reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor.


    Matthew pulls on his shirt, his movements sharp and jerky. I watch him, my heart in my throat, waiting for him to say something, anything.


    But he doesn''t. He just stands there, his back to me, his shoulders tense.


    "Ma-tthew..." I start but stop as he speaks.


    "So you were a virgin, huh? I have to say, I''m surprised. I thought for sure you would have spread your legs for someone by now, given how desperately you threw yourself at me."


    I flinch at his cruel words but don''t make a sound.


    "I guess Daddy''s little princess was saving herself for her wedding night," Matthew continues, his tone dripping with contempt. "How sweet. Too bad it was wasted on someone who hates you."


    Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously, refusing to let him see how much he is hurting me.


    "You seemed to stand the sight of me just fine a few minutes ago," I manage to say, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts.


    Matthew scoffs, finally turning to face me. His eyes are hard and cold, no trace of the passion that had darkened them earlier. "Don''t tter yourself. A hole is a hole. Yours was just...convenient. I needed to take my frustration out on something, that''s all."


    I recoil as if he had physically hit me. I knew he was cruel, but this...this is a new level of heartlessness, even for him.


    He turns away again, zipping up his pants and buckling his belt with quick, efficient movements.


    "Where are you going?" I ask quietly.


    "To sleep in the guestroom. You didn''t actually think I would sleep in the same bed with you, did you?" he asked mockingly.


    I look down. "No, of course not."


    And then he''s gone, the bedroom door mming shut behind him.


    I should feel used, vited even. And part of me does. But beneath the humiliation and the hurt, there''s something else. A tiny, treacherous spark of...hope?


    He had wanted me, even if it was just for a moment. Even if it was fueled by anger and resentment and the ghost of a love he''d once felt for someone else.


    It''s twisted, I know. To crave the touch of a man who despises me, who makes no secret of his loathing. But I can''t help it.


    I''m drawn to him like a moth to a me, even knowing that he''ll burn me to ashes in the end.

 Chapter 10: A Gift

    <h4>Chapter 10: A Gift</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    The darkness of the guestroom presses in on me, suffocating and oppressive. I toss and turn, the sheets twisting around my legs like restraints. My eyes burn as I stare at the ceiling, the events from earlier reying in my mind on an endless loop.


    "Damn her," I growl, my voice harsh in the silence. "Damn her to hell."


    But even as the words leave my lips, an unwee pang of guilt twists in my gut. I grit my teeth against it, willing the feeling away. I won''t let her make me weak. I can''t.


    "She deserved it," I mutter, trying to convince myself. "After what she did..."


    The memory of Sarah''s wide, frightened eyes shes through my mind. The soft gasp of pain as I¡ª


    No. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. I won''t think about that. I won''t let myself feel sorry for her.


    It was all an act. She''s ying me, just like before. I can''t fall for it again.


    But doubt gnaws at me, persistent and infuriating. What if she really didn''t know? What if this whole time...


    "Stop it," I hiss, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "You''re stronger than this. Don''t let her get in your head."


    I roll onto my side, ring into the darkness. The anger that''s been my constantpanion for so long wars with an unfamiliar ache in my chest. I want to hate her. God, I want to hate her so badly. But something has shifted, leaving me unbnced and raw.


    "She has to be lying," I mutter, but the wordsck conviction. "It''s just another maniption. It has to be."


    I sit up abruptly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My hands rake through my hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain might clear my head. But Sarah''s face haunts me.


    I can''t shake the feeling that I''ve made a terrible mistake.


    The memory of Sarah''s body under mine floods my senses, unbidden and unwee. My skin burns with the phantom touch of her soft curves, the taste of her lips lingering on mine. I groan, disgusted with myself for craving what I swore to despise.


    "Damn it," I hiss, pressing my palms against my eyes. "This isn''t how it''s supposed to be."


    But my treacherous body remembers every detail, every gasp and shudder. The way she clung to me, her inexperience evident in every tentative touch.


    A goddamn virgin. How could I not have known?


    "No," I mutter, shaking my head violently. "It doesn''t change anything. She''s still a terrible person."


    She was a virgin, and I hurt her.


    Fuck, fuck, fuck!


    It''s toote to turn back now. The deed is done.


    But this is what I wanted, to make her pay, right? She deserves everything she gets. I hate her. I have to hate her.


    But hate is not what I felt when I had sex with her.


    Even now, my body is aching to have her again, to lose myself in her soft curves. I am already hard just thinking about it.


    I want to cling to the bitter resentment that has driven me for so long... but in the aftermath of our joining, I find myself drowning in confusion. How can something so wrong feel so incredibly good?


    But Amanda...I still love Amanda.


    Don''t I?


    But I''ve let myself find pleasure in the arms of the woman I me for taking her away from me. The woman whose very existence is a mockery of everything Amanda and I shared. Isn''t this ironic?


    Bile rises in my throat as shame and self-loathing churn in my stomach. How could I have let myself sink so low? How could I have betrayed Amanda by fucking Sarah?


    I can almost see Amanda''s face, her gentle eyes filled with disappointment and hurt.


    But it''s toote to worry about that now. And at the back of my mind, I wonder how Sarah is doing.


    She must be sore, I think to myself. After all, I didn''t hold back when I pounded into her, treating her body roughly like a toy. I made sure she felt pain when I took her.


    Is she still awake, crying in bed? Or is she sleeping?


    Before I can stop myself, I''m on my feet, moving towards her room. My hand hesitates on the knob, rational thought warring with this inexplicable need to see her.


    Just to check, I tell myself. I am just curious.


    I pause outside her door, listening. No soundes from inside.


    I shouldn''t care. I don''t care. But I am here already, so I might as well go inside.


    Slowly, carefully, I turn the handle and push the door open, my heart pounding in my chest.


    I step inside, expecting Sarah curled up in bed. But she is sitting at the dressing table, her back to the door.


    She is brushing her hair. It was longer than I thought. But then again, I never really paid much attention to her.


    I watch, transfixed, as the brush glides through her golden tresses, the strands gleaming like silk in the light. There is something so weirdly erotic about the scene.


    She''s wearing a nightgown, the thin fabric clinging to her curves and translucent because of her damp skin. I can feel my cock turning hard again, much to my annoyance.


    She is not particrly pretty. She doesn''tpare to Amanda''s beauty, but there''s something alluring about her. Even though my anger clouds my brain, I can still see it.


    I clear my throat.


    Startled, the brush slips from her fingers and tters onto the table. She turns slowly, her wide eyes meeting mine in the mirror. There''s a flicker of fear in her gaze, but she quickly changes her expression into calm indifference.


    "I thought you were sleeping," she says softly.


    I step into the room, closing the door behind me with a deliberate click.


    "I was," I say.


    "Do you need something?" she asks. "If...if you need extra pillows or something..."


    "No," I cut her off sharply. "I don''t need anything. I think I will sleep in here after all."


    "Oh," she says, looking at me with those eyes again. "I thought you said you didn''t want to sleep in the same bed as me."


    "I changed my mind," I reply, taking a slow step closer. "We are already married, and I already fucked you, so what''s the point of separate beds? But I want to be clear. This doesn''t mean I am epting you as my wife by any means."


    Her lips press into a thin line. "You can do what you want. It''s your house too," she finally says, her tone resigned.


    "Alright. Goodnight, then," I say and stride toward the bed.


    "Um...Matthew?"


    I turn around. "What?"


    She stands up and my eyes can''t help but wander down to her body.


    Sarah''s nightgown hugs her curves, the thin fabric leaving little to the imagination. I can see the outline of her breasts and the swell of her hips. My eyes linger on the juncture between her thighs, remembering how it felt to be buried deep inside her warmth.


    Dammit...


    She shifts ufortably under my scrutiny, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture. "Before we went home, Daddy gave me...us something."


    I raise an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from her body. "What''s that?"


    She turns around and walks toward her purse, which is sitting on top of the dresser. She rummages through it and takes out a white envelope. Then she walks back to me and holds it up. "Take a look."


    I take the envelope and look inside.


    Inside the envelope is what looks like two tickets. I pull them out, ncing at them quickly. "Tickets to Aruba?" I ask, looking at her questioningly.


    She nods. "For our honeymoon."


    Honeymoon? The word feels foreign, almostughable.


    My first instinct is to scoff, to toss the tickets on the floor and remind her this marriage is nothing but a means to an end. But something in her expression stops me.


    She looks nervous, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip, her hands twisting together. There''s no smugness, no hint of maniption in her eyes. Just... sadness.


    "I assume you want to go to this despite everything?" I ask, my tone sharp.


    "It''s just a trip," she says quietly, her voice so soft I almost miss it. "If you don''t want to go, we don''t have to."


    I clench my jaw, looking down at the tickets again. "Sure, why not? Let''s continue this charade. Got to keep up appearance, right?"


    Sarah''s face flickers with something¡ªrelief, maybe?


    She takes the tickets back. "Thank you."


    "Yeah, whatever. I am going to sleep," I say and head back to bed.


    I hear her footsteps as she puts the tickets back in her purse. Then I hear the faint rustle of her climbing into bed.


    I close my eyes, willing sleep toe, but my mind refuses to quiet.


    Her calm eptance of everything bothers me. No fight, no pushback. Just quietpliance. It''s unnerving, and worse, it makes me feel like the viin in all of this.


    She could at least retaliate. Yell at me, curse at me for hurting her and taking her virginity in such a painful way. Instead, she just...takes it.


    I shift onto my side, facing away from her. The faint scent of her shampoo lingers in the air, and I grit my teeth. This week in Aruba might be hell, but I''ll endure it. God knows I could use a vacation.


    For now, though, I just need to make it through the night without needing to touch her again.

 Chapter 11: Flight Anxiety

    <h4>Chapter 11: Flight Anxiety</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    The stale air of the ne cabin hits me as I step aboard, my eyes immediately seeking out our row.


    I settle into my seat, hyper-aware of Matthew''s rigid posture next to me. We are off to our honeymoon.


    I sneak nces at his face. He is looking out the window, breathing a bit harder than normal.


    The engines roar to life, and I feel the ne lurch forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Matthew''s hands gripping the armrests, his knuckles white.


    "Are you okay, Matthew?" I ask softly, unable to keep the concern from my voice.


    "Fine," he snaps, not looking at me. But I can see the tension in every line of his body, the slight tremor in his hands.


    He must really hate flying.


    My own hands itch to cover his, to offerfort. But I know he''d only recoil from my touch. Still, I can''t help but feel a flutter of determination. He may push me away, but I won''t give up on us so easily.


    As the ne lifts off, leaving the ground behind, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Whatever happens on this trip, whatever walls I have to scale to reach him, I''ll find a way. I have to believe there''s still hope for us, buried beneath all this pain and resentment. I just need to be patient, to keep trying until I break through.


    I force a smile. "You know, I hear the in-flight movie is a romanticedy. Maybe we''ll get some pointers."


    Matthew''s head snaps toward me, his dark eyes shing with cold disdain. "Ah yes, because our rtionship is just one misunderstanding away from a happily ever after," he snarls, his words dripping with sarcasm.


    I turn away, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Be mean all you want, Matthew. I''m not giving up.


    I steal another nce at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched, gaze fixed firmly ahead.


    The soft ding of the seat belt sign turning off breaks through my trance. I watch as other passengers begin to stir, some reaching for overheadpartments, others striking up quiet conversations.


    Suddenly, the ne lurches, a violent tremor rattling through the cabin. My stomach drops as we hit a pocket of turbulence, the aircraft bucking like a wild horse. I instinctively grip my seat, my knuckles turning white.


    Matthew''s reaction is immediate. His entire body goes rigid, his hands mping down on the armrests with such force I can see the tendons straining beneath his skin. His breathing is even more shallow and rapid, eyes wide with barely concealed panic.


    I''ve never seen him like this before ¨C so utterly vulnerable, stripped of his usual controlled demeanor. It''s like looking at apletely different person, and my heart aches at the sight.


    Without thinking, I reach out, gentlyying my hand over his white-knuckled grip. "It''s okay," I murmur, my voice barely audible above the rumble of the engines. "Just turbulence. We''re safe."


    For a split second, I feel his fingers twitch beneath mine as if he might ept thefort. But then his eyes snap to mine, zing with fury.


    "How the fuck would you know?" he snarls, yanking his hand away as if burned. "Are you the damn pilot?"


    The venom in his voice makes me flinch, but I refuse to back downpletely. "No, but..."


    He scoffs, a harsh sound that cuts through the air between us. "Save your concern for someone who actually wants it."


    I bite my lip, fighting back the urge to snap back. This isn''t about winning an argument; it''s about reaching him. Even as heshes out, I can see the fear lingering in the tightness around his eyes, the way his breathing hasn''t quite evened out.


    "Fine," I say, my voice steady despite the hurt blooming in my chest. "I won''t touch you again. But I''m here, Matthew. Whether you like it or not."


    He turns away, jaw clenched, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands as another bout of turbulence shakes the ne.


    My mind wanders to happier times. The way his eyes used to crinkle when heughed, genuinelyughed, at one of my terrible jokes. Back when he thought I was his friend.


    Without thinking, I reach for his hand again. My fingers curl around his. I expect him to jerk away again, to snap at me, but he doesn''t. He remains still, frozen as if caught between fight and flight.


    "It''s okay," I murmur, my thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "Just let me hold your hand for a minute."


    He closes his eyes then, and a deep furrow forms between his brows. I watch as the tension in his shoulders slowly subsides, his breathing bing less ragged. His hand remains in mine, neither pulling away nor fully epting thefort.


    "Why?" he asks suddenly, so quietly I almost miss it. "Why do you keep trying?"


    I swallow hard, fighting the urge to pour out my heart. "Because I love you. I know you don''t believe me, but I will never stop saying it."


    Matthew''s eyes remain closed, but I feel the slight pressure of his fingers tightening around mine. It''s not forgiveness, not even close. But in this fragile moment, suspended above the clouds, it feels like the first crack in the wall between us.


    I don''t dare move, afraid that even the slightest shift might shatter this fragile connection.


    Instead, I focus on the warmth of his hand, the slight tremor that runs through it with each bout of turbulence.


    "I really hate flying," he murmurs.


    "I noticed," I say softly, allowing a small smile to tug at my lips. "But you know, you are more likely to die in a car ident than a ne crash."


    Matthew lets out a sharp, humorlessugh. "Who said that?"


    I shrug. "Statistics."


    He turns back to the window, his expression guarded but no longer icy. The tension in his jaw eases slightly.


    He takes my hand off him, and I mourn the loss. It was nice while itsted. "I need a drink," he says.


    "Yeah, me too," I say.


    I lean back as he rings for the flight attendant. This honeymoon trip is not going to be easy. I can already tell.

 Chapter 12: Honeymoon Suite

    <h4>Chapter 12: Honeymoon Suite</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    The flight attendant approaches with a polite smile, taking Matthew''s drink order.


    "Scotch, neat," Matthew says.


    She looks at me and smiles. "And for you, Ma''am?"


    "I will just take a ss of white wine, thank you," I reply politely.


    As she walks away, I nce at him. He has already turned back to the window, his shoulders stiff.


    The drinks arrive swiftly, and Matthew downs his scotch in one long gulp before signaling for another.


    Wow, he really is so anxious!


    I take a small sip of my wine. "So," I venture after a beat of silence, "what''s the first thing you want to do when wend?" I ask.


    "Sleep," he says curtly, not looking at me.


    "Right," I say, trying to keep my tone light. "That''s a solid n for a honeymoon." I don''t know why I insist on poking the bear. Sleep sounds wonderful after this long flight.


    He finally turns to me, his expression nk but his eyes sharper than I expected. "Why do you keep pretending this is normal? We''re not normal, Sarah. This whole trip is a waste of time."


    His words hit harder than I''d like to admit, but I square my shoulders, refusing to let them sink too deep. "It''s not a waste to me," I reply, my voice firm. "Maybe we''re not ''normal,'' but that doesn''t mean we can''t enjoy the trip. Both of us needed a vacation anyway."


    "Like I''d enjoy anything with you," he mutters.


    "You can try. Aren''t you tired of fighting me all the time?" I counter.


    "Just leave me alone," he says curtly.


    Fine then.


    The rest of the flight continues in tense silence, and when the captain announces our descent, Matthew seems visibly relieved. His shoulders rx slightly, and he sets the empty scotch ss on the tray table.


    "A car should be waiting for us at the airport," he says once we get off the ne.


    I nod, surprised he''s even offering information. "Okay," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.


    We walk through the airport in silence, his long strides forcing me to quicken my pace to keep up.


    His hand is stuffed in his pocket, his other gripping the handle of his carry-on. I nce at him, hoping for some indication that his mood has shifted, but his face remains a stoic mask.


    When we step outside, the warm air hits me, humid and heavy with the scent of saltwater. Matthew scans the crowd, his gaze sharp and calcting, until he spots a driver holding a sign with ourst name.


    "This way," he mutters, walking ahead without waiting for me to follow.


    I trail behind him, my own suitcase rolling noisily over the uneven pavement. The driver greets us politely and loads our luggage into the trunk. Matthew barely acknowledges him, sliding into the backseat of the car and staring out the window.


    I climb in beside him, the silence stretching ufortably between us as the car pulls away from the curb.


    "Do you want to stop anywhere on the way to the resort?" I ask, breaking the silence.


    "No," he replies tly, his gaze still fixed on the passing scenery.


    I sigh softly, leaning back in my seat. This isn''t how I imagined our honeymoon would start. But then again, nothing about us has been what I imagined.


    When the resortes into view, my breath catches. It''s stunning¡ªwhite sand beaches, crystal-clear water, and luxurious vis nestled among the trees.


    The driver stops in front of the main entrance, and resort staff rush forward to greet us, offering cool towels and refreshments.


    Matthew steps out first, his expression unreadable as he surveys the surroundings. I follow, clutching my bag tightly as the staff takes our luggage.


    "Wee to paradise," one of them says cheerfully.


    I nce at Matthew, hoping for some sign of acknowledgment, but he''s already walking toward the reception desk.


    I sigh and silently follow him to our honeymoon suite.


    The room is breathtaking¡ªfloor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the turquoise ocean, a private pool on the terrace, and soft, luxurious furnishings that scream romance.


    But the tension between us makes it feel cold and uninviting. And the rose petals on the bed mocks me.


    Matthew tosses his bag onto the plush armchair without a word, heading straight to the minibar. I watch as he pours himself a drink, his movements stiff and deliberate.


    "I''m going to take a shower," I say softly, more to break the silence than anything else.


    He doesn''t respond, his focus solely on the ss in his hand.


    I grab my toiletries from my bag and retreat to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The sound of running water fills the space as I turn on the shower, letting the steam build up around me.


    I strip off my travel clothes, stepping under the warm spray and letting it cascade over my shoulders. For a moment, I allow myself to rx, the tension melting away with the water.


    But my mind keeps drifting back to Matthew. How long will we have to live like this? Till death do us part?


    The sound of the bathroom door opening startles me, and I turn quickly. Matthew steps into the bathroom, his shirt already unbuttoned and hanging loosely off his frame.


    "Matthew?" I ask. "Did you need something?"


    He doesn''t answer right away, his gaze locking onto mine before flicking briefly to the steaming water. "I didn''t want to wait all day for you to be done," he says curtly, stepping closer. "I''m joining you."


    I swallow hard, the tension between us now thick enough to cut with a knife. "I was almost done," I reply, trying to sound casual, though my heart pounds in my chest.


    He shrugs, sliding his shirt off entirely and reaching for the waistband of his pants. His eyes are red. Just how much did he have to drink?


    I open my mouth to respond, but no wordse out as he takes off all his clothes and steps into the shower with me. He doesn''t look at me, instead reaching for the soap as though I''m not even there.


    I press myself against the tiled wall, trying to make room for him, even though it''s impossible to ignore the closeness of his body. "You could''ve waited," I say, my voice quieter now.


    "And you could''ve finished faster," he replies, his tone sharp butcking real bite.


    We stand in silence, the water pouring over us both.


    "Do you want me to wash your back?" I ask, trying not to look between his legs.


    He is half erect, and this was the first time I looked at his...thing directly. Hard to imagine it was inside me just the other night. No wonder it hurt so much!


    Matthew pauses, his hands stilling as the soapthers in his palms. He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine. "You want to wash my back?"


    "Y-yeah. It will feel nice. Might relieve some of the stress," I say and look at him hopefully.


    To say the truth, I just wanted to touch him. I was craving the warmth of his skin.


    Matthew studies me for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he finally sighs and turns his back to me. "Fine. Do whatever you want."


    My breath hitches as I step closer, the water cascading over both of us. I take the soap from his hand, working up a richther before tentatively cing my palms on his back. His muscles tense under my touch, the tension palpable, but he doesn''t pull away.


    Slowly, I begin to move my hands over his skin, feeling the broad expanse of his shoulders and the ridges of his spine. The heat of his body under my fingertips sends a shiver through me, and I press my lips together.


    He isn''t saying anything or even looking at me, but I notice the way his breathing slows slightly, as if my touch is having some effect. Encouraged, I let my hands linger, my thumbs tracing gentle circles along the knots in his muscles.


    "There," I say quietly, pulling my hands back. "All done."


    Matthew turns to face me, and I''m suddenly very aware of how close we are, the steam and water enveloping us. His dark eyes lock onto mine, and for a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.


    "I guess I''ll just go-"


    His hands suddenly shoot up and grab my shoulders, pushing me back against the shower wall.


    Then, in one swift motion, his lips crash against mine, taking mepletely off guard.


    The kiss is rough, almost punishing, but it''s filled with a raw intensity that leaves no room for doubt. My hands instinctively fly up to his chest, not to push him away but to steady myself as the world tilts around me.

 Chapter 13: Don’t Call Me That

    <h4>Chapter 13: Don¡¯t Call Me That</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    Sarah gasps into my mouth, her fingers curling against my slick skin as I press my body against hers. The water beats down on us, hot and relentless, but it''s nothingpared to the heat of this moment.


    For a moment, I forget everything¡ªthe tension, the anger, the uncertainty.


    I had lost control again.


    My hands slide down her body, gripping her hips as I deepen the kiss. I can feel her responding, her mouth opening under mine, her tongue brushing against my lips. It''s intoxicating, the way she melts into me.


    Despite how much I hate her, I can''t seem to think straight when I touch her like this. I remember how it felt when I had her wrapped around my cock the other night, and the memory was fresh enough to drive me into this...madness.


    Sarah''s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes wide and dark with desire. "Matthew..." she whispers, her voice trembling.


    "Don''t talk," I growl. I ce both of my hands under her thighs and lift her up effortlessly. She is a slight little thing, light as a feather, as she wraps her legs around my waist.


    So eager for me to have her even though I treat her like shit, I think distastefully.


    I pin her against the shower wall, my hips grinding into hers as the water cascades over us. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging into my skin as she arches into me. I can feel her desperation, her need, and it fuels the dark hunger inside me.


    "Needy little thing, aren''t you?" I rasp against her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe.


    She whimpers, her eyes fluttering closed as I rock against her. "Please, Matthew..." Her voice is barely a whisper, but it''sced with a raw yearning that makes my cock throb.


    "This little cunt belongs to me now since you insisted on marrying me. Now, I get to use it whenever I want," I growl. I don''t want her to make the mistake of thinking I see her as anything other than an object.


    A low moan escapes her lips as I thrust into her, filling herpletely. The sensation is overwhelming. I don''t hold back and m into her with punishing force.


    "Fuck," I groan, losing myself in the tight heat of her body. She feels too good, too perfect around me, and it only fuels the rage simmering beneath my skin.


    How dare she make me want her like this? How dare she worm her way under my defenses, making me crave her touch, her taste, her everything?


    I thrust into her relentlessly, the water pouring over us, the steam thick and heavy. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, mming her down onto my cock with each thrust.


    She whimpers, her face twisted. I must be hurting her.


    Good.


    The darkness inside me has taken over, the need to possess her, to mark her, consuming every rational thought.


    One of my hands slides up her body, gripping her throat. I can feel her pulse fluttering wildly beneath my fingers, her breathing in short, sharp gasps. I tilt her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze.


    "Look at me," Imand, my voice rough and raw with lust.


    Her green eyes lock onto mine, pupils blown wide with desire. Her lips part, a silent plea, and I capture them in a bruising kiss. I swallow her moans, my tongue delving into her mouth as I im herpletely.


    I can feel her body tensing, her inner walls fluttering around my cock. She''s close, I can feel it.


    I break the kiss and lean back, my hand still gripping her throat. "You don''t get toe tonight," I snarl, my hips never ceasing their relentless rhythm.


    Sarah''s eyes widen. "Please, Matthew, I need..." Her words dissolve into a keening moan as I change the angle, hitting that spot deep inside her that makes her see stars.


    "What you need is to learn your ce," I growl, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "You''re mine now, to do with as I please."


    Her body tenses.


    "You want toe so bad, don''t you, little slut?" I hiss.


    She winces. "Don''t call me that," she snaps, surprising me with the sudden strength in her voice.


    I pause my thrusts for a moment, caught off guard by her defiance. My grip on her throat tightens a fraction. "What did you just say to me?" My voice is low, dangerous.


    Sarah swallows hard but holds my gaze. "I said, don''t call me that. I''m not a slut." Her words are shaky but firm.


    A harshugh escapes me. "You''re not? Then what do you call a woman who tricks a man into marrying her? Who spreads her legs for him at the drop of a hat?" I punctuate my words by mming into her again, making her cry out.


    Tears spring to her eyes, but she blinks them back. "If I am a slut, you are a coward. If you really wanted out of this marriage, you would''ve tried harder. Deep down, you wanted to be with me too, Matthew."


    Lies.


    I release her jaw and grab her hips with both hands, pistoning into her at a faster pace. "You think you are so smart, don''t you, my little wife?"


    Despite the tears threatening to fall, I notice there''s a defiant glint in her eyes that both infuriates and arouses me.


    "I think," she gasps out between thrusts, "that you''re afraid. Afraid to admit that you feel something for me beyond just hatred and resentment."


    I snarl, my fingers digging harshly into the soft flesh of her hips. "You know nothing about what I feel."


    "It''s okay to want me, Matthew," she whispers, reaching up to trail her fingers along my jaw.


    "Shut up," I grit out, jerking my head away from her touch. "Just shut up."


    I lose myself again.


    "Matthew, please..." she pleads, soft and needy.


    My control slips, and Ie inside her.


    I pull out of her abruptly, setting her down on shaky legs. The sudden loss of contact makes her whimper, but I ignore it, stepping back under the spray to rinse off.


    "Get out. I am done with you," I say dismissively.


    She doesn''t move. "Matthew, we can''t keep doing this. We need to talk about things. I am your wife and..."


    You''re nothing but a pathetic, clingy little whore," I interrupt.


    The words are cruel, designed to cut deep, to shatter whatever illusions she still holds. And they hit their mark.


    Sarah reels back as if I''ve physically struck her, a choked sob escaping her throat. For a moment, she just stares at me. Then, quick as a sh, she ps me.


    I touch my stinging face and look at her.


    Sarah''s chest heaves, her eyes zing with hurt and fury. Her voice trembles with anger as she whispers, "You bastard. You miserable, heartless bastard." With those words, she storms out of the bathroom.


    I stand there for a moment with my hand on my cheek. I definitely deserved that one, no question asked. I was wondering how far I could push her before she cracked.


    My mind drifts back to the time when I actually cared for her and when I thought she was just this sweet, naive, misunderstood girl.


    Boy, was I wrong?

 Chapter 14: Not Interested

    <h4>Chapter 14: Not Interested</h4>


    One year ago...


    Matthew


    When I walk into the office, my jaw clenches involuntarily at the thought of encountering Sarah Wilson again.


    That bubbly, overeager personality of hers grates on myst nerve.


    I stride towards the elevators. As I wait, I can''t help but recall our conversation at the charity gst week.


    Her in features and unremarkable presence barely registered until she bounded up to me like an overexcited puppy. And to top it all, she asked me out. I''ve never met someone so...forward.


    The elevator dings and I step inside, jabbing the button for the top floor. I lean against the mirrored wall, exhaling slowly. "Get it together, Jameson," I mutter. "She''s just another vapid socialite. Nothing to concern yourself with."


    But as the floors tick by, an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. Something about Sarah''s earnest green eyes lingers in my mind despite my efforts to dismiss her.


    The doors open, and I school my features into a mask of cool indifference as I exit. I''m here to work, nothing more.


    "Matthew!" A bright voice rings out across the office. I turn to see Sarah Wilson practically skipping towards me, a sunny smile lighting up her face.


    My lips turn into a tight line. "Miss Wilson," I say curtly with a curt nod.


    She''s undeterred by my cold tone. "I brought you some coffee."


    I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her eager-to-please demeanor. "You shouldn''t have."


    "I am happy to," she insists, still beaming up at me.


    I go inside my office and close the door. Hopefully, she won''t bother me anymore.


    I watch with growing irritation as Sarah opens my door and waltzs right in.


    "Sorry! You forgot your coffee," she chirps.


    I lean back, crossing my arms. "I don''t need you to buy me coffee, Miss Wilson. I believe I made that clear earlier."


    Her smile doesn''t waver. "Please, call me Sarah. And I know, but I thought maybe you''d changed your mind..."


    I cut her off. "I haven''t. I have a lot to do so..."


    But Sarah doesn''t budge. Instead, she leans in slightly, her voice lowering. "You know, I''ve been thinking about the g. It was fun, wasn''t it?"


    I sigh. Didn''t she hear me mention my girlfriend? "Miss Wilson-"


    "Sarah," she corrects gently.


    I sigh. "Sarah. I am not sure if you remember. But I told you I was seeing someone."


    She nods, but there''s a glint in her eye that unsettles me. "Of course. But who says we can''t be friends?"


    I''m about to deliver a scathing retort when her father''s voice booms across the office. "Sarah! Can youe in here?"


    Sarah stands, smoothing her skirt.


    "There''s nothing wrong with being friends," she murmurs before sauntering away.


    I watch her go, a mixture of annoyance and confusion swirling in my chest. What game is she ying? And why do I find myself so affected by it?


    No, I shouldn''t bother with her.


    I hunch over my desk, trying to focus on the quarterly reports, when I sense her presence.


    Again.


    Sarah''s perfume - something light and floral - wafts over me before I even look up. I grit my teeth, bracing for another inane attempt at small talk.


    "Matthew?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.


    I nce up, ready to dismiss her, but the papers in her hand catch my eye. "What are those?"


    "Daddy told me to deliver them to you," she says, her eyes smiling.


    Something tells me her father did not purposely send her here.


    "Leave them on the desk. Thanks," I say, my tone clipped.


    Sarah bites her lip, her brow furrowing. "Well, I thought I should let you know that there are discrepancies in the cash flow statement. Something''s not adding up."


    My eyebrows rise involuntarily. This isn''t what I expected.


    "Show me," I demand, gesturing to the chair beside my desk.


    She sits, leaning in close as she spreads the papers out. Her finger traces over rows of numbers, and her exnation is surprisingly articte. "See here? The depreciation doesn''t match the asset acquisition timeline. I''ve tried adjusting for..."


    I listen, my initial reluctance giving way to curiosity. Her understanding of the financials is far beyond what I''d assumed. As she walks me through her calctions, I find myself nodding along, impressed despite myself.


    "You''re right," I mutter, circling a figure. "There''s an error in the base assumptions. Good catch."


    Sarah beams, her green eyes lighting up. "Really? Oh, thank you! Daddy thought I was wrong."


    I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how close she''s sitting. "Yes, well. It''s aplex problem. How did you figure it out?"


    She grins. "Didn''t I tell you? I am very good at math."


    And here I thought she was some airhead.


    I grunt nomittally, but I can''t help watching as she gathers her papers. There''s a grace to her movements, a quiet confidence I hadn''t noticed before.


    I guess there''s more to Sarah Wilson than I gave her credit for. She''s not just some vapid socialite ying at business. The girl''s got a brain, and she knows how to use it.


    A twinge of something - respect? Admiration? - tugs at me. I push it away, irritated at myself for even entertaining such thoughts. It doesn''t matter how intelligent she is. I can''t let her flirt with me.


    ~-~


    Over the next few days, Sarah bes an unavoidable presence.


    She''s in meetings I attend, lingering in hallways, and, of course, finding reasons to "identally" bump into me. Her enthusiasm hasn''t wavered, to my growing annoyance.


    "Matthew, I wanted to invite you to lunch," she announces one afternoon, stepping into my office without knocking. Again.


    I re at her. "You know, most people knock before entering."


    She grins, unabashed. "Oh, sorry. Lunch?"


    "I''m busy," I reply curtly, returning my attention to the report on my desk.


    Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "Oh,e on, Matthew. Even you have to eat."


    I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Sarah, I don''t think¡ª"


    "It''s just lunch," she interrupts, her tone cheerful but firm. "No ulterior motives. As friends."


    "Ahem..."


    My heart skips a beat when I spot...her.


    Amanda walks into the room, her eyes scanning the two of us with a raised eyebrow. The tension is palpable. Sarah, still smiling brightly, nces up at her, clearly unfazed.


    "I thought I''d surprise you," Amanda says. She steps further into the room, her presence suddenly moremanding.


    "Hey, babe," I reply, standing up to greet her with a soft kiss on the cheek. I shoot a quick, apologetic nce at her. Amanda has always been the jealous type, so I hope she doesn''t think something is going on between my boss''s daughter and me.


    Sarah''s smile doesn''t waver, though the glint in her eyes sharpens just a little. "Hi, I am Sarah."


    Amanda raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from me to Sarah and then back to me with a questioning look.


    I can feel the tension building. "This is Amanda," I say, offering a tight smile, trying to keep things casual. "My girlfriend."


    Sarah doesn''t flinch. If anything, her smile grows wider. "Nice to meet you, Amanda." Her voice is sweet, but there''s an edge to it that doesn''t escape me. She''s ying this perfectly, like some kind of game I can''t figure out.


    Amanda''s eyes narrow slightly, but she staysposed, offering a polite, though somewhat forced, smile. "Nice to meet you too, Sarah."


    "Sarah is my Boss, Charles Wilson''s daughter," I add.


    Amanda looked at Sarah one more time before stepping closer to me, slipping her arm around mine with possessiveness. "Well, I hope you''re not too busy for a little lunch, Matthew."


    I nce at Sarah, whose smile hasn''t wavered, though I notice her fingers grip her papers just a little tighter. Something about her unshakable demeanor unnerves me.


    "Of course," I say quickly, trying to smooth things over. "I can spare an hour. Let''s go, babe."


    As I turn to leave with Amanda, I can feel Sarah''s eyes on my back, that unsettling smile still fixed on her face. It leaves me with a strange sense of unease.


    Amanda stays close, her arm still linked with mine as we make our way down the hallway. She nces at me, her expression still tight. "She seems friendly. Almost too friendly."


    I try to brush it off. "She''s just young and a little too bubbly, that''s all. Nothing to worry about."


    Amanda''s brow furrows slightly. "I don''t like the way she looked at you."


    "She''s just my Boss''s daughter," I say, trying to downy it. "Nothing more."


    Amanda seems to ept that, but I can still feel the weight of her doubt. She''s protective, always has been, and right now, I can''t me her for being a little suspicious.


    "So, tell me more about this Sarah," Amanda says right after we sit down for lunch.


    I grin. "Jealous? You shouldn''t be."


    Amanda doesn''t seem convinced. "I just don''t like the way she looked toofortable with you. A little too much, don''t you think?"


    "Honestly, Amanda, I find her annoying. So, like I said, you have nothing to worry about." I take a sip of my drink, hoping that it will suppress her worries.


    But Amanda isn''t buying it. "I don''t trust people like that. All bubbly and fake." Her voice is quiet, but there''s a sharpness to it that I can''t ignore. "And you''ve been looking a little... distractedtely."


    I set my drink down, leaning back in my seat. This conversation has taken a turn I wasn''t prepared for. "It''s just work," I say firmly. "You know how it is. Long hours, tight deadlines."


    Amanda''s eyes soften just a little. "I know. But I can''t help feeling like something''s off. It''s the way she looks at you. Like she''s... sizing you up."


    I groan inwardly. "Come on, Amanda. You''re overthinking it."


    But despite my reassurances, something gnaws at me. The way Sarah looked at me before Amanda arrived, the way her smile never faltered¡ªthere''s something almost predatory about it. I shake the thought away. I''m imagining things.


    Amanda picks at her sd, her eyes still flickering between me and the space around us. "I don''t want to be paranoid, Matthew, but I''m not blind. I see how she acts around you." She pauses, eyes narrowing. "And I don''t like it."


    I reach across the table, cing my hand over hers. "Look, I get it. But nothing''s going on between me and Sarah. You have my word."


    For a moment, she looks at me, her expression softening. "I trust you," she says quietly, but there''s still a trace of doubt in her voice. "I just don''t like how she''s making me feel."


    I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "You''ve got nothing to worry about. I''m not interested in her."

 Chapter 15: Savior

    <h4>Chapter 15: Savior</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    The next morning, I step into the office with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, determined to keep my head down and avoid unnecessary distractions. Specifically, one particr distraction.


    "Good morning, Matthew!" Sarah''s overly cheerful voice greets me before I''ve even reached my desk.


    Of course.


    She''s perched by the reception desk, holding a stack of brightly colored folders. Her beaming smile is as radiant¡ªand irritating¡ªas ever.


    "Miss Wilson," I reply curtly, keeping my tone neutral.


    Her grin widens. "I was just on my way to see you."


    I sigh inwardly and keep walking, hoping she''ll get the hint and leave me alone.


    She does not.


    Instead, she falls into step beside me.


    "Is there something I can do for you?" I ask after I reach the office.


    "You can start by calling me Sarah and not Miss Wilson. You know I won''t leave you alone until you do," she says.


    I sigh. "Sarah, it is," I say dryly.


    Sarah beams as if she''s just won some great victory. "See? That wasn''t so hard, was it?" she quips, her tone teasing.


    I sit down at my desk and open myptop, hoping to appear busy enough to dissuade further conversation. Of course, Sarah doesn''t take the hint. She strolls over to my desk and ces the stack of folders down.


    "What are those?" I ask.


    "Just a little something to make your day brighter," she replies, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me without invitation. "These are some ideas I had for streamlining the quarterly budget reports. I thought you might appreciate some fresh input."


    I arch an eyebrow. "You''re not part of the finance team."


    "No, but I will take over thispany one day. Daddy is happy that I am showing interest in things around here," she says with a smirk.


    I sigh, flipping through one of the folders out of sheer curiosity. Sure enough, it''s meticulously organized, with color-coded sections and neatly highlighted notes. Annoyingly impressive.


    "I''ll look at theseter," I say, closing the folder and setting it aside. "If that''s all, I have work to do."


    Sarah leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You''re always so serious, Matthew. Don''t you ever loosen up? Maybe smile once in a while?"


    "I smile when I have a reason to," I reply tersely.


    "Am I that unbearable?" she asks, looking sad.


    I look up then. "I am sorry. I am not trying to make you feel bad, Sarah," I say, feeling a bit guilty.


    Sarah''s expression softens, her teasing demeanor slipping away for a moment. "Well, that''s the first time you''ve called me by my name without sounding annoyed," she says with a small, genuine smile.


    I lean back in my chair, feeling awkward. "It''s not personal," I exin, trying to smooth things over. "I''m just... focused on work. That''s all."


    "Focused, huh?" she says, tilting her head slightly. "Daddy did tell me you are a hard worker."


    "Thank you. I want to be sessful in thispany," I reply.


    Sheughs softly, brushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Sure thing. I won''t bother you anymore. At least, not today," she winks before striding out of my office.


    I let out a quiet sigh of relief.


    I open one of the folders she brought and flip through the neatly organized pages.


    I hate to admit it, but her ideas aren''t half bad. Some of the suggestions are surprisingly insightful, with detailed notes that show she''d put actual thought into them.


    Shaking my head, I close the folder and set it aside. "She ispetent," I mutter under my breath. There''s no doubt that she will be an excellent CEO of thispany one day.


    Maybe I will find another job before that happens, I think to myself.


    The rest of the morning is blissfully uneventful. I managed to get through a stack of emails and make progress on the uing project proposal. By lunchtime, I had almost forgotten about Sarah''s earlier visit.


    Almost.


    "Matthew?" Her voice cuts through the quiet again, making me flinch slightly. I look up to find her standing in the doorway, holding two takeout bags.


    "I thought you weren''t going to bother me today," I say, raising an eyebrow.


    She smirks. "Technically, I said not anymore this morning. It''s lunch now. Big difference."


    Before I can protest, she walks in and sets one of the bags on my desk.


    "I figured you''d be too busy to eat, so I brought you something. You''re wee," she says.


    I nce at the bag warily. "What is it?"


    "Chicken sd sandwich. Don''t worry, no poison," she teases, rolling her eyes. "I''m trying to get on your good side, remember?"


    I can''t help the slight chuckle that escapes me. "You''re relentless."


    She grins, taking that as a victory. "Finally! A real smile."


    I shake my head, more amused than I want to admit. "I am sorry for being rude. But you tend toe on a bit too strong."


    Sarah''s grin fades slightly, and she perches on the edge of my desk, setting her own lunch aside. "I''m sorry if I''ve been too pushy," she says, her tone sincere. "I just... I really admire your work ethic, and I want to learn from you."


    I lean back in my chair, studying her for a moment. Her bright green eyes hold an earnest warmth that catches me off guard. "I appreciate that, Sarah. But you have to understand that I''m not here to make friends. My focus is on my work."


    She nods, her expression thoughtful. "I get that. But don''t you think we could work well together? I mean, you saw my ideas for the budget reports. I''m not just some airhead daddy''s girl."


    I have to admit, she has a point. Her suggestions were impressively insightful. "Fair enough," I concede. "But let''s keep things professional, alright?"


    Sarah''s smile returns, and she hops off my desk. "Of course. Professional. Got it," she says with a yful salute. "Enjoy your lunch, Matthew."


    As she saunters out of my office, I can''t help but watch her go, my gaze lingering on the sway of her hips. Shaking my head, I turn my attention to the lunch she brought, trying to ignore the unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest.


    I can''t be looking at another woman like this. I have a girlfriend, for god''s sake!


    A beautiful, smart, and amazing girlfriend.


    I take a deep breath and rub the back of my neck, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind. Sarah''s just being friendly, that''s all. No need to read too much into it.


    As I eat, my phone buzzes on the desk. I nce at the screen and smile when I see a message from Amanda.


    "Hope your day is going well. Dinner tonight? I miss you. ??"


    A wave of guilt washes over me, sharp and immediate. This is the woman I care about, the one who deserves all my attention. Not someone like Sarah, who¡ªlet''s face it¡ªis probably just toying with me out of boredom.


    I quickly reply: "Can''t wait. I miss you too. Love you."


    ~-~


    After what felt like hours, I finally finished working.


    I rush out of the door to get to the train station as I know Amanda is at home waiting for me.


    The station is as busy as ever. I''m weaving through the crowd, my mind already on the train ride home and dinner with Amanda, when raised voices cut through the noise.


    "Hey! I said back off!"


    The voice is sharp, panicked¡ªand unmistakable.


    Sarah.


    I whip around, my heart kicking into overdrive. She''s standing by the station entrance, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. Two men are advancing on her, their expressions predatory.


    Before I can think, I''m moving. My pulse pounds in my ears as I push through the crowd, closing the distance between us.


    "Leave me alone!" Sarah shouts, her voice shaking now. One of the men smirks, stepping closer.


    "Hey!" My voice is louder than I intended, amand that cuts through themotion.


    All three of them turn toward me. Sarah''s wide, tear-filled eyes meet mine, a flicker of relief breaking through her fear.


    "Get lost," one of the men snaps, his tone dripping with irritation.


    I stop a few feet away, squaring my shoulders. "Walk away. Now."


    The second man narrows his eyes at me, clearly sizing me up. He''s stocky, his shoulders tense under his jacket, but I don''t back down.


    "This ain''t your problem," the first one growls, stepping toward me.


    I hold my ground. "It is now." My voice is low, steady, and leaves no room for argument.


    There''s a tense pause, the air between us taut as a wire. Then the second man grumbles, "Not worth it," and yanks the first man back by the arm.


    "Next time, mind your business," the first guy mutters, ring at me before the two of them slink off into the crowd.


    I let out a slow breath, the tension leaving my shoulders as they disappear from view. Turning to Sarah, I see her still clutching her bag, her hands trembling slightly.


    "You okay?" I ask, keeping my tone softer now.


    She nods quickly, though her face is pale. "I...yes. Thank you. I didn''t know what to do. They just...I think they wanted to rob me." She says, her breath shaky.


    I frown. "What are you doing taking the train? Don''t you have a car?"


    She bites her lip, hesitating for a moment before answering. "I¡ªyeah, it''s at the shop, being fixed."


    "You should take a cab next time," I say firmly. "I''ll call you one right now."


    I pull out my phone and tap in a quick message, arranging for a cab to meet her at the station entrance. She watches me, her posture still tense, though her eyes are no longer filled with fear.


    I stand beside her as we wait for the cab to arrive, not sure what to say. The silence stretches between us, heavy and ufortable. Part of me feels like I''ve crossed a line by intervening like I did, but the other part of me can''t ignore the way she looks¡ªvulnerable and terrified.


    The cab pulls up, and I step aside to let her climb in. She hesitates for a moment before turning back to face me.


    "Would you minding with me? I still feel shaken up. I don''t want to be alone," she says.

 Chapter 16: Perfume

    <h4>Chapter 16: Perfume</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I shift ufortably at her request. "I''m sorry, Sarah, but I can''t. I have dinner ns with Amanda tonight. She''s waiting for me at home."


    Sarah''s eyes widen, a sh of desperation crossing her delicate features. "Please, Matthew," she pleads. "I''m too scared to go home alone. What if those men know where I live? What if they try to find me?"


    I observe her face. She does look genuinely scared. The rational part of my brain tells me to walk away, to keep the boundaries I''ve so carefully constructed. But the protective instinct that drove me to intervene in the first ce won''t let me leave her like this.


    I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Alright. I''ll ride with you to make sure you get home safe. But I can''t stay long. I need to get back to Amanda."


    Relief washes over Sarah''s face, and she nods quickly. "Thank you, Matthew. Really. I promise I won''t keep you long."


    We climb into the cab, and Sarah gives the driver her address.


    As we pull away from the curb, she leans back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment.


    "I''m sorry for dragging you into this," she says softly, not opening her eyes. "I know you have your own life, your own ns. I just...those men really scared me."


    There''s a vulnerability in her voice that catches me off guard, a rawness that I haven''t heard from her before. For all her bubbly charm and relentless pursuit of my attention, in this moment, she seems utterly human. Fragile, even.


    "It''s okay," I reassure her, my voice gentler than I intended. "I''m d I was there. No one should have to face something like that alone."


    She opens her eyes then, turning to look at me. In the passing glow of the streetlights, her green eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I don''t know what I would have done if you hadn''t shown up," she admits, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.


    I swallow hard, suddenly acutely aware of how close we are in the confines of the cab. The scent of her perfume, something soft and floral, fills the air between us. "You don''t have to worry about that now. You''re safe."


    She nods, a single tear escaping down her cheek. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it away with my thumb, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through my arm.


    She suddenly leans forward and rests her head on my shoulder.


    "Um...Sarah..." I start to protest.


    She doesn''t move, her head resting against me as if she''s seekingfort, her breathing slow and steady. T


    I take a deep breath, trying to keep my thoughts clear. "Sarah, I¡ª"


    "I just... I feel safe with you," she interrupts, her voice soft, almost fragile. "I know it''s weird, but after everything that happened today, I am d you are here."


    I want to pull away and remind her that this isn''t a good idea and that I have boundaries. But I can''t bring myself to push her off. The vulnerability in her voice, the trembling in her body, it''s all too real.


    I nce out the window, hoping the ride will end soon so I can get back to Amanda. My thoughts race between guilt, confusion, and a sense of responsibility to make sure Sarah''s okay.


    I clear my throat, trying to focus on something other than her warmth on my shoulder. "It''s alright, Sarah. I''m just making sure you get home safe. That''s all."


    She doesn''t respond right away, but I can feel the subtle shift in the air around us. She pulls back just a little, her face inches from mine. There''s something in her eyes, something searching like she''s looking for something in me. My heart pounds and an ufortable flutter builds in my chest.


    "Thank you," she says again, her voice quieter this time, almost like a whisper.


    The cab slows, and the driver announces we''ve arrived. I''m momentarily relieved. I need to get out of this confined space to clear my head.


    She sits up fully, quickly wiping at her face as if she''s trying topose herself. The moment feels too intimate forfort. I swallow down the knot in my throat. "You''re here," I say, my voice a little sharper than I intended. "I''ll wait until you''re inside."


    "Wait, you shoulde in for a minute," she says.


    I freeze. "I really can''t, Sarah. It wouldn''t be appropriate," I say firmly.


    She looks at me, her green eyes wide. "Just for a minute. I...I don''t want to be alone right now."


    I hesitate, my mind racing with a million reasons why this is a bad idea. But the pleading look in her eyes, the way her hands are still trembling slightly - it tugs at something in my chest. Against my better judgment, I find myself nodding.


    "Okay. Just for a minute," I concede, already regretting the words as they leave my mouth.


    We step out of the cab, and Sarah leads us to her apartment building. It''s a sleek, modern high-rise, all ss and steel. The kind of ce I''d expect the daughter of a wealthy CEO to live.


    She unlocks the door and we step inside. The apartment is spacious and elegantly furnished, but my attention is immediately drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a stunning view of the city skyline.


    "Nice ce," Iment, trying to fill the awkward silence that has settled between us.


    "Thanks," Sarah replies, setting her bag down on the sleek leather couch. "Do you want something to drink? Water, coffee, wine?"


    The offer of wine makes me tense. "No, thank you. I really should be going soon."


    She nods, looking a little disappointed. "Right, of course. I''m sorry for keeping you."


    There''s an awkward pause, neither of us quite sure what to say. I nce at my watch, acutely aware of howte it''s getting. Amanda must be wondering where I am.


    "I should go," I say, taking a step towards the door.


    "Wait," Sarah says, reaching out and grasping my arm. Her touch sends an electric jolt through me. "I just wanted to say thank you again. For everything you did tonight. I don''t know what would have happened if you hadn''t been there."


    Her green eyes shimmer with emotion, and her face is so close to mine that I can see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose. My heart is pounding in my chest, a dizzying mix of guilt and something else I don''t want to name.


    "You''re wee," I manage to say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. "But really, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same."


    She shakes her head, her grip on my arm tightening slightly. "No, they wouldn''t have. You''re different, Matthew. You''re...you''re a good man."


    "Right, but I really should go," I say, gently but firmly removing her hand from my arm. "Amanda is waiting for me."


    Sarah suddenly hugs me, and I freeze. Her arms wrap around me tightly, and I feel her face pressed against my chest. Her body trembles slightly, and the softness of her breath sends a strange jolt through me. For a moment, I just stand there, unsure of what to do.


    "Please, don''t go yet," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I just... I just need a moment."


    I can feel her heart beating fast, and it''s almost too much¡ªtoo real.


    I take a shaky breath and try to step back, but she only holds on tighter, her face still pressed against me. I can feel the heat from her body, and I can''t seem to make myself let go. Her arms tighten as if she''s afraid of losing me, and I hesitate, my thoughts tumbling over each other.


    "I can''t, Sarah," I say, my voice low and tight. "I really can''t stay."


    She doesn''t let go immediately. Her body trembles even more now, but her grip softens slightly, just enough for me to pull away. She lifts her face up, her eyes still locked onto mine, shimmering with unshed tears.


    "Sorry," she says softly.


    "It''s okay," I mutter. "Goodbye, Sarah. Get some sleep."


    I rush out of the apartment.


    What the hell was that?


    I hurry out of Sarah''s apartment building, my heart still racing and my thoughts a jumbled mess. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, but the scent of her perfume lingers on my shirt.


    Shaking my head, I hail a cab and give the driver my address. My mind is consumed with guilt even though I know I didn''t do anything wrong.


    But didn''t I?


    What was I thinking, going up to her apartment like that? I had no business being there, no matter how scared or vulnerable she seemed. I have a girlfriend, a woman I love, waiting for me at home. And yet, for a moment, with Sarah''s arms wrapped around me and her face pressed against my chest, I had hesitated.


    "Hey," Amanda says when she sees me walking inside in a rush. "I was starting to get worried. Everything okay?"


    I force a smile, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it by the door. "Yeah, sorry. Got held up at work." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can''t bring myself to tell her the truth.


    Amanda stands, crossing the room to greet me. She wraps her arms around my waist, leaning up to press a soft kiss to my lips. "I missed you," she murmurs, her warm breath tickling my skin.


    I hug her back, burying my face in her hair and breathing in her familiar scent. "I missed you too," I whisper, and it''s the truth. Being here, holding her, feels right in a way that nothing else does.


    Amanda pulls back slightly, her brow furrowed. "Why do you smell like perfume?" she asks, sniffing lightly at my shirt.


    My heart skips a beat. "What? No, I don''t wear perfume."


    She frowns, leaning in closer. "But you smell different. It''s floral, like...like roses or something."


    Panic rises in my throat. I step back, rubbing the back of my neck. "Oh, that. It must be from the cab I took. The driver had one of those air fresheners."


    Amanda tilts her head, studying me with those perceptive brown eyes. "A cab? I thought you were taking the train today."


    I swallow hard, my mind racing for an exnation. "I was, but there was a dy. Some sort of mechanical issue. I didn''t want to be eventer, so I caught a cab instead."


    She nods slowly, but there''s a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "Okay. Well, dinner''s ready. I made your favorite ¨C spaghetti bolognese."


    "That sounds perfect," I say, mustering a smile. "Let me just wash up real quick."


    I hurry to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and leaning heavily against the sink. My reflection stares back at me, pale and strained. With shaking hands, I unbutton my shirt, tossing it into the hamper. The faint scent of Sarah''s perfume wafts up, and I m the lid shut.


    Turning on the faucet, I ssh cold water on my face, trying to calm the racing of my heart.


    This is ridiculous. Nothing happened with Sarah. It was an awkward moment, nothing more. There''s no reason for me to feel this guilty.


    But even as I try to rationalize it, the memory of her trembling body pressed against mine, the desperation in her voice as she begged me not to leave ¨C it haunts me. I can''t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that a line has been crossed that I can''t uncross.


    Taking a deep breath, I dry my face and head back out to the kitchen. Amanda is setting the table, humming softly to herself. She looks up as I enter, her smile warm and loving.


    "Smells amazing," I say,ing up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. I press a kiss to her cheek, inhaling theforting scent of her shampoo.


    "I hope you''re hungry," she says, leaning back into my embrace.

 Chapter 17: Nightmares

    <h4>Chapter 17: Nightmares</h4>


    Present time...


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory of that fateful day. I am annoyed at myself at the thought of how easily I fell for Sarah''s calcted act of vulnerability. Foolishly, I followed her inside her apartment, unaware that it would mark the beginning of my downfall.


    But there is no time for regret now. My sole purpose is now seeking revenge against her. Every inch of me burns with a fiery determination to make her pay for what she has done to me.


    I walk back to the bedroom to see what Sarah is doing.


    After having the angry outburst and pping me, she went straight to bed, it seems.


    Her back is turned to me, and the soft rise and fall of her breathing are the only signs that she is still awake.


    I linger in the doorway, watching her for a moment, my fists clenching at my sides. I should be more angry about the p, but I feel strangely relieved to get that reaction out of her.


    Her voice cuts through the silence, low and brittle. "Are you going to stand there all night, or are youing to bed?"


    I grit my teeth, stepping further into the room. "You don''t get to act like the victim here, Sarah," I say.


    She shifts slightly, rolling onto her back, her eyes meeting mine. "I am not. I just want to sleep."


    "Go right ahead, princess," I scoff.


    I storm out of the bedroom. The walls of the resort suite suddenly feel suffocating, like they''re closing in on me, mocking my inability to control the situation with Sarah. I need to get out to clear my head.


    It''ste at night, but the resort pool is still lively. I don''t bother joining the crowd. I am not exactly in the mood for socializing.


    I find myself drawn towards the beach, the distant roar of the waves, a siren song promising a momentary escape from my tortured thoughts. The sand shifts beneath my feet as I walk.


    "Hey there!" someone calls out.


    I turn toward the voice.


    A man who looks to be in histe thirties, with sun-kissed skin and an easy grin is staring at me. His partner, a woman with dark curls cascading over her shoulders, gives me a warm smile.


    "You look like you could use a drink," she says, holding up a half-empty bottle of tequ. "Come join us."


    For a moment, I hesitate. Thest thing I want ispany. But what the heck?


    The man hands me a stic cup filled with tequ. "I''m Mark, and this is my wife, Vanessa. We''re celebrating our anniversary. Are you staying at the resort, too?"


    I take the cup, nodding. "Yeah. Just needed some air."


    Mark chuckles knowingly. "Ah, I get it. Women, huh? They can drive you crazy, but we can''t live without ''em." He nces at Vanessa, who rolls her eyes but smiles, clearly used to his humor.


    Vanessa leans forward, studying me with curious eyes. "You seem like you''ve got a lot on your mind. Care to share, or should we stick to small talk and tequ?"


    I sip the drink, letting the warmth burn away some of my tension. "Let''s just say rtionships aren''t exactly my strong suit."


    Markughs a deep, hearty sound. "Join the club. You''re looking at the king of messing things up." He raises his ss to Vanessa, who nudges him yfully.


    Despite myself, I smirk.


    "So, where is your wife?" Vanessa asks.


    I pause, the question catching me off guard. "She''s back in the room," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I don''t borate. No need to air dirtyundry to strangers, even if they seem harmless.


    Vanessa tilts her head, her curiosity unhidden. "Trouble in paradise?" she asks, her voice soft but probing.


    Mark nudges her lightly. "Vanessa, give the man a break. Not everyone wants to spill their guts to strangers on a beach."


    She shrugs, offering me a small smile. "Fair enough. But sometimes, it helps to talk it out. No judgment here."


    I sip my tequ, the burn grounding me. "It''splicated," I finally say, my voice clipped.


    "I see. Well, why don''t you two join us for lunch tomorrow?" Mark offers.


    I hesitate. "Thanks, but I''m not sure," I say cautiously.


    Vanessa waves a hand dismissively. "No pressure. Just thought it would be fun."


    Mark nods in agreement. "The offer stands. We''ll be at the beachside caf¨¦ around noon if you change your mind. Drinks are on me."


    I nod, offering a polite smile. "I''ll think about it."


    Vanessa''s gaze lingers on me for a moment as if she''s trying to read between the lines of my terse responses. "Got things nned out already?"


    "No, not really," I say. I barely want to be here with my so-called wife, let alone make ns with her.


    Vanessa arches an eyebrow but doesn''t press further. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us," she says with a small smile, her tone light.


    I nod in acknowledgment, finishing the tequ in my cup. The warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the sharp edges of my frustration but not erasing them.


    "Thanks for the drink," I say, setting the cup down in the sand. "Enjoy your anniversary."


    As I walk away, I hear themugh and talk about nothing. I nce back once but see they''ve already turned their attention to each other, lost in their world.


    I envy them, their simplicity, their warmth. I used to have that with Amanda before Sarah destroyed it.


    I take a deep breath and turn back toward the resort.


    I pause outside the door, my hand hovering over the handle. Part of me wants to turn around, to flee from the suffocating presence of the woman who shattered my world. But I know running is not an option. I chose to take this trip with her anyway.


    I make my way to the bedroom, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Sarah lies on the bed, her back to me, and the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders indicate she is sleeping. The sight of her, so seemingly innocent, ignites a fresh wave of anger.


    How dare she rest so easily while my world is in shambles?


    As if sensing my presence, Sarah stirs, rolling over to face me. Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine in the semi-darkness. For a moment, neither of us speaks.


    "You''re back," she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep.


    I don''t respond, my gaze locked on hers, a silent battle of wills. She sits up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist.


    "Come to bed, Matthew," she says.


    I hesitate for a moment before I take off my clothes and get into bed with her.


    "I am sorry I pped you," she says quietly.


    Her apology catches me off guard. "You are...sorry?" I repeatmely.


    "Yes. No matter what you say to me, I should''ve never hit you," she says.


    "Thanks," I mutter under my breath.


    "I just... I didn''t like you calling me that word. I am not a whore." Her voice wavers.


    I feel a sharp pang in my chest, and the words she''s throwing at me are pulling me in different directions. Part of me wants to dismiss her apology, to ignore it like everything else she''s said and done. But another part of me can''t ignore the sheer sadness in her eyes.


    "I shouldn''t have called you that," I admit quietly.


    For a moment, there''s nothing but silence between us. Then, Sarah turns away. "Let''s just get some sleep," she whispers.


    "Yeah, good idea," I agree before turning to my side.


    ~-~


    Something jolts me awake at night. A noise. Someone whimpering?


    I lie still, straining to listen, but the noise doesn''te again. The room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. I rub my eyes and nce at the clock¡ªit''s just past 3 AM.


    I shake off the uneasy feeling, convincing myself it was nothing. But then, ites again. A soft, muffled sound. It''sing from Sarah.


    I turn toward her, my pulse quickening. She''s tossing and turning now, her face twisted in difort. Her brow furrows, and she''s murmuring something frantic under her breath.


    "Matthew... please..."


    I reach out cautiously, unsure if I should wake her or let her continue.


    Her body tenses in her sleep, and she gasps.


    I freeze, my hand hovering over her shoulder. Sarah''s breathing bes more rapid, and her murmuring intensifies.


    "No... stop... please..." Her words are barely audible, but the fear in her voice is unmistakable.


    A sudden realization hits me. She is having a nightmare. About me? A twisted sense of satisfaction briefly flickers through me. Good, let her suffer as I have. Let her feel the torment she''s inflicted on me.


    But as quickly as the thoughtes, it''s reced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation. Is it... concern?


    Sarah''s whimpers grow louder, her body thrashing more violently. "Matthew, I''m sorry... I didn''t mean to..."


    Despite everything, seeing her like this stirs something inside me. Maybe it is the faint echo of the man I used to be before she shattered my world. The man who would have instinctivelyforted her.


    Hesitantly, I put her hand on her back and then rubbed it gently.


    She starts sobbing then, her body trembling.


    Is she faking this to gain my sympathy? It seems like the kind of thing she would do, wouldn''t she?


    I watch Sarah closely. But as her sobs intensify, her body shaking uncontrobly, I realize this is no act. The anguish etched on her face is too real.


    "Please, don''t hurt me," she whimpers, her voice small and broken. "I''m sorry, I''m so sorry..."


    Despite everything she''s done, I can''t help but feel a twinge ofpassion.


    Damn it.


    Slowly, hesitantly, I reach out and gather her trembling form into my arms. She stiffens at first, as if expecting a blow, but then melts into my embrace, her tears soaking through my shirt.


    "Shh, it''s okay," I murmur, my voice low and soothing. "It''s just a dream."


    I stroke her hair as her sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles. Her breathing slows, and her body rxes against mine, the tension draining away.


    Just for tonight, I will allow this human side of me.

 Chapter 18: Means to an End

    <h4>Chapter 18: Means to an End</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I can''t move.


    I''m awake, but my eyes are still closed. I try to turn to my side and roll off the bed like I usefully do, but I can''t do it this time.


    Why can''t I?


    A weight presses down on me. It''s not just my body that feels trapped. Something is physically keeping me still. Panic sparks in my chest, and I force my eyes open, blinking into the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains.


    That''s when I see him.


    Matthew.


    His arm is draped over me, his grip firm, locking me in ce. His body is close, and his warmth seeps into my skin. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against me, his breath tickling my cheek.


    Why is he holding me like this? Thest time I checked, he was at the edge of the bed to avoid touching me.


    "Matthew," I whisper, my voice shaky, barely audible.


    He doesn''t respond. His breathing remains deep and even, his face peaceful in the dim light.


    I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but my heart pounds relentlessly.


    No, I shouldn''t wake him up. I want to enjoy being held like this for a little longer.


    I inch even closer to him, if it''s even possible and smile secretly when I feel his hardness between my legs.


    Oh, Matthew...


    You can hate me all you want, but your body can''t help but react to mine. The thought satisfies me immensely.


    I lie still, my body molded to his as the minutes stretch on.


    I know it won''tst. It never does with Matthew. He''ll wake up soon, pull away, and go back to keeping his distance. But for now, I let myself pretend¡ªpretend that things between us are different, that there''s no anger, no betrayal, no history to weigh us down.


    As if sensing my thoughts, Matthew stirs slightly, his arm tightening around me. My breath hitches, and for a second, I wonder if he''s awake. But then he mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his head nuzzling closer to the crook of my neck.


    I tilt my head just slightly, daring to nce at his face. His features are rxed, softened by sleep. It''s such a stark contrast to the guarded, sometimes cold expression he wears when he''s awake.


    Before I can stop myself, I reach down and touch him...there. I can''t help it.


    He takes me when he wants now, it seems, and treats my body like a toy, so why can''t I touch him when I want, too?


    I let my hand linger, tracing him through the sheet. He grows harder beneath my touch, his body responding instinctively, even if his mind is still lost in sleep. The power of it, the power to affect him like this, makes my breath quicken.


    A low sound escapes him, almost a groan, and I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest.


    His eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep but sharp enough to pin me in ce. "What are you doing?" He releases me from his embrace, but I stay close.


    "Nothing," I say coyly, but I don''t remove my hand.


    Instead, I slowly stroke the length of his penis over the fabric of his boxers.


    A low growl escapes his lips, his eyes more alert now. "Sarah..." he says, his voice is tight with warning.


    I don''t want to stop, I realize. I want to be in control. I reach out and grab the waistband of his boxers and pull them down.


    His cock stands in attention, free from its restraint.


    Matthew''s hand shoots out, gripping my wrist firmly before I can go further. His jaw tightens, his eyes zing with desire and anger as they lock onto mine.


    "Sarah," he growls, his tone low andmanding, "stop."


    His protests feel like a challenge, and I''m not backing down.


    I meet his fiery gaze, my voice steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. "I want to touch you."


    His lips press into a thin line, his grip on my wrist tightening. "It doesn''t matter what you want. You don''t get to dictate this."


    I bite my lower lip. I got us here because of my intense desire for this man so if he thinks I will never get to taste him how I want, he has another thinging.


    I scoot down and settle myself between his legs so I am at eye level with his cock. "Let go of my wrist, Matthew. Let me touch you," I say, my voice low and controlled.


    "No," he murmurs.


    "You are hard. Let me take care of you," I whisper.


    He looks at me through half-closed lids, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He is turned on whether he likes it or not.


    Matthew''s grip falters slightly, and I take the opportunity to slip free. I don''t give him a chance to stop me this time. My hand wraps around him, stroking him slowly, deliberately, watching his reaction. His jaw clenches, and he lets out a low, guttural sound that sends a thrill through me.


    "Sarah," he warns again, but there''s no conviction behind it now.


    "Does it feel good?" I ask.


    "You know it does," he snaps. "Take your nightgown off," he orders.


    Slowly, I reach for the hem of my nightgown, pulling it over my head.


    "I''m only allowing this because I can''t ignore my baser needs, no other reason. You are just a body to me," he reminds me.


    "Yes. I know," I reply.


    "Put me in your mouth," hemands again.


    I pause. "I''ve never done this before," I admit.


    Matthew''s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as if my confession caught him off guard.


    "You''ve never done what?" he asks, his voice lower now, almost a growl.


    I shake my head, my cheeks flushing. "Pleasuring someone with my...um...mouth."


    His hand cups my chin, tilting my face up so our eyes meet. "Then you''ll learn," he says, his tone cold and authoritative. "And you''ll do it well."


    I nod slowly, determined not to let him see any hesitation.


    Tentatively, I lower myself closer, my hand wrapping around him again. He''s impossibly hard, the heat of him radiating against my palm. I nce up at him, his sharp features shadowed by the dim light, his expression unreadable but intense.


    I lean forward, my lips brushing the tip of his cock, tasting him for the first time. His male scent fills my nostrils.


    His body tenses, and I hear the sharp intake of his breath. Encouraged by his reaction, I take more of him into my mouth, moving slowly, unsure but eager to please.


    Matthew''s hand tangles in my hair, guiding me, his grip firm but not painful. "Don''t rush," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Take your time. Use your tongue to lick the tip."


    I do as he says, experimenting with my tongue and the rhythm of my movements. Every groan and twitch of his body tells me I''m doing something right. His breathing grows heavier, and his grip on my hair tightens.


    Good," he says through gritted teeth. "Just like that."


    I can feel his tension building. His hips start to move slightly, and I can sense the struggle he''s having to maintain control. I''m determined to push him over the edge, to make him lose himself in the moment.


    I take more of him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around his shaft as I suck gently. Matthew''s hand guides me deeper.


    "Faster," he orders, his voice strained with effort.


    I increase the pace, my mouth moving in time as my hips thrust up. I feel like I might choke.


    "Deeper," he orders, his voice strained to the breaking point. I take him deeper into my mouth, my lips stretching around him as he thrusts into me.


    I can feel the heat building in him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until finally...he explodes.


    The sensation is overwhelming - the rush of fluid into my mouth, the taste of him on my tongue. It''s a primal moment of connection between us that makes everything else melt away.


    For one brief instant, we''re not enemies or strangers - we''re just two people lost in pleasure.


    "Swallow every drop," he growls.


    I swallow, tasting his semen. It''s bitter, but I don''t even wince. To me, this was a small victory.


    Matthew''s body rxes. He lies there, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes closed in a moment of vulnerability.


    I pull back, my mouth releasing him as I sit up. Matthew''s eyes flicker open, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the only sound of heavy breathing filling the room.


    Then, without a word, Matthew reaches out and pulls me up to him. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close as he buries his face in my hair. I feel a sense of surprise at the gentle gesture, but I don''t pull away. Instead, I let myself be held by him, feeling a strange sense offort in his arms.


    But as quickly as it started, the moment is over. Matthew pulls back, his expression hardening as he looks at me with a detached gaze. "Don''t think this changes anything," he says coldly. "You''re still just a means to an end for me."


    I meet his gaze with a calm expression. "I know," I say simply.


    Matthew nods curtly and rolls away from me. "Get up. We aren''t here to stay in bed all day."

 Chapter 19: Lobster

    <h4>Chapter 19: Lobster</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    "Where are we going?" I ask as I get in the car.


    "Sightseeing," Matthew says without offering any further exnation.


    A few minutester, we end up at a dock. My mood brightens as I see a big boat tied to it. I''ve always loved being in a boat in the middle of the sea. "We are going on a boat ride? How fun!" I exim.


    Matthew doesn''t react to my enthusiasm, but I see his facial expression soften a little. "Yes, it will take us to a small ind. Apparently, there''s a restaurant that''s known for great food," he said.


    I nod. I can''t help but secretly be happy at his interest in going ces for our honeymoon. I half expected him to ditch me at the resort and leave by himself.


    Matthew steps out of the car and leads me toward the boat.


    As we approach, a crew member steps forward, greeting Matthew with a nod before helping us aboard. I nce around, taking in the cushioned seating area and the open deck, perfect for taking in the sea air.


    The boat pulls away from the dock, gliding smoothly across the calm waters. I lean back, letting the warm sun and cool breeze wash over me.


    The ride takes about twenty minutes, and the boat cuts through the water with ease. Soon, a small indes into view, its lush greenery spilling onto the white sand beaches. A modest dock extends into the water, and beyond it, I can see the outline of a charming little building nestled among the trees.


    "This is it?" I ask, my excitement bubbling to the surface.


    Matthew nods.


    As the boat slows to a stop at the dock, Matthew stands, offering me his hand. I take it, surprised by the unexpected gesture, and allow him to guide me off the boat.


    We make our way along the weathered wooden nks. The ind feels like a hidden paradise, untouched by the world beyond its shores.


    "It''s beautiful here!" I gasp.


    "Yes. I heard their lobsters are to die for," Matthew says, sounding happy for the first time since we got married.


    Matthew leads me inside, and we''re greeted by a smiling hostess who guides us to a table in a quiet corner.


    After settling into our seats, I find myself stealing nces at Matthew, trying to gauge his reaction to the surroundings. His face remains unemotional, but there''s a flicker of light in his eyes.


    Thank god he is in a good mood, I think to myself.


    "How did you find this ce?" I ask, my voice soft, almost afraid to disrupt the intimate atmosphere.


    Matthew meets my gaze, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "From the pamphlet in our room," he replies.


    Matthew picks up the menu. I follow suit, my eyes skimming over the enticing options.


    "See anything you like?" Matthew asks, not looking up from his menu.


    "The lobster does sound amazing," I admit, my mouth watering at the thought. "But everything looks delicious."


    Matthew closes his menu decisively. "Lobster it is, then."


    "This ce is lovely," I venture, hoping to draw him out. "Thank you for bringing me here."


    Matthew''s gaze meets mine. "Don''t mention it," he says gruffly, looking out at the sparkling blue water.


    We go into silence, but for once, it feels almostpanionable rather than strained.


    "Matthew, is that you?"


    A voice startles me, and I look up to see a stranger smiling at us.


    Recognition shes in Matthew''s eyes, and he smiles back at the man. "Oh, hello, Mark. We are just here to try their famous lobsters," he says with a grin.


    "Us too! Vanessa,e over here and see who I just found," the man calls out,ughing.


    A woman with ck curly hair and a warm smile approaches our table. "Ah, fancy seeing you here. Care to introduce us to your..."


    "Wife," Matthew says. "This is my wife, Sarah."


    I feel strangely relieved at his introduction. I half expected him to dismiss me. "Hi," I say shyly.


    "We met Matthew at the beachst night. You must''ve been sleeping," Vanessa says.


    "I was," I reply, giving her a polite smile while ncing at Matthew.


    He must''ve met them when he angrily stormed out of the room and was gone for an hour.


    "Anyway, we don''t want to bother you too much. Our food should be here soon, but hey, why don''t you twoe to the Jeep safari with us? It''s more fun in a group with the people you know," Mark says.


    I nce at Matthew, curious about his reaction to the invitation. For a moment, his expression remains unreadable, but then he surprises me with a small nod.


    "Sounds interesting. What time?" Matthew asks.


    Mark beams. "Around two o''clock. We''ll meet at the main square on the ind¡ªthere''s a guide who takes groups out from there. It''s a great way to see the ce."


    Vanessa chimes in, her enthusiasm infectious. "Oh, it''s incredible! There are hidden trails, stunning views, and even a spot where you can see dolphins if you''re lucky."


    "That does sound fun," I say, my excitement genuine. "Thank you for inviting us."


    Vanessa smiles warmly. "Of course! The more, the merrier."


    As they return to their table, I turn back to Matthew. "You actually agreed to go?"


    He raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. "Why not? It''s a chance to see more of the ind. Why? Would you rather stay at the resort?"


    "No! We are on a honeymoon, so I want to have fun," I say quickly.


    Matthew scoffs. "Right, honeymoon."


    "It is our honeymoon whether you want it to be or not," I say firmly. "And we are going to have fun."


    "Right...fun," he says dryly but doesn''t argue the point.


    The waiter arrives with our drinks, cutting the tension between us. I take a sip of my cocktail, savoring the tropical vor, and let the cool liquid soothe my nerves.


    "How long do you think the safari willst?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation toward neutral territory.


    Matthew shrugs, his gaze focused on the water outside. "Probably a few hours. Long enough to see everything worth seeing, I suppose."


    "I''m d we''re doing something together," I say softly, almost to myself.


    He nces at me, his expression unreadable. "You wanted a honeymoon experience, didn''t you?"


    "Yes," I reply, refusing to let his tone discourage me. "And I appreciate youing along."


    Matthew doesn''t respond immediately. He picks up his ss and takes a sip, the silence between us teetering on the edge of awkwardness.


    When our food arrives, the aroma of the lobster fills the air, and I can''t help but smile. "This smells amazing."


    Matthew nods. "Let''s hope it lives up to the hype."

 Chapter 20: Adventure

    <h4>Chapter 20: Adventure</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    The jeep lurches over another rocky outcrop, jolting me. I grip the seat, trying to steady myself as we bounce along the rugged terrain. The engine''s roar fills my ears, but it can''t drown out the deafening silence between Matthew and me.


    I want to hold his arm to steady myself, but what if he swats it away right in front of Vanessa and Mark, embarrassing me?


    I sneak a nce at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. The muscles in his forearms flex with each turn, and I can''t help but admire the strength evident in every line of his body. It''s a strength that both attracts and terrifies me.


    "You okay there, Sarah?" Vanessa''s cheerful voice breaks through my reverie. "You''re looking a bit green around the gills."


    I force a smile, grateful for the distraction. "Just not used to such a bumpy ride, I guess."


    "Oh, honey, you should have seen the roads in Thandst year," sheughs,unching into a story about their previous travels.


    I nod along, trying to focus on her words.


    "Sarah," Matthew says. "Pass me the water bottle."


    I reach for it and hand it to him. Our hands brush, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me.


    "Thanks," he says curtly, breaking the contact.


    I turn back to Vanessa, desperate for a lifeline. "So, um, what was your favorite part of Thand?"


    As she chatters on, I try to lose myself in her stories. But my mind keeps circling back to the man beside me.


    Suddenly, the jeep lurches violently, the engine sputtering and choking. My heart leaps into my throat as we jerk to an abrupt halt, the final gasps of the engine fading into an ominous silence.


    "What the hell?" Matthew growls, his eyes narrowing as he scans our surroundings.


    The oppressive heat hits me like a wall as the air conditioning dies. Sweat immediately beads on my skin, and I can feel panic rising in my chest.


    Did the Jeep just stop running?


    "This can''t be happening," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.


    Matthew''s jaw clenches. "Of course it is. Because nothing on this godforsaken trip could possibly go right."


    His words sting, but I force myself to take a deep breath. "Maybe it''s just a minor issue," I suggest, trying to infuse my voice with an optimism I don''t feel.


    The driver jumps out, mming the door behind him. We watch as he circles the jeep, muttering under his breath. When he reaches the front tire, he gives it a swift, frustrated kick.


    "Godverdomme!" he shouts, the Dutch curse cutting through the heavy air.


    Despite the tension, I can''t help but let out a small, nervous giggle. I nce at Matthew, surprised to see the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I see a sh of the man I fell for ¨C sardonic humor mixed with begrudging amusement.


    "Well," I say, my voice light, "at least we''re getting the full adventure experience."


    Matthew snorts, but there''s less venom in it than before. "An adventure in ipetence, maybe."


    He reaches for the door handle, and I follow suit. As we step out into the blistering heat.


    Mark and Vanessa mber out of the jeep behind us. I watch as Mark stretches dramatically, his easy grin never faltering.


    "Well, this is quite the predicament, isn''t it?" he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I do hope we don''t end up as tiger chow out here in the middle of nowhere."


    I feel Matthew tense beside me. "Very funny, Mark," he snaps.


    But I can''t help it ¨C a giggle escapes me before I can stop it. Mark''s ridiculousment has broken through the tension, and suddenly, the absurdity of our situation hits me full force.


    "Ohe on, Matthew," I say, nudging him gently with my elbow. "It''s eitherugh or cry at this point."


    He res at me, but I see a flicker of something softer in his eyes. Is it possible he''s fighting back a smile?


    "Besides," Vanessa chimes in, her voice warm and reassuring, "I''m pretty sure there aren''t any tigers in this part of the country. Leopards, maybe..."


    "Oh, well, that''s much better," I retort, rolling my eyes but grinning. "Leopard food sounds far more dignified."


    For a moment, just a moment, I swear I see Matthew smile. But then his mask of irritation slides back into ce, and he turns away to survey our surroundings.


    "Is everything okay, sir?" Mark calls out to the driver.


    The driver grumbles something in Dutch before switching to English, his ent thick with frustration. "Not okay. The engine overheated, and the radiator cap...how do you say...broke." He gestures angrily at the smoking hood of the jeep.


    "Fantastic," Matthew mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stranded in the middle of nowhere because someone forgot to maintain their vehicle."


    The driver shoots him a sharp look. "You think you can fix it? Be my guest." He throws up his hands and steps away from the jeep, muttering curses under his breath.


    "Calm down," I say softly to Matthew, trying to ease the tension. "Getting angry won''t help."


    He exhales sharply, his hands on his hips. "We''re miles from anywhere. How exactly do you propose we stay calm?"


    "We make the best of it," I reply, summoning as much positivity as I can. "It''s an adventure, remember?"


    "Some adventure," he mutters. He looks at his phone. "And there is no signal. Perfect."


    Vanessa ps her hands together. "Well, at least we have water and shade," she says brightly, motioning to the sparse, spindly tree.


    Mark nods, unbothered. "Could be worse. We could''ve broken down in the middle of a desert."


    I nce around. Isn''t this close enough to a desert? The dry, cracked earth and the scrubby vegetation aren''t exactly inviting.


    "Great. A survivalist''s dream," Matthew mutters, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.


    I step toward the tree, fishing a water bottle from my bag. "We''ll figure something out," I say, half to him and half to myself. I lean against the trunk, the bark hot against my back, and take a swig of water.


    The heat is suffocating, the kind that seeps into your bones. Sweat trickles down my spine, and I catch Vanessa fanning herself with a guidebook.


    The driver rummages through the jeep, pulling out a toolkit that looks older than the vehicle itself. He kneels by the engine, muttering to himself while the rest of us exchange uneasy nces.


    "Should we try to walk somewhere?" Mark suggests, shading his eyes with one hand as he squints at the horizon. "There''s got to be a road or a house nearby."


    Matthew shakes his head sharply. "We don''t know where we are. Wandering off could make things worse."


    "True," Mark agrees.


    "So, newlyweds. How did you two meet?" Vanessa asks.


    The question catches me off guard, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with the heat. I nce at Matthew, wondering how he''ll respond.


    His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment before he looks away, his expression unreadable. "Work," he says curtly.


    "Oh, how romantic!" Vanessa gushes, either oblivious to or ignoring the tension between us. "Office romance, huh? I love it."


    I force a smile, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Yeah."


    If only that was true.


    Not as romantic as you think," Matthew mutters under his breath. I shoot him a look, but he''s studiously avoiding my gaze.


    Mark, bless him, seems to sense the awkwardness. "Well, however it happened, you two make a stunning couple," he says with a wink.


    Matthew makes a nomittal noise, and I feel a pang in my chest. Will we even make it to our first anniversary?


    I''m saved from having to respond by a triumphant shout from the driver. "I think I fix it!" he calls out, waving us over.


    Relief washes over me as we gather around the jeep. The driver ms the hood shut and wipes his greasy hands on his shorts. "Let''s continue," he says to us.


    "Oh, thank god," Vanessa sighs, fanning herself dramatically. "I thought we were going to have to resort to cannibalism."


    Markughs and helps her into the jeep. "I don''t think we''re quite there yet, babe. But it is good to know where your mind goes in a crisis."


    I giggle at Mark''s remark, feeling Matthew''s eyes on me at the same time. He is staring at me intently.


    ~-~


    By the time we get back to the resort, it is already nighttime.


    Vanessa leans toward me. "You guys should totallye hang out with us at the beach tonight."


    Mark pipes up from the front, his voice light and carefree. "Yeah,e on! It''ll be fun, a little sand, some drinks, and no more vehicle disasters."


    Matthew looks unsure. "I don''t know. We had a long day, so I was going to call it a night."


    "Come on, Matthew. Don''t be a spoilsport. It''s not even thatte. What do you say, Sarah?" Mark asks me.


    I hesitate. "I guess a few drinks wouldn''t hurt," I say quietly and look at Matthew. "If you want to stay back, I wouldn''t mind," I say.


    Matthew''s eyes sh. "You will go without me?"


    I meet Matthew''s gaze, a sudden surge of defiance rising within me. "Why not? I am not even tired."


    His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the surface. "I wille too."


    "Great! Meet us in the lobby in an hour," Vanessa deres.

 Chapter 21: Something New

    <h4>Chapter 21: Something New</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I tug at the thin red straps, adjusting them over my shoulders. The mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize - eyes too bright, skin bronzed. The Aruba sun seems to be in my favor. I smooth my hands over the bikini, wondering if it is too revealing.


    A prickle runs down my spine. I don''t need to turn to know Matthew''s eyes are on me, watching me. His gaze burns, a physical weight against my skin.


    "nning a show, Sarah?" His voice cuts through the silence, cold and sharp.


    I force myself to meet his eyes in the mirror. He''s sprawled across the bed, deceptively rxed, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers grip the sheets.


    "We are going to the beach," I say, aiming for nonchnce. "This is what people wear to the beach."


    A humorless chuckle. "People that are attractive, perhaps. But you?"


    I spin to face him, anger ring. "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "Trying a little hard, aren''t we? That swimsuit leaves little to the imagination. Though I suppose when there''s not much to show off, one has to resort to... desperate measures."


    The words slice through me, but I refuse to let him see how deeply they hurt. I turn, meeting his cold stare with a brittle smile.


    "Oh, Matthew," I say, my voice dripping with false sweetness, "I''m so sorry I can''tpare to Amanda''s perfection."


    The mention of Amanda''s name ignites something primal in Matthew''s eyes. His entire demeanor shifts, the cold disdain morphing into white-hot rage. He moves with a speed that catches me off guard, closing the distance between us in two long strides.


    "You have no right," he snarls, his face contorted with fury.


    Before I can react, his hands are on my shoulders, and I''m mmed against the wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but it''s not painful - just jarring. My heart pounds wildly as I find myself pinned, Matthew''s face mere inches from mine.


    I can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne. It''s intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.


    "Listen to me very carefully," Matthew says, his voice low and dangerous. Each word is carefully enunciated, dripping with menace. "You will not speak her name again. Do you understand me?"


    I should be terrified. But something in me refuses to back down.


    My voicees out steadier than I feel when I ask, "Or what, Matthew?"


    Matthew''s grip on my shoulders tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. I can see the muscle in his jaw twitching, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He''s so close I can count his eyshes.


    I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. My heart thunders in my chest, but I won''t let him see how he affects me. I won''t give him that satisfaction.


    "You don''t want to find out," he growls, his breath hot against my face.


    I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice from trembling. "I think I do."


    The silence that follows is deafening. It stretches between us, thick and heavy with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. I can almost hear the gears turning in Matthew''s head as he struggles with himself.


    His eyes flicker to my lips for a split second, and I stop breathing. Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to push me against the wall and fuck me?


    The messed up part of me wishes he did.


    "Why are you all dressed up anyway?" Matthew''s voice is low, usatory. His eyes flick down to my red bikini, then back to my face. "Trying to trap Mark like you trapped me?"


    I force myself not to flinch. Instead, I roll my eyes, mustering all the nonchnce I can. "Don''t be ridiculous, Matthew."


    "Am I?" He leans in closer, if that''s even possible. "You have a talent for maniption, Sarah. Those big green eyes, that innocent act."


    "He is married to Vanessa, and I am married to you, Matthew," I state the obvious.


    His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me. Or maybe he wants to strangle me. With Matthew, it''s hard to tell the difference sometimes.


    But the tension in his shoulders eases slightly, and he takes a step back. I can breathe again, but the air between us remains charged.


    "We should go," he says, his voice clipped. "Mark and Vanessa are waiting."


    I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As we make our way down to the beach, I can feel Matthew''s presence behind me, like a storm cloud following in my wake.


    We round a bend, and there they are. Mark and Vanessa sit on a nket, surrounded by softly glowingnterns. The scene is picturesque, romantic even.


    "Hey, you two!" Mark calls out, waving us over.


    Vanessa holds up a bottle of wine. "We''ve got plenty to share."


    "Great," Matthew says as he flops down on the nket.


    "Is everything okay? Did you two fight?" Vanessa asks as she hands me a ss of wine.


    I take the ss of wine. "Everything''s fine," I say quickly, stering a smile on my face. "Just a little... disagreement."


    Matthew grunts in response, clearly not interested in engaging, and leans back on the nket, stretching his long legs out. His eyes are distant, his posture stiff.


    "Well, we should just rx now! The ocean is beautiful at night, and the wine helps too." She takes a sip from her own ss, leaning against Mark as she watches the waves crash softly under the moonlight.


    Mark smiles, his eyes twinkling. "Exactly. No reason to stress. It''s a perfect evening, right?"


    I nod, taking a tentative sip of wine, trying to steady my nerves. "Yeah, it''s nice."


    "You look great, Sarah. That bikini is super sexy," Vanessa says in an almost flirtatious tone.


    "Um...thanks," I murmur.


    Matthew doesn''t say anything, his gaze fixed on the horizon. I try not to let his silence get to me.


    I nce at Mark and Vanessa, wondering if they can sense the uneasiness between Matthew and Me. But seem to be in their own world, oblivious to the drama between us. I almost envy them.


    I take another sip of wine, feeling its warmth spread through me, but it doesn''t seem to reach the cold pit in my stomach. Earlier during the safari, it seemed like Matthew was warming up to me, but now it looks like we are back to square one.


    Vanessa stretches her legs out and sighs contentedly. "You know, Mark and I have been talking. It''s been a while since we''ve done something... different."


    Mark grins, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Yeah, you know, like... sharing the experience. It''s all about trust and enjoying the moment, right?"


    I look at them quizzically. "What kind of experience?"


    Vanessa''s gaze flickers over to me. "Mark and I love each other, but sometimes we like mixing things up. You know what I am saying?"


    Markughs out loud, startling me. "Sweetheart, I don''t think Sarah understands what you are talking about. Your wife is quite the innocent little thing, isn''t she, Matthew?"


    Matthew''s eyes snap toward him. "Trust me, she is not," he says curtly.


    Vanessa''s smile is sly, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "I am talking about spicing up our marriage," she says.


    "You two are swingers," Matthew says. He looks amused.


    Vanessa shrugs, unbothered by Matthew''s bluntness. "If you must put abel on it," she says with a yful smile. "We believe in keeping things interesting."


    Mark chuckles, clearly enjoying the tension he''s created.


    I shift ufortably, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in. This conversation is getting too personal, and I have no idea how to handle it. "Well," I say, forcing a smile, "Why are you telling us this?"


    Mark leans forward, his grin widening. "Well, Sarah, we were thinking... maybe you and Matthew might be interested in joining us tonight. You know, a little couples'' fun."


    What the fuck?


    Vanessa nods, her eyes locked on mine. "We think you both are so attractive. There''s just something electric between you two. We thought it could be an incredible experience to share."


    I feel my cheeks flush, my heart pounding in my chest. I can''t believe what I''m hearing.


    Swinging? With Mark and Vanessa?


    The idea is so shocking, so taboo, I don''t even know how to respond.


    I nce at Matthew, trying to see his reaction, but his expression is unreadable. He takes a sip of his wine, his eyes dark and intense as they meet mine.


    Is he not going to say something? Maybe tell them no?


    "I... I don''t know," I stammer. "That''s not something I..." I don''t finish my sentence. I don''t know what to say.


    Vanessa slides closer to me, her hand resting lightly on my thigh. "It''s okay, Sarah. We''ll take it slow. Just think about how good it could feel, all of us together, skin on skin..."


    I feel a flush of heat spread through my body.


    Mark moves closer to Matthew, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I think this could be a lot of fun. Watching Vanessa and Sarah together? It will be like every man''s fantasy."


    Matthew''s jaw clenches. He looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Sarah?" His voice is rough.


    I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.


    This is insane. We shouldn''t even be considering this.


    "I... I don''t know," I breathe.


    Vanessa smiles, her hand sliding higher on my thigh. "Just think about it, Sarah."


    Mark moves behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. I can feel the heat of his body. "You''re so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "Let us worship you tonight."


    Beautiful? I know he is lying, but it still makes me blush.


    Matthew is watching us, his gaze intense, as Mark''s hand lowers a bit, resting right above my breasts.


    My fist tightens on the nket. Is Matthew not going to stop him? Does he not care that someone is touching his wife?


    Of course, he does not care. Who am I kidding? Matthew hates me.


    "I suppose it wouldn''t hurt to try something new," I say through gritted teeth. My heart hammers in my chest.


    What am I doing? This isn''t me. I don''t engage in wild sexual escapades with virtual strangers. But I am angry at Matthew and the words just slipped out.


    Matthew''s eyes sh dangerously, his grip on his wine ss tightening. For a moment, I think he might shatter it. "Is that right?" he says, his voice low and controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of rage. "You want to do this?"


    I lift my chin defiantly, meeting his gaze head-on. "Why not? It could be fun."


    Vanessa giggles. "That''s the spirit, Sarah! We''re going to have such a good time."


    Mark grins, his hands starting to massage my shoulders. "I can''t wait to get my hands on you," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.


    I shiver, but not from desire. It''s the prickling sense of unease, the feeling that I''m stepping into dangerous territory. But I can''t back down now. Not with Matthew watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to crack.


    "Well then," Matthew says, setting his ss down with a sharp clink. "I guess we''re doing this." He stands abruptly, towering over us. "Where to?"


    Vanessa stands as well, her smile wicked. "Our room."

 Chapter 22: Ridiculous

    <h4>Chapter 22: Ridiculous</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Why am I doing this?


    I think that, as I allow Vanessa and Mark to lead us to their room at the resort,


    This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I need to put a stop to this before it gets too far.


    But it''s as if I lost all my willpower as I watch Mark open the door and motion me in with a sly grin. "Don''t look so nervous, Sarah. This is going to be fun, I promise," he says.


    I never noticed this before, but something about Mark is off-putting. Or maybe I am just imagining it because I don''t really want to do this.


    I step into the room, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The room is dimly lit, the bedrge and inviting, and I can''t help but think of all the things that could happen here. Things I never thought I would do.


    Behind me, I hear the door click shut. Matthew brushes past me, his shoulder bumping mine roughly. He doesn''t look at me as he moves further into the room.


    Vanessa follows, her hand trailing along my arm. "Make yourselffortable," she purrs.


    I swallow hard, my feet rooted to the spot. This is wrong. This isn''t me. What am I doing here?


    Markes up behind me, his hands resting on my hips. "Rx, Sarah," he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "We''re going to take good care of you."


    I shudder, but not from desire. His touch feels wrong, invasive. I nce at Matthew, hoping for... what? Rescue? But he''s not even looking at me. He is pouring himself a drink from the mini bar, his back turned to us.


    Vanessa starts to unbutton her shirt, her eyes locked on mine. "I''ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you," she says, her voice low and seductive.


    I take a step back, bumping into Mark. "I... I don''t think I can do this," I whisper.


    Mark''s grip on my hips tightens. "Don''t be a tease, Sarah. You agreed to this first, remember?"


    Panic rises in my throat. I look to Matthew again, desperate. "Matthew..."


    He turns then, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I see something sh in their depths.


    Anger, yes, but also... possessiveness?


    He sets his ss down with a loud thunk. "You agreed to do this. Because you wanted to try something new," he said mockingly. "It could be fun. Isn''t that what you said, Sarah?"


    Goddammit...couldn''t he see I did that to spite him? Doesn''t he care that I am ufortable now?


    But, of course, he does not care. Why am I even thinking he would? He hates me. Seeing me ufortable is probably the highlight of his day right now.


    "Fine. Let''s do this then," I breathe.


    Vanessa saunters over to Matthew, a seductive sway in her hips. She reaches out, trailing her fingers down his chest, her red nails a stark contrast against his white shirt. "Mmm, you''re so tense, Matthew," she purrs. "Let me help you rx."


    Her nimble fingers start to unbutton his shirt, slowly revealing his tanned, sculpted chest. She leans in, pressing her lips against his skin, her tongue darting out to taste him. Matthew remains still, his eyes fixed on me, dark and intense.


    I watch, transfixed, as Vanessa''s hands move lower to the waistband of his jeans. She pops the button open with a flick of her wrist, then slowly lowers the zipper. Her hand slips inside, and Matthew inhales sharply.


    "You like that, don''t you?" Vanessa murmurs, her voice dripping with lust. She starts to stroke him through his boxers, her movements slow and deliberate.


    Matthew''s jaw clenches, his hands fisting at his sides. But he doesn''t stop her. He doesn''t push her away.


    My heart is pounding, and I am so angry that I want to cry. I should look away, but I can''t. It''s like watching a car crash in slow motion.


    Vanessa tugs Matthew''s jeans down, letting them pool around his ankles. She sinks to her knees, looking up at him through hershes. "I want to suck your big cock," she whispers.


    "Then do," Mathew says curtly. "I''m sure Sarah will love that."


    She pulls his boxers down, freeing his erection. It springs up, hard and thick, and Vanessa licks her lips. She wraps her hand around the base, then leans in, taking him into her mouth.


    Matthew doesn''t make any noise but his head falls back. His hands tangle in her hair, guiding her movements. She bobs her head, taking him deeper, and the wet sounds of her sucking fill the room.


    I feel sick. Angry. Betrayed.


    Just this morning, it was me who was pleasuring him. I am his wife. I have every right to. Vanessa has no right! I want to yank her by the hair and throw her across the room.


    But before I can do or say anything, Mark''s hands are on me, sliding under my bikini top, cupping my breasts. "Doesn''t that look hot?" he whispers in my ear. "Imagine how good it would feel, Sarah. My wife is sucking your husband''s cock while I fuck you from behind."


    I shudder, revulsion crawling up my spine. This is wrong. All of it.


    Mark''s hands slide around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His fingers trace patterns on my skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.


    "Sarah," he breathes, his voice husky with desire. "Turn around."


    I hesitate, my body stiff with tension. But I know Matthew is watching. I can feel his gaze burning into me, even as Vanessa continues her ministrations on him. Slowly, I turn in Mark''s arms,ing face to face with him.


    His eyes are dark, pupils dted with lust. And then his lips are on mine, wet and demanding. He kisses me like he''s starving for it like he wants to devour me whole. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine.


    I feel nauseous.


    I know I shouldn''t be doing this. I know it''s wrong. But there''s a part of me, a dark, twisted part, that wants to make Matthew jealous. That wants to hurt him the way he hurts me.


    So I kiss Mark back, my handsing up to tangle in his hair. He groans into my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist.


    From the corner of my eye, I can see Matthew watching us. His face is flushed, his eyes hooded as Vanessa works him over with her mouth. But his gaze is locked on me, intense and unwavering.


    He looks really angry.

 Chapter 23: She Said No

    <h4>Chapter 23: She Said No</h4>


    Sarah


    Mark''s hands are getting bolder now, slipping under my bikini top and cupping my breasts.


    He starts to walk me backward towards the bed, his lips never leaving mine. My knees hit the mattress and I fall back, pulling him with me. He settles over me, his weight pressing me into the soft duvet.


    He tugs my bikini top off, tossing it aside, then dips his head to take one of my nipples into his mouth.


    I writhe ufortably under his weight, feeling vited and disgusted. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, not just because of the difort but also because my own husband couldn''t care less about this man''s actions towards me.


    "Mark, wait..." I whisper, my voice trembling as I weakly protest.


    But he doesn''t seem to hear me, lost in his own lust.


    His fingers hook into my bikini bottoms, yanking them down my legs. I gasp as the cool air hit my most intimate parts, now fully exposed to him. Mark settles between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing insistently against me.


    "You''re so beautiful, Sarah," he groans, nipping at my neck.


    I turn to my side and my gazends on Matthew and Vanessa. Matthew is still looking at me as Vanessa bobs her head in hisp. He doesn''t even look like he is paying any attention to Vanessa right now.


    Mark''s fingers probe at my entrance, and I stiffen. "Mark, maybe we should just stop..."


    "Shh, just rx," Mark murmurs against my skin. "You''re going to love this."


    But I know I won''t because I don''t want this, any of it. Not Mark''s touch, not Vanessa''s seduction of my husband, none of it.


    The tears begin to fall in earnest now, streaming down my cheeks. "Please stop," I whisper. "I don''t want to do this anymore."


    If Mark heard me, he gave no indication. I feel him shift, feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Panic seizes me, and I start to sob harder.


    Suddenly, a loud, angry voice cuts through the room. "Alright, that''s enough!"


    I turn my head to see Matthew, his face tight with rage, shoving Vanessa off him. She falls back, sprawled on the floor, her mouth open in shock. But Matthew doesn''t even spare her a nce.


    He''s already moving, stalking toward the bed with a predatory intensity that makes my heart race. Mark looks up, startled.


    "What''s the matter?" Mark asks.


    "I think it''s clear Sarah doesn''t want your dick, Mark. So get the fuck off of her," Matthew growls.


    Mark pushes himself off of me, but I don''t move. It''s as if I am frozen in ce.


    "Get up, Sarah," Matthew orders.


    I slowly sit up, my entire body shaking.


    Matthew grabs my arm roughly, yanking me off the bed. I stumble, my legs weak and unsteady, but he doesn''t seem to care. He''s already pulling me towards the door, his grip on my arm bordering on painful.


    "What the hell, Matthew?" Mark shouts, his face red with anger and frustration. "We were just getting started!"


    Matthew whirls around, his eyes zing. "Started? She told you to stop, you fucking asshole. Or were you too busy trying to shove your dick into her to hear that?"


    Vanessa scrambles to her feet, hastily pulling her shirt closed. "Matthew, calm down. We were all just having a bit of fun."


    "Fun?" Matthew snarls. "Does she look like she''s having fun to you?"


    I can''t see my own face, but I can imagine what I must look like - tear-stained cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, my entire body trembling. The very picture of distress.


    "She agreed to this," Mark argues, but there''s a hint of uncertainty in his voice now.


    "And then she changed her mind," Matthew snaps. "Which you would have known if you had bothered to listen to her."


    He doesn''t wait for a response. He''s already dragging me out of the room, mming the door behind us with a force that makes me jump.


    We''re halfway down the hallway before I find my voice. "Matthew, I..."


    "Don''t," he cuts me off, his voice harsh. "Just... don''t."


    We reach our room and he practically shoves me inside. I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the bed. Matthew ms the door shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.


    For a long moment, we just stare at each other. His chest is heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I''ve never seen him look so angry.


    "What the fuck were you thinking, Sarah?" he finally explodes. "Why the hell did you agree to swinging if it upsets you this much?"


    I flinch at his tone, wrapping my arms around myself. "I... I don''t know. I just...I wanted..." I choke out, the tears starting anew.


    "This is so like you, Sarah. ying these stupid games. Or were you really dying to have another man fuck you?" Matthew snarled.


    I shake my head vigorously, my face crumpling as a fresh wave of sobs wracks my body. "No! No, that''s not... I didn''t want... I just..."


    The wordse out broken, fragmented, my breath hitching with each gasping cry. My legs give out from under me and I copse to the floor, my vision blurred by the hot tears streaming down my face.


    I curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest as I rock back and forth, my entire body shaking with the force of my cries. The hardwood floor is cold against my bare skin, burning shame and hurt coursing through me.


    Through the haze of my tears, I vaguely register Matthew''s presence. He''s kneeling beside me. Is he going to yell at me some more?


    "Sarah..." His voice is softer now, almost gentle. I feel his hand on my shoulder.


    I don''t have the strength to push him away. I don''t have the strength for anything anymore. I just continue to sob, my throat raw from the force of my cries.


    And then, suddenly, I''m being lifted. Strong arms scoop me up, cradling me against a firm chest. The scent of Matthew''s cologne envelops me, familiar and strangelyforting despite everything.


    He carries me to the bed,ying me down with a gentleness I didn''t know he possessed.


    Matthew sits beside me, his hand hovering uncertainly beforeing to rest on my hair. He strokes it softly, his fingers running through the tangled strands in a soothing motion.


    "It''s okay. You''re okay now," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the room.


    But it''s not okay. Nothing about this is okay.


    I reach for Matthew, my fingers curling into his shirt as I bury my face against his chest.


    His armse around me, holding me close, and for a moment, the world narrows down to this: the warmth of his embrace, the gentle pressure of his hands on my back, the whisper of his breath against my hair.


    "I''m sorry," I choke out between sobs, the words muffled against his chest. "I just... I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted you to care. But I didn''t want... I would never..."


    My voice breaks, and I cry harder. Matthew''s arms tighten around me, one handing up to cradle the back of my head. His fingers thread through my hair.


    "Shh, I know. I know, Sarah. It''s okay," he murmurs.


    It feels surreal, almost dreamlike. When was thest time Matthew was this loving toward me?


    "I''m sorry too," Matthew says softly. "I shouldn''t have let it get that far. I should have stopped it sooner. I just...I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you. But not like that. Never like that."


    "I am not a whore," I murmur against his chest. "I know you think I am, but I am not."


    "Of course I don''t think you are a whore," he snaps. "You were a virgin, for fuck''s sake. But what you pulled back there was so fucking stupid. What were you thinking?"


    I snap my head up and push him off. "You went along with it too, Matthew. And you...you let that woman go down on you!"


    "Serves you right for agreeing to the whole thing in the first ce," Matthew says, shaking his head. "What did you think was going to happen?"


    I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable. The reality of what almost happened hits me like a freight train, and I feel like I might be sick.


    "I can''t believe I let it get to that point," I whisper, more to myself than to Matthew. "I feel so dirty, so ashamed."


    "Why are you ashamed? You told him to stop, but he didn''t. That bastard should be the one who needs to feel ashamed," he snaps.


    I nce up at him, surprised.


    Matthew looks away, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "Just because I am being nice right now doesn''t mean I ept you or anything. I just can''t stand assholes who would try to coax another man''s wife like that."


    I take a shaky breath, trying topose myself. Matthew sits beside me, not touching me anymore, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body.


    I nce at him from under myshes, taking in his profile. His jaw is set, his brow furrowed as he stares at the wall, lost in thought. I wonder what he''s thinking.


    "Matthew..." I start, my voice barely above a whisper. He turns to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Did you... did you enjoy it? When Vanessa was..." I can''t finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat.


    For a long moment, he doesn''t respond. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I start to regret asking, wishing I could take the words back.


    But then he speaks, his voice low and rough. "What do you think?"


    "I don''t want to think about it. I am sorry I asked," I whisper.


    "I was angry," he says. "Angry at you for agreeing to this whole ridiculous thing. Angry at myself for going along with it. And the whole time, all I could think about was tearing that bastard off you."


    My breath catches in my throat. "What?"


    Matthew runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "The moment he touched you, I wanted to break his fucking hands."


    I stare at him, my heart pounding. I''ve never heard him talk like this before. Possessive, almost...protective of me.


    "You looked like you were enjoying it," I say in a small voice. I should stop asking. But I can''t stop myself.


    Matthew''s eyes sh with something dark and intense. "Enjoying it? You think I was enjoying watching another man touch my wife?"


    The word ''wife'' hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. It''s the first time he''s referred to me as such since we got married.


    "I don''t know," I whisper, looking down at my hands. "You didn''t seem to mind when Vanessa was..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.


    Matthew is quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches out, his fingers curling under my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes search mine as if he''s looking for something.


    "I wanted to hurt you," he repeats, his voice low and rough. "I still do. But seeing his hands on you, seeing your tears...it was like a bucket of cold water. I couldn''t stand it. No one else but me gets to hurt you."


    I swallow hard. "You seeded. Watching you getting pleasured by that woman hurt me a lot," I breathe and snuggle against him.


    "Good," he says, encircling his arms around me. "She served her purpose then. I have no more need of her."


    I let out a contented sigh and closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat in a steady rhythm.

 Chapter 24: Good Mood

    <h4>Chapter 24: Good Mood</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I''m staring at Sarah''s sleeping form, the woman who''s supposed to be the embodiment of everything I despise.


    Yet, I couldn''t stand another man touching her earlier. Sometimes I don''t understand my own feelings.


    I reach out to brush back a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. She had fallen asleep after crying in my arms. I thought about leaving the room and taking a long walk afterward, but I find myself unable to move now.


    It''s madness, this fleeting sense of protectiveness toward her. It''s ironic. I should be pleased that Mark''s action scared her to death. It served her right. But instead, I feel this need to shield her, to keep her safe from men like Mark... or even men like me.


    "Damn you, Sarah," I whisper against the silence, my voice a low, grating sound against the quietness of the room. "What have you done to me?"


    I can still feel the heat of jealousy when I see Mark''s hands all over her body in my mind.


    Sarah is my wife.


    She shifts in her sleep a little, murmuring words too faint to grasp. I look at the curve of her cheek, the way her lips part just slightly.


    Tentatively, I pull the corner of the sheet, revealing the slender line of her shoulder, the soft slope of her side. My gaze trails down the length of her body, noting the stark differences between her and Amanda.


    She''s too skinny, I tell myself, trying to believe it. That''s why I don''t find her attractive, not truly. Yet as my fingertips graze the smooth skin of her arm, trailing a path across the cool surface, I can''t ignore my racing pulse.


    I press a little harder, fingers skimming over the dip of her waist, the rise of her hip.


    She is not Amanda. She''s not what I want.


    But I feel hot and my cock throbs again.


    Godfuckingdammit.


    My hand moves of its own ord, drawn by a force I can''t seem to control. My palm slides over the soft curve of her thigh, I feel the heat radiating from her skin, inviting me closer.


    My fingers edge toward the apex of her thighs. Her body responds to my touch, slick and warm, and something inside me snaps. I lean down, my mouth recing my hand, tasting her.


    She moans, fueling my hunger even as I despise it. My hands grip her thighs, spreading them wider. I alternate between long, slow licks and quick flicks of my tongue against her sensitive nub. Her hips surge against my face, seeking more, craving the release only I can provide.


    "Matthew..." she gasps, waking up under the shockwave of pleasure. "What are you doing?" she asks, her eyes hazy with sleep and confusion.


    "I just...I needed a release," I say. "I didn''t finish what I had started with Vanessa. I''ll stop if you want."


    "Oh," she breathes. "You can continue," she whispers.


    I slide up her body, my eyes locked on hers as I position myself between her thighs. The tip of my cock nudges against her slick entrance. I pause there, savoring the anticipation, the way her breath hitches and her pupils dte with need.


    Slowly, achingly slowly, I push inside her. Her wet heat envelops me inch by delicious inch. I watch the slight part of her lips, the flush rising in her cheeks. She''s so incredibly tight around me, her body gripping me like a velvet vise.


    "Matthew," she whimpers.


    I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to m into her, to take her hard and fast like I usually do. Instead, I keep my thrusts slow and deep, withdrawing almostpletely before gliding back into the hilt. Her slick walls flutter around my shaft as if trying to hold me inside her.


    Sarah arches beneath me, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.


    With a strangled groan, I let myself go, thrusting harder and faster until I find my own release. Pleasure explodes through my veins as I empty myself inside her clutching heat. I copse on top of her, both of us breathing heavily.


    I roll off her as soon as I catch my breath.


    Sarah shifts closer, trying to nestle against my side, her hand reaching out to rest on my chest. The gesture feels too intimate, too affectionate. It grates against my raw nerves.


    "Don''t," I snap, roughly pushing her hand away. I turn my back to her.


    I can feel her hurt and confusion radiating from behind me, but I refuse to turn around.


    The bed shifts as I feel her move, the sheets rustling. "The way you touched me, the way you looked at me... it felt different this time."


    "You''re mistaking lust for something deeper. I told you before you''re not the one I want. You never will be," I say.


    "Right. I am just a body to you, and you have needs," she says quietly, almost to herself.


    I can''t keep my hands off her because she makes me feel things I don''t want to feel, I think bitterly. Because when I''m inside her, I almost forget how much I hate her. Almost.


    "That''s right," I say, my tone cold and dismissive. "You''re my wife in name only. I''ll take what I want from you, when I want it. But don''t expect anything more."


    "I wouldn''t dare," she says. "Goodnight, Matthew."


    "Goodnight, Sarah," I reply before closing my eyes.


    ~-~


    The next morning, I wake up to the sound of Sarah moving around the room, getting ready for the day. I keep my eyes closed, feigning sleep as I listen to her quiet movements.


    The memories ofst night flood back - the way her body felt under mine, the soft sounds she made, the confusing emotions that swirled inside me. I clench my jaw, pushing those thoughts away.


    When I finally open my eyes, Sarah is standing by the window, looking out at the ocean. She''s wearing a simple sundress that hugs her slender frame. The morning light illuminates her hair, making it glow like spun gold. For a moment, I''m transfixed by the sight of her.


    "Good morning," she says softly, ncing over her shoulder at me. Her green eyes are bright and awake.


    I sit up, running a hand through my tousled hair. "Morning," I reply gruffly.


    "I thought we could take another boat ride today," Sarah suggests hesitantly. "Visit one of the other inds nearby."


    "Fine," I agree, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. "Let''s go."


    We make our way down to the resort lobby, an uneasy tension hanging between us. As we approach the front desk to arrange our boat rental, I spot Mark and Vanessa across the room. They''re engaged in conversation, but Vanessa''s eyes flick toward us, widening slightly when she sees Sarah by my side.


    Mark follows her gaze, his expression turning apologetic as he takes a step toward us. Sarah tenses beside me, her hand instinctively reaching for mine. I stiffen at her touch but don''t pull away.


    "Sarah, Matthew," Mark greets us, his voice contrite. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I had too much to drink, and I didn''t listen to Sarah as I was supposed to. I am sorry."


    Vanessa nods along with his words, offering a strained smile. "We''re truly sorry for any difort we caused."


    Sarah''s grip on my hand tightens fractionally. I can feel her unease, the way she''s fighting the urge to shrink back.


    A sudden protectiveness surges through me.


    "It''s fine," I reply coolly, fixing Mark with a hard stare. "It was a misunderstanding. But it''s better that we keep our distance. Clearly, the lifestyle you lead isn''t for us. It''s nothing personal, of course."


    Mark nods in understanding. "Of course. Enjoy your day." He and Vanessa quickly retreat, disappearing into the crowd of guests.


    Sarah lets out a shaky breath beside me. "Well, that was awkward," she says.


    I chuckle. "Yeah, well. Good thing we may not see them again."


    We walk in silence toward the docks, where a sleek white boat is already waiting for us. Sarah brightens at the sight.


    The ride is smooth, the ocean stretching endlessly around us. Sarah leans over the side, letting her fingers skim the water. The tension from earlier starts to fade, reced by the excitement of adventure.


    After about thirty minutes, the indes into view¡ªa rugged slice ofnd covered in lush greenery. Jagged cliffs rise high above the shore, and a dark cave mouth is barely visible at the base of the rock face.


    Sarah gasps softly. "That looks incredible."


    I can''t help but agree. "Yes. There should be arge cliff with a waterfall and cave on the ind."


    She turns to me, her green eyes shining with curiosity. "A cave sounds interesting!"


    Her excitement must be rubbing off on me, I think to myself as I find myself in a good mood.

 Chapter 25: Interrupted

    <h4>Chapter 25: Interrupted</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    We reach the small, rocky cove where the boat can safely dock. Matthew helps me out, holding my hand as I step onto the shore.


    I look up at him, surprised by his small gesture of care. He seems to be in a good mood this morning.


    "Come on," he urges me, starting toward the path that leads up to the cliffs.


    The climb is steeper than I had anticipated, but I don''t mind. Because when we reach the top, the view is breathtaking.


    "This is beautiful!" I gasp.


    Matthew stands next to me. "Yeah, it is," he says absentmindedly.


    For a moment, I forget everything¡ªthe tension, the walls between us. All I can focus on is the raw beauty of this ce.


    I turn to him, watching the sunlight highlight the sharp lines on his face. He looks peaceful now, not the angry, bitter man I''ve seen these past few weeks.


    I close my eyes for a second, letting the serenity of this ce settle into my bones. When I nce at Matthew again, I find him watching me.


    His gaze meets mine, but he doesn''t look away. My stomach tightens at the intensity in his eyes, and I quickly shift my focus back to the view.


    "There''s a trail down there," I say, pointing toward a narrow path that winds along the edge of the cliff. "It looks like it leads to a cave."


    Matthew follows my gaze and then nods. "Let''s go check it out."


    Going down seems trickier than climbing up, with the ground uneven under our feet. Matthew stays close, his hand hovering near my lower back as if he''s ready to catch me if I stumble.


    The gesture is small, but I still feel a flutter in my stomach. This is the Matthew I used to know. Someone who is kind and thoughtful.


    When we finally reach the cave entrance, the air turns cooler. The opening is wide and dark, the faint sound of dripping water echoing from inside.


    I take a cautious step forward, peering into the shadows. "It''s bigger than I thought," I murmur.


    Matthew moves beside me, his presence steady and solid. "Stay close," he says.


    I nod, following him as we step inside. The cave is damp, and the stone walls slick with moisture. "This is so cool!" I chirp. I try to walk faster, but he grabs my arm.


    "Be careful," he warns, his tone low and serious. "The rocks can be slippery."


    I nod and step further into the cave, my hand trailing along the damp stone. The air grows colder the deeper we go, and I can''t suppress a shiver.


    Matthew notices. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders without a word.


    I nce up at him, surprised. "Thank you," I murmur, pulling the jacket tighter around me. It smells like him¡ªsoap and something distinctly masculine.


    Suddenly, my foot slips on a patch of moss. I let out a yelp, my heart leaping into my throat as I start to fall. But before I can hit the ground, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me back against a solid chest.


    I gasp, my hands instinctively gripping Matthew''s arms, where they''re locked around my waist. For a moment, we stand there, my back pressed against his front, his breath hot against my ear.


    "I told you to be careful," he growls, sounding more worried than angry.


    I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I''m sorry," I whisper, but I make no move to pull away.


    Neither does he. His hold on me tightens, and I feel the brush of his lips against my temple. "Sarah," he murmurs.


    I close my eyes, a wave of longing crashing over me. I want to turn in his arms, to face him, to...


    A loud crack echoes through the cave, and we spring apart. A few loose stones tter to the ground, the sound deafening in the tense silence.


    Matthew clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. "We should head back. It may not be safe to stand here," he says, his voice gruff.


    I nod, feeling a bit disappointed.


    Matthew keeps a firm grip on my wrist as we walk on the uneven ground. "There''s a waterfall nearby," he says.


    I cheer up again. "Really! I love waterfalls!"


    His lips twitch slightly, almost like he''s fighting a smile. "You love everything."


    He leads the way through a narrow, forested path. The sound of the waterfall grows louder with each step, making me more excited than ever. When we finally reach it, my breath catches.


    The waterfall spills down from a jagged cliff into a crystal-clear pool below, mist rising in a soft, ethereal haze. Sunlight filters through the trees, making the droplets shimmer like tiny diamonds. The whole ce feels untouched, almost magical.


    "WOW!" I cry in amazement.


    Matthew''s deep, boomingughter echoes through the air, causing my heart to lurch in my chest. It''s a sound I haven''t heard in what feels like ages, ever since that fateful day when I destroyed everything between us. I missed it so freaking much.


    "You should go in," he says.


    I blink at him. "What?"


    He nods toward the water. "Get in the water."


    "But my clothes will get wet!" I protest even though I half decided to go for it already.


    Matthew raises an eyebrow. "That''s usually what happens when you get in the water, genius. Take your clothes off before going in."


    "What if someonees and sees me naked?" I remind him.


    "No one is here now. Where is your sense of adventure, Sarah? Are you too much of a chickenshit to take the risk?" he grinned.


    I gasp. "I am not chickenshit!"


    "Then prove it," he says.


    I narrow my eyes at him, then kick off my shoes. "Fine," I huff. "But if it''s freezing, I''m dragging you in with me."


    He smirks, crossing his arms. "I''d like to see you try."


    Challenge epted.


    I take off my shorts and shirt, leaving my underwear on. Then, I take a deep breath and step into the pool. The water is shockingly cold, sending a jolt up my spine, but after a few moments, it bes refreshing. The smooth stones beneath my feet shift as I go in deeper, the water rising past my knees.


    I turn back to Matthew, who watches me with amusement. "Well?" he calls.


    "It''s perfect!" I grin, sshing water in his direction.


    He takes a step back, but a few drops still hit his jeans. His expression darkens in mock annoyance. "You''re going to regret that."


    Before I can react, he pulls his shirt over his head and steps into the water. My breath catches at the sight of him. Despite everything, I still swoon like a love-sick puppy when I see him without a shirt on.


    Guh...I am hopeless.


    A momentter, I hear a ssh, and suddenly, strong arms wrap around my waist. I let out a startled yelp as Matthew lifted me and tossed me into the deeper part of the pool.


    I resurface, gasping, my wet hair stered to my face. "Matthew!" I shriek.


    Hisughter rings out again, warm and carefree, as he treads water a few feet away. "I warned you, Sarah."


    I ssh at him furiously, but he just dodges with ease, still grinning. "Is that all you got?" he taunts.


    I dive towards him, determined to get my revenge. He tries to swim away, but I''m faster,tching onto his back and wrapping my arms around his neck. "Got you!" I crow triumphantly.


    Matthew twists in my grip, his hands finding my waist under the water. In one smooth motion, he flips our positions so I''m the one with my back against his chest, his arms caging me in. "You were saying?" he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.


    I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cool water. Suddenly, I''m hyper-aware of everywhere our bodies are touching. My back to his firm chest, his muscr thighs bracketing mine, hisrge hands syed possessively across my stomach. Heat spreads low in my belly.


    "I surrender..." I murmur.


    Matthew chuckles softly, his breath warm against my ear. "That''s what I thought."


    For a moment, we just stand there in the water, the sound of the waterfall filling the air. I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my back, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The closeness is bothforting and electric, making it hard to think clearly.


    My breath hitches when I feel his hands tighten slightly on my waist, pulling me even closer. "You make me lose my senses," he whispers, his lips touching my corbone.


    I hold my breath, not wanting to break the spell.


    His lips trail along my shoulder, feather-light kisses that leave my skin tingling. I tilt my head to the side, granting him better ess, a soft sigh escaping me. His hands start to roam, skimming up my sides, his touch leaving trails of fire even through the cool water.


    I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there''s a tenderness there too, a vulnerability that makes my heart clench.


    Slowly, giving him time to pull away, I wind my arms around his neck, my fingers ying with the wet strands of hair at his nape.


    "Matthew..." I whisper.


    He swallows hard, his Adam''s apple bobbing. "Sarah, I..."


    But before he can finish, a loud ssh followed by raucousughter shatters the moment. We spring apart, the spell broken, as a group of touristses wading into the water, chattering excitedly.


    "Wow, this ce is unreal!" a guy with a camera exims, snapping photos of the waterfall.


    "Jess, you''ve got to get in here, the water feels amazing!" a girl in a bright pink bikini calls to her friend still on the shore.


    I feel my cheeks heat, suddenly feeling exposed in just my underwear. I cross my arms over my chest, sinking lower into the water. Matthew moves in front of me, shielding me from view, his jaw tight with annoyance.


    "Let''s get out of here," he mutters, taking my hand and pulling me towards the shore.


    I follow without protest, my heart still racing. We quickly gather our clothes, tugging them on over our wet undergarments.


    Matthew is quiet as we walk, his expression nk. Is he regretting our moment in the pool? Angry that we were interrupted? I bite my lip, wanting to ask but afraid of the answer.

 Chapter 26: Gift

    <h4>Chapter 26: Gift</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Matthew helps me into the boat, his hand warm and steady on mine, but he lets go quickly, not meeting my eyes.


    "Are you okay?" I ask after we get back to our room.


    "Fine," he says curtly.


    "You''ve been so quiet ever since we got back. Are you angry at me, Matthew? What did I do this time?" I ask.


    "Nothing, Sarah. Absolutely nothing. I just want a moment of peace. Is that alright with you?" he snaps.


    I flinch at the sharpness in his tone, my chest tightening. "I wasn''t trying to bother you," I say softly. "I just thought¡ª"


    "You just thought what?" he cuts in, running a frustrated hand through his damp hair. "That we could pretend everything is fine? That today somehow changed anything?"


    His words hit like a p, and I take a step back. "I don''t know what you want from me, Matthew. One moment, you''reughing with me, holding me, and the next, you hate me again."


    Matthew exhales sharply, turning away. His fists clench at his sides like he''s trying to hold something back. "I got carried away and lost myself. It won''t happen again."


    "Whatever, I am going to bed," I huff, striding toward the bathroom to change into some dry clothes. Today was a fun day, but of course, Matthew had to ruin it for me. For us.


    When I step out of the bathroom, Matthew is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands sped together like he''s deep in thought. He doesn''t look at me.


    Fine. If he wants to be distant, I won''t push.


    I climb into bed, turning my back to him, pulling the nket up to my chin.


    "I want to talk," I say.


    Matthew lets out a loud sigh, but I ignore it. "Talk to me," I urge him again.


    His jaw tightens, and he finally looks at me, his blue eyes stormy with frustration. "What do you want me to say?"


    "The truth, Matthew! What do you want from me?" My voice wavers, but I don''t care.


    He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I told you. I want you to suffer."


    "For how long? Till death do us part? You will suffer too, don''t you see that? Because I can see treating me badly is not making you happy either," I remind him.


    He scoffs, shaking his head.


    "You think you know me so well, don''t you?" His voice is quiet, but there''s an edge to it. "You think you can read me like a book and find some kind of weakness to hold against me?"


    I sit up, my frustration boiling over. "This isn''t about weaknesses, Matthew! This is about you punishing both of us for something that''s already done. You say you want me to suffer, but you''re suffering just as much."


    His fists clench at his sides. "Maybe that''s the point."


    I stare at him, my chest tightening. "So that''s it? You want both of us to be miserable forever?"


    "Go to bed, Sarah," and turns his back on me again.


    I clench my fists, my heart aching. "No."


    Matthew stiffens at my refusal, his shoulders tensing. He slowly turns back to face me, his eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"


    I swallow hard but hold his gaze, determined not to back down this time. "I said no. I''m tired of this, Matthew. I''m tired of the constant push and pull, the hot and cold. You can''t keep doing this to me, to us."


    "You don''t get to make demands of me," he says.


    "I''m not making demands. I''m asking for some rity and some consistency. You say you hate me, but then you have moments where it seems like..." I trail off.


    "I am tired, Sarah. All I want is for you to leave me alone and stop being so goddamn needy," Matthew says and turns his back on me again.


    "Ugh! Fine!" I cry out in frustration and turn the other way too.


    This is impossible.


    ~-~


    The next morning, I find myself alone in bed.


    A feeling of dread suddenly overwhelms me.


    Oh god, where is Matthew? Did he leave me alone on this Ind?


    But no...that''s silly. Matthew wouldn''t just leave like that. He probably stepped out for a bit.


    I throw the nket off and quickly get up, ncing around the room. His clothes are still here, his bag untouched. He is still here.


    Taking a deep breath, I step toward the window, pushing the curtains aside. I scan the beach, my stomach twisting in knots, until I finally spot him.


    Matthew stands near the water, his hands in his pockets, staring out at the ocean.


    I slip on my sandals and step outside, the warm sand soft beneath my feet as I make my way toward him. He doesn''t move, doesn''t even acknowledge me until I''m close enough that the breeze carries my voice to him.


    "You are up early," I say.


    Matthew exhales, still not looking at me. "Needed air."


    "It''s ourst day in Aruba, and I don''t want to fight," I tell him.


    "Yeah, me neither," he murmurs.


    "Then let''s not," I say gently. "Just for today, can we pretend like you don''t hate me?"


    Matthew finally turns to me. "Fine," he says quietly.


    I swallow, nodding slowly. "What should we do on ourst day?"


    Matthew holds my gaze for a long moment before looking back at the water. "I don''t know. What do you want to do?"


    I exhale, relieved he isn''t shutting me outpletely. "Maybe we could go into town? Get some breakfast, walk around a little?"


    He shrugs. "Sure."


    It''s not much, but it''s something.


    We take a taxi into town. I pick a small caf¨¦ by the water.


    Matthew orders ck coffee. I get atte. The server leaves us alone, and for a while, neither of us speaks.


    I stir mytte absentmindedly, ncing at Matthew over the rim of my cup. He''s focused on the waves beyond the caf¨¦''s terrace, lost in thought.


    I clear my throat. "So... when we get back, I have some ns for thepany."


    Matthew looks at me briefly before returning to the ocean. "Yeah?" he asks.


    I nod, deciding to push through even if he doesn''t seem interested. "I''ve been working on a new expansion project. I want to branch into international markets, starting with Europe."


    He raises an eyebrow, finally looking at me fully. "The logistics must be a nightmare," hements, leaning back in his chair.


    "It is," I admit. "But I like challenges."


    "Guess I''ll have to agree with that, Boss," he says.


    I let out an awkwardugh. "Don''t call me that."


    "You are my boss, are you not? You have me all under control just like you wanted," he says in a bitter tone.


    "You can leave anytime you want. Find anotherpany to work for. You are qualified," I say sharply.


    "Ah, letting me free, are you? Now that you''ve got me chained to you for life through marriage," Matthew says.


    I feel my throat tighten. I try to swallow it down to keep my emotions in check.


    "That''s not how it is," I say quietly, my voice betraying a hint of frustration. "I thought we agreed not to fight today," I remind him.


    He exhales. "Right. Sorry."


    The tension between us lingers.


    When the server returns to clear our tes, Matthew requests the check. As we wait, he drums his fingers on the tabletop, agitated energy radiating off him.


    I sigh. "Maybe we should just head back to the hotel and pack."


    Matthew''s hand stills. "No. We said we''d spend the day together. This is thest day in paradise before we go back to our miserable lives, so we are going to make the most of it."


    I look at him with surprise. "Okay. What do you want to do then?"


    He thinks for a moment. "I heard someone talk about some strip mall. Maybe we can get some shopping done. I should buy some souvenirs for my sister."


    "Sure," I say, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel.


    "Alright then," Matthew says. "Let''s go."


    We leave the caf¨¦ and catch a taxi to the strip mall. When we arrived, it was not exactly what I expected. It''s a small collection of shops, not morous but very charming.


    "This is so cute!" I chirp.


    Matthew smiles quietly but doesn''t respond.


    "So," I break the silence. "What do you think she''d like?" I ask.


    "Who?" Matthew asks, turning to look at me with furrowed brows.


    "Your sister," I remind him.


    "Oh," he says, his expression softening just slightly. "Probably something traditional. Aruba''s got a lot of arts and crafts."


    I nod, looking around for a shop that might have something like that. "I see. Well, we can find something nice."


    "Yeah," Matthew mutters, his eyes scanning the shops.


    I watch Matthew as he strolls through the market. He doesn''t seem to be in a hurry, but he also isn''t showing much enthusiasm. I wonder if he is just trying to distract himself. Trying to ignore me.


    I follow him as he stops at a small stand with handcrafted jewelry. The vendor, an elderly woman with a kind smile, gestures toward a disy of delicate nes and hairpins.


    "Can I look at that ne?" he asks, pointing at a ne.


    "This?" she says, holding up a small butterfly ne made of silver and tiny pieces of colorful stone.


    Matthew tilts his head, studying it for a moment. Then, without saying much, he nods and pulls out his wallet, handing the woman the cash. She smiles warmly, wrapping the ne carefully in tissue paper and handing it to him.


    "Hailey will love this," I say quietly, taking a step closer.


    Matthew doesn''t look at me. "It''s not for her," he murmurs.


    "Then..." I start, but he interrupts me.


    "Amanda likes butterflies," he says matter of factly.


    He bought it for Amanda. Of course.


    I feel sick to my stomach, but I try to push it down. "She is seeing someone else, Matthew. Don''t you think it will be inappropriate to give her a gift like this?"


    "What I give her is none of your business, Sarah," he says curtly.


    "I am your wife, so it is my business," I counter.


    "So what do you want me to do? Return it? Or better yet, I should throw it in the ocean to satisfy you. Yeah, let''s do that," he snarls.


    "Whatever, Matthew, give it to her if you want. I don''t care," I snap and walk away from him. I know he is only doing this to hurt me. And I am letting him seed.


    Pfft...let him shower Amanda with gifts if it makes him happy. It''s not like he is willing to make this marriage work anyway.


    I turn my attention toward another stall and try not to look at him.

 Chapter 27: Dance With Me

    <h4>Chapter 27: Dance With Me</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I grin secretly as I notice how pissed Sarah looks right now. The fact that I bought a ne for Amanda bothered her a lot.


    Good.


    I turn to the elderlydy and point at a delicate decorative hairpin. "Can I see that?" I ask.


    The vendor nods and carefully picks up the hairpin, cing it in my palm. It''s silver, shaped like a vine, with small, pearl-like beads woven into the design. Simple but elegant.


    I turn it between my fingers, feeling the weight of Sarah''s re on me. I can almost hear her thoughts¡ªWho''s that for?¡ªbut she keeps her mouth shut. She''s trying so hard not to ask, and I enjoy watching her struggle with it.


    "You have good taste, young man," thedy says with a smile. "This one is very special."


    I smirk. "Really?"


    I don''t need to look at Sarah to know she''s fuming. The ne already got under her skin, and now this? She probably wants to rip the hairpin from my hands just to prove a point.


    I nce over at her. She''s pretending to look at something on another table, but her fingers are curled into fists at her sides.


    Yeah. She is pissed.


    "Would this work for someone with really long hair?" I ask.


    "Of course," she says. "In fact, it''s useless with short hair. It will slide right off the girl''s head." she chuckles.


    I take my time inspecting the hairpin before finally handing over the cash. The vendor wraps it up neatly, and I tuck it into my pocket. Sarah still hasn''t said a word, but the tension is thick between us.


    We start walking again, and after a few steps, she finally breaks.


    "Another gift for Amanda? I thought you wanted to get something for Hailey?" Her voice is casual¡ªtoo casual.


    I shrug. "Who said I bought it for Amanda?"


    She looked me in the eyes. "This pin won''t work on Hailey''s hair. Her hair is too short. So who else would it be for but Amanda?"


    I don''t say anything and keep walking.


    Sarah steps in front of me, blocking my path. "Matthew." Her voice is sharp now,ced with frustration.


    I raise an eyebrow. "Yes?"


    Her arms cross tightly over her chest. "Who is it for?"


    "Who do you think it''s for?" I counter.


    "For Amanda, I guess," Sarah says.


    "Maybe it is, maybe it isn''t. Now get out of the way," I say.


    She doesn''t move. Instead, she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at me. "You''re messing with me."


    I smirk. "Am I?"


    Sarah huffs. "You are. You are doing this to torture me."


    I let out a bitterugh. "You really want to know?" I ask.


    Sarah crosses her arms. "Yes."


    I lean in slightly, watching the way her breath catches for just a second before I say, "Guess you''ll just have to wait and see."


    Her lips part in shock. Her eyes are wide, and her cheeks are flushed pink.


    She looks quite pretty like this. The thought involuntarily creeps into my mind.


    I push the thought away just as quickly as ites, but it lingers in the back of my mind, stubborn and persistent.


    Sarah recovers fast, though, narrowing her eyes as she scoffs. "You know what? I don''t care," she announces, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Buy whatever you want for whoever you want. It''s not like it matters to me."


    "Right," I say, amused. "That''s why you''re still talking about it?"


    She clenches her jaw, then turns sharply on her heel. "Forget it. I''m done with this conversation."


    "Good. Let''s go to that store over there. I still need to buy a gift for Hailey," I say, pointing at a t-shirt stall.


    Sarah mutters something under her breath, but she follows me anyway, her arms still crossed in a huff. I can tell she''s trying to act like she doesn''t care, but the way she keeps stealing nces at me says otherwise.


    As we approach the stall, I sift through the different designs, picking up a navy blue t-shirt. "What do you think?" I ask, holding it up for Sarah to see.


    She barely nces at it. "It''s nice," she says, her voice grudging. "Hailey will like it."


    Satisfied, I hand the vendor some money and take the neatly folded shirt. Sarah watches me as I tuck it into my bag, her lips pressed into a thin line.


    "You''re still thinking about the hairpin, aren''t you?" I say.


    Her head snaps up. "No."


    I bite back augh. This is the Sarah I know¡ªspoiled, entitled, and pouting when things don''t go her way. Not the quiet, defeated version of her I created the day I married her.


    ~-~


    Later in the evening, I lean back against the headboard and watch her get ready for dinner tonight.


    The resort has a special feast nned for the guests that are staying tonight, so I made a reservation for two since we are leaving in the morning.


    I watch as Sarah adjusts her dress with careful precision. It''s a white chiffon gown that reaches the floor, almost like a wedding dress but more casual and understated for a dinner like tonight. The fabric drapes over her frame effortlessly, the soft material catching the light with each movement.


    She looks lovely, I secretly admit to myself. No matter how much I hate her, I can''t seem to stop acknowledging the fact that sometimes, she is beautiful.


    I try to pull my eyes away, but it''s like I''m stuck, watching her every move.


    With a quick tug, she pulls her hair back, gathering it into a neat knot atop her head. Her fingers move with practiced ease as she secures the style, pinning the strands in ce with care. She lets a few strands of hair fall loosely, framing her face in soft waves.


    For a brief moment, I am captivated by the scene. And it pisses me off that she has this effect on me. I clear my throat. "Are you almost done? We will bete," I say with a tight jaw.


    "Y-yeah...I am done," she says hurriedly.


    I stand up and walk toward her until I am only a foot away.


    "Do I look okay?" she asks.


    I don''t bother responding. I quietly take the hairpin from my pocket and gently slide it into her hair.


    She stares at me wide-eyed, her mouth slightly parted in shock. Her fingers hover near the pin as if she''s unsure whether to touch it or not. She looks at me, still processing what just happened. "This... this is for me?" she asks, her voice soft.


    "Don''t make a big deal out of it. Just thought I''d give you a bted wedding present," I say, then quickly add: "Even though you don''t deserve it."


    She smiles. "Thank you," she says quietly, reaching up to touch the pin as if to make sure it''s real.


    I don''t respond. I just turn toward the door and walk out, not looking back.


    We arrive at the dining hall for the feast, and I can already see people mingling,ughing, and enjoying the atmosphere. It''s beautiful here, the long tables decorated with candles and flowers, everything so damn perfect.


    After everyone is nearly done eating, the sound of music catches my ear, and I nce toward the dance floor, where some couples start to dance, lost in the moment.


    I feel a knot tighten in my chest as I watch them. If I met Sarah in another life, maybe we would''ve...


    "Matthew."


    I look at her. "What?"


    "Will you dance with me?" she asks as she stares at me with those big green eyes.

 Chapter 28: Old Friend

    <h4>Chapter 28: Old Friend</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I brace myself for his refusal.


    "Alright," Matthew says instead, holding his palm out to me.


    I blink up at him, certain I misheard him.


    "Well?" he asks. "Do you want to dance or not?"


    I slide my fingers into his. His grip is firm and warm. I let him lead me onto the dance floor, my heart hammering far harder than it should.


    We have done this before¡ªdanced together, that is. But tonight, it feels different than it did in the past.


    Matthew ces a hand on my waist, his touch light. I rest mine on his shoulder, trying not to think about how solid he feels beneath my fingertips.


    The music ys around us, slow and soft. We sway together, moving in time with the melody.


    I know he doesn''t want to be here with me. But he is here, and I will savor this moment.


    I let myself sink into the music, into the warmth of his hand against my waist. It''s foolish, I know. But for once, I don''t care.


    Matthew is quiet as we move. His grip is steady, his movements precise.


    I nce up at him, studying the sharp angles of his face. The candlelight casts shadows across his jawline, making him look almost... softer. Less like the man who fights me at every turn and more like someone I could¡ª


    I stop the thought before it can take root.


    "This isn''t so bad, is it?" I ask, keeping my voice light.


    His gaze flicks down to me, his lips curling slightly. "Depends. Are you going to step on my feet?"


    I giggle, surprised at his light tone. "I''m a perfectly good dancer, thank you."


    He hums in response, his grip tightening just slightly, guiding me through a slow turn.


    The motion startles me, and I grip his shoulder a little harder. When I settle back into ce, I find him watching me closely.


    "Are you enjoying ourst night in paradise?" he asks.


    I swallow and say, "Yes." I press against him some more.


    Matthew pulls away after the music fades.


    "That''s enough for tonight," he says, his voice low.


    I nod, pretending my chest isn''t aching in the strangest way.


    "Yeah," I murmur. "Enough for tonight."


    We go back to our table. Matthew pulls the chair for me, and I sit back down.


    "Let''s go get some food now," he suggests, pointing at the buffet table.


    I nod, trying to steady myself as I rise again. The warmth of his hand lingers on my waist, but I push the thought aside.


    We walk toward the buffet table, the rich aroma of grilled meats and spiced dishes filling the air.


    "What do you want?" he asks.


    I scan the options, suddenly feeling indecisive. "I don''t know. Want me to fill a te for you?"


    "I can do it myself," he says curtly.


    Fine then.


    I grab a te and fill it with a little of everything: roasted chicken, stuffed mushrooms, and crispy bread rolls.


    We walk back to our table in silence.


    I sit down first, watching as Matthew sets his te in front of him and slumps against the chair. His eyes flick up to me, catching me staring.


    "Something on my face?" he asks, his tone neutral, but there''s an underlying challenge in his gaze.


    I blink, shaking my head. "No."


    "You were staring," he presses.


    "I am not! I am looking behind you," I argue.


    Matthew raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Behind me, right," he says, his voice dripping with skepticism. He takes a bite of his food, leaning back slightly. "And what exactly are you looking at behind me?"


    I quickly nce over his shoulder, pretending to study the room behind him. "Just... the decorations," I say, my voiceing out more defensive than I intended. "They''re kind of over the top, don''t you think?"


    Matthew smirks, clearly not buying my exnation. "They took the romance theme pretty seriously." He takes another bite of his food, but his eyes stay fixed on me.


    I try to focus on my te, picking at the food in front of me, but Matthew''s gaze is relentless. I can''t seem to shake the feeling that he''s enjoying this¡ªteasing me.


    "It suits you," he suddenly says.


    I look at him questioningly. "What does."


    "The hairpin," he says and looks away as if he is now embarrassed about what he just said.


    I blink, caught off guard by his words. I absentmindedly touch it, my heart swelling again. This was an unexpected gift from him, and it''s something I will cherish forever.


    "I thought it would look good on you. I was right." His tone is quiet and grim, as ifplimenting me makes him ufortable.


    "Thank you for giving it to me. It means a lot," I say after a moment, my voice sounding a little breathless. I can feel my cheeks warming.


    Matthew''s eyes flick to mine briefly before he looks back down at his te. "You''re wee," he mutters.


    The rest of the evening passes in a blur. Matthew and I make small talk, awkward but not unbearable.


    "Get some sleep," he says after we go back to our room.


    I nod. We have an early flight tomorrow, so we can go home and go back to our normal lives.


    Normal lives...the thought terrifies me.


    During our honeymoon, we managed to escape some of the tension between us. However, once we return home, Matthew will resume his hurtful behavior towards me at every opportunity. I just know it.


    ~-~


    As Matthew pulls into the driveway, I am greeted by the familiar sight of our home. I breathe a sigh of relief, but I feel a knot in my stomach that I can''t shake. I nce at Matthew, who remains quiet as usual, his jaw set in a way that makes me nervous.


    I look at the driveway and see an unfamiliar car parked near the garage¡ªa sleek ck sedan I don''t recognize.


    "Who''s here?" I ask.


    Matthew looks at the car, and I can see the shift in his posture. It''s subtle, but I catch it. He looks worried.


    "I don''t know," he says.


    He opens the car door and steps out, and I follow.


    My heart leaps into my throat as a familiar figure stands in front of us once Matthew opens the door.


    "Josh?" I gasp, my eyes widening in disbelief.


    There, standing before me with a huge grin on his face, is my childhood best friend. He looks just like I remember¡ªtall and lean, with tousled brown hair and warm brown eyes that always seem to beughing.


    "Surprise!" Josh exims, spreading his arms wide.


    I let out a surprisedugh, joy bubbling up inside me. I drop my bags and run to him, throwing my arms around his neck in a tight hug.


    "Josh! I can''t believe you are here!" I say as I pull back to look at him. "What are you doing at our house? How did you get in?"


    Josh''s grin widens. "Marishka, let me in. I just moved back here from Paris, and I wanted to wee you back from your honeymoon. It''s been way too long since I''ve seen you."


    I beam at him, my earlier trepidation melting away in the warmth of his presence. "I''ve missed you so much," I tell him earnestly.


    "Ahem."


    I hear Matthew clearing his throat, so I spin around to face him. He had been staring at our exchange intently, his blue eyes narrowed.

 Chapter 29: Who is He?

    <h4>Chapter 29: Who is He?</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    "Oh. Josh, this is my husband, Matthew," I say.


    Josh grinned. "Ah, yes. The man who stole the love of my life from me."


    Iugh and shove him yfully. "Don¡¯t be absurd, Josh. By the way, I am still mad you didn¡¯te to my wedding."


    Matthew stands off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture stiff. I catch the brief sh of annoyance in his eyes, though he quickly hides it.


    "I am sorry I couldn¡¯t make it. I really wanted to, Sar. I swear it," Josh says. "And besides, I figured you two lovebirds would be just fine without me."


    I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way Matthew¡¯s eyes narrow slightly at Josh¡¯s words. It¡¯s clear Matthew¡¯s not exactly thrilled with his presence.


    "Don¡¯t start, Josh," I say. "You know why I wanted you there."


    Josh shrugs. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But I wasn¡¯t exactly ready to watch you marry someone else. I might¡¯ve gotten a little...emotional."


    Iugh. "Where are you staying anyway?"


    "At the hotel down the street. I better go back and let you two unpack. How about we catch up over dinner? It¡¯ll give me a chance to get to know your new hubby," Josh says, looking at Matthew.


    I nce at Matthew, who doesn¡¯t say anything, but I can feel the shift in the air. His silence speaks volumes.


    I force out a smile for Josh. "Dinner sounds good. How about we meet at six thirty?"


    Josh grins. "Six thirty it is. I¡¯ll be there. And Matthew," he says. He gives me a yful wink before heading toward the door. "Alright, I¡¯ll see you twoter."


    Once Josh leaves, the silence between Matthew and me feels heavier.


    "Who is he, Sarah?" Matthew asks me as I head to the bedroom.


    I pause in the doorway, my hand resting on the frame. I can feel the tension radiating off Matthew.


    "Josh and I grew up together," I say, turning to face him.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens, his blue eyes icy. "You two seem a bit too close."


    "Don¡¯t be silly. He is like a brother to me," I protest.


    "A brother who jokes about you being the love of his life?" he snaps.


    I sigh, shaking my head. "It¡¯s not like that. Josh has always been a flirt, but it doesn¡¯t mean anything. We¡¯re just friends."


    "Friends," Matthew repeats, his tone disbelieving. "Right. And I¡¯m supposed to just be okay with him showing up out of the blue, making himself at home in our house?"


    I frown, bristling at his usatory tone. "Josh is important to me, Matthew. I¡¯m not going to apologize for that. And besides, Marishka let him in because he is like a son to her. It¡¯s not like he broke in."


    Matthew scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "That¡¯s not the point, Sarah. The point is, I don¡¯t know this guy. And I don¡¯t like the way he looks at you."


    I stare at him, taken aback by the tone of his voice. Is that...jealousy I detect?


    I take a step toward him. "Josh is my friend. That¡¯s all. And besides, why should you care how he looks at me? You hate me, remember? I mean nothing to you."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes sh with something dangerous, but there¡¯s a tightness in his jaw as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, but he doesn¡¯t say anything for a long moment, as if carefully choosing his words.


    "You really want to go there, Sarah?" he asks, his voice low and sharp.


    I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest.


    "I¡¯m just saying," I mutter, trying to steady myself. "If you don¡¯t care about me, then why are you so upset?"


    Matthew steps closer to me, his presence overwhelming, and for a moment, I feel trapped between him and the doorframe. "Because," he begins slowly, his voice tight, "I don¡¯t want anyone else getting toofortable around you."


    My breath catches in my throat. "That¡¯s... that¡¯s not fair," I whisper, my pulse quickening. "I can have friends. I¡¯m allowed to have people in my life, Matthew. You don¡¯t get to control who I spend time with, Matthew."


    For a moment, he just stares at me. "You think you get to do what you want, Sarah? Let me tell you something. You are wrong. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you are miserable."


    I exhale slowly. "Whatever, Matthew. I don¡¯t want to stand here and fight you. I want to take a quick nap before getting ready for dinner tonight."


    Matthew¡¯s expression darkens further, but he doesn¡¯t say anything else, his eyes burning into mine.


    I turn away from him, trying to keep my cool. If he thinks I¡¯ll let him push me around all the time, he is wrong.


    I lie down in bed and close my tired eyes. I feel the bed dip next to me, but I don¡¯t turn to face him.


    ~-~


    The hotel restaurant is dimly lit, with soft jazz music ying in the background. I spot Josh already seated at a table, and he waves me over with a grin.


    "Sarah!" he says, standing up to give me a quick hug. "You look amazing, as always."


    I smile, smoothing down my dress self-consciously. "Thanks, Josh."


    I nce over at Matthew, who is standing stiffly beside me, his jaw clenched. He gives Josh a curt nod before pulling out my chair for me.


    I am surprised he came after that little argument of ours. But here he is, already sulking.


    We settle in and order our food. Josh leans forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, tell me all about the honeymoon! Did you two manage to keep your hands off each other long enough to actually see any sights?"


    I feel my cheeks flush, and I kick Josh lightly under the table. "Oh, stop it. We had a lovely time, didn¡¯t we, Matthew?"


    Matthew takes a sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. "It was fine," he says shortly.


    An awkward silence falls over the table, and I scramble to fill it. "So, Josh, what brings you back here? What happened in Paris?"


    Josh leans back in his chair, his smile turning a bit wistful. "Paris was amazing, but I guess I just got a bit homesick. Plus, I missed my best girl." He winks at me, and I roll my eyes fondly.


    "Well, I¡¯m d you¡¯re back," I say sincerely. "It¡¯s been too long."


    Matthew sets down his wine ss with a little too much force. He fixes Josh with a hard stare, his blue eyes like shards of ice.


    "So, Josh," he says, his voice deceptively calm. "You and Sarah have quite the history, don¡¯t you?"


    I feel a knot form in my stomach and I nce at him warily, but he doesn¡¯t look at me, his gaze locked on Josh.


    Josh seems unfazed by Matthew¡¯s intensity. He leans back in his chair, azy smile ying on his lips. "Oh, Sarah and I go way back. We were practically attached at the hip growing up. Thick as thieves, her mom always said."


    "Is that so?" Matthew arches an eyebrow, his jaw tightening. "And did that ¡¯attachment¡¯ ever extend beyond friendship?"


    My eyes widen at his implication, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. "Matthew, I told you..."


    But Matthew ignores me, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. "It¡¯s a fair question, Sarah. Childhood friends, all that history... things happen. Feelings develop."


    Josh lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Ah, I see what you¡¯re getting at, Matthew. But no, Sarah and I have always been strictly tonic."


    "And why is that? You never thought about getting with her? Did you not find her attractive?" Matthew asks.


    I feel a wave of heat rises to my face. This is not how I wanted the night to go.


    Josh seemspletely unfazed, as if he¡¯s used to this kind of questioning. He leans back casually in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Matthew, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re getting at, but I never wanted to mess up a good friendship, you know? Sarah¡¯s always been like a sister to me. And besides," he adds with a wink, "she¡¯s been way out of my league anyway."


    I let out a nervousugh, trying to defuse the awkwardness. "Right. Can we change the subject now?"


    "Is it me, or do I sense a tension between us?" Josh asks Matthew. "Don¡¯t tell me you are jealous, Matthew. There¡¯s no need for you to be. You are the one who is married to Sarah."


    "Lucky me," Matthew says dryly.


    Josh chuckles. "Come on, man, lighten up. I¡¯m just here to catch up with an old friend. No need to sharpen your ws."


    Matthew¡¯s expression remains cold. "I¡¯m not jealous," he says, his voice dangerously smooth. "I just don¡¯t like people overstaying their wee."


    I sigh, rubbing my temple. "Okay, can we not do this? I wanted tonight to be a nice, civil dinner. Not some passive-aggressive showdown."


    Josh raises his hands in surrender. "Fine by me." He takes a sip of his drink, then smirks.

 Chapter 30: A Promise

    <h4>Chapter 30: A Promise</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I don¡¯t like this guy.


    I decide that immediately as I watch Josh flirt with Sarah.


    Yes, flirting. I don¡¯t care if Sarah says he is just her childhood friend. That guy has been flirting with her, it¡¯s clear as day.


    The way he leans in when he speaks to her, the little smirk that never quite leaves his face, the way his eyes linger a second too long¡ªhe¡¯s testing me. Pushing to see how far he can go before I snap.


    And I¡¯m close.


    I grip my fork so tightly I swear I hear it creak. Sarah,pletely oblivious,ughs at something he says. My jaw tightens. She hasn¡¯tughed like that all evening.


    Since we got married, in fact. Well...I do have everything to do with that.


    Josh leans back, looking far toofortable. "Man, Sarah, I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯re married. Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking out past curfew, getting into all kinds of trouble."


    She shakes her head, smiling. "We didn¡¯t get into that much trouble."


    Josh grins. "Speak for yourself. I distinctly remember you convincing me to break into that old theater downtown. We almost got arrested, remember?"


    Sarahughs again, and something hot coils in my chest.


    Josh nces at me, that smirk still ying on his lips. "But I guess you¡¯ve changed. Settled down. Must be a pretty big adjustment."


    Sarah shrugs. "Yeah, but it¡¯s¡ª"


    Josh cuts her off. "And you are taking over your father¡¯spany now. That¡¯s so cool!"


    I clench my jaw.


    Sarah smiles, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. "Yeah, it¡¯s a big responsibility."


    Josh leans in, resting his arms on the table like he¡¯s settling in for a deep, personal chat. "I bet. Your dad always had big shoes to fill. But if anyone can do it, it¡¯s you."


    Sarah gives a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks, Josh."


    I feel my blood pressure rising with each passing moment. Josh¡¯s gaze lingers on Sarah, his eyes glinting with clear admiration and something more. Something that makes my skin crawl.


    He¡¯s looking at her like she¡¯s the most fascinating thing he¡¯s ever seen.


    What the fuck is the deal with this guy?


    And Sarah, damn her, is just eating it up. She¡¯s practically glowing under his attention, a soft smile ying on her lips, her eyes bright and engaged.


    It makes me want to reach across the table and shake her.


    I take a long sip of my scotch, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. I need something to dull the edges of my anger, to keep me from saying something I¡¯ll regret. I am trying my hardest to be civil. I don¡¯t even know why I bother.


    I need to get a grip. I can¡¯t let Josh see how much he¡¯s getting to me, and I can¡¯t give him that satisfaction.


    I force myself to tune back into the conversation, just in time to hear Josh say, "¡ªand then, if you can believe it, she actually agreed to go out with me."


    Sarah shakes her head. "You always get the girl, Josh. Why do you act surprised?"


    Josh smirks, clearly enjoying himself. "Well, I wouldn¡¯t say always."


    "So, are you living here for good now? Where are you staying?" Sarah asks brightly.


    Josh shrugs, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Yeah, I¡¯m back for a while. Got a ce not too far from here. Thought I¡¯d settle in, see some familiar faces."


    His eyes flick to Sarah again.


    I set my ss down with a thud, earning a brief nce from her, but she didn¡¯t say anything.


    Josh grins. "It¡¯s crazy, isn¡¯t it? How life turns out. Never would¡¯ve guessed you¡¯d end up married. And running thepany, no less."


    Sarah smiles, but there¡¯s a stiffness to it now like she¡¯s starting to sense the shift in the air. "Yeah, well, things change."


    Josh chuckles. "They sure do. Hey, why don¡¯t you twoe over to my new ce this weekend? I am kind of having a get-together to celebrate my return. I invited some of our mutual friends, Sarah, so I think you will have a good time."


    "That sounds nice," Sarah says.


    I take a slow, deliberate breath. "We¡¯ll see if we¡¯re free," I say, voice calm but firm.


    Josh smirks. "Of course. Wouldn¡¯t want to impose on newlyweds."


    My fingers twitch against the table. I want to punch his smug face so badly.


    Sarah smiles at him again. "It¡¯ll be great to catch up with everyone," she says.


    ~-~


    I grab Sarah¡¯s arm as soon as we get home and drag her toward the bedroom.


    "Matthew! What is your problem?" she cries out as I practically throw her in bed.


    "What¡¯s wrong with me? What¡¯s wrong with you?" I hiss.


    Sarah scrambles up from the bed, her eyes wide with shock. "What the hell is wrong with you?"


    I stand over her, my hands clenched at my sides, my chest rising and falling with barely restrained anger. "Are you seriously asking me that?" I bite out.


    She res at me, crossing her arms. "Yes, I am. You¡¯ve been acting weird all night! What is your problem?"


    I let out a sharpugh, shaking my head. "My problem? My problem is that asshole Josh practically undressed you with his eyes at dinner, and you just sat there, giggling like a schoolgirl."


    Her brows furrow, her lips pressing into a tight line. "Oh,e on. I was just catching up with an old friend! That¡¯s all!"


    I step closer, lowering my voice. "He doesn¡¯t see you as just a friend, and you damn well know it."


    She huffs, throwing up her hands. "You are insane. Even if that was true, which it isn¡¯t, by the way, why do you care? You hate me, remember?"


    I grip her chin, tilting her face up so she has no choice but to meet my gaze. "It doesn¡¯t matter if I hate you. You still belong to me."


    Her eyes sh with anger. I hold her there for a moment, forcing her to stare at me. She doesn¡¯t look away, but her lips are trembling just slightly.


    "Stop acting like you own me," she mutters.


    "You know that¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying." My voice is low and controlled, but every word isced with an edge. "But you¡¯re mine, Sarah. Whether you like it or not. And I¡¯m not gonna sit back and watch some asshole like Josh try to get a piece of you."


    She pushes me away, but her tone is weak like she¡¯s unsure whether to be angry or resign. "And why not? Is this part of your punishment to me? Isting me from my friends? The people I care about?"


    I don¡¯t release my hold on her, not yet. The tension in the room is thick, and every muscle in my body feels like it¡¯s on edge.


    "Punishment?" I whisper, stepping forward so my voice is almost a growl. "I guess I am trying to punish you that way, Sarah."


    "Well, I don¡¯t ept," She says. "I¡¯m not going to lie down and take your punishment."


    I smirk, a dark, twisted smile painting my lips. "Maybe not yet, but you¡¯ll learn. I¡¯m not asking for your permission, Sarah. You will take everything I give you. All the pain, all the misery."


    She tilts her chin in defiance. "I will agree with one thing, Matthew. I do belong to you. But you...you also belong to me."


    "What does that supposed to mean?" I growl.


    "If I can¡¯t see Josh, you can¡¯t see or speak to your precious Amanda. I know you are itching to rekindle your me with her even though you are married to me. But I won¡¯t let that happen," Sarah says.


    I chuckle. "And you really think you can stop me?"


    "I can and I will," she says.


    I stare at her, her defiance catching me off guard. I can¡¯t help but admire her a little.


    "You want to y this game with me?" I say, a smirk ying on my lips. "Fine. Let¡¯s see who really has the upper hand."


    Sarah crosses her arms, her defiance unwavering. "I¡¯m not afraid of you, Matthew."


    "Maybe you should be," I say, my voiceced with a dark promise.

 Chapter 31: Friends Again

    <h4>Chapter 31: Friends Again</h4>


    Sarah


    "So you really are going?" Matthew asks me as I slide into my dress.


    "Yes, I really am going to the party, Matthew," I say tly. I reach behind me and try to reach my zipper, but it¡¯s too far down.


    "And you don¡¯t care that I asked you not to?" he snarls.


    I can tell how angry he is that I decided to go to Josh¡¯s get-together no matter how many times he told me I couldn¡¯t. And how many times we have argued about it over the past two days.


    I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm as I turned to face Matthew. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His entire body is coiled with tension, like a predator ready to strike.


    "I care, Matthew," I say evenly. "But I am not your prisoner. You don¡¯t get to dictate where I go or who I see, especially when you say no out of spite."


    His eyes darken. "You are going to regret this."


    "I am sure I will. Now, could you please help me with my zipper?" I ask, turning sideway so he can look at my back.


    Matthew res at me, his jaw clenching so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding together. For a moment, I think he¡¯s going to refuse, that he¡¯ll just stand there and let me struggle. But then, with a low growl, he steps forward.


    His fingers brush against my bare back as he grips the zipper and drags it up in one smooth, controlled motion. The touch gives me goosebumps. His fingers are warm and calloused.


    His hands linger for a second too long at the base of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. Then, just as I think he¡¯s about to pull away, he leans in, his voice low andced with warning.


    "You think you¡¯re proving something by going to that party?" he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that I can feel his breath.


    I turn my head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes are dark, filled with something unreadable¡ªanger, possession, maybe something else he won¡¯t admit.


    "Maybe. But you are wee toe with me and monitor my every move," I say.


    "You know what. I think I will. I can¡¯t let that bastard be alone with you for one second," he says.


    Iugh and turn to face him. "Great. I prefer youe anyway. You are my husband, after all." I tiptoe and kiss him on the cheek.


    Matthew doesn¡¯t hesitate. The second my lips brush his cheek, his hands seize my waist, pulling me against him. Before I can react, his mouth crashes onto mine, hot and demanding. His grip is firm and possessive as if he¡¯s trying to remind me who I belong to.


    I gasp against his lips, my hands instinctively pressing against his chest, but he doesn¡¯t let go. Instead, he deepens the kiss, his fingers digging into my hips, his body radiating frustration, jealousy, and something more dangerous¡ªneed.


    By the time he finally pulls back, I¡¯m breathless. His forehead rests against mine, his grip on me still unrelenting.


    "You are insufferable, Sarah," he rasps, his voice heated.


    I swallow hard, trying to regain myposure. "Yes," I whisper, though my voice is shaky.


    Matthew¡¯s eyes bore into mine, dark and intense. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" His voice is low, almost a growl.


    I inhale sharply, my pulse racing under his fierce gaze. "I¡¯m your wife. It¡¯s my job to keep you on your toes." I aim for a light, teasing tone, but ites out breathier than intended.


    I feel his hand slide under my dress, and heat blooms across my skin. "We should get going," I murmur, even as I press closer, savoring the solid warmth of his body against mine. "We don¡¯t want to bete."


    ~-~


    The drive to Josh¡¯s ce is tense and silent, the only sound the hum of the engine and the distant city traffic. I can feel Matthew¡¯s gaze on me, heavy and intense, but I keep my eyes forward, refusing to meet his stare.


    When we finally pull up to Josh¡¯s penthouse, the party is already in full swing. Music pulses from the open windows,ughter and chatter spilling out into the night air. Josh has always been into partying hard.


    I take Matthew¡¯s arm as we make our way inside, the heat of his body seeping through his suit jacket.


    "Sarah! You made it!" Josh¡¯s voice booms over the din as he spots us from across the room. He pushes through the crowd, his grin wide and weing.


    I feel Matthew tense beside me, his grip on my arm tightening imperceptibly. "Of course! I wouldn¡¯t miss it. I thought you said it was a small gathering, Josh. This doesn¡¯t look small." Iugh.


    Joshughs too, his eyes sparkling with joy. "You know me. I love to party." He looks at Matthew. "It¡¯s good to see you again, Matthew."


    Matthew nods stiffly, his smile tight.


    "So, who else is here?" I ask, looking around. "You said some of our old friends would be here."


    Josh gestures toward the crowd, still grinning. "The usual suspects. A few new faces. You¡¯ll see."


    I nce at Matthew, who is watching Josh like a hawk, his jaw tight. He hasn¡¯t let go of my waist, his grip just a little too firm.


    "Ba! Get over here!" Josh yells at the crowd.


    I freeze as I realize who he is talking about.


    My best friend, Reba. Or should I say, my former best friend?


    My suspicion proves to be right when I see her walk through the crowd, trying to reach us. Her eyes lock on mine, and she pauses.


    "H-hi Reba," I say, praying that my voice sounds normal.


    Reba hesitates for a moment before stepping closer.


    "Sarah," she says, her voice careful. "It¡¯s... been a while."


    Josh, oblivious to the brewing storm, grins between us. "I was so surprised when I heard you two lost contact. Reba wouldn¡¯t tell me why, though. So I thought I would get you here together and find out once and for all."


    My stomach twists. Of course, Josh would do something like this¡ªthrow us together in the middle of a party, thinking he¡¯s being clever.


    I nce at Reba, and she looks just as uneasy. Her hands fidget at her sides.


    "We just...we got busy with our own lives, I guess," Reba says, avoiding eye contact with me.


    "That¡¯s ridiculous," Josh says.


    Matthew stiffens beside me, his grip on my waist turning almost bruising. "People drift apart, Josh," he says coldly.


    Josh raises an eyebrow. "You know something, don¡¯t you?"


    "Maybe I do. But it¡¯s none of your business," Matthew barks.


    "Well, whatever it is, tonight we can forget all about it and be friends again," Josh says lightly.


    If only it was that easy.

 Chapter 32: Love Triangle

    <h4>Chapter 32: Love Triangle</h4>


    <strong>Back then...</strong>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    "So, he just swoops in and fights those men off?" Reba asks, wide-eyed.


    I giggle at her eagerness. "No, Ba! He didn¡¯t exactly fight them off. He didn¡¯t have to. They gave up and left. But I guess he was my hero for stepping in so bravely," I say dreamily.


    I met up with Reba the next day after Matthew saved me from those thugs and took me back to my apartment. I still couldn¡¯t believe I was able to spend some alone time with Matthew, however brief it was.


    Reba smirks, nudging my arm. "You¡¯ve got it bad, Sarah. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you this smitten before."


    I groan, covering my face with my hands. "I know! It¡¯s ridiculous, isn¡¯t it?"


    "Ridiculously adorable," she teases, sipping on her iced coffee. "So, what happened after he took you home?"


    I peek at her through my fingers, then drop my hands with a dramatic sigh. "Nothing! He just made sure I was okay, gave me this intense look¡ªlike he was trying to say something without actually saying it¡ªand then he left."


    Reba wiggles her eyebrows. "An intense look? Oh, Sarah, that¡¯s practically a confession of love."


    Iugh, shaking my head. "Stop! He has a girlfriend, but..."


    Reba tilts her head. "But?"


    I bite my lip, hesitating. "But... I don¡¯t think he loves her."


    Reba¡¯s eyes widen in excitement. "Oh? Now that is interesting. Spill!"


    I twirl my straw in my drink, trying to put my feelings into words. "It¡¯s just... whenever he talks about her, it feels like he¡¯s just stating facts. Like, ¡¯Yeah, I have a girlfriend,¡¯ but there¡¯s no real warmth, no excitement. And when he looks at me..." I trail off, my heart pounding at the memory of his gaze¡ªintense, unreadable, like he wanted to say something but couldn¡¯t.


    Reba leans in, practically vibrating with curiosity. "When he looks at you, what?"


    I exhale, shaking my head. "It¡¯s different. It feels like he sees me¡ªlike he really sees me. Andst night, when he grabbed my arm to check if I was okay, he held on just a second too long."


    Reba gasps dramatically. "Sarah, this is textbook forbidden romance! The brooding man with a girlfriend, the stolen nces, the lingering touches¡ªthis is some prime love triangle material!"


    I groan. "It¡¯s not a love triangle! I mean, I don¡¯t want it to be."


    Reba turns serious. "Yeah, you are right. You shouldn¡¯t get in the middle of him and his girlfriend. It¡¯s not right."


    I nod. "I know. I can¡¯t help it. There¡¯s something about him. It¡¯s like...I don¡¯t know. He has this intensity, and I¡¯m just...drawn to it."


    Reba narrows her eyes at her. "Sarah...don¡¯t do anything to wreck his rtionship with his girlfriend. You will regret it."


    I sigh, slumping back in my seat. "I know, I know. It¡¯s just... hard, you know? Being around him, feeling this connection, but knowing it can¡¯t go anywhere."


    Reba reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "I get it. Believe me, I¡¯ve been there. But you¡¯re better than this. You deserve someone who¡¯s fully avable, who can give you their whole heart."


    I nod, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "You¡¯re right. I need to focus on myself and move forward."


    Reba smiles. "That¡¯s my girl. Now, let¡¯s talk about something more fun. Did you see what Lisa wore to the club the other day?"


    As Rebaunches into a detailed critique of her sister¡¯s questionable fashion choices, I try to push all thoughts of him out of my mind. But even as Iugh and gossip, I can¡¯t quite shake the memory of his eyes, the warmth of his touch.


    ~-~


    The next day at the office, I couldn¡¯t focus on anything my dad was saying because I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Matthew.


    "Sarah? Are you listening?"


    I snap back into attention. "Yeah, sorry, Dad. You were saying?"


    "You seem distracted. Why don¡¯t you take a break? Go get some lunch, and we will regroup afterward," he says.


    "Thanks, Daddy, I think I will," I say.


    I stand up from my desk, eager for a moment to clear my mind.


    I grab my bag and head out of the office, deciding to take a walk to the cafe down the street. I need fresh air, a moment to breathe and think things through.


    As I approach the cafe, I spot someone sitting outside at a table, his back to me. I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. It¡¯s Matthew.


    I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should just keep walking, but something in me can¡¯t resist. Before I even realize what I¡¯m doing, I¡¯m walking toward his table.


    "Matthew?" I say softly, unsure if he¡¯ll hear me over the noise of the street.


    He turns his head, his expression softening when he sees me. "Sarah," he says, his voice warm and a little surprised. "Hey."


    "Hey," I say, a little breathless.


    He stands up. "How are you feeling? Those men gave you quite the scare, huh?"


    "Yeah, I¡¯m fine. Just...still processing it, I guess," I say.


    He studies me for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "That¡¯s understandable. I mean, I could tell you were shaken up."


    I smile. "Yeah. But I am okay now. Hey! Are you on your lunch break? Let¡¯s eat together."


    Matthew shakes his head. "I am actually waiting for Amanda to meet me."


    I try not to let the disappointment show on my face, but it¡¯s hard to hide. "Oh, of course," I say, forcing a smile. "I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt."


    Matthew looks a little flustered. "It¡¯s no big deal."


    I keep the smile on my face, but inside, I can feel anger simmering. Why does Amanda get to be with him and I don¡¯t?


    "Well, I won¡¯t keep you then," I manage to say, keeping my voice light despite the internal storm brewing. "See you." I walk away.


    When I get back to the office, my dad¡¯s still at his desk, going over papers, oblivious to the turmoil I¡¯m feeling. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my mind. I need a n.


    "Dad," I say. "Remember how you talked about that conference in Texas?"


    My dad looks up, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Yeah, I mentioned it a few times. Why?"


    I take a moment to steady myself before continuing. "I was thinking... maybe I could go. I could help with the business side of things, you know, make some connections, learn more about what we do."


    He studies me for a moment, clearly weighing my suggestion. "You¡¯re not just trying to escape all this, are you?"


    I shake my head quickly. "No, no. It just...feels like the right time. Plus, I think it would be a good opportunity."


    He nods slowly, seemingly convinced. "Alright, I suppose it could be beneficial for you. I¡¯ll talk to your mom about it, but I think it¡¯s a good idea. You¡¯re old enough now to take these kinds of steps."


    I let out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding. "Thanks, Dad."


    "Of course," he says, giving me a warm smile.


    I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. This is my chance to spend more time with Matthew, to explore this connection between us without the constant presence of his girlfriend. But I need to be smart about this, to make it seem like a logical business decision rather than a desperate ploy to be near him.


    "You know, Dad," I begin, choosing my words carefully, "I was thinking about who else could go to the conference. Someone who could really help me with the business side of things."


    My dad nods, leaning back in his chair. "That makes sense. Did you have someone in mind?"


    I pause for a moment as if the idea is just now urring to me. "What about Matthew? He¡¯s been doing a great job, right?"


    My dad considers this, tapping his pen against the desk. "Matthew, huh? Yeah, he¡¯s a sharp kid. Knows his stuff. But he is in finance. I don¡¯t know if he will be the right fit for a business-focused conference." My dad trails off, clearly uncertain."


    I nod, pretending to think it over. "True, but maybe it¡¯s a good opportunity for him towork, gain some new contacts outside of finance, and get a broader perspective on how things work here."


    My dad leans forward, his brow furrowing. "I can see where you¡¯reing from. Alright, I¡¯ll talk to him about it. I just don¡¯t want to put too much on his te if he¡¯s got other priorities."


    I let out a quiet sigh of relief, trying to mask the hope I feel growing inside. "Thanks, Dad. I think he¡¯d really benefit from it."


    "Yeah, well, I¡¯ll make sure to run it by him. You¡¯re right¡ªhe¡¯s been doing welltely," he says with a nod, the matter seemingly settled for the moment.


    I give him a smile and return to my desk, the rush of anticipation making my fingers tremble. If Matthew agrees toe along, this could be the perfect opportunity to get closer to him, away from Amanda, away from everything.

 Chapter 33: Worried

    <h4>Chapter 33: Worried</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Matthew


    "You want me to go to Texas?" I ask Mr. Wilson, raising an eyebrow.


    He nods, leaning back in his chair. "I think you¡¯d benefit from the conference. You¡¯ve been doing great work here, but getting a broader perspective on the business side of things wouldn¡¯t hurt."


    I still look at him with surprise. "But I am in finance. I don¡¯t see why I¡¯d..."


    "You, yourself, said you may want to move to a different career pathter in life, didn¡¯t you?" Mr. Wilson interrupts me.


    I pause, caught off guard. I had mentioned that before, in passing, but I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d remember.


    "Yeah," I admit slowly. "I said I might consider something different down the line."


    Mr. Wilson nods as if that settles it. "Then this could be a good opportunity to explore your options. There¡¯s no harm in broadening your skill set."


    I run a hand through my hair, still unsure. But he wasn¡¯t wrong. A business conference would help mework, and I might learn something. And besides, Mr. Wilson is my boss, so turning down an opportunity he believes in might not be the smartest move.


    "Alright," I finally say. "I¡¯ll go."


    "Good man." He smiles. "Sarah will go over the details with you."


    "Sarah will?" I looked at him questioningly.


    Mr. Wilson nods,pletely unaware of the sinking feeling settling in my stomach.


    "Yes, she will be joining you on this trip. She¡¯ll be handling most of the logistics, so it makes sense for her to go over everything with you."


    I press my lips into a thin line, nodding. "Right. Makes sense."


    I step out of his office, my head spinning. I have to go out of state for a conference with Sarah of all people.


    That would mean she and I would have to be alone together.


    No...what am I thinking? We wouldn¡¯t be exactly alone, will we? There will be hundreds of other people there. It was a business conference, after all. I shouldn¡¯t worry about it too much.


    I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease creeping into my chest. This is just work. Nothing more.


    But as I walk down the hall, I can¡¯t ignore the nagging feeling that Sarah has a big hand in this decision. What is she ying at?


    When I reach her desk, she looks up at me, her lips curling into a knowing smile.


    "So," she says, tilting her head. "I guess you heard the news?"


    "Yeah," I reply, keeping my expression neutral. "Guess we are going to Texas."


    She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You sound thrilled."


    I force a small chuckle. "Just caught off guard, that¡¯s all. Didn¡¯t expect to be traveling for work in my position."


    Sarah shrugs. "It¡¯ll be good for you. For both of us, actually. A change of scenery, a chance to learn, and¡ª" she pauses, her gaze locking onto mine, "¡ªa little time away from everything."


    I ignore the way she emphasizes thatst part. I¡¯m not stupid¡ªI know what she¡¯s getting at.


    "Right," I say, nodding stiffly. "Strictly business, though."


    She lets out a softugh. "Of course. What else would it be?"


    Her words are innocent, but the way she looks at me says something else entirely.


    I smile faintly. "Sarah, is this one of your tricks to get me alone? You better stop it."


    Sarah giggles, tilting her head as if amused by my suspicion. "Oh, Matthew," she muses, resting her chin on her hand. "You think so little of me."


    I arch a brow. "Do I?"


    She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make me wary. "I am not trying to seduce you, I swear."


    I exhale through my nose, shaking my head. "Look, I¡¯m going because Mr. Wilson asked me to. But if you had anything to do with this, drop it now."


    Sarah feigns innocence, cing a hand over her chest. "Me? Matthew, please. I¡¯m just following orders."


    I narrow my eyes at her. "Right."


    She grins, picking up a folder from her desk and handing it to me. "Here are the details¡ªflights, hotel, itinerary. We leave Friday morning. Try not to bete."


    I take the folder without breaking eye contact. "Sarah..."


    Sarahughs again. "I swear I am not trying to get you in trouble with Amanda! Trust me."


    I tighten my grip on the folder at the mention of Amanda¡¯s name. She wouldn¡¯t like this.


    "I wasn¡¯t thinking that," I say, though we both know I was.


    Sarah smirks knowingly. "Sure you weren¡¯t." She leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. "Rx, Matthew. This is just a work trip. Two colleagues attending a conference. Nothing more, nothing less."


    I study her expression, looking for any hint of mischief, but Sarah looks innocent enough.


    I sigh, running a hand down my face. "Fine. I¡¯ll see you Friday."


    She winks. "Looking forward to it."


    Turning on my heel, I walk away, trying to shake the unease settling in my chest.


    I have nothing to worry about. Amanda trusts me.


    But as I nce down at the folder in my hands, I can¡¯t help but wonder...should I tell her I was going with Sarah?


    I exhale sharply. Would telling Amanda now be better than letting her find outter?


    Or maybe I am overthinking it, but Amanda has always been the jealous type, and she straight-up told me she didn¡¯t like or trust Sarah. If I tell her, she will freak out and try to stop me from going.


    No, I can¡¯t tell her.


    I shut my eyes for a brief moment.


    No, telling Amanda will only make things worse.


    She will blow up my phone with texts, demand I refuse the trip, or worse¡ªuse me of wanting to go with Sarah.


    And I am not about to deal with that.


    It isn¡¯t like I am doing anything wrong. This is for work.


    Still, the uneasy feeling in my chest doesn¡¯t fade as I head toward my office.


    ~-~


    The morning of the conference arrives, and I can already feel the tension building up in my chest. I¡¯ve packed my things, double-checked the itinerary, and now I¡¯m waiting at the airport for Sarah to arrive.


    My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing a text from Amanda: "Have a great trip. And have fun, okay?"


    I quickly typed a reply: "Will do. Talk soon."


    I try not to feel guilty, but it¡¯s hard not to.


    Just as I finish typing, Sarah rounds the corner, her heels clicking sharply against the tile. She smiles when she spots me, clearly in a chipper mood.


    "Ready?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.


    "I guess so," I mutter.


    Sheughs lightly, not seeming to mind myck of enthusiasm. "You know, you might actually enjoy it. This conference could be a great opportunity for you."


    I smile. "I think so too."


    We board the flight, and Sarah, as usual, is in her element¡ªchatting with the flight attendants and making small talk with everyone she encounters. I can¡¯t help but notice how effortlessly she engages with people, her presencemanding attention even in a crowded space.


    Meanwhile, I¡¯m buried in my thoughts, staring out the window.


    Sarah turns to me with a mischievous grin. "So... how¡¯s Amanda holding up without you?" she asks, her voiceced with yfulness.


    I nce at her, wary of her tone. "She¡¯s fine. Why do you ask?"


    "Oh, I am just wondering," she says with a shrug. "Is she worried that you are out here with me?"


    I stiffen. "It¡¯s just work, Sarah. Why would she be worried?"


    She shrugs. "I don¡¯t know. She seemed like the jealous type. I still remember the way she was looking at me back at the office. I felt like she wanted to turn me into stone."


    I suppress augh. "Amanda¡¯s not like that," I say, trying to keep my tone light, though there¡¯s an edge of defensiveness I can¡¯t quite hide. "She trusts me. And this is just a business trip, nothing more."


    Sarah gives me a side-eye, her lips curling into a yful smirk. "I didn¡¯t say she didn¡¯t trust you. I just think she might be a little... possessive." Her tone is teasing, but it¡¯s also cutting, and I don¡¯t like it.


    I clench my jaw, unwilling to engage further. "Let¡¯s focus on the conference, okay? That¡¯s why we¡¯re here."


    She pouts slightly as though pretending to be disappointed by myck of response. "Alright, alright," she says, leaning back in her seat and pulling out a magazine.


    I don¡¯t reply, instead turning my attention back to the window.


    I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm the rising tension. But just when I thought things might settle down, the captain¡¯s voicees over the inte.


    "Attention, passengers," he says, his tone calm but firm. "We¡¯ve encountered a malfunction with our ne engine, and unfortunately, the flight has been canceled. We are currently working to arrange alternative travel for all of you."


    A collective groan fills the cabin, followed by murmurs of frustration. I suddenly feel relieved.


    Maybe I won¡¯t have to go to this conference after all.


    I turn to Sarah. She has already pulled out her phone. "Hmm...this is not good. Looks like the next two flights are fully booked. If we have to take the third flight, we won¡¯t get there on time."


    "So what now? Should we go back home?" I ask.


    "No way! Daddy won¡¯t like that. It wasn¡¯t cheap to get admission to that conference. We can¡¯t miss it," she says.


    "Then what do you suggest?" I ask.


    Sarah looks thoughtful. "Well...if we rent a car and start driving now, we can still make it there by tonight. That will give us just enough time to sleep and attend the conference in the morning."


    The suggestion catches me off guard. It makes perfect sense, yet the idea of sharing a car ride with Sarah, just the two of us, feels much more intimate than flying together in a ne. But the conference is important, and she is right. Skipping it isn¡¯t an option.


    "Well? What do you think?" she asks.


    I nod reluctantly. "Okay. Let¡¯s rent a car."

 Chapter 34: Long Drive

    <h4>Chapter 34: Long Drive</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I can¡¯t help but smile as I watch Matthew begrudgingly agree to a long drive. I know he¡¯s not thrilled about it, but his eptance means I have an opportunity to make this trip exactly what I want it to be.


    It¡¯s not every day I get to spend hours alone with him. Sure, he¡¯s a little uptight, a little stiff, but I like that. I love the challenge of getting him to loosen up and let his guard down.


    "Don¡¯t worry," I say, shing him a big smile. "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll enjoy the drive more than you think."


    I pull out my phone again, quickly booking the rental car. A nice,fortable SUV.


    "I don¡¯t know, Sarah. Being stuck with my Boss¡¯s daughter in a car for hours sounds terrifying," he says.


    I raise an eyebrow at hisment, a yful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Terrifying?" I repeat. "Is that how you really feel, Matthew? You¡¯re that afraid of me?"


    He gives me a quick, almost nervous nce before looking away. I can tell he¡¯s trying to keep hisposure, but I can see through it. He¡¯s ufortable.


    Jesus...why won¡¯t he loosen up a bit?


    "Look, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m worried," he says, his voice shifting as he scratches the back of his neck. "I¡¯m just... well..."


    "Just lighten up, will you? It¡¯s going to be fun," I say, still smiling.


    I will break down his wall, I promise myself silently.


    Matthew shifts ufortably in his seat, clearly unsure of how to respond. I keep my smile wide, not letting him off the hook that easily. It¡¯s almost too easy to get under his skin, and for some reason, that just makes me want to push a little more.


    "Come on, Matthew," I tease. "You¡¯re telling me you¡¯ve never had a little fun on a long drive? What¡¯s the worst that could happen? We talk, maybeugh a little, and the hours fly by."


    He shoots me a nce, clearly battling between professionalism and curiosity. "I didn¡¯t say I never have fun," he says, but his tone is hesitant.


    I lean in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to keep him intrigued. "Oh, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve had fun on the road before. But you never had fun with me."


    He clears his throat, adjusting his posture, trying to regain some semnce of control. "Look, Sarah, I¡ª"


    "There is no need to be nervous," I interrupt, shing him a mischievous grin.


    He exhales sharply. "I¡¯m not nervous," he mutters.


    I can feel my victorying closer, and I push just a bit further. "Oh, I think you are. You don¡¯t need to be. I promise I won¡¯t flirt with you."


    There¡¯s a brief silence before he smiles slowly. "Fine. I will trust you for now," he says, his voice steadier now, though still holding that defensive edge.


    I smile back. "You¡¯re safe with me, I swear."


    I¡¯m sure he doesn¡¯t believe me, but that¡¯s part of the fun, isn¡¯t it? Getting him to question just how serious I am.


    The car rental is confirmed, and we head outside to pick it up. I nce over at Matthew as we walk. He¡¯s stiff, every step purposeful like he¡¯s still on high alert around me. It only makes me want to tease him more.


    "So, who will take the first half of the trip?" I ask.


    "I will," he says quickly. "I am a better driver anyway."


    I gasp. "Excuse me? What makes you think that?"


    Matthew nces over at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Men are better at driving," he says with a slight chuckle, his tone light and confident.


    I raise an eyebrow, mypetitive side sparking to life. "Pfft. That¡¯s bullshit."


    He shrugs. "We¡¯ll see about that."


    I cross my arms, giving him a pointed look. "Whatever, I will justy back and enjoy the ride."


    We reach the rental car, a sleek, ck SUV parked just in front of us. The keys are handed over to Matthew, and we set off to Texas.


    As we pull out of the rental car lot, I settle into the passenger seat, propping my feet up on the dashboard. Matthew shoots me a disapproving look, but I just grin back at him.


    "Rx, will you? We¡¯re on an adventure!" I say, wiggling my toes.


    He sighs, focusing his attention back on the road. "Just don¡¯t scuff up the interior, okay? We have to return this thing in one piece."


    I roll my eyes yfully. "Yes, sir."


    I feel light and airy, the happiest I had ever been. I realize I am enjoying myself even with him acting so tense.


    "Hey Matthew, what do you call a cow with no legs?" I ask.


    He nces over at me, one eyebrow raised. "I don¡¯t know, Sarah. What do you call a cow with no legs?"


    "Ground beef!" I exim, bursting intoughter at my own joke.


    Matthew tries to suppress a smile, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching. "That¡¯s a terrible joke," he says, shaking his head.


    "Ohe on, that was a ssic!" I protest, still giggling. "Okay, okay, I¡¯ve got another one. Why can¡¯t a bicycle stand up by itself?"


    He sighs, but I can tell he¡¯s amused. "Why?"


    "Because it¡¯s two-tired!" I say, barely able to get the words out through myughter.


    This time, Matthew can¡¯t help but chuckle, a deep, rich sound that fills the car. "Alright, that one was actually pretty good," he admits.


    I beam at him, feeling a sense of triumph. "Now tell me a joke," I demand.


    Matthew shakes his head, a small smile still ying on his lips. "I don¡¯t know any jokes," he says.


    I gasp in mock horror. "What? How can you not know any jokes? Everyone knows at least one joke!"


    He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I guess I¡¯m just not a very funny person."


    I lean back in my seat, studying him for a moment. "I don¡¯t believe that. I think you¡¯re just holding out on me."


    Matthew nces over at me, his eyes are smiling. "Maybe I am," he says cryptically.


    I sit up straighter, intrigued. "Ooh, so you do have a joke! Come on, tell me!"


    He hesitates for a moment, then sighs in resignation. "Okay, fine. But don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you."


    I p my hands in excitement. "Yes! Okay, hit me with it."


    Matthew clears his throat. "Why don¡¯t scientists trust atoms?"


    I tilt my head, considering. "I don¡¯t know, why?"


    "Because they make up everything," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.


    There¡¯s a beat of silence, then I burst outughing. "Oh my god, that was so nerdy! I love it!"


    Matthew chuckles, looking pleased with himself. "I told you I wasn¡¯t very funny."


    I shake my head, still grinning. "I thought it was."


    Matthew nces over at me, his grin widening as he sees my reaction. "You¡¯re just saying that to make me feel better," he teases.


    I shake my head. "No way! That was perfect. I might even steal that one forter."


    Heughs quietly, the sound warmer than before. It¡¯s nice to see him starting to loosen up, even if it¡¯s just a little.


    His phone starts to ring. He picks it up and nces at it, and his face suddenly turns serious. He puts it to the side and lets it ring.


    "Aren¡¯t you going to get that?" I ask curiously.


    "I...uh...it¡¯s Amanda. I will call herter. Don¡¯t want to get distracted from driving," he says.


    I narrow my eyes. He seems ufortable. Shouldn¡¯t he be happy that his girlfriend is calling? "Why not connect it to the blue tooth and talk to her?" I suggest.


    Matthew hesitates, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. I can almost feel the tension in the air, and it makes me even more curious.


    "I just don¡¯t feel like talking right now," he says, his voice tight, like he¡¯s trying to brush it off.


    The phone rings again.


    "You should really pick it up, Matthew. She must be worried that you are driving all alone with me," I drawl.


    He mutters something under his breath.


    "What was that? I didn¡¯t hear what you just said," I say.


    "I...I didn¡¯t tell her," he says, his face flushed.


    I sit up straighter, my curiosity piqued even more. "Didn¡¯t tell her what?" I ask.


    Matthew shifts ufortably in his seat, his eyes glued to the road, but I can see the way his knuckles grip the wheel a little too tightly. "I didn¡¯t tell her I was going on this trip with you," he admits.


    I blink in surprise. "Why?"


    Matthew doesn¡¯t immediately answer, and the car falls into a heavy silence. Finally, he sighs and speaks, his voice quieter.


    "I don¡¯t know. I guess... I didn¡¯t want her to overreact. Or maybe I didn¡¯t want to deal with the questions," he admits, still avoiding my gaze. "She tends to get jealous when it¡¯s just me and other women."


    So, you¡¯re hiding this from her?" I ask, trying to sound casual.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens, and I can tell this is difficult for him. "Not hiding it. Just... not making it a big deal. We¡¯re just coworkers, Sarah."


    I pout. "I like to think we are friends."


    Matthew nces over at me. "Friends? I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a good idea, Sarah. You¡¯re my boss¡¯s daughter."


    I roll my eyes yfully. "Oh,e on, Matthew. We can be friends and still keep things professional. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m asking you to run away with me or anything."


    He chuckles nervously. "I don¡¯t know."


    I lean back in my seat, studying him for a moment. "She should trust you more."


    Matthew¡¯s grip tightens on the steering wheel again. "She does," he mutters.


    I lean back in my seat, a sly smile ying on my lips. I can¡¯t help but feel satisfaction at the thought of Matthew hiding me from Amanda.


    It¡¯s vindictive to think this way, I know, but there¡¯s a part of me that relishes the idea that he might feel something for me, something that¡¯s making him feel guilty about being alone with me.


    I stretchnguidly, letting my long legs extend out in front of me, and I catch Matthew¡¯s eyes darting to the side, looking at me.


    I smirk. I may not be as pretty as Amanda, but I know my legs are my best feature.


    This trip is going to be one to remember.

 Chapter 35: Trust Me

    <h4>Chapter 35: Trust Me</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    Going on a long drive with Sarah was not as bad as I expected. She is a pretty goodpany.


    Of course, I still feel extremely guilty for not telling Amanda, but I don¡¯t know what else to do. Going on a business trip with Sarah alone is bad enough. If Amanda finds out that I am now stuck in a car with her for hours, she will...


    "Penny, for your thought?" Sarah asks.


    I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, debating how much to say. "Just thinking about work," I lie. "And how long this drive is."


    She tilts her head, studying me like she doesn¡¯t quite believe me. "I see. Sure, it¡¯s about work and not, you know... Amanda?"


    My jaw tightens involuntarily. Sarah doesn¡¯t miss it.


    "Knew it," she says, leaning back in her seat with a smug look.


    I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Amanda worries. A lot."


    "She worries, or she doesn¡¯t trust you?" Sarah challenges.


    I shoot her a look. "That¡¯s not fair."


    She shrugs. "I¡¯m just saying, if she trusted you, she wouldn¡¯t freak out over something like this."


    I exhale sharply, focusing on the road. "It¡¯s not that simple. She¡¯s had bad experiences in the past, and I don¡¯t want to give her a reason to doubt me."


    Sarah is quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "I get that," she says finally, softer than before. "But you should lighten up. We are almost there."


    I know she¡¯s right, but I don¡¯t respond. Instead, I turn up the radio slightly, letting the music fill the silence between us.


    Sarah doesn¡¯t push me further, but I can feel her eyes on me like she¡¯s trying to figure me out.


    When we finally arrived at the hotel, I couldn¡¯t be more relieved.


    "Finally," she sighs. "My neck hurts from sitting so much."


    I smirk as I step out, grabbing my bag from the back seat. "It wasn¡¯t that bad."


    She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? So, you admit that I¡¯m goodpany?"


    I shake my head, fighting a small smile. "I plead the fifth."


    She gasps in mock offense. "Wow. After all my efforts to keep you entertained? The betrayal."


    Rolling my eyes, I head toward the hotel entrance, ignoring the way my phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know who it is. I need to call her as soon as I am in the privacy of my room.


    As we step into the lobby, Sarah nces around. "Not bad."


    I nod, checking in at the front desk. The receptionist hands me two keycards. "You¡¯ll be in rooms 406 and 407. They¡¯re right next to each other."


    I turn to Sarah and hold out her key. "Here you go."


    She takes it with a grin. "So close, yet so far apart."


    I shake my head. "Good night, Sarah."


    "Night, Matthew," she singsongs before heading to the elevator.


    As soon as she¡¯s gone, I pull out my phone and stare at Amanda¡¯s name on the screen. Missed calls. A few unread messages.


    I have to call her back.


    With a deep breath, I step into the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor. The doors slide shut, sealing me in with my thoughts.


    Amanda is going to be upset. I already know how this conversation will go. The usations, the frustration in her voice, the underlying insecurity she tries to mask but always fails to hidepletely.


    I run a hand down my face as my phone vibrates in my palm. Another call.


    I could ignore it, go to my room, shower, and deal with itter. But that would only make things worse.


    Before I can talk myself out of it, I swipe to answer.


    "Hey," I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible.


    "Hey?" Amanda¡¯s voice is sharp, edged with something that sounds like restrained anger. "That¡¯s all you have to say? Matthew, I¡¯ve been calling you for hours!"


    I sigh, stepping out as the elevator dings on my floor. "I know. I¡¯m sorry. I was on the road. I didn¡¯t want to talk while driving."


    "You could have sent a text!" she snaps. "Just a simple Hey, I¡¯m alive would¡¯ve been nice!"


    I unlock my hotel room and step inside, shutting the door behind me. "You¡¯re right. I should have. I wasn¡¯t thinking."


    There¡¯s a pause on the other end, but it¡¯s not relief or understanding. It¡¯s hesitation.


    "Where are you now?" she asks.


    I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temple. "At the hotel."


    A beat of silence. Then, softer but more pointed, she asks, "Are you alone?"


    I close my eyes. "Amanda..."


    "Are you?" she presses.


    "Yes, I¡¯m in my room alone." It¡¯s the truth, but it doesn¡¯t feel like enough. Not to her.


    "Okay," she finally says after a long moment of silence. "You need to call me as soon as you are done with your meeting tomorrow."


    "I will," I assure her, my voice firm. "I promise."


    Another pause. I can hear her breathing, uneven, like she wants to say more but holds back.


    "Good," she finally mutters. "Get some rest."


    "You too," I say, but the call has already ended.


    I let out a slow breath, staring at my phone for a moment before setting it on the nightstand.


    I move to my suitcase. I need a shower, some sleep, anything to clear my head.


    ~-~


    The next day, I make sure I wake up early enough to make it to the conference ballroom on time. I look at the chair next to me where Sarah is assigned to sit, but it¡¯s empty.


    Frowning, I pull out my phone, debating whether to text her. Before I can, a familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.


    "Looking for me?"


    I turn to see Sarah sliding into the chair beside me, a coffee cup in one hand and a smirk ying on her lips.


    "You¡¯rete," I say, keeping my tone neutral.


    She shrugs. "Only by a couple of minutes. Besides, I figured you¡¯d enjoy some peace before having to deal with me all day."


    I shake my head, exhaling. "How considerate of you."


    "You¡¯re wee." She grins before taking a sip of her coffee. "Did you survive the night without Amanda hunting you down?"


    I shoot her a warning look, but she only raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my difort.


    "She called," I admit, leaning back in my chair. "She wasn¡¯t happy."


    Sarah hums, stirring her coffee idly. "And you still didn¡¯t tell her you came here with me, did you?"


    I don¡¯t answer right away, and that¡¯s enough of an answer for Sarah. She lets out a low chuckle, shaking her head.


    "You know, Matthew, secrets have a way ofing out," she says, taking another sip of her coffee. "And when they do, they always make things worse."


    I rub a hand down my face, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest. "It¡¯s not a secret," I mutter. "I just... didn¡¯t want to make things harder than they needed to be."


    Sarah leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "Maybe I don¡¯t like being hidden."


    I nce at her, irritation flickering in my gaze, but before I can respond, the conference speaker begins talking, forcing me to drop the conversation.


    Still, her words linger.


    Why do I feel like I have to hide her when there is nothing going on between us?


    After the conference ends, Sarah stretches her arms over her head, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Well, that was informative," she says, standing up and grabbing her bag. "And by informative, I mean incredibly boring."


    I smirk, shaking my head. "It wasn¡¯t that bad."


    She tilts her head at me. "Matthew, be honest. If I hadn¡¯t been sitting next to you, keeping you entertained with my charming presence, you would¡¯ve fallen asleep halfway through."


    I huff out a quietugh, gathering my things. "I would¡¯ve survived."


    She rolls her eyes but then brightens. "Oh, hey! Leslie from our table asked if we wanted to go to the bar across the street. Let¡¯s do it."


    I hesitate, ncing at my watch. It¡¯s not thatte, but I know Amanda will expect a call soon. I can already imagine how that conversation will go if she hears I went out drinking.


    Sarah must see the indecision on my face because she nudges my arm. "Come on, don¡¯t be boring. One drink won¡¯t kill you."


    I exhale slowly, weighing my options. If I say no, she¡¯ll give me hell for it the rest of the night. If I say yes, I¡¯ll just have to be careful. One drink, a little socializing, and then I¡¯ll leave. Besides, I was here towork, wasn¡¯t I?


    "Fine," I say, slipping my phone into my pocket. "One drink."


    Sarah grins like she¡¯s won something. "Atta boy."


    ~-~


    The bar is lively but not overly crowded, a dimly lit ce with music ying softly in the background. A few of the people from the conference are already seated at a high-top table, drinks in hand.


    Sarah slides onto a stool next to me, ordering a cocktail while I settle for a whiskey. True to my word, just one drink.


    The conversation flows easily¡ªworkints, jokes, and harmless banter. Sarah is effortlessly charismatic, making peopleugh and keeping the mood light.


    At some point, she leans in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine. "See? This isn¡¯t so bad, is it?"


    I shake my head, lifting my ss. "No, it¡¯s not."


    She smirks. "Told you."


    My phone vibrates in my pocket, and my stomach tightens. I already know who it is.


    Amanda.


    I pull it out, staring at the screen. Three missed calls.


    Sarah nces at my phone, then at me, her expression unreadable. "You should answer that."


    I exhale, pushing back from the table. "Yeah, I should."


    I step outside, the cool night air hitting my skin as I press the call button. It rings once before Amanda picks up.


    "Matthew," she says, and there¡¯s something sharp in her tone. "Where have you been?"


    "I am at the bar with some coworkers after the conference," I say carefully, keeping my voice steady.


    Silence.


    Then, she asks, "You didn¡¯t tell me about going to a bar."


    "It was ast-minute thing, Amanda. Just one drink and someworking. Nothing crazy."


    "Who are you with?" Her voice is quieter now but no less intense.


    I sigh, knowing where this is headed. "A few people from the conference."


    "Matthew,e on! You¡¯re missing all the fun!"


    I freeze, my heart dropping into my stomach. There¡¯s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, then Amanda¡¯s voice, low and dangerous. "Who is that?"


    Fuck.


    I turn to Sarah and re at her. "Amanda, it¡¯s not what you think," I tell Amanda.


    "Not what I think?" Her voice rises, anger and hurt bleeding through. "You¡¯re out drinking with her, and you didn¡¯t even tell me she was there!"


    "It¡¯s just a work thing," I try to exin, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak. "We¡¯re here with a group."


    God, I shouldn¡¯t told her from the beginning. I am such a fucking coward.


    "A group," Amanda repeats, disbelief dripping from every word. "Right. You must think I am stupid."


    I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to find the right words. "Amanda, please. You have to trust me."


    "Trust you?" Sheughs, but there¡¯s no humor in it. "How can I trust you when you¡¯re constantly hiding things from me? When you¡¯re out with her, doing God knows what?"


    "I¡¯m not hiding anything!" I argue, frustration building in my chest. "I told you, it¡¯s just a drink with coworkers. That¡¯s it."


    "And I¡¯m supposed to believe that?" Her voice cracks, and I can hear the tears she¡¯s trying to hold back.


    My jaw clenches. "Yes, Amanda. I am your boyfriend. You should trust me."


    The line goes dead.


    I stare at my phone, a mix of anger and guilt swirling in my gut. I shouldn¡¯t havee out tonight. I should have just gone back to my room, called Amanda, and reassured her.


    But a part of me doesn¡¯t like that either. Why should I have to constantly reassure her? Why can¡¯t she just trust me?


    "Sorry, Matthew. Didn¡¯t mean to get you in trouble," Sarah says, and I suddenly remember that she was there.


    I sigh. "Let¡¯s just get back inside. I need another drink," I say.

 Chapter 36: Too Drunk

    <h4>Chapter 36: Too Drunk</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Oops, I guess I got Matthew in trouble. I think to myself as Matthew begrudgingly follows me inside the bar.


    "What did she say?" I ask Matthew.


    "I don¡¯t want to talk about it," he grumbles.


    I raise an eyebrow but decide not to push him¡ªat least, not yet. Instead, I slide back onto my stool and take a sip of my drink, watching as Matthew settles into his seat, his shoulders tense. His phone is still gripped in his hand like he¡¯s waiting for it to buzz again.


    "You know," I say casually, stirring my cocktail with the little straw, "if you¡¯re going to sneak around, you should at least be better at it."


    Matthew shoots me a re. "I¡¯m not sneaking around."


    I smirk. "Amanda thinks you are."


    His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he¡¯s going to snap at me, but instead, he exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don¡¯t need you making this worse, Sarah."


    "Hey, I didn¡¯t do anything," I say, holding up my hands in mock innocence.


    "You didn¡¯t have toe out of the bar and shout at me," he says.


    "Oh,e on. I wasn¡¯t shouting," I protest.


    Matthew exhales through his nose like he¡¯s trying to keep his patience in check, but I can tell it¡¯s a losing battle. "She heard you, and now she thinks there¡¯s something going on between us."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Well, is there?"


    His eyes snap to mine, and I can see the frustration bubbling up, but he controls it with a slow breath. "You know there isn¡¯t."


    Iugh softly, leaning forward and resting my chin on my hand. "She is overreacting, you know. If I was your girlfriend, I¡¯d fully trust you."


    Matthew shakes his head. "All women get jealous."


    I raise an eyebrow, amused by his assumption. "All women, huh? Not me."


    Matthew downs the rest of his drinks and orders another one.


    Matthew¡¯s drink arrives quickly, and he wastes no time downing it in a fewrge gulps. I watch him with amusement as he orders yet another, his words starting to slur slightly.


    "Maybe you should slow down," I suggest, but Matthew waves off my concern.


    "I¡¯m fine," he insists, his eyes slightly zed. "I just need to forget about this whole mess for a while."


    I purse my lips but don¡¯t argue. If he wants to drink himself into oblivion, who am I to stop him?


    As the night wears on, Matthew¡¯s condition worsens rapidly. His words be more and more incoherent, and he starts to sway on his stool, nearly falling off a few times. I have to reach out and steady him, my hand gripping his arm firmly.


    "Okay, I think you¡¯ve had enough," I say.


    Matthew grumbles something unintelligible, but he doesn¡¯t resist as I help him off the stool. He leans heavily against me, his body warm and solid against mine. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne.


    "Come on, let¡¯s get you to your room," I say, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him upright.


    We stumble out of the bar and into the cool night air. The walk to his room seems to take forever, with Matthew tripping over his own feet every few steps. I have to practically drag him along, my arm aching from the effort.


    Finally, we reach his door, and I fish his key card out of his pocket. It takes a few tries, but I manage to get the door open and maneuver Matthew inside. He copses onto the bed, his limbs sprawling haphazardly.


    I sigh, looking down at his disheveled form. His hair is a mess, and his shirt is rumpled and half-untucked. He looks like a mess but is somehow still handsome in a rugged sort of way.


    God...I can¡¯t be thinking about how attractive he is, not when he¡¯s in this state.


    I set about removing his shoes and tucking him under the covers. Matthew mumbles something, his eyes fluttering open briefly to look at me.


    "Sarah," he slurs, reaching out a hand to touch my face. "You¡¯re so beautiful."


    I freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest. I know he is saying that because he is drunk, that he doesn¡¯t mean it. No one ever calls me beautiful. But still, his words send a thrill through me.


    "Go to sleep, Matthew," I say softly, gently pushing his hand away.


    "You stay with me," he says, grabbing my arm.


    freeze for a second, his grip on my arm surprisingly strong for someone so drunk. His eyes, though unfocused, seem to hold a vulnerability I hadn¡¯t expected. I nce down at his hand on my arm, feeling the warmth of it, and for a moment, I just stand there, unsure how to react.


    "Matthew," I start, my voice quieter now, a little softer. "You need to sleep it off."


    He looks at me with a mix of pleading and drunken confusion, his brow furrowing. "Please," he mutters. "Just stay... I don¡¯t wanna be alone."


    I hesitate. He¡¯s drunk, vulnerable, and clearly in emotional turmoil, but I can¡¯t deny the tug I feel in my chest. I want to stay, but at the same time, I know I shouldn¡¯t. He is only saying that because he is drunk.


    I bite my lip, my resolve wavering as I look down at Matthew¡¯s pleading face. His dark hair is tousled against the pillow, his eyes ssy but still somehow intense as they lock onto mine.


    The room is dimly lit, the only lighting from the soft glow of the bedsidemp. It casts shadows across Matthew¡¯s features, entuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the fullness of his slightly parted lips.


    He looks...tempting.


    I know I should leave. I know that staying would be crossing a line, taking advantage of his drunk state.


    My eyes trace the lines of his body, the way his shirt stretches across his broad chest. I can feel the heat emanating from his skin, even from this distance, and it makes my own body flush with a sudden, intense desire.


    Slowly, as if in a trance, I let my hand trail down his arm, feeling the firmness of his bicep beneath my fingertips. Matthew¡¯s breath hitches, his eyes darkening as they follow the path of my touch. The atmosphere is electric, charged with a simmering, unspoken want.


    "Sarah," he breathes, his voice low and rough.


    I sink down onto the bed beside him, letting his arms wind around me, pulling me flush against the solid warmth of his body. He smells like whiskey and something distinctly masculine, a scent that makes my head spin and my pulse race.


    Matthew¡¯s handes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. The touch sends sparks racing through my veins. I let my eyes flutter closed, my lips parting slightly in silent invitation.


    And then his mouth is on mine, hot and hungry and demanding. He kisses me like a man possessed like he wants to devour me whole. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.


    If I was a better woman...a good woman, I would stop this and leave his room right now.


    But I am not.


    His hands roam my body, sliding under my shirt to caress the bare skin of my back. I arch into him, craving more contact, more friction. I want to feel his skin against mine, to lose myself in the heat of his embrace.


    I want him to take my first time.


    Matthew¡¯s lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair as he finds a particrly sensitive spot.


    His hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward impatiently. I raise my arms, allowing him to pull it off and toss it aside. "God, Amanda, I want you," he breathes.


    The name is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I freeze, my body going rigid in his arms. "What did you just call me?" I ask, my voice low.


    Matthew blinks, confusion clouding his features. "What?"


    I push him away. "You called me Amanda," I spit. "I¡¯m not your damn girlfriend, Matthew."


    He looks at me dazedly as if he is not registering what I am saying.


    Anger and humiliation burn through me. I can¡¯t believe I actually thought he wanted me. But of course, in his drunken state, he thought I was Amanda. The realization stings more than I care to admit.


    Matthew is still looking at me in confusion, his eyes unfocused and ssy. He reaches for me again, mumbling something incoherent, but I swat his hand away.


    "Just go to sleep, Matthew," I snap.


    He blinks slowly, his eyelids growing heavy. The alcohol seems to finally be taking its toll, dragging him under. His head lolls back against the pillow, his limbs going ck.


    I stand there for a long moment, staring down at Matthew¡¯s unconscious form, my chest heaving with anger, humiliation, and frustrated desire. How dare he mistake me for his girlfriend in the heat of the moment? After I went out of my way to help him, to take care of him in his drunken state.


    I feel rejected.


    But then, slowly, an idea begins to form in my mind. A wicked, delicious idea that sends a thrill of anticipation down my spine.


    Why not give him a little surprise to wake up to in the morning?


    A smile curves my lips as I start to undress, slowly peeling off my clothes and letting them drop to the floor.


    First, my shirt, then my jeans, until I¡¯m standing there in nothing but my bra and panties.


    I reach behind me and unsp my bra, letting it slide off my shoulders and fall to the floor.


    I climb onto the bed, the sheets cool and smooth against my bare skin. I stretch out beside Matthew, molding my body to his, skin to skin. He is warm and solid, his chest rising and falling with the slow, even breaths of deep sleep. I drape one leg over his, pressing my breasts against his arm, my heading to rest on his shoulder.


    In the morning, he¡¯ll wake up like this - naked, with me in his bed. He¡¯ll see our clothes strewn across the floor, feel my bare skin against his, and he¡¯ll assume that we had sex. That, in his drunken state, he cheated on his girlfriend with me.


    I can almost picture the look on his face - the shock, the horror, the sinking realization of what he thinks he¡¯s done. It sends a dark thrill through me, a sense of power and control.


    I close my eyes, a satisfied smile on my lips as I let myself drift off to sleep, wrapped around Matthew¡¯s unconscious form. I can¡¯t wait to see his reaction in the morning. It¡¯s going to be delicious.

 Chapter 37: Mistake

    <h4>Chapter 37: Mistake</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I open my eyes, squinting against the harsh morning light that streamed through the gaps in the curtains.


    My head is throbbing, a dull, persistent ache that seems to radiate from behind my eyes. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.


    Ugh...I drank way too muchst night. Luckily, the next conference wasn¡¯t until evening.


    As I slowly regained consciousness, I suddenly feel a warm weight pressed against me, a soft, feminine form molded to my body. Confused, I turn my head, my gaze falling on a mass of blonde hair syed across my chest.


    My heart stops.


    Sarah.


    She is naked, her bare skin soft and smooth against my own. Her leg is draped over mine, her breasts pressed against my arm. She looks peaceful in sleep, her face rxed, her lips slightly parted.


    But I feel anything but peaceful.


    No....


    Panic ws at my throat as my mind races, trying to piece together the events ofst night. I remember drinking a lot. I remember Sarah helping me to my room, her arm around my waist, supporting his weight. But after that...it was a blur of disjointed images and sensations.


    Did we...?


    I look around the room, taking in the clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor. My shirt, her jeans, her bra...


    Oh God.


    We did.


    My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.


    I had cheated on Amanda. I had gotten drunk and slept with Sarah. Just as Amanda suspected I would.


    How could I let this happen? How could I betray Amanda like this?


    I need to get out of here. I need to...


    Sarah stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She blinks up at me, and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face.


    "Good morning," she purrs, stretchingnguidly against him.


    I swallow hard, my mouth going dry. "Sarah, what...what happenedst night?"


    She raises an eyebrow, her smile turning mischievous. "You don¡¯t remember? We had quite the time."


    I shake my head, my heart pounding. "No, I...I don¡¯t remember. I was so drunk, I..."


    Sarah props herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to reveal the upper swells of her breasts.


    I look away.


    "Well, let me refresh your memory," she says, her voice low and seductive. "You couldn¡¯t keep your hands off me. You said you wanted me, that you needed me. And I was more than happy to oblige."


    I feel more sick than I thought possible. "That can¡¯t be true. Please tell me it¡¯s not true."


    Sarah¡¯s expression darkens. "Are you calling me a liar?" she asks, looking hurt.


    "Sarah...this isn¡¯t right. I am with Amanda. I can¡¯t do this. I should¡¯ve never allowed this to happen," I say.


    "Well, we don¡¯t have to tell anyone," she says.


    "Sarah, we can¡¯t just pretend it didn¡¯t happen," I say.


    Sarah shifts. "So you regret it?" she asks.


    I wince, guilt gnawing at me even more. "Of course I regret it! I was drunk, and I wasn¡¯t thinking straight. That¡¯s no excuse, but I don¡¯t want to lose what I have with Amanda over a mistake."


    She looks away, and for a moment, there¡¯s silence between us, broken only by the sound of my frantic heart in my chest.


    Sarah sits up slowly, the sheet falling around her waist as she watches me. "Like I said, this can stay between us. I am good at keeping secrets."


    Why is she being so casual about this?


    I can¡¯t understand how she can be so nonchnt about something that feels like a betrayal¡ªnot just to Amanda, but to myself.


    "Sarah, this isn¡¯t just a secret. This is... this is a mistake that could ruin everything. It¡¯s not something we can just sweep under the rug," I say.


    She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. "You¡¯re acting like we¡¯vemitted a crime. You were drunk. I was drunk. No harm done, right?" She shrugs as if brushing it off like it¡¯s no big deal.


    I can feel my heart pounding harder, frustration building in my chest. "No harm done?" I repeat, incredulous. "I¡¯ve got a girlfriend, Sarah. I just¡ªI just slept with you¡ªand now I¡¯m standing here trying to figure out how to fix this mess before itpletely falls apart."


    "Look, I get it. You¡¯ve got a girlfriend, and now you feel guilty. But you wanted this, too. Don¡¯t act like you were a victim here," Sarah says.


    I bite back a retort, my throat tightening. She¡¯s not wrong, is she?


    "I don¡¯t want this," I say, my voice lower now, softer. "I¡¯ve messed up. But I know what I need to do. I need to talk to Amanda. I need to make things right."


    Sarah stays quiet for a moment, her eyes holding mine. She finally exhales a slow breath.


    "Okay, then," she says. "Tell her. Why don¡¯t you call her and tell her about us?"


    No, I can¡¯t do that. Amanda deserves to know in person. I can¡¯t just tell her over the phone.


    "I¡¯m not telling her over the phone," I say, shaking my head. "I need to see her, to talk to her in person. This is...this is too big to just drop in a text or call."


    Sarah doesn¡¯t say anything at first.


    "You¡¯re making this harder than it needs to be," she finally mutters.


    "I can¡¯t live with that, Sarah," I say, my voice firm. "I can¡¯t lie to her, not after what I¡¯ve done. It¡¯s not just about me anymore. It¡¯s about Amanda, too. She deserves the truth."


    Sarah falls silent again, her expression darkening.


    "It¡¯s nothing against you, Sarah," I tell her, thinking I am being too harsh on her.


    "Yes, I know," she says quietly. "I will go back to my room now."


    I watch her leave and sigh.


    The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in as I rey the events in my mind, trying to understand how it all went so wrong.


    I loved Amanda¡ªtruly, deeply. How could I have done this to her? How could I have been so weak?


    I have to tell Amanda the truth. I can¡¯t live with myself if I don¡¯t. But how? How do I exin this to her without destroying everything?


    But that¡¯s something I need to worry about after getting home. Right now, all I can do is get through thest day of this trip.

 Chapter 38: I am Staying

    <h4>Chapter 38: I am Staying</h4>


    <strong>Present time...</strong>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    "You know I can¡¯t just forget about everything, right?"


    I give Reba a nk stare. "What?" I ask.


    Josh had pushed Reba and me out to the terrace so we could talk alone and ¡¯work things out.¡¯ It was the only part of the house that was empty.


    "I said, you know I can¡¯t just forget about everything you did and pretend to be friends again," Reba says sharply.


    I sigh. "Yes, I know."


    Reba crosses her arms, her expression hard. "Then why are you here?"


    I meet her gaze, my stomach twisting. "Josh invited me. I didn¡¯t know you were going to be here too."


    Reba scoffs, shaking her head. "Of course, he did."


    I shift ufortably, gripping the strap of my purse. "Look, I¡¯m not here to start anything. I didn¡¯te to ruin your night or make things awkward."


    "Toote for that," she mutters, her eyes shing with resentment.


    I exhale slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "I get it, okay? You don¡¯t want me here. But I didn¡¯t n this. I just wanted to hang out and see some old friends. That¡¯s all."


    Reba studies me for a moment, then folds her arms tighter. "I can¡¯t believe you went through with the wedding. Matthew doesn¡¯t deserve this."


    I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I know that."


    "Do you?" Her voice is sharp, cutting through the noise of the party. "Because from where I¡¯m standing, it sure doesn¡¯t seem like it. Do you think you won?"


    I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Fighting won¡¯t fix anything. "I can¡¯t change the past, Reba. And no, I don¡¯t think I won. Matthew hates me. He made it clear right from the start."


    Reba shakes her head, a bitterugh escaping her lips. "Then why marry him, Sarah? Why force yourself into something that¡¯s built on nothing but lies and resentment?"


    "Because I love him," I say quietly.


    Reba¡¯s expression freezes. Then sheughs without a trace of humor in it. "Sarah, you trapped him. That¡¯s not love. That¡¯s maniption."


    I flinch but hold my ground. "I was an idiot. But it¡¯s toote now. We are married already. All I can do now is try to fix things."


    "Do you even hear yourself? How do you n on doing that? You said yourself Matthew still hates you. Do you really think he will forgive you?" Reba asks.


    I swallow hard. "I didn¡¯t want it to be like this," I admit. "I didn¡¯t want to hurt anyone. But it happened. And I can¡¯t undo it, and I wish you didn¡¯t hate me like Matthew does."


    Reba exhales sharply. "I don¡¯t hate you, Sarah," she says, shaking her head. "I just don¡¯t even know who you are anymore."


    Her words sting more than I expected.


    I bite my lip, gripping my purse tighter. "I¡¯m still me," I say. "And I really miss you, Reba. Please...can we start over?" I plead.


    Reba looks at me, her expression torn between anger and something like regret. For a long moment, she says nothing, just studying me as if searching for the girl she once called a friend.


    Then she sighs. "I don¡¯t know, Sarah," she admits. "I don¡¯t know if we can start over. You didn¡¯t just manipte Matthew. You manipted me too. You lied to me."


    My heart sinks. "But I¡ª"


    "You made choices, Sarah. Choices that hurt people. You can¡¯t just ask for a clean te like none of it happened."


    "I¡¯m not asking you to forget," I say quickly. "I just... I don¡¯t want to lose youpletely."


    Reba looks away, crossing her arms. "I need time," she says finally. "I can¡¯t just pretend everything¡¯s okay. Not yet."


    It¡¯s not what I want to hear, but it¡¯s not a no.


    I nod slowly. "I understand."


    She hesitates for a moment, then exhales, her posture rxing just slightly. "If you really want to fix things, start with Matthew," she says. "And don¡¯t do it because you want him to love you. Do it because he deserves better than what you did to him."


    Her words cut deep, but I know she¡¯s right.


    Reba turns around and walks away, leaving me alone on the terrace.


    Doesn¡¯t she understand that I am willing to do whatever it takes to make things right? That¡¯s why I¡¯ve been tolerating everything Matthew has put me through since we got married.


    I walk back to the party in a daze. Coming here was a mistake.


    "Sarah! There you are," Josh says as he walks toward me. "Did you work things out with Ba?"


    I force myself to smile. "I don¡¯t know, Josh. I think we are just too different now."


    Joshughs. "What the hell are you talking about? It hasn¡¯t been that long since you two talked, has it?"


    "You wouldn¡¯t know that, Josh. You have been living your best life in Paris," I say, making my voice light despite the storm raging inside me. I can¡¯t let him see I am upset. What was the point of involving him?


    Josh raises an eyebrow at me, clearly not buying my attempt at nonchnce. "Come on, Sarah. You and Ba were inseparable. I find it hard to believe¡ª."


    "Please, Josh. Just drop it, okay? Where is Matthew?" I ask.


    Josh sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, fine. I will spare you the lecture for now. Matthew is at the pool."


    "You have a pool?" I raise my eyebrows.


    "Yup, it¡¯s on the roof." Josh grins. "Come on, follow me."


    I follow Josh up a winding staircase, the sound ofughter and sshing water growing louder with each step.


    I scan the crowd and my gazends on Matthew.


    He¡¯s sitting at the edge of the pool, his feet dangling in the water. And he¡¯s not alone. A stunning brte in a barely-there bikini is in front of him. They are bothughing at something.


    Matthew leans in close, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle and yfully p his chest.


    The air rushes out of my lungs, and I¡¯m green with jealousy. "Who is that Matthew talking to?" I ask Josh.


    Josh follows my gaze and shrugs. "A friend of a friend, I think."


    I stride toward them without saying another word.


    "Matthew," I say, my voiceing out hoarse.


    The woman beside him nces at me, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything.


    "Sarah," Matthew responds, his tone t. "What¡¯s up?"


    "I think we should go home now," I say.


    "Go home? I am just now starting to have fun," Matthew says. He picks up a lock of the woman¡¯s hair and twists it on his fingers before letting it go. "This is Ellie. Ellie, meet Sarah."


    "Hi," I manage, my voice tight.


    I feel Josh¡¯s solid presence behind me and turn to look at him. Josh is staring at Matthew too, his eyes narrowed.


    Ellie smiles at me. "Nice to meet you, Sarah," she says, her voice like honey.


    Matthew grins, his attention fully on Ellie now. "Ellie was just telling me about her trip to Balist summer. The beaches sound incredible."


    "Oh, they were divine," Ellie purrs, leaning in closer to Matthew. "White sand, crystal clear turquoise waters. And the sunsets! Like something out of a dream." She traces a fingertip along Matthew¡¯s forearm. "You would love it there."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes follow the path of her finger, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Is that so? Well, maybe you¡¯ll have to take me some time and show me around."


    I feel like I might be sick, watching my husband so tantly flirt with this woman right in front of me. But I force myself to stayposed, unwilling to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothers me.


    "We were just at Aruba. Did you tell her that, Matthew?" I say and smile sweetly at Ellie. "For our honeymoon."


    Ellie¡¯s eyes widen slightly in surprise as she looks at Matthew. "Honeymoon? I didn¡¯t realize you were married."


    Matthew clears his throat. "It¡¯s a recent development," he says evenly.


    I hold his stare, refusing to back down. "Very recent. In fact, we just got back a few days ago."


    Ellie looks ufortable now, edging slightly away from Matthew. "Oh. Well, congrattions," she says, her tone awkward.


    "Thank you," I reply, keeping my voice light despite the tension crackling between us. "It was a beautiful wedding. Wasn¡¯t it, honey?" I ce deliberate emphasis on the endearment.


    Matthew¡¯s eyes sh with something dark and angry, but he maintains hisposure. "It was memorable, that¡¯s for sure," he says tightly.


    Josh clears his throat, clearly sensing the rising hostility. "Hey, why don¡¯t we all grab a drink? I think the bartender is mixing up some killer cocktails."


    Ellie seizes the opportunity to extricate herself. "That sounds great," she says quickly, standing up. "I could use a refill. Matthew, Sarah, it was nice meeting you both." She walks away quickly, not even waiting for a response.


    Matthew stands too, his movements sharp and agitated. He turns to face me fully, his expression stormy. "That wasn¡¯t very nice, Sarah. Ellie and I had a connection," he says mockingly.


    I lift my chin defiantly. "The connection wasn¡¯t deep enough because she left super fast as soon as she knew you were married."


    Matthew grabs my arm so hard that it makes me flinch. "Let¡¯s go home then since you already ruined the fun for me."


    I yank my arm out of Matthew¡¯s grasp, ring at him. "No," I say firmly. "I¡¯m not going anywhere."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes narrow. "What did you say?"


    "You heard me," I reply, standing my ground. "I¡¯m staying right here. You¡¯re not the only one who gets to have fun tonight."


    Josh, sensing the rising tension, steps in. "Hey,e on, you two. What is going on?"


    I ignore him and keep my eyes locked on Matthew. "If you want to leave, Matthew. Leave."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes sh with a dangerous glint as he steps closer to me, his tall frame looming over mine. In one swift motion, he grabs my waist and pulls me against him, our bodies pressed together.


    I gasp, startled by the sudden contact, my hands instinctivelying up to rest against his firm chest. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the hard nes of muscle tensing under my touch.


    "You want to y games, Sarah?" he asks, his voice a low, menacing growl that sends shivers down my spine. "Fine. Let¡¯s y."


    I stare up at him defiantly, refusing to back down even as my heart races wildly in my chest.


    He brings one hand up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing along the sensitive skin of my lower lip. I shiver at the contact, my breath hitching in my throat.


    "If you stay here a minute longer, don¡¯t bothering home tonight," he says softly, his words a dark promise. "Because if you do, I will make sure you pay the price for it."


    My heart pounds in my chest, but I refuse to show weakness. "You don¡¯t scare me, Matthew," I say, my voice low but steady, fighting back the knot of fear tightening in my stomach.


    For a moment, he doesn¡¯t say anything. Then his lips twist into a small smile. "Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you," he mutters before turning on his heel and stalking off.


    I watch him leave, my body still tense from the encounter.


    Josh¡¯s voice pulls me back to reality. "What was that all about, Sarah? Did he just threaten you?"


    I look at him and smile. "I could use a drink."

 Chapter 39: Toxic

    <h4>Chapter 39: Toxic</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I let Josh guide me over to the open bar, my mind still reeling from the heated confrontation with Matthew. The bartender, a handsome guy with a friendly smile, asks what we¡¯d like.


    "Two vodka cranberries, please," I say. "And make them doubles."


    Josh raises an eyebrow but doesn¡¯t say anything.


    A strong drink is exactly what I need right now.


    As the bartender mixes our cocktails, Josh turns to me, concern etched on his face. "Seriously though, Sarah. What¡¯s going on with you and Matthew? The tension between you two is thicker than the humidity tonight."


    I sigh, not really wanting to get into the sordid details. "It¡¯splicated," I say vaguely, epting my drink from the bartender with a grateful nod.


    Josh isn¡¯t deterred. "Complicated how? Because from where I¡¯m standing, it looks like my best friend is in a pretty toxic situation."


    I take a long sip of my drink, the tartness of the cranberry mixing with the sharp bite of vodka. I wee the burn in my throat.


    "Matthew and I...we¡¯re just going through a rough patch," I say, not meeting Josh¡¯s eyes. "Newlywed growing pains, you know?"


    Josh frowns, clearly unconvinced. "Sarah, I¡¯ve known you for years. I can tell when something¡¯s not right. And the way he grabbed you just now, the things he said...that¡¯s not normal."


    I drain the rest of my drink in one long gulp, already feeling the alcohol starting to buzz through my veins. "I appreciate the concern, Josh. Really. But I can handle Matthew."


    "Can you?" Josh presses gently. "Because it doesn¡¯t seem like it from where I¡¯m standing."


    I signal the bartender for another round instead of answering. I know Josh means well, but I don¡¯t have the energy to dive into the mess that is my marriage right now.


    "Let¡¯s just enjoy the party, okay?" I say, forcing a smile. "I think I¡¯ve had enough heavy conversation for one night."


    Josh looks like he wants to argue but thinks better of it. "Alright," he relents. "But this discussion isn¡¯t over, Sarah. I¡¯m here for you whenever you¡¯re ready to talk."


    I nod, grateful for his understanding. "Thanks, Josh. You¡¯re a good friend."


    We clink our fresh drinks together and I let the vodka work its numbing magic, pushing thoughts of Matthew to the back of my mind.


    As the night wears on, I lose myself in the pulsing beat of the music and the easy flow of alcohol. Josh and I dance andugh, reminiscing about old times and catching up on the years we¡¯ve missed. It¡¯s freeing to be able to just let go and not think about the suffocating reality waiting for me at home.


    I¡¯m pleasantly buzzed, and I forget all about my problems for a moment.


    I look around, searching for Reba, but I don¡¯t see her anywhere. Maybe she left.


    The party winds down, and Ie home sick. And the craziest part? I miss Matthew.


    "Josh," I say, my words slurring slightly. "I think I need a ride home."


    Josh looks at me, taking in my ssy eyes and unsteady stance. "Yeah, I can see that," he says with a wry smile. "Come on, let¡¯s get you out of here."


    He wraps an arm around my waist, supporting my weight as he guides me through the dwindling crowd. The cool night air hits my face as we step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.


    Josh helps me into the passenger seat of his sleek ck Mercedes, the leather cool against my flushed skin. He slides into the driver¡¯s seat and starts the engine, the car purring to life.


    As we pull out onto the quiet streets, I lean my head against the window, thinking about my husband.


    My very angry husband.


    Did he mean what he said earlier? Is he going to make me regret staying at Josh¡¯s when I get home? I guess I will see...


    You sure you wanna go home tonight?" Josh finally asks, breaking the silence.


    I blink, lifting my head slightly to look at him. "What do you mean?"


    Josh exhales, keeping his gaze on the road. "Sarah, he threatened you back there. You have to tell me if he is abusing you."


    A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down. "He is not abusing me," I murmur.


    Josh shakes his head, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "You say that, but I don¡¯t think you believe it anymore."


    I look away, watching the dark streets blur past. I don¡¯t want to talk about this. Not to Josh.


    "I just want to sleep in my own bed," I say quietly.


    Josh doesn¡¯t argue, but I can tell he wants to. Instead, he lets out a slow breath and turns onto my street.


    Josh pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park but doesn¡¯t turn off the engine. He grips the wheel and then looks at me. "Sarah...if he is hurting you¡ª-"


    "Thanks for the ride, Josh," I say and get out of the car.


    I square my shoulders, forcing myself forward. Step by step, I approach the front door, my heart pounding in time with each movement. My fingers tremble as I slide the key into the lock and turn it.


    The moment I push the door open, I know something is off.


    The house is quiet¡ªtoo quiet.


    And then I see him.


    Matthew is sitting on the couch, his posture rxed but his expression anything but.


    He doesn¡¯t look at me right away. Instead, he swirls the drink in his hand, his fingers slow and deliberate around the ss.


    "Had fun?" he finally says, his voice smooth, controlled.


    I step inside, closing the door behind me. "Yes, I did," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.


    Matthew lets out a low chuckle, finally lifting his eyes to meet mine. They¡¯re dark...dangerous. "Oh, Sarah," he murmurs, setting his ss down and standing. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you decided to stay out."


    I take a slow breath, refusing to shrink under his gaze. "And what exactly do you think I was doing?"


    Matthew tilts his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey. "I think," he says, stepping closer, "that you wanted to see just how far you could push me."


    My back presses against the door, my pulse quickening as he stops inches away from me. His scent¡ªwhiskey and something darker, something purely him¡ªwraps around me, suffocating and intoxicating all at once.


    "Tell me," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch deceptively gentle. "Did it feel good? Flirting with Josh?"


    I stiffen. "I wasn¡¯t¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t lie to me, Sarah." His hand moves to my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. His grip isn¡¯t rough, but it¡¯s firm. Unyielding.


    I swallow hard, my breath hitching. "Matthew, you¡¯re drunk."


    He smirks, his thumb brushing lightly over my lower lip, the same way he had earlier at the party. "And so are you," he tells me.


    Then, he leans in, his lips just ghosting over mine. "You stayed out when I told you not to," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. "And now, you¡¯re going to pay for it."


    My stomach tightens, but I stand my ground. "What are you going to do about it?"


    Matthew suddenly grabs my arm and yanks me away from the door, his fingers digging into my skin. A gasp escapes my lips at the sudden movement, my body stumbling after him.


    "Matthew, stop," I plead, trying to pull away, but his hold is iron-d.


    He doesn¡¯t respond, his jaw clenched tight as he drags me across the living room. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins.


    We reach the basement door and he wrenches it open, the hinges creaking in protest. The stairwell yawns before us, dark and foreboding. A chill runs down my spine.


    "What are you doing?" I demand, my voice shaking despite my efforts to sound strong.


    Matthew looks at me then, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Teaching you a lesson," he says, his tone cold and clipped.


    Before I can react, he drags me down the stairs.


    "Matthew! What the hell?" I cry out.


    "Shush. You will wake up Marishka. You don¡¯t want your poor nanny to lose sleep over you, do you?" he hisses.


    The little girl in me wants to cry out to her for help, but I bite my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic.


    The basement is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of dust and aged wood. My heart ms against my ribs as Matthew pulls me forward.


    "Matthew, let go," I say, my voice low but firm. I dig my heels into the floor, trying to resist, but he¡¯s stronger. His fingers tighten around my wrist, sending a sharp sting up my arm.


    "You think you can just do whatever you want?" he mutters, his grip unwavering. "Come home whenever you feel like it? With him?"


    My stomach knots. "Josh is my friend," I snap.


    Matthew stops abruptly, yanking me closer until I¡¯m nearly flush against his chest. His breath is warm against my temple, his jaw tight.


    "You don¡¯t get to have friends, Sarah. Not when you destroyed my rtionship with other people."


    I know he is talking about Amanda, but I say nothing. Instead, I try to plead with him. "Matthew, please. You made your point. Can we just go to bed and talk about this in the morning?"


    His lips twist into a cruel smile. "Oh, no, sweetheart. You are spending the night down here tonight."


    My blood runs cold. "What?"


    Matthew doesn¡¯t answer. Instead, he pushes me backward, and I stumble, barely catching myself before I fall. My heart is mming against my ribs now, panic wing its way up my throat.


    "You can¡¯t be serious," I whisper, my breath shaky.


    Matthew tilts his head, watching me with something disturbingly calm in his expression. "Maybe this will finally make you understand, Sarah," he says. "Actions have consequences."


    I lunge for the stairs, but he¡¯s faster. His hand mps around my wrist, yanking me back before I can even reach the first step.


    "Don¡¯t," he warns, his voice eerily soft.


    I twist in his grip, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Matthew, please," I try again, my voice trembling. "I don¡¯t want to stay down here."


    He exhales slowly, almost like he¡¯s considering my words. But then he reaches behind him, and my stomach drops as he pulls something from his pocket¡ªa key.


    Oh, God.


    "Goodnight, Sarah," he murmurs, and before I can react, he shoves me back, stepping out of the basement and mming the door shut.


    A sharp click echoes through the air as he locks it.


    I rush to the door, banging my fists against the wood. "Matthew!" I scream. "Let me out!"


    Silence.


    I press my forehead against the door, my breathing in shallow gasps. The basement is cold, the walls too close, the air thick with dust and memories I don¡¯t want to think about.


    This isn¡¯t happening.


    I shake the handle, but it¡¯s useless. The door doesn¡¯t budge.


    Matthew just locked me in the basement.


    And I am terrified of dark rooms.

 Chapter 40: Panic

    <h4>Chapter 40: Panic</h4>


    Sarah


    I can¡¯t breathe.


    The darkness swallows me whole, pressing against my skin and crawling into my lungs. My fingers shake as I pound on the door, my voice cracking.


    "Matthew! Please, please open the door!"


    No answer.


    The tightness in my chest spreads, constricts. My lungs feel shrunken, incapable of drawing enough air. I sink to my knees, back against the door, trying to remember the breathing exercises my therapist taught me years ago.


    In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.


    "Help," I try to call, but ites out as a whisper.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, but the darkness behind my eyelids is the same as the darkness of the basement. There¡¯s no escape from it.


    "Matthew," I call again, but my voice breaks on his name.


    "Matthew, I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry! Just¡ªjust let me out!"


    My voice breaks on a sob. My knees buckle, but I catch myself, pressing my forehead against the door.


    I w at the wood, my nails scraping, desperate. Pain shoots through my fingers as one nail bends too far, then¡ªsnap.


    I barely register the sting before warm blood drips down my fingertip.


    A whimper slips from my throat. My vision blurs. My breathes too fast, too sharp.


    The dark. The walls. The air too heavy.


    I¡¯m a little girl again.


    Locked in that tiny room.


    Screaming. Crying. Begging.


    "Mommy! Mommy, please!"


    But no one came.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but it crashes over me, drowning me. My body shakes, my legs giving out.


    I hit the cold floor, gasping, trembling. My chest squeezes tighter and tighter, my throat closing up.


    I can¡¯t breathe.


    I can¡¯t think.


    "Please," I whisper, though I don¡¯t know who I¡¯m talking to. Matthew, who locked me in here? He won¡¯te back. This is his punishment to me.


    It feels like time stretches differently in the dark. Has it been minutes or hours? I don¡¯t have my phone with me.


    I¡¯m going to die here, I think with sudden, terrible rity. Not from some monster in the dark, but from my own fear. My heart will simply give out, unable to maintain this frantic rhythm. Or I¡¯ll pass out fromck of oxygen and never wake up. They¡¯ll find me here when they eventuallye looking, curled up against the door like a child hiding from the bogeyman.


    Maybe that will be for the best. Matthew will be happy when I am dead.


    The thought should scare me more, but instead, it brings a strange calm. If death ising, at least the fear will end. At least the darkness will finally beplete.


    But then the calm shatters as another wave of panic hits, stronger than before. No, I don¡¯t want to die. Not here, not like this. Not alone in the dark with no one to hear me scream.


    "Help!" I call out, voice breaking. "Someone help me!"


    I bang my head back against the door, once, twice, the pain distant and unimportant. Maybe if I hit hard enough, I¡¯ll knock myself out. Maybe unconsciousness would be better than this waking nightmare.


    Where is Marishka? Can¡¯t she hear me?


    She can¡¯t.


    I know she can¡¯t.


    Her room is too far, and she sleeps like the dead. Even if she could hear me, what would she do? Will she stand up to Matthew?


    My fingers ache, my broken nail throbbing, but I barely feel it. My body is shaking so bad, I can¡¯t stop it.


    I can¡¯t stop anything.


    I w at my arms, as if scratching at my own skin will somehow make the panic lessen. It doesn¡¯t. It only makes the buzzing under my skin worse, like I¡¯m trapped inside myself, spiraling into a ce I can¡¯t escape.


    The memory grips me again, dragging me under.


    A tiny room.


    Four walls, closing in.


    No windows. No light.


    I was so small.


    I can hear my own screams from years ago, echoing in my head. Feel my little fists pounding against the door. My throat was raw from crying, my body exhausted from fighting.


    But they left me there.


    Alone.


    Terrified.


    Just like now.


    A sob rips from my throat. My head spins, my vision blurring at the edges. The darkness warps, twisting, shifting. I can¡¯t tell what¡¯s real anymore.


    I fold in on myself, curling up against the cold, hard floor, trying to make myself smaller. Maybe if I make myself small enough, the fear will stop. Maybe if I close my eyes, I¡¯ll disappear.


    But the dark is still there.


    The air still won¡¯te.


    I gasp, but it feels like I¡¯m swallowing nothing. My heart is beating too fast, too hard¡ªit hurts, like it¡¯s trying to escape my chest.


    I¡¯m going to die.


    I¡¯m going to die here.


    Alone.


    The thought fades as the dizziness takes over. My limbs feel heavy, my head swimming. The ckness stretches wider, swallowing me whole.


    And then¡ª


    Nothing.


    ~-~


    A sharp inhale jerks me back to consciousness. My lungs burn, my throat raw. I look around and wonder.


    How long have I been unconscious?


    A sob slips past my lips before I can stop it, a quiet, pathetic sound.


    "Are you done screaming?" I suddenly hear Matthew¡¯s voice through the door.


    "Matthew," My voice cracks. "Please let me out."


    Then, a soft chuckle. "Beg better."


    A fresh wave of shame washes over me. My fingers curl into fists, my broken nail throbbing.


    I swallow back another sob, pressing my forehead against the door. My body is shaking so violently I can barely keep myself upright.


    "I¡ªI¡¯m sorry," I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming. "Please, Matthew. Please let me out."


    Silence.


    Then, a sigh. "That¡¯s barely trying," he says, his voice thick with amusement.


    Tears slip down my cheeks. My breathing is still uneven, panic wing at my throat, but I force the words out anyway. "Matthew, please," I say, louder this time. "I¡¯ll do whatever you want. Just¡ªjust let me out."


    "Maybe what I want is for you to spend the rest of the night here. I will open the door in the morning," he says.


    No.


    No, I can¡¯t stay here.


    Another wave of panic ms into me, harder than before, stealing thest bit of control I had left.


    I need to get out.


    I push away from the door, stumbling backward. My legs are unsteady, trembling beneath me. I can¡¯t think, can¡¯t breathe, can¡¯t¡ª


    My foot catches on something. The world tilts and I fall.


    A sharp pain explodes through my side as I hit the cold floor. My head snaps back, smacking against something hard. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids.


    For a moment, everything spins.


    The panic doesn¡¯t stop, and it gets worse.


    I hear my own ragged breaths, sharp and uneven, but they don¡¯t feel like mine.


    I start to sob louder and scratch at my arms. They feel itchy, and I feel like something is crawling under my skin.


    The door suddenly flings open with a loud bang, light from the hallway spilling into the dark basement. Yet, I don¡¯t turn to look. Instead, I frantically scratch myself, desperate to remove whatever is crawling all over me.


    Matthew stands in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light. For a second, he almost looks like an angel,ing to rescue me from this hellish prison. But then I remember - he¡¯s the one who locked me in here in the first ce.


    He rushes over to me.


    "Sarah!" Matthew drops to his knees beside me, his hands reaching out to grasp my shoulders. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"


    Matthew¡¯s hands grip my wrists, forcing me to stop wing at my skin. I barely feel the sting of my broken nails, the raw burn of my torn flesh.


    "Sarah, stop," Matthew snaps, shaking me hard enough to make my teeth ck together.


    I whimper, my voice hoarse. "I can¡¯t stay here," I plead, my vision blurring with panic and tears. "Please, Matthew. There¡¯s something down here. They are wing all over me."


    "There is nothing on you," he says, his grip tightening.


    I know I¡¯m going to pass out again. I can feel iting. Then suddenly¡ªI¡¯m being pulled forward.


    My body crashes into Matthew¡¯s, his arms locking around me. Heat. Strength. The steady thud of his heartbeat against my ear.


    I freeze. I should shove him away. Scream. Fight. Hate him.


    But I don¡¯t.


    Instead, I clutch onto him, my fingers curling into his shirt, desperate and weak. His scent surrounds me, familiar despite everything¡ªdespite the cruelty, despite the fear.


    His hand presses against the back of my head, holding me there, grounding me. "Breathe, Sarah," he murmurs, his voice lower now, steady. "Just breathe."


    I try.


    Inhale.


    Exhale.


    We stay like that for a moment. Slowly, I start to calm down.


    Matthew carries me to the bedroom. My body feels weightless in his grasp, my mind barely registering the reality. He sets me down on the bed, his movements surprisingly gentle.


    I curl in on myself the moment he releases me, pulling my knees to my chest, my hands trembling against the sheets.


    "Who gets so scared of a basement at your age," he mutters, but there¡¯s no real bite to the words.


    He suddenly unzips my dress and slides it off my shoulders.


    "What¡ªwhat are you doing?" I ask.


    "Shh...let me clean those scratches. Shit, you are insane. Look what you did to your arms," Matthew scolds.


    I flinch slightly as his fingers brush against my arms, the rawness of my skin stinging. I can feel the tears welling up again, but I don¡¯t let them fall. I¡¯ve cried too much already, and I don¡¯t want to give him any more reasons to pity me.


    Matthew¡¯s hands are careful, but his touch is still firm. He applies something cold to my arms, and I wince at the stinging sensation, but it¡¯s a relief at the same time. It feels like he¡¯s trying to piece me back together, bit by bit.


    "I am sorry I went overboard. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d react like...that," he says.


    I say nothing.


    "Why did you react like this? It¡¯s just a basement. Why were you panicking like you were some scared child?" he asks.


    "I don¡¯t know," I whisper.


    Matthew doesn¡¯t say anything right away. "You are lying to me."


    I shake my head no.


    I thought he would argue some more, but he just sighed. "Get some rest. We will talk in the morning."

 Chapter 41: Hate Her

    <h4>Chapter 41: Hate Her</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I only wanted to scare her a little bit. Maybe frustrate her, push her buttons just enough to see that fire in her eyes¡ªthe way she always res at me when I piss her off.


    I never expected to see her like that.


    Curled on the cold basement floor, shaking so violently it was like she wasn¡¯t even in her own body anymore. Her wide, terrified eyes darting around, seeing things that weren¡¯t there. Her frantic hands wing at her own skin, as if she was trying to peel something away.


    She looked like a little girl. Small. Helpless.


    The way she whimpered, the way she begged¡ªit made something twist deep inside me, something I don¡¯t want to name. I wanted to push her, but not like that. Not to the point where she was gasping for air like she was drowning, like she wasn¡¯t even here anymore. And when shetched onto me, trembling, gripping my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her grounded, I¡ª


    I don¡¯t even know what the fuck I felt. At that moment, all of my hatred for her disappeared.


    I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. I should feel satisfied. I should feel smug. Instead, I feel like shit. Because I put her there.


    I inch closer to her and gingerly ce my hand on her hair.


    Her hair is soft beneath my fingers, slightly damp from sweat, tangled from how violently she had thrashed earlier.


    I lean back, watching her. Her face is peaceful now, her lips slightly parted, her eyshes fluttering every now and then.


    "What were you so afraid of, Sarah?" I mutter quietly.


    She doesn¡¯t answer, of course. She¡¯s deep in sleep, her breath steady now, her body no longer trembling.


    I tell myself it doesn¡¯t matter. That I don¡¯t care. But my fingers twitch with the urge to wake her up, to force her to tell me. Because now, I need to know.


    Sarah shifts in her sleep, her breath hitching. At first, I think she¡¯s waking up, but then¡ªher fingers twitch, her face scrunches up, and a low whimper escapes her lips.


    I freeze.


    Another whimper. Her body tenses, her hands clenching the sheets.


    Then she shrieks.


    The sound rips through the quiet room, raw and terrified, and before I can think, I grab her shoulders.


    "Sarah," I say sharply, shaking her lightly. "Wake up."


    Her head jerks to the side, her lips moving soundlessly before another sob breaks free.


    "No¡ªno, let me go!" she gasps.


    My stomach tightens.


    "Sarah!" I shake her harder this time. Her eyes fly open, but they¡¯re unfocused, wild with panic.


    She shoves at me, struggling, her breathing ragged. "No¡ªno, get away!"


    "Sarah, it¡¯s me," I snap, gripping her wrists before she can w at herself again.


    Her chest rises and falls in frantic gasps, her gaze darting around the room.


    "It¡¯s just me," I say, softer this time. "I am not going to hurt you."


    She blinks rapidly, her breaths slowing just a fraction.


    "Matthew," she whispers and reaches out to touch my cheek.


    Her fingertips are ice-cold against my skin, and I resist the urge to flinch away. Instead, I stay perfectly still.


    "Yes," I say, my voiceing out rougher than I intended. "It¡¯s me."


    Her lips curl into a slow smile, but her eyes are wet. "Your punishment worked. I had never been so scared, so I guess you win."


    "I didn¡¯t realize it would scare you so much, Sarah. It¡¯s only a basement, for Christ¡¯s sake. Why did you react like that? Or was that all an act?" I ask.


    "An act?" she echoes, her voice quiet but sharp. She lets out a breathlessugh, but there¡¯s no humor in it. "Is that what you think? I was acting?"


    But I know deep down that whole thing was real. Even though Sarah lied to me in the past, manipted and tricked me, what I saw tonight can¡¯t be an act.


    "Sarah," I say, quieter this time. "What happened to you?"


    She flinches. It¡¯s small, barely noticeable, but it¡¯s there. And that tells me more than words ever could.


    She shifts, dragging the sheet up over her arms like she¡¯s suddenly cold. Her gaze flickers away. "I don¡¯t know," she murmurs.


    I don¡¯t buy it.


    I shift closer, lowering my voice. "Sarah, tell me the truth. Did someone trap you somewhere when you were little?"


    She looks at me like she is lost.


    "I don¡¯t remember," she says, shaking slightly. "Please, Matthew. Please stop asking me about it. You got what you wanted tonight. You punished me because I didn¡¯t do what you asked. You should be happy now."


    Happy?


    The word makes my stomach churn. I should feel victorious, right? I pushed her, made her break. That was the point, wasn¡¯t it?


    Then why does this feel wrong?


    I watch her, wrapped in the sheets like they¡¯re armor, like she¡¯s trying to disappear. There¡¯s no defiance in her voice, no sharp wit or clever retort¡ªjust exhaustion. Just fear.


    I exhale sharp. "I wasn¡¯t trying to¡ª" I stop myself. What? Hurt her? That¡¯s exactly what I was trying to do. Not like this, maybe, but the intent was the same.


    Sarah stays quiet, her fingers curling into the nket.


    "Why are you shaking?" I ask.


    She stiffens. "I said I don¡¯t know."


    She¡¯s terrified. Not just of what happened tonight, but of whatever¡¯s buried in her past. And maybe she truly doesn¡¯t remember what it is that¡¯s scaring her.


    The thought disturbs me.


    "Hey," I murmur softly, extending my hand to gently touch her cheek, which is wet with tears now. Instead of pulling away or brushing my hand aside as I anticipated, she ces her hand over mine.


    "Kiss me," she whispers.


    I stare at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift.


    "Please," she says, tears rolling down her cheeks. The green in her eyes seems deeper somehow, like forest pools after rain, flecked with gold around the pupils. I¡¯ve never noticed that before. I¡¯ve been too busy trying to hate her to really see her.


    My thumb traces the path a tear has taken down her cheek, feeling the slight dampness, the warmth of her skin beneath. She leans into my touch, her eyshes fluttering closed for just a moment.


    I lean forward slowly, giving her time to change her mind, to pull away. But she doesn¡¯t. Instead, she tilts her chin up slightly, her breath hitching in anticipation.


    When our lips finally meet, it¡¯s gentle¡ªtentative even. Nothing like the heated arguments and sharp words we usually exchange. Her lips are soft, slightly dry from her earlier panic, and they part slightly against mine. I can taste the salt of her tears and feel the slight tremor that still runs through her body.


    My hand slides from her cheek to the nape of her neck, threading through the silken strands of her hair.


    The kiss deepens, and I feel her sigh against my mouth¡ªa sound of relief, of momentary peace.


    "I love you," she murmurs against my lips.


    My fingers tighten on her hair and I pull back an inch. "Don¡¯t," I growl.


    "But I do," she says softly. "I know you don¡¯t want to hear it or believe it, but I do love you with all my heart."


    "Fuck you, Sarah. You don¡¯t know what love is," I say. I push her against the mattress, pinning her under me. "This is a game to you. You want to win my love like some kind of...some kind of a prize."


    "That¡¯s not true," she says and sighs as if she is exhausted.


    It has to be true. It¡¯s the only truth I know.


    She looks up at me with those wide eyes¡ªearnest or calcting, I still can¡¯t tell¡ªand something inside me snaps. I don¡¯t want to hear her derations. I don¡¯t want to feel the way my chest tightens when she says those words.


    I crash my lips against hers, hard this time, nothing like the gentle kiss we just shared. My teeth graze her bottom lip, and she gasps into my mouth.


    My hands roam around her body.


    "There can never be love between us," I say, voice rough as sandpaper. "Only sex."


    "If that¡¯s what you need to believe," she whispers, reaching up to touch my face again. I catch her wrist, pinning it beside her head.


    "Don¡¯t try to manipte me," I warn.


    Sarah doesn¡¯t struggle against my grip. Instead, she watches me with those unnerving eyes, like she can see right through me.


    "I¡¯m not," she says quietly.


    Her calmness infuriates me. The way she lies there, epting my anger, my usations¡ªlike she¡¯s already figured me out, like she knows something I don¡¯t. Her surrender feels like another form of control, and it makes my blood boil.


    "Stop looking at me like that," I growl, my fingers digging into her wrist.


    "Like what?" she asks, her voice maddeningly innocent.


    "Like you understand me. Like you know what I¡¯m thinking."


    A small, sad smile touches her lips. "But I do understand you, Matthew."


    Something snaps inside me. I capture her mouth again, kissing her roughly, wanting to wipe that knowing look from her face. My free hand tangles in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp.


    She moans into my mouth, and the sound fuels something primal in me.


    My mouth leaves hers to trail hot kisses down her neck and across her corbone. I bite down where her neck meets her shoulder, and she gasps.


    My hand slips between her thighs, and I feel her pussy. It¡¯s warm and dripping wet.


    I push down my boxers, freeing my cock, which is now hard and painfully throbbing.


    I push into her with a single, rough thrust, swallowing her cry with my mouth. Her body arches beneath me, taut like a bowstring about to snap. My hands grip her hips hard enough to leave marks, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as I pull out and m back in.


    I don¡¯t speak to her. I don¡¯t look at her.


    I bury my face in the crook of her neck and m into her hard and fast. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, taking me deeper still.


    The sheets beneath us are damp with sweat, twisted and bunched around our bodies. The room fills with the sounds of skin against skin, of her little gasps and my guttural groans.


    I slide one hand up to grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, parted as she pants.


    I can feel her tightening around me, her body trembling on the edge of release. But I don¡¯t want her toe yet. I don¡¯t want this to end.


    I slow my pace deliberately, watching frustration flicker across her face. Her hips buck upward, seeking more, but I hold her down firmly.


    "Love has nothing to do with this, you hear me?" I snarl, emphasizing each word with a deep, punishing stroke. "You have no right to say that to me."


    "I have every right," she says, voice trembling but defiant. "My feelings are mine to give."


    I don¡¯t want to believe her. It¡¯s easier to hate her, to keep her at arm¡¯s length, to fuck her without feeling anything beyond physical pleasure. But her words burrow under my skin like splinters.


    I hate her...I fucking hate her.


    I press my forehead against hers and tell her just that as Ie inside her.

 Chapter 42: What Happened?

    <h4>Chapter 42: What Happened?</h4>


    Sarah


    I decide to stay home for the day. Afterst night, going to work was thest thing on my mind. I put on a full-sleeved shirt so Marishka does not see my wounds and worry, then head down to breakfast.


    As I step into the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm toast fills the air.


    For a moment, I let myself pretend that everything is normal. Thatst night didn¡¯t happen.


    But the ache in my body tells me otherwise.


    "Morning," I say, keeping my voice light as I pull out a chair.


    Marishka turns, her sharp eyes scanning me like they always do. She doesn¡¯t miss much.


    "You¡¯re upte," she notes, cing a te of food in front of me. "Not going to work?"


    I shake my head, picking up my fork. "Taking the day off. Didn¡¯t sleep well."


    Her gaze lingers on me for a second too long, but she doesn¡¯t press. Instead, she slides into the chair across from me, cradling her mug of coffee between her hands.


    "You look pale," she says after a beat. "Are you feeling sick?"


    I force a small smile. "Just tired."


    She doesn¡¯t look convinced, but she lets it go.


    I push my eggs around my te, my appetite nonexistent. My mind keeps shing back tost night¡ªto the way Matthew looked at me, the way his touch changed from anger to something else entirely.


    I take a slow sip of my coffee, trying to ground myself.


    Marishka sets her cup down with a quiet clink. "You know, if something¡¯s wrong, you can tell me, right?"


    I grip my mug a little tighter.


    But I can¡¯t tell her. I don¡¯t want to.


    I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. "I know."


    She watches me for another moment before sighing. "Alright. Just...take it easy today, okay sweetheart?"


    I nod again. "Did Matthew leave for work already?"


    Marishka raises an eyebrow at my question, her fingers tapping lightly against her mug. "He left early," she says carefully. =


    I swallow, pretending to focus on my coffee.


    Marishka studies me, her expression unreadable. "Did something happen between you two?"


    I force a smallugh, shaking my head. "No. Why?"


    She shrugs, but there¡¯s something calcting in her gaze. "Just a feeling. He was tense this morning. More than usual."


    I push a piece of toast around my te, my stomach twisting. I shouldn¡¯t have asked about him¡ªit only makes her more suspicious.


    "I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just work," I say, keeping my tone light. "He always has a lot on his te."


    Marishka smiles. "So do you. I hope you are not overworking yourself."


    I don¡¯t respond to that. "Marishka, can I ask you something?" I ask instead.


    She looks at me questioningly. "Sure, anything."


    "Did...did something happen to me when I was little?" I ask hesitantly.


    Marishka¡¯s expression shifts, her smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before she masks it with a neutral look. She sets her coffee down carefully, her fingers wrapping tightly around the handle.


    "Why do you ask?" Her voice is even, but I catch the slight tension beneath it.


    I shrug, forcing myself to appear casual even though my heart is pounding. "I just... I¡¯ve been having these weird feelings. Like there¡¯s something I don¡¯t remember, but it¡¯s there, buried somewhere."


    Marishka exhales, tapping her fingers against the table. "Sarah, everyone forgets things from their childhood. It¡¯s normal."


    That¡¯s not an answer.


    I watch her closely. "So nothing happened?"


    She hesitates. And that¡¯s all I need to know.


    "Marishka," I press, my voice quieter now. "Please. If you know something, tell me. I can handle it. Did someone ever lock me inside a dark room?"


    Marishka stiffens. It¡¯s subtle¡ªjust the slightest tightening of her fingers around the mug, a flicker of something in her eyes¡ªbut I see it.


    I know that look.


    She knows something.


    "Sarah," she says slowly, carefully. "Why would you ask that?"


    I grip my coffee cup a little tighter, my knuckles whitening. "Because I think it happened. I don¡¯t remember everything, but I remember the feeling. The fear. The darkness." I swallow. "Andst night, I¡ª" I stop myself, shaking my head. "I just need to know the truth."


    Marishka exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "I promised your parents I wouldn¡¯t¡ª" She stops as if realizing she¡¯s already said too much.


    A chill runs down my spine. "Wouldn¡¯t what?"


    She looks away, her jaw tightening. "Sarah, some things are better left in the past."


    No. Not this.


    "Marishka, please," I plead. My voice cracks, and I hate how desperate I sound, but I don¡¯t care. "I need to know. I deserve to know."


    She closes her eyes for a long moment, then lets out a shaky breath.


    "I am sorry, I can¡¯t," she finally says, her voice barely audible. "You will have to talk to your parents about this."


    Frustration coils tight in my chest.


    I knew she was hiding something, but I never expected her to shut me down sopletely.


    "My parents?" I echo, my voiceced with disbelief. "Marishka, they never tell me anything. If they wanted me to know, they would¡¯ve told me by now."


    She sighs, pushing her coffee aside. "It¡¯s not my ce, Sarah."


    "But you do know something," I press. "Please. Just tell me¡ªwas I locked in a room? Did someone do it to me?"


    She hesitates, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, with a sad shake of her head, she rises from her chair.


    "I¡¯ve said all I can."


    I watch her walk toward the sink, her back turned to me as she rinses her cup. The conversation is over.


    But the way her hands tremble just slightly as she sets the mug down tells me one thing.


    She¡¯s afraid.


    I stand up. There is no point in pressing her about this. I can tell she won¡¯t tell me anything so I decide to do something else. I decide to surprise Matthew with lunch.


    Maybe it¡¯s a distraction. Maybe it¡¯s an excuse. But either way, I need to get out of this house before the frustration suffocates me.


    If Marishka won¡¯t tell me the truth, then I¡¯ll find my own way to deal with it.


    I throw on a light jacket, grab my bag, and check my reflection in the mirror. I still look pale, my eyes slightly shadowed fromck of sleep, but I ignore it.


    I stop by a caf¨¦ on the way, ordering ck coffee and a roast beef sandwich. I hesitate before adding a pastry to the order.


    By the time I reach his office, my nerves are starting to catch up with me. What if he doesn¡¯t want to see me?


    Who am I kidding? Of course, he does not want to see me, but I want to do this anyway.


    I push the thought down and step inside the building.


    Donna looks up in surprise as I approach. "Miss Wilson?" She blinks, clearly not expecting me. "I thought you had the day off."


    I force a small smile. "I do. Just thought I¡¯d bring Matthew lunch. Also, it¡¯s Mrs. Jameson now, remember?"


    Donnaughs. "Oh, yes. My mistake. He is in his office."


    I take a steadying breath and walk down the hall, my grip tightening on the bag of food.


    I knock lightly before pushing the door open.


    Matthew is at his desk, but he isn¡¯t working. He¡¯s staring at his phone, deep in thought, his fingers curled around it like he just read something he didn¡¯t like.


    He looks up when I step inside. "Sarah," he says, setting his phone down. "What are you doing here?"


    I lift the bag slightly. "I brought you lunch."


    For a second, he doesn¡¯t move. "Is it poisoned?"


    For a moment, I say nothing but then let out a soft giggle. "Very funny, but no."


    Matthew smirks. "Shame," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "Would¡¯ve taken me out of my misery once and for all."


    I roll my eyes, stepping forward to set the bag on his desk. "Just eat your sandwich."


    He watches me for a beat before reaching into the bag and pulling out the coffee first. He takes a sip, then raises a brow. "ck. You do remember."


    "Of course, I remember," I say, sitting down across from him.


    Matthew eyes me over the rim of his coffee cup. "You¡¯re not eating?"


    "I had breakfast at home," I reply.


    Matthew pushes away from his desk, the wheels of his chair gliding silently across the polished floor. He rises, his movements fluid and controlled, like a predator¡¯s. The afternoon light catches on his wedding band as he rounds the desk, and for a fleeting second, I remember the day he slipped it on my finger, how hopeful I¡¯d been.


    He approaches slowly, deliberately, and despite myself, I tense. My body remembers even when I try to forget.


    "I spoke with Marishka this morning," I say quickly, desperate to fill the space between us with words rather than silence.


    He pauses, just a foot away from me now. "Did you?"


    "I asked her about my childhood," I continue, watching his expression carefully. "About whether I was ever locked in a dark room. Because I truly do not remember anything. I want to know why...why I reacted like that in the basement."


    He takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, a scent that onceforted me but now makes my stomach knot with anxiety.


    "And what did she say?" His voice is low, almost gentle, but there¡¯s an edge to it that makes me wary.


    "Nothing," I admit. "She wouldn¡¯t tell me anything."


    Matthew suddenly grabs my arms and pushes my sleeves up. I hold my breath, watching his face, waiting for his reaction.


    The scratches are dry and healing but still very red. I really did a number on my skinst night.


    Matthew¡¯s expression changes, the cool mask slipping for just a moment. His fingers hover over the marks, not quite touching them, as if seeing them has rendered him suddenly gentle.


    "You need to put more ointment on them," he says softly.

 Chapter 43: Missed a Spot

    <h4>Chapter 43: Missed a Spot</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    I don¡¯t dare move and barely breathe as Matthew lightly grazes the scratches on my arms.


    His blue eyes aren¡¯t icy as they usually are, and this softness in his face is a rare sight.


    "Why did you do this to yourself?" he asks in a low voice.


    "I...I felt like something was crawling all over me when I was down there," I say quietly. "Like bugs."


    "I see," hements grimly. "Maybe you should see someone about it."


    "I am not crazy," I snap.


    His lips quirks into a smile. "That¡¯s debatable."


    "Well...I am not." I pout.


    Matthew releases my arm and goes to his desk. He rummages inside for a bit, then pulls out a tube of antiseptic cream.


    I watch as he uncaps the tube and squeezes a small amount of cream onto his fingers.


    "Hold still," he murmurs, and I do as he asks, tensing slightly as he starts to gently apply the cream to the raw scratches on my skin.


    The cool sensation of the ointment is soothing, but the tension in the air between us only grows. I can feel every subtle movement of his hands, every shift in his posture. His touch, though clinical, stirs something in me, and I find myself holding my breath.


    "Does it hurt?" he asks. There¡¯s no teasing in his voice, no mockery¡ªjust an odd tenderness I am not used to.


    I shake my head, forcing my voice to steady. "No, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s nothing."


    But I can tell by the way his brow furrows that he doesn¡¯t believe me.


    "I shouldn¡¯t have done it," he says softly. He carefully smooths the cream over the marks, his fingers lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. "Locking you in the basement, I mean. I went too far."


    "It...it¡¯s okay. I am okay now," I mutter.


    Matthew pauses, his fingers stilling on my skin. "I got really angry when you didn¡¯te home with me."


    "Well, I was angry too..." I say. "You can¡¯t just order me around and expect me to follow you like a puppy."


    He tightens his grip on my wrist. "And why the hell not, Sarah? You made me marry you, so you are now supposed to respect and obey me."


    Iugh. "Obey you! Matthew, this isn¡¯t 1920s."


    Matthew smirks. "Right. You are a modern woman, Miss CEO. And my boss, so I guess you expected me to obey you when you married me, didn¡¯t you?"


    I frown at that. "Matthew, stop. I never wanted that. I know you think I am some kind of evil bitch who wants to control you, but that¡¯s not the case. I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that fact."


    Matthew releases me and waves his hands in dismissal. "Yeah, well, whatever. I have a lot of work to do, so you should leave."


    I stand there for a moment, trying to process his words. The sharpness in his voice stings, but it¡¯s the resignation that lingers with me the most. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s already decided what we are, what this will be.


    I nce at him, seeing the rigidness in his posture, the way he¡¯s bracing himself for something else I might say, something more.


    But I don¡¯t have the energy for more arguments. I don¡¯t have the strength to try and prove myself again, to fight against the walls he¡¯s built around himself.


    "Fine," I mutter, taking a step back. "I¡¯ll go now. Enjoy your lunch."


    I walk toward the door.


    "Sarah."


    I pause with my hand on the handle. I turn slowly, not sure what to expect.


    "Yeah?" I ask, my heart pounding a little harder than it should.


    "Hailey¡¯s birthday is tomorrow. I was thinking we could go see her. She had beenining that I had been neglecting her," he says and chuckles lightly.


    I blink a few times. The way things were going with us, I had assumed he would exclude me from his family out of sheer pettiness. But he wants me to go with him? "Hailey¡¯s birthday? You want me to go with you?" I ask.


    He raises an eyebrow. "Yes. Is that a problem? Do you not want to go?"


    "I¡¯m just... surprised," I say, my voice soft. "I thought you¡¯d rather go without me."


    He shrugs. "We are married now. My parents will expect you toe."


    I sink my teeth in my lower lip and nod. "Yeah, I¡¯lle."


    "Great...see you at home," he says.


    He is dismissing me, I realize so I don¡¯t wait anymore and leave his office. I stop by Donna¡¯s desk before leaving. "I will be back to work tomorrow. Could you make sure the board meeting is scheduled at five?" I tell her.


    Donna looks up from her work, nodding with a smile. "Of course, Mrs. Jameson. I¡¯ll make sure everything¡¯s set up for five."


    "Thanks," I reply, offering a brief smile before I turn to leave.


    ~-~


    The following evening, I started to get ready for Hailey¡¯s birthday celebration. I slip into a casual sundress and apply a touch of makeup, fully aware of Matthew¡¯s gaze on me the entire time.


    I turn my head to look at him. "What?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but truth be told, he makes me nervous now.


    "Hmm?" he feigns ignorance.


    "Why are you staring at me?" I ask.


    "Am I not allowed to look at you?" His tone is teasing.


    I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "You can look, but you don¡¯t need to do it like you¡¯re sizing me up."


    Matthew doesn¡¯t respond. He smirks and leans against the doorframe.


    I try to ignore him and continue applying some blush.


    "Hmm...who are you trying to look good for anyway? Certainly not for me. Because I couldn¡¯t care less," he mocks.


    Is he trying to hurt my feelings again? I won¡¯t let him.


    "No one, Matthew. Since you think I am so ugly, you should be d I am using makeup to make some improvements," I snarl.


    He steps closer. "I never said you were ugly," he says, his voice low, almost too calm. "At least not on the outside. Now, inside is a different story."


    I quietly apply some eyeshadow, my heart sinking in my chest. His calm, almost casual delivery only makes the sting of his words worse.


    He saunters in and sits on the bed so he is directly behind me. I can¡¯t avoid looking at him as long as I am looking in the mirror.


    Bastard...


    "New dress?" he asks.


    "Yes. What, Matthew? Do you have something to say about it? Are you going to tell me it looks like a potato sack on my body?" I scoff.


    Matthew¡¯s reflection meets mine in the mirror, his eyes darkening slightly. "Actually, it looks good on you."


    I pause mid-stroke with my mascara wand, unsure if I¡¯ve heard him correctly. Apliment? From Matthew?


    "Don¡¯t look so shocked," he says, leaning back on his elbows. "I can acknowledge when something looks nice without it meaning anything."


    I resume applying my mascara, trying to keep my hand steady. "Well, thank you. I think."


    We fall into an uneasy silence again. I can still feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. It¡¯s unnerving how his gaze alone can make my skin feel too tight.


    I uncap my lipstick¡ªa deep berry shade I rarely wear¡ªand lean closer to the mirror. My hand trembles slightly as I trace the outline of my bottom lip, hyperaware of Matthew¡¯s unwavering gaze.


    "You missed a spot," Matthew says, his voice dropping to a velvet-rough tone.


    I freeze, lipstick hovering just above my upper lip. "Where?"


    He rises from the bed in one fluid motion, and before I can react, he¡¯s standing directly behind me. Our eyes lock in the mirror. For a breathless moment, neither of us moves.


    "Right..." His hand reaches around, fingers grazing my chin as he tilts my face slightly. "There."


    His touch is light but deliberate, the pad of his thumb brushing against the corner of my mouth. I try to ignore the warmth radiating from his body, how his chest is nearly touching my back.


    "I can fix it myself," I whisper, but I don¡¯t pull away.


    "I know you can." His breath fans against my ear, stirring loose strands of hair. "But sometimes it¡¯s easier when someone else does it for you."


    He takes the lipstick from me. I watch, mesmerized, as he removes the cap again, twisting the tube until the rich color emerges.


    "Hold still," hemands softly.


    Iply, parting my lips slightly as he leans in. His face is so close that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, count each dark eysh as his gaze focuses intently on my mouth. With surprising gentleness, he applies the color to the spot I apparently missed, his movements precise and careful.


    My pulse quickens, and I find myself holding my breath.


    "There," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before. He caps the lipstick but doesn¡¯t move away. "Perfect."


    Our eyes meet again in the mirror.


    "We should..." I swallow hard, trying to regain myposure. "We should probably get going. Don¡¯t want to bete."


    "No," he agrees, though he makes no move to step back. His handes to rest on my bare shoulder, the weight of it burning through my skin. "We wouldn¡¯t want that."


    His fingers trace an idle pattern along my corbone, and I fight to keep my expression neutral even as goosebumps erupt across my skin.


    "I...I bought a present for Hailey," I breathe to fill the silence.


    "Did you?" Matthew¡¯s voice remains low, his fingers still tracing that maddening pattern on my skin. "What did you get her?"


    I try to focus on the question rather than the sensation of his touch. "A vintage camera. She mentioned photography thest time I saw her."


    His eyebrow arches in surprise. "You remembered that?"


    "I pay attention," I say, finally finding the strength to step away from his touch. I turn to face him directly, no longer hiding behind our reflections. "Despite what you think of me, I do care about your family."


    He doesn¡¯t respond. He takes his hands off me and backs away. "Yeah, well. Let¡¯s go. Dad hates it when people arete."

 Chapter 44: Family Photo

    <h4>Chapter 44: Family Photo</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    "MATTY!" Hailey yells from across the room.


    I grin as I stride toward my sister. Hailey is always so loud and lively. It was never a dull moment growing up with her.


    "I¡¯ve missed you so freaking much!" she cries again and throws her arms at me.


    "I missed you too, Hailey. Happy Birthday," I say as I hug her back.


    "Thank you. I am so d you came. I thought you¡¯d forget about it!" she breathes.


    I shake my head. "Why would I forget? You are my only sister, Hailey. How old did you turn again? Sixteen?" I tease.


    She rolls her eyes. "I just turned neen. Gosh, Matty, you are some!"


    I chuckle and ruffle her hair. "I¡¯m just messing with you. Neen, huh? You¡¯re officially an adult now. Watch out, world."


    Hailey gives me a yful shove, and I stumble a little. "You¡¯re the worst," sheughs and looks at Sarah. "Hey, Sarah!" she chirps and goes to give her a hug too.


    I watch Sarah smile as she hugs her back. "Hey, Hailey. We got you a present," she says as she hands Hailey a nicely wrapped present.


    Hailey¡¯s eyes light up as she takes the gift from Sarah. "You didn¡¯t have to! But I¡¯m notining." She carefully unwraps it, her fingers flying over the paper, barely able to contain her excitement. As the paper falls away, she gasps.


    "Is this a vintage camera? So cool!" she exims.


    Sarah nods, her smile wide. "Yep! I thought you¡¯d love it."


    Hailey¡¯s face lights up even more, and she hugs Sarah tightly. "This is amazing, Sarah! You know me too well. I¡¯ve wanted one of these for ages! It¡¯s perfect. Thank you so much!"


    I watch the exchange between Sarah and Hailey. My sister turns the vintage camera over in her hands, examining every detail with the enthusiasm only Hailey can muster. Sarah stands there, her face illuminated by Hailey¡¯s joy.


    And despite myself¡ªdespite everything¡ªI can¡¯t tear my eyes away from Sarah¡¯s smile.


    It transforms her entire face, reaching all the way to her green eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. The soft dimple on her left cheek deepens, and her normally in features brighten. She looks radiant and free.


    I hate how beautiful she looks when she¡¯s happy. I hate that I notice.


    Sarah tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her earrings¡ªtiny silver stars I¡¯ve never seen before¡ªcatching the light.


    I clear my throat. "Let¡¯s go inside. Where is Mom and Dad?"


    Hailey looks up from her new camera, still grinning. "They¡¯re in the kitchen, I think. Dad¡¯s probably already trying to sneak some cake before it¡¯s cut," she says with a roll of her eyes.


    Sarah nces at me, her smile fading just a bit. I try to hide it, but I¡¯m sure she saw me staring. I quickly turn toward the kitchen, hoping to shake off the feeling of being caught.


    "Come on, guys," Hailey continues, her excitement bouncing back to the surface.


    I nod and follow her toward the kitchen, trying to ignore the way Sarah¡¯s smile is still lingering in my mind.


    The moment I step into the kitchen, I find my dad, exactly as Hailey predicted¡ªsneaking a forkful of cake when no one¡¯s looking.


    "Really, Dad?" I say, grinning.


    He looks up with a sheepish smile and sets the fork down quickly. "I was just making sure it¡¯s up to standard," he says with a wink.


    Haileyughs and takes a seat at the table. "Yeah, sure. Quality control, right?"


    Mom walks in just then, her arms crossed with a teasing expression. "Put down the fork, Andrew," she says to my father, but there¡¯s affection in her tone. "Let Hailey have her moment. It¡¯s her birthday."


    "Agreed," I say, settling into a chair next to Hailey.


    Mom offers a warm smile to Sarah. "How are you doing, sweetheart?" she asks her.


    Sarah smiles back. "I¡¯m good, thank you for asking." Her voice is soft, but there¡¯s a pleasant calmness to it.


    "Did you two have a good time on your honeymoon?" Dad asks, his mouth still full of stolen cake.


    "Andrew! Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full!" she scolds him as if he is a teenage boy.


    Dad swallows quickly, a sheepish grin on his face as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Sorry."


    I settle into my chair, watching my parents¡¯ yful exchange. Mom¡¯s mock sternness dissolves intoughter as Dad pulls her close for a quick side hug, nting a kiss on her temple.


    She pretends to resist for all of two seconds before leaning into him, her hand automatically finding his. It¡¯s such a small gesture¡ªthe way their fingers intertwine without either of them even looking¡ªbut it speaks volumes.


    "The honeymoon was..." I start, then falter. Sarah jumps in.


    "It was beautiful. The beach was perfect," she offers, her voice smooth and practiced. "The sunsets were incredible."


    I nod in agreement, but my attention drifts back to my parents. Dad is now helping Mom bring out tes for the cake, moving around her in the kitchen with the synchronized rhythm of two people who have shared the same space for decades.


    They barely speak¡ªthey don¡¯t need to.


    Twenty-seven years of marriage, and they still move like dancers sharing the same music only they can hear. Now, I understand what I was seeing: two people who chose each other every day in a thousand tiny ways.


    Something I couldn¡¯t do with my own wife.


    "Earth to Matthew!" Hailey waves her hand in front of my face. "You¡¯re spacing out."


    "Sorry," I mumble, straightening in my chair.


    Sarah nces at me from across the table, a sad look in her eyes. She is probably thinking the same thing as I am.


    I quickly avert my gaze, focusing on the cake in front of me.


    Haileyughs, oblivious to the tension, and digs into her slice of cake. "You¡¯ve got to stop doing that, Matty. It¡¯s like you¡¯re in another world sometimes."


    "Just tired," I say, forcing a smile.


    Thankfully, the rest of the night goes by fast withughter and fun. Sarah spends most of her time with Hailey and my mom, gossiping about mundane things and I spend time with my dad.


    Dad and I stand by the grill, the smell of charcoal and grilled corn filling the evening air. He¡¯s telling me about histest woodworking project¡ªa hand-carved jewelry box for Mom¡¯s birthday next month¡ªwhile I absently push around the coals with a poker, watching the orange embers re and dance.


    "You need to make sure you¡¯re using a chisel with the right bevel angle," he exins, his hands moving to demonstrate. "Otherwise, you¡¯ll end up with splinters all over the¡ª"


    Then I hear it¡ªSarah¡¯sugh. Not the polite, restrained chuckle she uses in public, but her realugh. The one that bubbles up from somewhere deep and unguarded, the one thates out when she forgets to be careful.


    Despite myself, my eyes find her across the yard. She¡¯s sitting with Mom and Hailey on the patio, her head thrown back, one hand pressed against her chest as if trying to contain the joy spilling out of her.


    I¡¯m barely listening to my dad now. My eyes are on her.


    "Matthew?" Dad¡¯s voice breaks through my thoughts.


    I blink, suddenly aware that I¡¯ve been staring. "Sorry, what?"


    "The burgers," he says, gesturing to the grill. "They¡¯re about to burn."


    I quickly flip them, cursing under my breath. "Sorry, got distracted."


    Dad gives me a long look, the kind that makes me feel like I¡¯m seventeen again,ing home past curfew. "She is a good one, huh?"


    "Who?" I ask, trying to sound casual.


    Dadughs. "Sarah, your wife, Matthew," he says, his voice low but knowing.


    I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, I guess," I say quietly, flipping the burgers with more force than necessary.


    Dad watches me for a moment longer, then gives a small nod. "You don¡¯t realize what you have sometimes until it¡¯s toote."


    I chuckle dryly. "Why are you telling me this, Dad?"


    He shrugs. "Hey, no reason. Just stating the fact and making sure you don¡¯t take her for granted."


    He doesn¡¯t know what kind of person Sarah really is. That¡¯s why he is saying these things, I think to myself.


    "Right," I say, giving a half-nod. "Dad, can I ask you something?"


    "What¡¯s up, Bud?" he asks.


    "Howe you guys epted Sarah so easily?"


    Dad raises his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean? Why wouldn¡¯t we?"


    "It¡¯s just that I suddenly decided to marry Sarah instead of Amanda. You guys never questioned it even though I had been dating Amanda for a really long time," I say hesitantly.


    Dad doesn¡¯t answer right away, as if considering my question carefully. He takes a slow breath, then turns his attention back to the grill, poking at the burgers with practiced precision.


    "You know, Matthew," he begins, his voice calm but thoughtful. We liked Amanda. But Sarah..."


    "What about Sarah?" I press on.


    Dad flips another burger, the sizzle filling the momentary silence between us. "Sarah looks at you the way your mother looks at me," he says simply. "Always has, from the first time we saw her with you."


    I nearly drop the spat. "What?"


    "You don¡¯t see it because you¡¯re too close to it," he continues, his voice matter-of-fact. "But we did. Your mother spotted it right away." He chuckles softly. "Women have a sense about these things."


    I feel something twist in my chest¡ªsomething ufortable and raw. "Dad, I¡ª"


    "When you told us you were marrying Sarah instead of Amanda, we weren¡¯t surprised," he says, cutting me off. "Amanda was nice, sure. But there was always something... I don¡¯t know, calcted about how she was with you. Like she was checking boxes."


    He nces over at Sarah, who¡¯s now helping Mom bring out more drinks to the patio table. "Sarah, though¡ªshe¡¯s authentic. Even when she¡¯s quiet, there¡¯s something real there. She looks at you with real love."


    I swallow hard. No, he is wrong.


    "Trust me, son," Dad says, pping me on the shoulder. "I know a thing or two about love."


    "You don¡¯t know everything, Dad," I say quietly.


    His eyes crinkle at the corners. "I know enough. I know that marriage isn¡¯t just about the good days. It¡¯s about choosing each other even when it¡¯s hard. Especially when it¡¯s hard."


    Before I can respond, Hailey runs over to us, camera in hand. "Photo time!" she announces, positioning herself to take a picture of Dad and me by the grill.


    "Smile!" shemands, and I force my face into something resembling happiness.


    The sh goes off, capturing a moment that feels entirely false. Dad, oblivious to my inner turmoil, waves Mom and Sarah over. "Family photo!" he calls out.


    Sarah hesitates for just a moment before walking toward us, her steps measured. She stands beside me, close enough that I can smell her perfume¡ªvani and something citrusy.


    "Closer together, you two!" Hailey directs, peering through the viewfinder. "You¡¯re married, for crying out loud. Act like it!"


    Sarah looks at me, a question in her eyes. I nod slightly, and she moves in, her arm slipping around my waist. My body responds automatically, my arm settling across her shoulders, and for a brief moment, I feel the sudden urge to kiss her.


    This is all wrong and my feelings are all over the ce.

 Chapter 45: She Hates Me

    <h4>Chapter 45: She Hates Me</h4>


    Sarah


    "Your family is very nice," I remark, gazing out the window as we drive back home, the headlights casting fleeting shadows on the road ahead.


    "Yes," Matthew replies, his voice steady but distant.


    "I wish...I wish mine were like this," I confess, my words trailing off into the quiet hum of the car engine.


    Matthew turns his head slightly to look at me. "Your father treats you like a damn princess, Sarah," he says, his tone carrying an edge that cuts through the air.


    Jeez...why does he say it like it¡¯s a criminal offense? His words linger, heavy and usatory.


    I hesitate, choosing my words carefully before breaking the silence again. "Yes, that¡¯s true, but..." I begin, my voice tinged with uncertainty.


    "But what?" he interjects impatiently, his eyes fixed on the road, yet his mind clearly elsewhere.


    "It¡¯s nothing. Don¡¯t worry about it," I say and look out the window.


    We don¡¯t talk for the rest of the drive.


    Once we got home, it was already veryte, so I got dressed and got in bed. I feel the mattress dip beside me as Matthew silently lies down next to me.


    I lie on my side, staring at the wall, my back turned to Matthew. The room is quiet except for the asional creak of the house settling and the soft rustling of sheets as he shifts beside me. He¡¯s close¡ªclose enough that I can feel his warmth, but there¡¯s a distance between us that isn¡¯t physical. It¡¯s heavier than the silence, pressing down on me like an unseen weight.


    I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. "Goodnight, Matthew." I whisper


    For a moment, I think he won¡¯t answer. But then, his voicees, low and tired. "Why did you say that earlier?"


    I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask, without turning to face him.


    "Why did you say you wish your family was like mine? What¡¯s wrong with your own?" he asks.


    I feel a shift in bed again, as if he had moved even closer to me.


    I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the edge of the nket. I don¡¯t know how to exin it¡ªnot in a way he¡¯ll understand. Not in a way that won¡¯t sound ungrateful.


    "Nothing¡¯s wrong," I say instead, my voice quiet, careful. "I just meant... your family feels different."


    Matthew exhales sharply, and I feel his warm breath at the back of my neck. "Different how?"


    I hesitate. "Your family is...warm and weing. Theyugh together. They don¡¯t...expect anything in return for their kindness."


    He¡¯s silent for a long time, and I wonder if I¡¯ve said too much. Maybe I have. Maybe he thinks I¡¯m being dramatic.


    "You think your father expects things from you?" His voice is softer now, but there¡¯s something beneath it. Something sharp.


    I press my lips together. I don¡¯t really want to have this conversation.


    "It doesn¡¯t matter, Matthew," I whisper, turning onto my other side so I¡¯m facing him now. His face is shadowed in the dim light, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the way his brows are drawn together.


    "I want to know," he says, watching me closely.


    I exhale slowly. "Yes. My father has high expectations of me, especially now that he handed me thepany. And my mother..." I hesitate.


    "What about your mother?" he urges me.


    "I think she hates me," I blurt out.


    Matthew¡¯s expression darkens, his brows furrowing as he studies me. "What?" he asks.


    I bite the inside of my cheek, regretting the words the moment they leave my mouth. But now that they¡¯re out, I can¡¯t take them back.


    "She doesn¡¯t hate you," Matthew says, as if it¡¯s a fact. As if he knows.


    I huff out a humorlessugh. "You don¡¯t know her, Matthew."


    He doesn¡¯t look away. "Why do you think she hates you?"


    That shouldn¡¯t make my chest tighten the way it does. This was the first time since our wedding night he had shown interest in knowing me. "She always looks at me like I ruined her life. Like she wishes I wasn¡¯t here." My voice cracks on thest word.


    Matthew doesn¡¯t answer right away. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn¡¯t.


    "Marishka raised me. She took care of me, consoled me when I got heard, fed me when I was hungry. My mother came to visit me in the nursery from time to time, but now that I look back, it seems like she did it out of obligation," I say.


    "I see," Matthew says.


    I search his face for some kind of reaction, but his expression is carefully guarded. He¡¯s listening, but I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s thinking.


    For some reason, that unsettles me.


    "I know it sounds ridiculous," I say, a bitter edge creeping into my tone. "I have everything I could ever need, right? A father who gives me the world. A mother who¡ª" I pause, swallowing hard.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens, his fingers clenching slightly in the sheets. "My family adores you."


    I blink at him. "They do?" I ask hopefully.


    "Yes. Believe it or not. I am surprised by it too. You fooled them quite nicely." He chuckles dryly.


    "I didn¡¯t pretend, Matthew. I like them a lot," I say. "But I know you don¡¯t believe me or trust me," I add bitterly.


    Matthew exhales through his nose, his expression unreadable. "It¡¯s not about trust," he says finally.


    I scoff, turning onto my back to stare at the ceiling. "Then what is it about?"


    He hesitates. "You grew up in a world where people always expect something in return. It makes me wonder what you want from me."


    His words sting more than they should. I turn my head to look at him, my heart tightening in my chest. "I don¡¯t want anything from you, Matthew," I whisper. "At least, nothing you aren¡¯t willing to give."


    His gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You say that now."


    I frown. "And what does that mean?"


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face before pulling his hand back like he touched fire. "You¡¯re hard to figure out, Sarah," he admits.


    A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Likewise."


    Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. He¡¯s still close, close enough that I can feel his warmth, but there¡¯s still that invisible wall between us.


    But suddenly, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.


    I stiffen in surprise, my breath catching as his warmth surrounds me. His grip isn¡¯t tight, but it¡¯s firm¡ªlike he¡¯s anchoring me, or maybe himself.


    "Matthew?" My voice is barely above a whisper.


    He doesn¡¯t say anything right away. His chin rests lightly against the top of my head, his breathing slow and steady. "I am cold," he murmurs, his voice softer than I¡¯ve ever heard it.


    I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs.

 Chapter 46: Good Mood

    <h4>Chapter 46: Good Mood</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    For a moment, I don¡¯t know how to respond.


    But I slowly rx into his embrace, my body molding against his warmth. If he¡¯s cold, I don¡¯t feel it. If anything, he radiates heat.


    I take a shaky breath, letting my fingers lightly graze his naked back. "You don¡¯t feel cold to me," I whisper.


    He exhales against my hair, his arms tightening slightly. "Then maybe you¡¯re warm enough for both of us."


    I want to say something, but I don¡¯t want to break whatever fragile moment this is between us. So I just close my eyes and let myself sink into it.


    Minutes pass in silence, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me into a sense of calm I haven¡¯t felt in a long time.


    Matthew shifts slightly, his grip on me never loosening. His breath is warm against my forehead, steady and even, but I can tell he¡¯s still awake.


    "Go to sleep, Sarah," he says.


    "I am sleeping," I joke.


    He huffs a quietugh, the sound vibrating against my skin. "Liar," he murmurs, his fingers tracing absent patterns along my spine.


    "I can¡¯t," I finally admit, my voice barely audible even in the quiet room. "My mind won¡¯t stop."


    Matthew pulls back just enough to look down at me.


    "What¡¯s keeping you awake?" he asks.


    "Everything," I whisper. "Nothing. I don¡¯t know." I press my forehead against his chest, hiding my face. "It¡¯s like my thoughts are too loud."


    His hand finds my hair, fingers threading gently through the strands. "Tell me one," he says.


    I swallow hard, my heart beating faster.


    I close my eyes, pressing closer to him. "Just wondering why you are being so nice to me."


    For a moment, Matthew goes still. His fingers pause their gentle exploration of my hair, and I wonder if I¡¯ve said too much and ruined the moment between us.


    He is going to push me away and be mean to me again, isn¡¯t he?


    "Hmm...I guess I am in a good mood tonight," he murmurs.


    I feel his chest rise with a deep breath, and then he resumes stroking my hair, his touch so gentle it makes my throat tight with unexpected emotion.


    I almost don¡¯t believe him. Matthew isn¡¯t the kind of person who¡¯s just randomly in a "good mood." Not when ites to me.


    Still, I don¡¯t press him on it. I¡¯m too afraid that if I do, this moment¡ªwhatever it is¡ªwill slip through my fingers like sand.


    So I just nod against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing soothe the storm inside my head.


    "You should take advantage of it while itsts," he says, his voice carrying a teasing edge, but there¡¯s something softer underneath.


    I let out a small huff ofughter. "I think I already am."


    His fingers pause for a beat before they continue their slow, absentminded tracing along my spine.


    The darkness of the room wraps around us like a cocoon, and in this sheltered space, I feel bolder than I¡¯ve ever been with him. My heart thunders against my ribs, each beat sending waves of heat through my body. Without overthinking, I tilt my face upward, letting my lips brush against the smooth skin of his corbone.


    He tastes like salt and something uniquely him¡ªsomething that makes my head swim and my thoughts blur at the edges. I feel his sharp intake of breath, the way his body tenses momentarily before rxing into my touch.


    I let my lips drift lower to his chest.


    "Sarah," he whispers, but his hand cradles the back of my head, not pushing me away but holding me closer.


    I don¡¯t say anything. Instead, I let my mouth travel across the ne of his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my lips. Each kiss is light and questioning, my breath creating goosebumps in its wake. His scent fills my lungs, making me dizzy with want.


    My tongue darts out, tasting the hollow of his throat, and I feel rather than hear the groan that rumbles through him. His fingers tighten in my hair, sending shivers down my spine that pool like liquid heat in my belly.


    My lips find his nipple, and I feel him freeze beneath me. My tongue circles the hardened peak, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. When I close my lips around him and suck gently, the sound he makes¡ªhalf groan, half my name¡ªsends liquid fire through my veins.


    "Sarah," he says again, his voice strained, almost unrecognizable. "What are you¡ª"


    I can feel his erection press against me.


    My hand slides down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingertips. When I reach the waistband of his boxers, I pause, giving him time to object.


    He doesn¡¯t.


    Instead, his lips find my forehead, pressing a kiss there that feels almost worshipful. The tenderness of it nearly undoes me.


    I press my lips to his, tentatively at first, then with growing hunger as he responds, his mouth moving against mine with an urgency that steals my breath. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and I open willingly to him, moaning softly as he deepens the kiss.


    His hands are everywhere¡ªin my hair, trailing down my spine, gripping my hip to pull me closer.


    His hands slide down to my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin with just enough pressure to make me gasp against his mouth.


    His boxers are still between us, a thin barrier that feels like torture. I hook my fingers into the waistband, tugging impatiently, and he lifts his hips just enough to help me slide them down his legs. When he kicks them away, we¡¯re skin to skin, and the sensation is overwhelming¡ªhis heat, his hardness, all of him pressed against me.


    "Matthew," I breathe, my hands traveling over his chest as I straddle him.


    His eyes find mine in the darkness, luminous and intense.


    "Ride me," hemands quietly.


    I lift myself up, hovering above him. My thighs tremble slightly, not from fear but from the electric anticipation coursing through my veins. The cool night air kisses my skin where our bodies no longer touch, making me shiver.


    I reach between us, my fingers wrapping around his length. He¡¯s hot and hard in my palm, pulsing with each heartbeat.


    Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I lower myself onto him.


    The sensation of him entering me pulls a gasp from my lips, my body fluttering around him. Matthew¡¯s hands grip my hips, not guiding, just steadying, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against my skin.


    His eyes are half-lidded, dark with desire, but he remains still beneath me, letting me set the pace.


    I sink down another inch, feeling him fill me in a way that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. When I finally take him to the hilt, I stay there, savoring the fullness, the perfect joining of our bodies. My hands sy across his chest for bnce, feeling the thunderous beating of his heart beneath my palms.


    I begin to move, a gentle rocking at first, my body learning the rhythm it craves. Each movement sends ripples of pleasure through me, building slowly like a tideing in.


    We¡¯ve never done it like this. Each time we had sex, Matthew was the one in control. He is the one always taking me. But this time, I am the one setting the pace.


    And it¡¯s intoxicating¡ªthis power, this control. Matthew¡¯s eyes never leave mine as I rock against him, his gaze so intense it feels like another touch on my skin.


    "That¡¯s it," he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. "Just like that."


    I circle my hips experimentally, and the change in angle makes both of us gasp. His hands slide up my sides, cupping my breasts through my nightgown, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that sends electricity down my spine.


    I arch into his touch, my movements bing less controlled, more desperate as pleasure builds inside me. My thighs begin to tremble with the effort of rising and falling, and Matthew must sense it because his hands return to my hips, helping to guide me now.


    "You feel so good," he says, the words tumbling out like he can¡¯t hold them back. "Sarah, God¡ª"


    Hearing my name on his lips like that¡ªlike a prayer, like something sacred¡ªpushes me closer to the edge. I lean forward, changing the angle again, my hair falling around us like a curtain. His lips find mine in a kiss that¡¯s all heat and hunger, swallowing my moans as I move faster.


    One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and the touch is almost too much. I break the kiss with a gasp, my head falling back as pleasure coils tighter inside me.


    "Matthew, I¡¯m going to¡ª"


    "I know," he says, his voice strained. "Let go, Sarah. I¡¯ve got you."


    His words, the gentle pressure of his fingers, the fullness of him inside me¡ªit all crashes over me at once. My body tightens around him as waves of pleasure wash through me, leaving me trembling and breathless.


    Matthew groans, his hips bucking up to meet mine as he follows me over the edge, his release hot inside me. His arms wrap around me as I copse against his chest, both of us breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem.


    For long minutes, we just lie there, tangled together, my face pressed into the crook of his neck. His hands strokezily up and down my back, and I can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my cheek.


    "Well," he finally says, his voice a rumble I can feel against my skin, "that was definitely taking advantage of my good mood."

 Chapter 47: Sickness

    <h4>Chapter 47: Sickness</h4>


    Sarah


    I wake up with my stomach in knots, a sour taste coating my mouth.


    Something¡¯s off.


    I look to my side and see that it¡¯s empty. Matthew must¡¯ve gotten up before me and left the room.


    The nausea surges again, a hot wave rising from my gut to my throat. I kick off the sheets and stumble toward the bathroom.


    I barely make it to the toilet before everythinges up. I haven¡¯t even eaten breakfast yet, so it¡¯s mostly bile andst night¡¯s dinner. My knees dig into the bathroom mat, fingers gripping the toilet seat so hard they turn white.


    I groan. My eyes water and my nose runs. I feel disgusting.


    When the retching finally stops, I sit back on my heels. That¡¯s when it hits me.


    I might be pregnant.


    I try to count back the days since myst period, but my mind feels fuzzy, uncooperative. It¡¯s been... what? Five weeks? Six? I¡¯ve never been good at tracking, always a little irregr anyway. But definitelyte. Definitely not normal.


    "Oh god," I mutter, flushing the toilet and dragging myself to the sink. My reflection looks like a stranger¡ªpale lips, dark circles under my eyes, hair stuck to my forehead. I ssh cold water on my face, trying to wash away both the sick feeling and the growing certainty in my gut.


    It could be a stomach bug. Could be food poisoning. Could be stress.


    But I know. Somehow, I just know.


    I force myself to get dressed, pulling on leggings and an oversized sweater.


    When I go to the kitchen, I find Marishkaying out the breakfast.


    The sight of food makes me feel sick again.


    "Oh honey, you¡¯re really pale. Youing down with something?" Her eyes narrow, and I know she¡¯s switching into medical assessment mode, the way she does whenever I show the slightest sign of illness.


    I shrug, aiming for casual. "Maybe a bug or something. I¡¯ll be fine."


    "There¡¯s a nasty stomach virus going around." She reaches out like she¡¯s going to feel my forehead, but I slide away, pretending to reach for the sugar.


    "I¡¯m good, really. Probably just tired." I fiddle with my mug, not drinking, just holding it for the warmth. "Big project at work."


    Marishka doesn¡¯t look convinced, but she doesn¡¯t push it.


    The word keeps shing in my mind.


    Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.


    I think about the test I¡¯ll need to buy, the minutes I¡¯ll have to wait for results, what those results might show. I think about Matthew, about us, about this broken rtionship we¡¯ve been clinging to.


    Maybe, a small voice whispers in my head, maybe this changes everything. Maybe this is what we need to either fullymit or finally let go.


    I rinse my mug and set it in the dish rack, movements slow and deliberate while my thoughts race ahead to whates next.


    One step at a time, I tell myself. First, confirm. Then decide. Then tell.


    ~-~


    The pharmacy¡¯s automatic doors slide open with a whoosh that sounds too loud in my ears. I pull my jacket tighter around me, even though it¡¯s not cold inside.


    My reflection in the security mirror looks guilty, like I¡¯m about to shoplift instead of making a perfectly legal purchase. I take a deep breath and force my feet to move toward the family nning aisle, telling myself that everyone buys these things, that the cashier won¡¯t even remember my face five minutes after I leave.


    It took me three hours to work up the courage to leave the house. I paced from room to room, talking myself into and out of this trip at least a dozen times. I could just wait¡ªsee if my period shows upte. I could ignore the morning sickness, me it on stress or bad takeout. I could pretend everything is normal for another day, another week.


    But the not knowing is its own kind of torture.


    The store is mercifully quiet for a weekday afternoon. Just a few elderly customers studying vitamin bottles and a harried-looking mom trying to quiet a fussy toddler. I keep my head down, walking past disys of seasonal allergy medicine and foot care products, my destination clear but my steps hesitant.


    When I reach the right aisle, I¡¯m hit with a wall of options I hadn¡¯t considered.


    There are at least eight different brands.


    "Can I help you find anything?" A chipper voice from behind nearly makes me jump out of my skin.


    I turn to see a store employee, maybe neen or twenty, wearing a blue vest and a namete that reads "Amber."


    "No, I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m fine. Just looking." My voicees out higher than normal.


    She nods, eyes flicking to the shelf I¡¯m standing in front of, then back to my face. There¡¯s no judgment in her expression, just the nd politeness of retail, but I feel exposed nevertheless.


    "Let me know if you need anything," she says, already moving away.


    I grab the first box that promises "99% uracy" and "results in 3 minutes," not wanting to spend another second deliberating.


    The box feels impossibly light in my hand, like it¡¯s filled with nothing but air instead of something that could change the entire trajectory of my life.


    "Fourteen seventy-two," the cashier says, and I fumble with my wallet, dropping a five-dor bill that floats under the counter.


    "Sorry, sorry," I mutter, crouching to retrieve it, cheeks burning. My fingers close around the bill, and when I stand up, I feel dizzy again. For one horrible moment, I think I might pass out right there in the checkout line.


    Get it together, Sarah.


    But the moment passes. I hand over my money, take my change, and shove everything into my purse without waiting for a bag.


    The drive home feels like an eternity.


    When I finally make it back home, I run straight to the bathroom.


    I lock the door even though I¡¯m alone. I pull the box from my purse. The instructions are printed in tiny text that seems to blur as I try to focus on them.


    "Unwrap the test stick... Remove the cap... ce the absorbent tip in your urine stream for 5 seconds... Rece the cap... Lay the test t... Wait 3 minutes..."


    My hands shake as I follow each step, the mechanics of the process both mundane and surreal. The stic stick feels clinical and impersonal. After I¡¯ve done what I need to do, I set the test on a folded piece of toilet paper on the counter and set the timer on my phone for three minutes.


    Then I sit on the edge of the bathtub and wait.

 Chapter 48: It’s Real

    <h4>Chapter 48: It¡¯s Real</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Three minutes.


    One hundred and eighty seconds.


    My mind wanders to Matthew. What would a baby mean for us now?


    I nce at my phone. One minute left.


    My thoughts race ahead, imagining a positive result. Would Matthew be happy? Scared? Angry?


    I picture his face¡ªthose crinkles around his eyes when heughs, the serious furrow between his brows when he¡¯s thinking hard about something. Would our baby have his eyes, his dimples?


    I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly protective of something that might not even exist. There¡¯s a part of me¡ªa part I¡¯m almost afraid to acknowledge¡ªthat wants this test to be positive. Not just for what it might mean for Matthew and me, but for itself. A baby. Our baby. A tiny person made from the best parts of us.


    My phone rm shrieks, making me jump. Three minutes are up.


    I stand on wobbly legs, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips as I reach for the test. For a moment, I close my eyes, offering a silent prayer to a God I¡¯m not sure I believe in. Then I look down.


    Two pink lines. Clear and unambiguous.


    I¡¯m pregnant.


    I stare at the lines, expecting them to fade or change or reveal themselves as a trick of the light. But they remain stubbornly present, two small strokes of color that have just rewritten my future.


    I sink back down onto the edge of the tub, the test clutched in my hand. Two pink lines. A life growing inside me. Matthew¡¯s and mine.


    I set the test back on the counter and stand, catching my reflection in the mirror.


    Tonight, I¡¯ll have to tell him. I¡¯ll have to find the words to say that despite our uncertain present, our future has just be very certain indeed.


    My hand drifts to my stomach, still t beneath my sweater. "It¡¯s going to be okay," I whisper, not sure if I¡¯m reassuring the barely-there baby or myself.


    But even as anxiety churns inside me, there¡¯s something else taking root alongside it. Something that feels almost like hope. Maybe, just maybe, these two pink lines are drawing us back together, creating a new path where our old one faded away.


    Tears well up unexpectedly, spilling over before I even realize I¡¯m crying. They¡¯re not sad tears, exactly, but they¡¯re not purely happy either. They¡¯replicated tears for aplicated moment.


    "A baby," I say out loud, testing how the words feel in my mouth. "I¡¯m having a baby."


    A sudden, fierce joy surges through me, catching me off guard with its intensity.


    Matthew. I have to tell Matthew. The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over me.


    The thought of Matthew rejecting us makes my chest ache with a physical pain.


    No, I shouldn¡¯t assume and just go tell him.


    I push myself up from the floor, legs stiff from sitting too long. I ssh cold water on my face, the shock of it bracing. I need to pull myself together.


    I walk barefoot down the hallway toward the home office.


    Matthew is there. I can hear the soft tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard, the asional click of his mouse.


    I pause outside, hand raised to push the door wider, and almost turn back. I almost convinced myself that today isn¡¯t the day, that tomorrow would be better, that maybe if I just wait long enough, everything will magically fix itself without either of us having to say the hard things out loud.


    No, that¡¯s stupid.


    I push the door open.


    Matthew sits with his back to me, headphones covering his ears, shoulders hunched slightly forward as he stares at his screen.


    For a moment, I just watch him. The familiar shape of him. The way his right foot taps silently against the floor when he¡¯s concentrating.


    I love him. That¡¯s the worst part of all this. I love him so much.


    My throat tightens again, threatening new tears. I swallow them back. No more crying. Not yet, anyway.


    I move forward until I¡¯m standing just behind his chair. Close enough to touch him, though I keep my hands at my sides. Close enough to smell the faint scent of his shampoo and the coffee he must have made while I was falling apart in the bathroom.


    My heart hammers against my ribs. My mouth has gone dry, tongue sticking to the roof as I try to form words.


    I clear my throat.


    Nothing. He doesn¡¯t hear me.


    I clear it again, louder this time and reach out to lightly touch his shoulder.


    He startles, jerking in his chair before pulling his headphones down around his neck. When he swivels to face me, his expression shifts from surprise to something more guarded when he sees my face¡ªmy obvious post-crying face.


    "Sarah?" His voice is careful, neutral. Walking on eggshells. "I didn¡¯t hear youe in."


    My prepared speech evaporates. All the things I rehearsed in the bathroom mirror¡ªthe calm, reasoned points I was going to make¡ªgone like smoke.


    Instead, whates out is simple. Raw. Terrifying.


    "We need to talk." My voice shakes, but I get the words out.


    Matthew looks at me for a long moment. "What is it?"


    "I...I felt sick this morning," I say hesitantly.


    He blinks, his expression shifting slightly. "Sick?" His gaze sharpens with concern.


    I nod, but it¡¯s a reflex more than a real answer. "I took a test," I whisper.


    Matthew straightens in his chair, his foot¡ªstill tapping moments ago¡ªnow utterly still. "A test," he repeats slowly. "What kind of test?"


    I can¡¯t breathe. My fingers tighten into fists at my sides as I force myself to say it. "I¡¯m pregnant."


    The silence that follows is deafening.


    Matthew doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t blink. He just stares at me, his expression unreadable.


    I don¡¯t know what I expected. A sharp inhale? A curse? A question? But instead, he just sits there, frozen in time, as if the words haven¡¯t quite reached him yet.


    "Say something," I whisper, hating how vulnerable I sound.


    His jaw tenses. "You¡¯re sure?"


    I nod and hand him over the pregnancy test.


    He looks down at it and scoffs. "Wow..." he says.


    The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as Matthew stares at the test in his hand. His face shifts from shock to something darker¡ªsomething I¡¯ve never seen before.


    "Wow," he says again, but this time with a bitter edge that makes me step back. "That¡¯s quite convenient, isn¡¯t it?"


    "Convenient?" I repeat, the word feeling strange in my mouth. "What are you talking about?"


    He stands suddenly, the chair rolling back and hitting the wall with a thud that makes me flinch. His eyes are cold, calcting as they sweep over me.


    "I find it interesting," he says, his voice eerily calm, "that after trapping me into marriage, suddenly there¡¯s a baby." He holds up the test between two fingers like it¡¯s contaminated.


    "You think I¡¯m lying?" My voicees out as a whisper, disbelief stealing my volume.


    "And why wouldn¡¯t I, Sarah?" He ces the test on his desk with deliberate care. "You have lied about it before."


    The air is sucked from my lungs. The memory crashes over me like a wave, drowning me in shame and anger.


    "I was young and stupid then. I would never do that again," I whisper, my voice breaking.


    Matthew runs a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. "And I am supposed to just believe you?"


    I stagger back a step, like he¡¯s physically shoved me. "I¡¯m your wife, Matthew!" My voice cracks, but I don¡¯t care. "I won¡¯t lie about it now."


    Matthew lets out a bitterugh. "Alright then. You are pregnant. But how do I know it¡¯s mine?"


    The words hit me like a p. My breath catches in my throat, and I can¡¯t process them at first.


    I want to scream at him, tell him how hurtful that is, how wrong.


    I open my mouth, but no soundes out. My chest feels tight, like it¡¯s suffocating me, and my eyes sting with the beginning of tears, but I fight them back.


    I want to run, to disappear into the air, but I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t leave him like this, not now.


    "Matthew..." I start, my voice shaky, small. "I don¡¯t know what you want me to say." I swallow thickly, trying to steady myself. "You are the only one I¡¯ve been with. This...this baby is yours. It¡¯s yours, Matthew."


    He doesn¡¯t look at me. He stares straight ahead, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.


    Finally, he speaks, his voice so low it almost sounds like a growl. "I don¡¯t know what to think anymore." He lets out a bitterugh, but it¡¯s devoid of humor. "A baby?"


    "Our baby," I breathe. "And I am not lying this time. It¡¯s real."

 Chapter 49: A Liar

    <h4>Chapter 49: A Liar</h4>


    <strong>Back then...</strong>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Matthew can hardly meet my gaze ever since we returned from the conference. His eyes flicker away, filled with an awkward tension that hangs between us like a dense fog.


    I guess I can¡¯t me him for it, given that I lied, falsely iming we had spent the night together. Now that we¡¯ve settled back into the rhythm of our everyday lives, I feel guilty.


    I should tell him it was a lie and I was just messing around. Nothing happened between us.


    Matthew sits in his office, flipping through some documents, but I can tell he is not paying any attention to them. His jaw is tense, his fingers gripping the pages too tightly.


    I swallow hard and step closer. "Hi, Matthew."


    He doesn¡¯t look up right away. When he finally does, his blue eyes are guarded. "What?"


    I hesitate. "We need to talk."


    He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sarah, if this is about¡ª"


    "It is," I cut in, because I know he won¡¯t bring it up himself. "I¡ªI know you are worried about what happened in the conference."


    He groans. "I am trying to forget about it."


    "Did you tell Amber about what happened?"


    "Tell me what?"


    I swish around when I hear Amanda¡¯s voice and make eye contact, my heart beating fast.


    Uh-oh...


    Amanda stands in the doorway, arms crossed, her sharp gaze bouncing between Matthew and me.


    Matthew tenses, his grip on the papers tightening before he slowly sets them down. His jaw twitches, but he keeps his face neutral. "Nothing," he says, his voice even. "It¡¯s not important."


    Amanda raises a brow. "Really? Because it sounded important." She steps inside, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. "What happened at the conference?"


    My palms start to sweat. I wasn¡¯t nning on starting a drama today.


    Matthew sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Amanda, it¡¯s not¡ª"


    I step forward. "It was just a misunderstanding," I blurt out before Matthew can say anything else. "I... I made a joke, and it got taken the wrong way."


    Amanda¡¯s eyes narrow. "A joke?"


    Matthew exhales harshly, shaking his head. "Sarah, stop."


    My stomach drops.


    Amanda crosses her arms. "Matthew?"


    He looks at her for a long moment, then sighs. "Sarah and I slept together."


    Amanda¡¯s expression darkens, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What did you just say?"


    I shift ufortably. This wasn¡¯t supposed to spiral like this. "Um, Matthew¡ª-"


    "No, Sarah," he interrupts me. "I won¡¯t lie to Amanda. This has been killing me since I got back home. I am really sorry, Amanda. I don¡¯t remember much of the night but I got too drunk and ended up sleeping with Sarah."


    Amanda¡¯s expression turns ice-cold, her face devoid of emotion, but the storm brewing in her eyes is impossible to miss.


    "You don¡¯t remember much of the night?" she finally speaks, her voice quiet but sharp enough to cut. "And yet, you¡¯re certain you slept with her?"


    Matthew swallows hard. "I woke up in bed with her. I put the pieces together."


    Amanda¡¯s lips press into a thin line as she studies him, then turns her attention to me. "And you? Is this true?"


    I open my mouth, the truth wing at my throat. I should be a good person and tell the truth. Tell them nothing happened between me and Matthew.


    I really should tell them.


    But I don¡¯t.


    "Yes," I lie again. "Matthew and I had sex. We were both very drunk and¡ª"


    I don¡¯t get to finish as Amanda strides toward me and ps me on the face. The sharp sting burns across my cheek, and I stagger back, my breath catching. "You disgust me," she hisses, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.


    The office buzzes with murmurs as I hear my colleagues react to the unfolding drama right outside the hall. Hopefully Matthew doesn¡¯t get in trouble with my dad about this.


    Matthew¡¯s eyes widen in shock. "Amanda!" He steps forward as if to intervene, but she jerks away from him like his touch alone might taint her. "Don¡¯t touch me!" she snaps at him, her eyes shing. I lift a hand to my cheek, the heat still pulsing beneath my fingertips. I should tell her the truth. I should stop this now before it gets worse. But I don¡¯t.


    Because really...fuck Amanda. She does not deserve Matthew. I bet she doesn¡¯t even love him. Why should she get to be with him and I don¡¯t?


    Amanda¡¯s breath is ragged, her fingers curled into trembling fists at her sides. Her eyes flick between Matthew and me, fury rolling off her in waves.


    "I trusted you," she spits at Matthew. "And this is what you do?" Her voice wavers, but she doesn¡¯t cry. She¡¯s too angry for that.


    Matthew looks wrecked, his face paling. "Amanda, I¡ª"


    "Save it," she cuts him off. "You don¡¯t even remember, right? That¡¯s what you said." She shakes her head, a bitterugh escaping her lips. "But I don¡¯t fucking believe you, Matthew. I saw the way you looked at her that day when I first met her," she said, looking at me usingly.


    Matthew¡¯s face contorts with guilt, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Amanda, I swear¡ª"


    "You swear what?" Amanda snaps. "That it meant nothing? That you didn¡¯t want it to happen?" She lets out a sharpugh, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Because I don¡¯t buy it, Matthew. You might not remember, but that doesn¡¯t mean you didn¡¯t want it."


    I watch as Matthew¡¯s shoulders slump, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He looks at me then, his blue eyes clouded with regret.


    Amanda turns to me next, her re cutting through me like a knife. "And you. How long have you been waiting for this, huh?" Her voice drips with venom. "Was this your n all along? Get him drunk, take advantage of the situation, and then y the victim?"


    My stomach twists, but I hold my ground. "That¡¯s not what happened," I say, though that¡¯s exactly what happened.


    Amanda whips around to face him again. "You know what? I¡¯m done. You two can have each other."


    "Amanda, wait," Matthew pleads, but she¡¯s already turning on her heel.


    She stops at the doorway, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hope she was worth it."


    And then she¡¯s gone.


    Silence stretches between me and Matthew, heavy and suffocating. He doesn¡¯t look at me. Instead, he sinks into his chair, his hands gripping his hair, his whole body trembling with frustration.


    And at that time, I felt like I had won. That there was no one standing between Matthew and me anymore. No one.

 Chapter 50: It’s Over

    <h4>Chapter 50: It¡¯s Over</h4>


    <strong>Back then continues...</strong>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    The moment Amanda walks out, the world tilts beneath me. My chest tightens, a cold sweat breaking along my spine. I grip the edges of my desk, staring nkly at the papers in front of me, but the words blur together.


    I don¡¯t even remember that night. I don¡¯t remember touching Sarah. I don¡¯t remember wanting her.


    I finally lift my head, my gaze snapping to Sarah. She¡¯s still standing there, her cheek red from Amanda¡¯s p.


    My stomach twists. "Did it really happen?" My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.


    Sarah¡¯s lips part slightly, like she hadn¡¯t expected me to question her. "What?"


    "Did we really have sex?" I push back my chair, rising to my feet. My hands are shaking. "I don¡¯t remember that night, but something about this doesn¡¯t feel right."


    Sarah folds her arms over her chest, her expression shifting. "Are you saying I made this up?"


    I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m saying, but¡ª" I pause, my throat tightening. "I would never do this to Amanda. I know I was drunk, but I¡ª" I swallow hard, the truth wing at me. "Are you really sure?"


    Sarah¡¯s face darkens. "Are you calling me a liar, Matthew?"


    A lump forms in my throat. I can¡¯t breathe. "Did we even¡ª"


    "Yes." Her voice is cold, unwavering. "We did."


    A wave of nausea rolls through me.


    Sarah takes a step closer, her voice softening. "Amanda didn¡¯t deserve you, Matthew. You know that."


    I stare at her, horror creeping into my bones. "What?"


    She tilts her head, her fingers grazing my wrist. "She must not trust you if she didn¡¯t even question me."


    I pull my hand away like I¡¯ve been burned. "Fuck..." My voice shakes. "I need to talk to Amanda."


    Sarah¡¯s face hardens. "She won¡¯t forgive you."


    I know Sarah is right. Amanda had always been the jealous type. She used me of cheating even before I did anything. But now...now, I have proved her right, even if unintentionally.


    Sarah steps in front of me, blocking my path. "Matthew, don¡¯t go after her," she pleads, her voice softer now, almost coaxing.


    I shake my head. "Move, Sarah."


    She lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing. "She won¡¯t listen. She already made up her mind about you."


    I clench my fists, fighting the overwhelming urge to yell. "I don¡¯t care," I bite out. "I need to try."


    Sarah lets out a bitterugh. "You don¡¯t get it, do you?" She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "She was already looking for a reason to leave you."


    My stomach twists. "That¡¯s not true."


    Sarah shrugs. "Isn¡¯t it? She didn¡¯t even ask for your side of the story. She just assumed the worst and walked away." She folds her arms. "Maybe deep down, she never really wanted you."


    I brush past Sarah, yanking open the door. The office is eerily quiet, everyone pretending not to have been eavesdropping. I ignore the stares and move toward the elevator, my heart pounding.


    I have to find Amanda.


    When I reach the parking lot, I spot her. She¡¯s by her car, gripping the door handle so tightly her knuckles are white.


    "Amanda," I call out, my voice cracking.


    She stiffens but doesn¡¯t turn around. "Go away, Matthew."


    I take a hesitant step forward. "Please, just listen to me."


    She exhales sharply, then finally faces me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but there are no tears. Just cold, exhausted anger. "What could you possibly say to make this better?"


    "I don¡¯t remember that night," I admit, my throat dry. "I was drunk, but I swear, Amanda¡ªI never wanted to hurt you."


    She scoffs. "But you did."


    "I need you to believe me," I whisper.


    She studies me for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I don¡¯t know what to believe, Matthew. But I do know one thing."


    I brace myself.


    "I¡¯m done."


    Her words hit harder than any p. I feel them in my chest, like a knife sinking deep.


    "Amanda¡ª"


    She opens the car door. "Goodbye, Matthew."


    And just like that, she¡¯s gone.


    I leave the office right then, not bothering to finish the day. I can¡¯t go back and face Sarah right now. I need to go home and think.


    As I drive home, my hands grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. My mind is a tangled mess of regret, confusion, and the gnawing feeling that something isn¡¯t right.


    Yet she was so sure. So certain.


    So it must be true, right?


    By the time I pull into my driveway, exhaustion weighs heavy on me. I don¡¯t even bother turning on the lights when I step inside. The moment the door closes behind me, I lean against it, rubbing a hand over my face.


    Then my phone buzzes.


    For a split second, I let hope re in my chest¡ªAmanda? But when I check the screen, disappointment crashes over me.


    Sarah: I am really sorry, Matthew.


    I shut my phone off and toss it onto the couch.


    The next day, I shower under scalding water, hoping it might wash away the hollowness that¡¯s settled in my chest.


    It doesn¡¯t.


    I dread going to the office and seeing Sarah, but I can stay back and cower, so I drive there. I force myself through those revolving doors, ignoring the whispers that follow me across the lobby.


    "Matthew."


    Donna¡¯s face is carefullyposed, professional, but there¡¯s something in her eyes¡ªpity, maybe, or judgment. I can¡¯t tell anymore.


    "Mr. Wilson would like to see you. Immediately."


    My stomach drops. Sarah¡¯s father. My boss wants to see me. Great...just great.


    "Right now?" I manage, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.


    She nods once. "He¡¯s waiting."


    Mr. Wilson is standing at the window when I enter, hands sped behind his back.


    "Sir," I say, the word barely audible. "You wanted to see me?"


    He turns slowly. "Sit down, Matthew," he says.


    I sink into the chair across from his desk, fighting the urge to fidget like a schoolboy called to the principal¡¯s office.


    He doesn¡¯t sit. Instead, he circles the desk, leaning against its edge, ufortably close.


    "I understand there was an... incident yesterday." His voice is controlled and measured. "Involving my daughter."


    I swallow hard. "Sir, I¡ª"


    He holds up a hand, silencing me. "I don¡¯t like listening to gossip. I¡¯d like to hear your ount," he continues, folding his arms across his chest. "What exactly happened between you and my daughter?"


    I nod, my throat dry. "There¡¯s been a misunderstanding, sir," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "I...I had a little too much to drink and..."


    "You were drunk," Mr. Wilson cuts in, his tone sharp. "And you allowed yourself to be in apromising situation with my daughter?"


    The door flings open and Sarah storms in, her eyes wide. "Daddy! Stop!"


    Mr. Wilson turns sharply at the interruption, his expression darkening. "Sarah," he says. "We¡¯re in the middle of something."


    Sarah marches forward, her hands clenched at her sides. "I know! That¡¯s why I¡¯m here," she snaps, then nces at me, guilt shing in her eyes. "This isn¡¯t right."


    Mr. Wilson¡¯s jaw tightens. "Sarah, step outside. We¡¯ll talkter."


    "No," she insists, her voice shaking. "You can¡¯t fire Matthew!"


    Mr. Wilson furrows his brows. "I am not going to fire Matthew. I am simply asking him what happened and what was up with all thatmotion yesterday."


    Sarah looks between us, her expression uncertain. "But¡ª"


    Her father holds up a hand, his voice firm. "Sit down, Sarah."


    She hesitates before finally obeying, dropping into the chair beside me. I nce at her, searching for any sign of what she¡¯s about to say.


    Mr. Wilson sighs, rubbing his temples. "Now, Matthew," he says. "Tell me everything."


    I clear my throat. "I was drinking, sir. Too much. I remember bits and pieces, but I swear, I don¡¯t recall anything inappropriate happening between Sarah and me."


    Sarah shifts in her seat, wringing her hands. "Dad... he didn¡¯t do anything wrong. And I...I love him!"


    The room falls into silence.


    "You love him?" His voice is low.


    Sarah nods, her chin lifting defiantly. "Yes."


    I stiffen beside her, my pulse hammering in my ears. This¡ªthis is not what I expected. Not what I wanted.


    I swallow hard. "Sir, with all due respect, I¡ª"


    His gaze snaps to me, steel-cold. "Let Sarah talk, Matthew."


    I mp my mouth shut.


    "I made the first move, Dad," she says.


    Silence stretches between us.


    Mr. Wilson looks at me. "I won¡¯t pretend like I am thrilled about this. But Sarah is an adult now, so if you two want to date-"


    "Sir," I interrupt. "Sarah and I aren¡¯t dating."


    "He means we are not dating yet. Right, Matthew?" she interjects.


    "Sarah, that¡¯s not¡ª" I start, but she cuts me off with a bright, nervousugh.


    "Daddy, you¡¯re overreacting. Matthew and I are just figuring things out," she says, cing a hand on my arm.


    Mr. Wilson exhales sharply, watching me like a man deciding my fate. "If you want to be with my daughter, I won¡¯t stand in your way."


    What the hell is happening right now?


    Sarah jumps up and kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you, Dad!"

 Chapter 51: You’re Cold

    <h4>Chapter 51: You¡¯re Cold</h4>


    <strong>Present time...</strong>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I pour a generous ssh of whiskey into my ss, watching as the amber liquid swirls and catches the dim light.


    A bitterugh escapes my lips, triggered by the uninvited memory that invades my thoughts. What a liar she had been.


    But it wasn¡¯t solely that one lie. It was the web of deception that followed, each tightening the trap around me.


    And the biggest one was...


    I throw my head back and toss the whiskey in the back of my throat, weing the burn that follows.


    No, I won¡¯t think about that now. It was in the past, I tell myself that.


    Back then, I had lost all control over Sarah and everything else. But now, I am in control and I won¡¯t let her y me.


    I set the ss down with deliberate care, fingers lingering on its smooth surface and wince as I remember again.


    Pregnant. The word keeps repeating in my head like a damn curse.


    I married her because I wanted to control the narrative this time and make her suffer. But her being pregnant now might change everything. Sarah always knew how to manipte a situation to her advantage, and this¡ªthis felt like her masterpiece. Was it even true? Or just another carefully crafted scheme to keep me bound to her?


    But it doesn¡¯t make any sense. She already has me as her husband, so why would she fake being pregnant now? To gain sympathy? To win my love?


    God, I am so confused!


    I stand up suddenly, feeling the need to see her.


    Our bedroom door is slightly ajar, so I push it open.


    "Sarah?" My voice sounds foreign in the emptiness of the room.


    She is not here.


    "Oh, Matthew."


    I turn to face Marishka, who stands there holding a basket ofundry. "Are you looking for Sarah?" she asks.


    "Yes, where is she?" I try to keep my voice steady.


    "I saw her going to the back garden. She said she needed to go get some fresh air," Marishka offers.


    I nod curtly before I turn and head toward the back garden. The cool air hits my face as I step outside, the faint smell of flowers and fresh earth mixing with the tension in my chest. My eyes scan the garden, searching for any sign of her.


    And then I see her.


    Sarah is standing by the rose bush, her back to me, fingers grazing the petals.


    I walk to her slowly until she looks up at me.


    I stop in my tracks. Her green eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, and they stir something in my chest. She had been crying.


    "Hey," I saymely.


    "Hey," she responds, quickly wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She forces a smile that doesn¡¯t reach those green eyes. "I needed some air."


    I stand there awkwardly. The scent of roses fills my nostrils and I feel kind of sick.


    "You¡¯ve been crying," I state tly, as if using her of something.


    Sarah turns back to the roses, her fingers finding a petal that¡¯s beginning to wilt. "Maybe it¡¯s the hormones. You know...from my ¡¯fake¡¯ pregnancy."


    "I am not saying it¡¯s fake this time. What I said was, it¡¯s not mine," I say cruelly.


    I watch the way her shoulders shake, though she doesn¡¯t cry, doesn¡¯t even let the tears fall.


    "That¡¯s what you think?" Her voice is small and hurt, but there¡¯s an edge to it that I didn¡¯t expect. "That I am pregnant with someone else¡¯s child?"


    No, I don¡¯t really think that.


    "Come inside the house. It¡¯s getting chilly," I say instead of answering her question.


    She doesn¡¯t immediately move, her fingers still lingering on the wilted petal.


    I feel a strange tightness in my chest, a pull that tells me I should apologize, or at least soften the blow. But I don¡¯t. Not yet.


    She nces at me, and for a moment, her eyes search mine with a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten further. I can see her weighing something, deciding whether she¡¯s going to fight me or give in.


    "I think I will stay out here for a while," she says quietly. "You can go inside if you want."


    I don¡¯t move.


    "You know what¡¯s funny, Matthew? When I first saw those two lines on the test, I was terrified. I figured you¡¯d be angry. But then for a moment¡ªjust a moment¡ªI imagined you¡¯d be happy," she says, not looking at me.


    The wind picks up, sending her hair across her face. She doesn¡¯t brush it away.


    "I¡¯ve never been with anyone else," she continues, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Not since we met. Not once."


    I shove my hands in my pockets. "Why would you think I¡¯d be happy, Sarah? What could possibly give you the impression that I¡¯d want to have a child with someone I hate?" I say.


    Sarah winces. Her face loses color, but her green eyes ignite with something fierce.


    She turns fully toward me now, one hand unconsciously resting on her stomach.


    "I never thought you¡¯d be overjoyed," she says. "But I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d use me of¡ª" Her voice breaks, and she takes a steadying breath. "I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d deny your own child."


    She steps closer, close enough that I can see the constetion of freckles across her nose. "You can doubt me all you want, Matthew, but deep down, you know the truth."


    "Is this how you are getting back at me?" I ask.


    "Getting back at you?" Her voice rises. "No one asked you toe inside me when we make love, Matthew."


    "We don¡¯t make love, Sarah. I fuck you. There¡¯s a difference," I snap.


    Hurt shes in her green eyes before she shakes her head. "You can call it whatever you want," she continues, her voice steadier now. "But this baby exists. Your child exists. And no amount of hatred is going to change that."


    "Come inside," I say again, running a hand through my hair. "I don¡¯t want to stand here and argue with you all day."


    "I didn¡¯t ask you to," she says defiantly. "Like I said, you can go if you want."


    Stubborn woman.


    "Fine. Freeze out here if you want," I snap and hurry back inside.


    I m the backdoor behind me, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. My hands are shaking with anger¡ªor is it something else?


    I can¡¯t help but look out the window again. Sarah is still there, her slender figure now hunched against the growing chill.


    Why the hell is she insisting on being cold?


    "Dammit," I mutter under my breath.


    Before I know what I¡¯m doing, I¡¯m climbing the stairs to the linen closet, yanking open the door with more force than necessary. The shelves are meticulously organized¡ªMarishka¡¯s doing, no doubt. I grab the thickest nket I can find, a soft, plush thing.


    I stand there for a moment, nket clutched in my hands, battling with myself. I should just let her freeze. That¡¯d teach her to be stubborn and defiant.


    I go downstairs and find Marishka.


    "Marishka." I clear my throat. "Sarah is still outside. Could you..." I thrust the nket toward her, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Could you take this to her? It¡¯s cold."


    "Of course, Mr. Matthew," she says, taking the nket from me. "Maybe I will make some hot chocte. Sarah used to love it as a kid. Still does, in fact. Would you like to join us?"


    I shake my head. "No thanks. I will be in my study. Just don¡¯t let her catch a cold."

 Chapter 52: Forgive Me

    <h4>Chapter 52: Forgive Me</h4>


    Sarah


    "What are you doing here?" Reba asks, looking at me questioningly.


    I force out a smile, trying not to let her harsh attitude hurt my feelings. "Can I pleasee in?" I ask.


    Reba hesitates, her grip tightening on the doorframe. Her eyes scan my face, searching for an answer beyond my words.


    "Why?" she asks.


    I swallow hard. "I just... I need to talk to you. Please."


    For a moment, I think she¡¯s going to m the door in my face. But then, with a sigh, she steps aside. "Fine. Come in."


    I step inside. The living room is just as I remember¡ªcozy, cluttered, lived-in.


    Reba crosses her arms. "Well?"


    I take a deep breath, my hands trembling at my sides. "I know I have no right to be here, but I didn¡¯t know where else to go."


    Her expression softens, but she doesn¡¯t say anything.


    I press on. "I thought we could talk."


    Reba exhales sharply as if weighing her patience. "Talk about what?"


    I shift on my feet, suddenly unsure. Now that I¡¯m here, standing in front of her, the words feel heavier than they did in my head. "I am pregnant, Reba."


    Her eyes turned wide. "What?"


    "Yes. I am pregnant," I repeat.


    "We have been on this road before, Sarah. I supported you back then because you were my best friend, but then¡ª" Reba pauses as if she does not know how to end her thoughts.


    Tears threaten to spill, but I hold them back. "I know. I was stupid back then. A liar. But I am not lying about that anymore."


    Reba sighs. "What does Matthew have to say about this?"


    I hesitate, lowering my gaze to the floor. "He said he doesn¡¯t trust me anymore. He used me of lying and carrying someone else¡¯s child," I admit quietly.


    Reba exhales, rubbing her forehead. "Sarah, can you really me him?"


    My stomach twists at her words, but I force myself to stay calm. "I get it," I say. "I ruined things before. I hurt people. But this time, I¡¯m telling the truth, Reba. I swear."


    She studies me, her arms still crossed over her chest. "And what do you expect me to do? Talk to him? Make him believe you?"


    I shake my head. "No. I just... I didn¡¯t know where else to go. Who else to talk to."


    Reba sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Sarah, I care about you. I always have. But trust is a fragile thing. If Matthew doesn¡¯t believe you, you need to prove it to him¡ªnot to me."


    I let the tears fall. "I just...I need my best friend back. I don¡¯t have any other friends, Becky."


    "Come sit, Sarah," she says quietly.


    I do as she says and sit down on the couch.


    I wipe at my tears, my chest aching. "I don¡¯t want to do this alone." My voice breaks on thest word.


    Reba watches me for a long moment before sighing and sitting down beside me. "You have your parents. And you have Marishka."


    I shake my head. "It¡¯s not the same."


    She exhales sharply, rubbing her hands over her thighs. "Alright. You start by proving you¡¯ve changed. By being honest. No more half-truths, no more maniption."


    "I swear, Reba. I¡¯m done with all of that forever." My voice wavers, raw with emotion.


    She studies me for a moment before finally nodding. "Okay. I forgive you."


    I break down then, tears flowing freely. All the tension I¡¯ve been carrying¡ªthe fear, the loneliness¡ªit alles rushing out.


    "Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible.


    Reba hesitates, then reaches out and takes my hand. Her touch is tentative, but it¡¯s there. "Don¡¯t thank me yet. We have a lot to work through."


    I nod, wiping my face with my free hand. "I know."


    "So what¡¯s your n?" she asks, her voice gentler now. "Have you been to a doctor?"


    "Not yet. I¡¯ve only just found out." I pause, gathering courage. "I¡¯m scared, Becky."


    She squeezes my hand. "That¡¯s normal. But you need to see someone, get proper care."


    "I will." I look around her apartment, noticing the small changes since I wasst here¡ªnew throw pillows, different pictures on the wall. A life that continued without me. "He is so angry at me."


    Reba sighs. "Matthew needs time. You hurt him badlyst time."


    "I know I did," I admit, the weight of my past mistakes heavy on my shoulders. "But this baby is his. I haven¡¯t been with anyone else."


    Reba studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I believe you."


    "Really?"


    "Really. And I will help you win Matthew over," she says. "He will change his attitude toward you sooner orter."


    For the first time in months, I feel something like hope.


    "Thank you for saying that, Reba," I say.


    "Is it weird to see Josh back in town?" Reba suddenly asks.


    I nod and smile. "Yeah, I didn¡¯t expect to see him back. He just showed up at my house and scared the crap out of me." I giggle.


    Reba raises an eyebrow. "And how did Matthew react? He never met her before, had he?"


    "No. He seemed...jealous," I say, oddly feeling satisfied over the fact. Matthew is only jealous of Josh because he cares, right?


    Reba smirks, leaning back against the couch. "Jealous, huh? That¡¯s interesting."


    I shrug, trying to seem nonchnt, but I can feel the warmth creeping up my neck. "I don¡¯t know. He was just acting weird, like he didn¡¯t like Josh being there."


    Reba tilts her head. "Well, can you me him? Josh is always so touchy-feely, and Matthew¡¯s already struggling to trust you again. Seeing another guy from your past show up probably didn¡¯t help."


    I bite my lip, thinking about it. "Maybe. But I wasn¡¯t trying to make him jealous or anything. Josh is just a friend."


    Reba gives me a skeptical look. "Come on, Sarah. Josh always liked you a little more than a friend. I am sure Matthew can feel it."


    I shake my head. "No, that¡¯s ridiculous. Josh always dated those model-type girls when we were in college."


    Reba rolls her eyes. "That doesn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t have a thing for you. You were always the one person he¡¯d drop everything for."


    I let out a frustrated sigh. "Josh and I were never like that. He was just a good friend."


    Reba gives me a knowing look but doesn¡¯t push it further. "Alright. If you say so."


    I smile. "I should get going. It¡¯s almost dinner time, and Matthew will be home soon."


    Reba smiles back at me. "Take care of yourself, Sarah."

 Chapter 53: Chocolate

    <h4>Chapter 53: Chocte</h4>


    <strong>Sarah</strong>


    Once I get home, I go to look for Marishka in the kitchen.


    She is already there, her back turned as she instructs our live-in maid to gather the ingredients.


    "What are you making tonight, Marishka?" I ask. I never intended Marishka to cook for us, too, and I wanted to hire a cook, but Marishka insisted on feeding us herself. Not that I mind. Her cooking is the best!


    Marishka turns, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Stuffed bell peppers with rice and ground beef. And I made a pot of borscht for tomorrow."


    I grin, stepping closer. "You spoil us, you know that?"


    She waves a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. Cooking keeps me busy. Besides, I like knowing you¡¯re eating well."


    The maid quietly continues gathering ingredients as I lean against the counter. "I need to tell you about something."


    Marishka wipes her hands on a towel and turns her full attention to me. "What is it, Sweetheart?"


    I take a deep breath. "I should¡¯ve told you this first since you are like a mother to me, but...I don¡¯t know..."


    Marishkaes closer and ces her hand on mine. "It¡¯s okay, sweetie. Just tell me what¡¯s wrong."


    "Nothing is wrong. I am...I am pregnant, Marishka," I say and exhale slowly.


    Marishka¡¯s eyes widen, and for a moment, she just stares at me. Then, her expression lightens.


    "Oh, my sweet girl," she murmurs, squeezing my hands. "You¡¯re having a baby."


    I nod, my throat tightening. "Yes. And I¡¯m scared."


    Marishka¡¯s gaze searches mine before she gently pulls me into a hug. "Oh, sweetheart, I wish you had told me sooner."


    Tears sting my eyes as I cling to her. "I wanted to. I just... I was afraid. I don¡¯t know why."


    She pulls back slightly, her hands on my shoulders. "You have nothing to be scared of. You have me. And you have Matthew."


    I let out a shaky breath. But I don¡¯t have Matthew. But Marishka wouldn¡¯t understand that. And I wouldn¡¯t tell her how he hates me and wants to deny our baby.


    She cups my cheek, her eyes glistening. "Have you told Matthew?"


    I swallow hard. "Yes."


    "You should¡¯ve told me sooner. I would¡¯ve made something more special for dinner," Marishka chirps.


    Iugh despite my solemn mood. "What you made is just perfect."


    "Oh! Maybe I will make your and Matthew¡¯s favorite dessert. It turns out you both happen to love cheesecake," she says.


    I raise an eyebrow. "How do you know Matthew likes cheesecake?"


    "Why, I asked, of course. It¡¯s my job to take care of you both and make sure you are fat and happy," she says.


    Iugh at her eagerness, shaking my head. "You really do spoil us."


    Marishka waves me off yfully as she turns back to her cooking. "It¡¯s what I do best."


    I watch her for a moment, the warmth of her presence easing some of my worries. If only things were as simple as she made them seem. If only Matthew looked at me with love instead of contempt.


    Marishka hums. "Sit down. Keep mepany while I cook."


    I pull out a stool and rest my elbows on the counter. "Did you always know you wanted to get a job as a nanny?"


    Marishka chuckles, her hands expertly coring bell peppers. "Not at all. I studied literature. I wanted to be a professor."


    "Really? I didn¡¯t know that," I say and gaze at her curiously. I never really talked to Marishka about her past before. She had always been so closed off about it.


    "Many things change in life," she says. "After university, I met my Ivan. We married, nned for children." Her knife pauses briefly. "But God had other ns."


    I watch her carefully.


    "After Ivan died, I decide to start over." She shrugs. "Found I had talent with children. They speak truth when adults only speak nonsense."


    The maid silently ces a bowl of ground beef beside Marishka, then retreats to clean vegetables.


    "And now," Marishka continues, brightening, "I have you. And soon, little one." She gestures toward my stomach with her wooden spoon.


    I ce a hand over my stomach. "You really see me as family, don¡¯t you?"


    Marishka stops stirring for a moment, her gaze softening. "Of course, sweetheart."


    The lump in my throat grows, and I blink quickly to keep my tears at bay. "But howe you never remarried and have your own children?"


    Marishka sighs, her expression growing distant as she sets the spoon down. "Some loves cannot be reced," she says softly. "Ivan was my heart, my home. When he was gone... I did not want to find another. It did not seem right."


    I nod, absorbing her words. "That sounds... lonely."


    She smiles faintly. "Perhaps. But loneliness is not the worst thing. I have had joy, too. Watching you grow, taking care of you¡ªit has given me purpose."


    I bite my lip. "You deserve more than just purpose, Marishka. You deserve love, too."


    Marishka chuckles, shaking her head. "Lovees in many forms, sweetheart. I may not have had children of my own, but I have you. And soon, your baby. That is love enough for me."


    Her words wrap around me like a warm embrace. I wish I wish Matthew could love me too and not refuse to see this baby as something worth celebrating.


    "Now, what kind of cheesecake do you want?" Marishka asks.


    I smile, pushing aside my thoughts for the moment. "Hmm... ssic New York-style with strawberry topping."


    Marishka grins. "Good choice. And Matthew¡¯s favorite?"


    I hesitate, my fingers curling against the counter. "I... I don¡¯t actually know."


    Marishka tuts, shaking her head. "A shame! A wife should know such things."


    I let out a hollowugh. "I don¡¯t think he considers me his wife, Marishka."


    She stops mid-motion, her gaze locking onto mine. "Nonsense. You carry his child. You are his wife. What a ridiculous thing to say!"


    I press my lips together, unsure how to respond. "Yeah, you are right. I am being silly. He should be home right about now. I will ask him."


    Marishka nods approvingly, returning to her cooking. "Good girl. Communication is key. Even with the most stubborn of men."


    I force a small smile, though uncertainty twists inside me.


    As I push away from the counter, I take a steadying breath. The sound of the front door opening startles me, and my pulse quickens.


    Matthew is home.


    Marishka nces at me and winks. "Go on, then. Greet your husband."


    I nod and step into the hallway, where Matthew is shrugging off his coat. He looks up at me.


    I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "Matthew... do you like cheesecake?"


    He raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Cheesecake?"


    I nod. "Marishka is making some. She wanted to know your favorite kind."


    He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I don¡¯t know. I guess... chocte?"


    I blink. "Chocte?"


    He shrugs. "Yeah. Why?"


    I shake my head quickly. "No reason. Just... wanted to know."


    He studies me for a moment, as if trying to figure out why I¡¯m asking such a random question. Then, without another word, he turns toward the stairs.


    I swallow the lump in my throat, watching him go. He didn¡¯t ask how my day was. Didn¡¯t ask about the baby.


    I let Marishka know and head to the bedroom to see him.

 Chapter 54: Don’t Touch

    <h4>Chapter 54: Don¡¯t Touch</h4>


    <strong>Matthew</strong>


    I close the door to the bedroom behind me. My shoulders are tight, and my mind is a tangled mess. The day was long, filled with problems in the office I didn¡¯t have the energy to solve. And now Sarah is asking me about cheesecake.


    Cheesecake.


    I let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Why does it even matter? Chocte, strawberry, in¡ªI don¡¯t care. It¡¯s just dessert.


    I start to unbutton my shirt. All I want to do is to lie down and shut the world out.


    The door creaks open, and I nce up to see Sarah standing there.


    "What is it?" I ask sharply.


    She flinches slightly, and I curse myself under my breath. Even though I made it my mission to be mean to her, I am still not used to the sight of her cowering.


    "I just..." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor.


    I let out a slow breath, leaning back on my hands. "What is it?"


    She takes a tentative step closer. "I made a doctor¡¯s appointment for tomorrow."


    I freeze, my fingers still on thest three buttons of my shirt.


    "A doctor¡¯s appointment?" My voice is t, emotionless.


    She nods, still not meeting my eyes. "For the baby."


    The baby.


    I exhale through my nose, pushing down the emotions threatening to surface. "And you¡¯re telling me because...?"


    Sarah lifts her gaze, uncertainty flickering in her green eyes. "Because I thought you might want toe."


    I bark out a humorlessugh. "Why would you think that?"


    She flinches again, but this time, she doesn¡¯t back down. "Because it¡¯s your child too, Matthew."


    "I don¡¯t need to be there," I say finally, standing up and turning away. "You can handle it yourself."


    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah¡¯s shoulders slump, her fingers twisting together.


    "You don¡¯t have to do this, you know," she murmurs.


    I pause. "Do what?"


    "Pretend like you don¡¯t care." Her voice is soft, but there¡¯s a strength beneath it. "I know you, Matthew. And I know you care."


    A bitter taste fills my mouth. "You don¡¯t know anything."


    Sarah steps closer and reaches for me.


    For a moment, I contemte pping her hand away, but I don¡¯t. I watch as she reaches out and starts to unbutton my shirt.


    Her fingers are cool against my skin, and I hold my breath. I should stop her. Push her away. Say something cutting that will make her retreat back through that door.


    But I don¡¯t.


    "I know enough," she whispers, undoing thest button.


    My jaw clenches, but I don¡¯t say anything.


    A sad smile ys on her lips. "You¡¯re trying so hard to be cold, Matthew. To push me away."


    "I truly do not want anything to do with you or this baby, Sarah. I am merely tolerating you both. At least for now," I dere, even though deep down, I know it¡¯s not true. Ever since she told me about this damn baby, it¡¯s all I can think about. I¡¯ve always wanted to be a father and have a family of my own. I just never imagined it would be with Sarah.


    And now, it¡¯s really happening.


    "The appointment is at ten," Sarah says. "I¡¯ll understand if you don¡¯te."


    "I won¡¯t," I say.


    She slides the shirt down my shoulders and grazes her fingers over his chest, leaving trails of warmth that contradict everything I¡¯m trying to feel. Her touch is light, almost reverent as if she¡¯s mapping territories she fears might soon be lost to her.


    I should step back. I should put distance between us. Instead, I stand frozen as her fingertips trace the contours of my corbone, then drift down to the center of my chest. She pauses over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel it betraying me, hammering against my ribs.


    "Your heart is racing," she observes quietly, her eyes following the movement of her hand. Her palm ttens against my chest, warm and steady.


    "Stop," I manage, but ites out hoarse, unconvincing.


    "Why?" Her fingers continue their exploration, tracing the lines of muscle down to my abdomen.


    I exhale sharply and step back, breaking the contact. "Just stop touching me."


    She gives me a small smile. "Fine. It¡¯s almost time for dinner, so take a shower and meet me in the dining room."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Ordering me now?"


    Sarah tilts her head slightly, her lips curving in a way that almost seems amused. "No. It is a request," she says, turning toward the door.


    I watch her leave, my chest tightening in a way I refuse to acknowledge.


    She¡¯s right¡ªI don¡¯t want to care. But I do. And no matter how much I push her away, she keeps finding a way back in.


    Damn her.


    With a low curse, I head into the bathroom. The hot water scalds my skin, but it does little to ease the tension coiling in my muscles. My mind keeps circling back to the way she touched me.


    It was a very tentative touch, and yet, I am as hard as a rock between my legs.


    I finish my shower quickly, trying to shake the lingering sensation of her fingertips against my chest. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out into the bedroom.


    I get dressed slowly, pulling on a dark sweater and jeans. I run a hand through my damp hair before heading downstairs.


    The dining room is dimly lit, the aroma of something delicious lingering in the air. Sarah is already seated at the table, her back straight as she pokes at her te with a fork. She doesn¡¯t look up when I enter, but I know she hears me.


    I take the seat across from her, dragging the chair out a little too harshly. The scrape of wood against the tile is loud in the silence.


    She finally nces at me, her gaze skimming over my face before settling on my hands, which I keep clenched on the table. "You came."


    "Why wouldn¡¯t I? I am starving," I bark.


    Sarah nods slowly, then takes a bite of her food. I watch as she chews, my appetite is nonexistent.


    "Are you going toe tomorrow?" she asks after a moment.


    I already told her no.


    But the words won¡¯te out as easily this time.


    I clear my throat. "I don¡¯t know."


    Her lips press together. She sets her fork down, looking almost resigned. "Alright."


    And just like that, she drops it.


    She doesn¡¯t push. She doesn¡¯t plead.


    Somehow, that makes it worse.


    I clear my throat. "Maybe you should ask someone else."


    She looks at me questioningly. "Someone else?"


    "Yes. Maybe ask Josh. He lives close by, doesn¡¯t he? Maybe he would like to y daddy since he is always so eager to see you," I say, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in my voice.


    Sarah¡¯s eyes narrow, and for a second, I swear I see something flicker behind them¡ªanger, maybe, or disappointment.


    "Maybe I will ask him," she says evenly, picking up her fork again. "I could use the support."


    She wouldn¡¯t dare.


    Would she?

 Chapter 55: Romance Hero

    <h4>Chapter 55: Romance Hero</h4>


    Sarah


    I stab my fork into a piece of roasted potato, looking at him from under my eyshes.


    I won¡¯t beg him to be there for his own child. If he wants to keep pushing me away, let him. I¡¯ve spent too much time tiptoeing around his moods, too much time pretending that his words don¡¯t cut deeper than they should. But I am not alone anymore. I am going to have a baby, and I want to be stronger.


    I take a slow bite, forcing myself to chew and swallow before speaking again. "Josh has always been kind to me." I keep my tone light, casual, as if I don¡¯t notice the way Matthew¡¯s grip tightens around his fork. "And he doesn¡¯t seem to mind stepping up when someone else won¡¯t."


    Matthew exhales sharply, his gaze darkening. "If you think I¡¯m going to sit here and listen to you talk about another man, you¡¯re sorely mistaken."


    I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "Why not? You were the one who suggested I ask someone else."


    His lips press into a thin line. He¡¯s angry now, and I should stop, but something inside me won¡¯t let me. Maybe it¡¯s the exhaustion, maybe it¡¯s the months of being pushed aside, or maybe I just want to see if there¡¯s still a part of him that gives a damn.


    I set my fork down carefully. "I don¡¯t need you to be there, Matthew," I say quietly, my voice steady. "I wanted you to be. There¡¯s a difference."


    The silence that follows feels like a physical presence between us. Matthew¡¯s jaw flexes as he sets down his own fork loudly.


    "Josh," he spits the name like it¡¯s poison on his tongue. "He showed up at a very convenient time, didn¡¯t he?" Hisugh is hollow, scraping against the silence.


    I feel heat crawl up my neck, spreading across my cheeks.


    "You don¡¯t get to do that," I whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "You don¡¯t get to treat me like you do and then act jealous when someone else shows basic human decency. You don¡¯t get to make disgusting usations because you can¡¯t handle someone being nice to me."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes sh with fury. His jaw tightens, his fingers curling into fists on the table. "You think I don¡¯t¡ª" He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "Forget it."


    I let out a humorlessugh. "No. Say it. If you have something to say, say it, Matthew."


    His gaze locks onto mine, intense and unyielding. "You think he will rescue you from me like some damn romance hero?"


    I sigh, suddenly feeling tired. "No, Matthew. I don¡¯t need any rescuing. You are just looking for a way to fight me now."


    His nostrils re. "I¡¯m not looking for a fight," he mutters.


    I focus on my food. Marishka worked hard to make us this beautiful meal, and I want to enjoy it no matter what.


    Matthew doesn¡¯t say anything else, but I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting. I refuse to look up, to give him the satisfaction of seeing whether his words rattled me. Instead, I take another slow bite, letting the vors settle on my tongue.


    The tension lingers between us, thick and suffocating. I wonder if Marishka notices¡ªif she senses the storm brewing beneath the quiet. But when she reappears, carrying a cheesecake, her face remains warm, untouched by the hostility at the table.


    "I hope you two are excited for the cheesecake," she says, setting the tes down with gentle care.


    I offer her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Marishka. It looks amazing."


    Matthew doesn¡¯t respond. He just stares at his te.


    Marishka clucks her tongue, shaking her head. "No brooding at the table," she chides lightly. "Eat. Enjoy."


    I pick up my fork again, cutting into the cheesecake. The rich, creamy texture melts in my mouth.


    Matthew exhales sharply, picking up his fork as well. He doesn¡¯t look at me when he finally takes a bite.


    "This is delicious," I tell Marishka when she returns to check on us. Her weathered face brightens, and for a moment, I envy her simple joy in feeding others.


    "Old family recipe," she says, patting my shoulder. "Good for the baby too. Calcium." She nods knowingly.


    Matthew shifts in his seat. "It is very good, Marishka. You are an amazing cook."


    Marishka beams at him. "Thank you!" she says before leaving the room.


    I watch Matthew¡¯s throat work as he swallows another bite of cheesecake.


    "You have cheesecake crumb on your lip," he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth.


    I resist the urge to lick my lips under his scrutiny. Instead, I reach for my napkin, but his grip on my wrist tightens slightly.


    Before I can do anything, his free hand reaches across the table. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, lingering longer than necessary.


    I hate how a simple touch can make my breath hitch, even when I am angry at him.


    I pull back, dabbing at my mouth with my napkin instead. "Thanks," I say stiffly.


    Matthew¡¯s lips twitch, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn¡¯t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving mine.


    My phone rings, the sudden noise slicing through the tension like a knife. I look at the screen and my heart nearly jumps.


    Josh.


    I hesitate for a moment, my finger hovering over the screen as Matthew watches me intently, his jaw set, his gaze darkening once more. His eyes flick to my phone, then back to me.


    I could ignore it. I could turn the phone face down, pretend I didn¡¯t hear it, and let the awkward silence return. But I don¡¯t want to. Not tonight.


    I swipe the screen, answering the call without looking away from Matthew. "Hey, Josh," I say, my voice just a little too bright.


    "Hey," Josh¡¯s voice is warm andforting. "How¡¯s everything going?"


    "It¡¯s... going," I reply, my words trailing off. I take a steadying breath, trying to keep the conversation light. "I¡¯m eating, just finishing up dinner."


    Matthew¡¯s fingers drum lightly against the edge of his te, the tension radiating from him like heat.


    Josh¡¯s voice breaks through my thoughts. "Are you okay? You seem down."


    "I am fine," I say, thinking about ending the call there. But when I see Matthew ring at me, I change my mind. "Hey, Josh. Do you mind giving me a ride somewhere tomorrow morning?" I ask.


    I look at Matthew and watch him mouth the words, ¡¯don¡¯t you dare¡¯ and make up my mind even more.


    "Of course. Where do you need me to take you?" Josh asks, his tone kind and eager to help.


    I smile slightly, despite the tension. "I have an appointment. I¡¯ll text you the detailster. Thanks, Josh."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes are burning into me now, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white. I can feel his anger rolling off of him in waves, but I refuse to back down.

 Chapter 56: Six Weeks

    <h4>Chapter 56: Six Weeks</h4>


    Sarah


    I sit on the edge of my bed. The clock on my nightstand reads 9:17 AM. Josh will be here in a few minutes.


    I smooth my hands over my blouse. I¡¯ve kept my makeup minimal, just enough to hide the shadows under my eyes from another restless night.


    Matthew didn¡¯te to bed. After dinner and my call with Josh, he disappeared into his study.


    He can sulk all he wants, but I won¡¯t be bothered by it.


    I ce my hand on my still-t stomach, feeling the barely-there firmness beneath my palm. "Just us today," I whisper.


    The distant sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts. I stand, gather my bag and phone, and make my way down the stairs.


    The foyer is empty, sunlight streaming through the stained ss panels of the front door. I reach for the handle, but a voice stops me.


    "You¡¯re really going with him."


    Matthew stands at the entrance to the living room.


    "My appointment is at ten," I say, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. "So yes, I am heading out now."


    "With Josh," he adds.


    I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. "Yes, with Josh. You made it clear you weren¡¯t interested. You can still change your mind ande with me."


    Matthew takes a step toward me, then stops as if hitting an invisible barrier. "Sarah¡ª"


    The doorbell rings, interrupting whatever he was about to say.


    "Well, I better go. Don¡¯t want to bete," I say and hurried to open the door.


    Josh stands on the porch, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, a rxed smile on his face.


    "Morning," he greets. "Ready to go?"


    "Yeah," I reply, stepping outside.


    Josh opens the passenger side door for me, and I slide in, grateful for the gesture. As he rounds the car, I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to rx.


    "So where are we going?" he asks as he starts the engine.


    "To the clinic," I reply.


    Josh¡¯s face contorts with worry. "The clinic? Are you sick?"


    I smile wryly. "No, I am not sick. I am pregnant."


    Josh¡¯s head jerks slightly as he turns to look at me, his brows knitting together in surprise.


    "Pregnant?" he repeats.


    I nod, my fingers absently brushing over my stomach. "Yeah."


    "Wow, Sarah. That¡¯s great. Congrattions!" he says. "I bet Matthew is thrilled."


    A bitterugh escapes me before I can stop it. I nce out the window, watching the scenery blur past. "Thrilled isn¡¯t exactly the word I¡¯d use."


    Josh frowns. "What do you mean?"


    I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers against my temples. "He¡¯s...plicated. Distant. It¡¯s like he doesn¡¯t know how to react. Or doesn¡¯t want to."


    Josh is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. "That doesn¡¯t make sense."


    I swallow hard. "I Know. Don¡¯t worry about it."


    Josh gives me a sidelong nce as he navigates the winding road leading to town. "I¡¯m trying not to worry, but you look exhausted."


    I stare at my hands folded in myp. "I¡¯m fine."


    "You keep saying that," he says quietly. "But I don¡¯t think you are."


    The gentle concern in his voice nearly breaks me. I blink rapidly, fighting back tears that seem determined to fall. I will not cry. Not today.


    "It¡¯splicated," I finally say. "Matthew and I... we¡¯ve been going through some things."


    Josh nods, keeping his eyes on the road. "You don¡¯t have to exin. But you should tell me when you are ready. I am here for you."


    I nod silently, looking away.


    When we finally arrive at the clinic, I let him escort me inside.


    The waiting room is quiet, save for the low hum of conversation and the asional rustle of magazine pages.


    I check in at the front desk, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as the receptionist types in my information. Josh stands beside me, his presence steady. I wonder what Matthew is doing right at this moment.


    "You okay?" he asks under his breath.


    I nod, but my stomach twists.


    Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before a nurse finally calls my name. I stand, smoothing my blouse, and nce at Josh.


    "Thank you for being here," I say.


    "Take care, Sarah. I will be here waiting," he says.


    I offer him a small, grateful smile before following the nurse down the hallway. The walls are painted in soft, muted colors, meant to be calming, but my nerves are anything but.


    The exam room is quiet, save for the rustling of paper as the nurse jots down notes on her clipboard. She asks me a few routine questions before instructing me to wait for the doctor.


    As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, the silence bes suffocating. I take a slow breath, pressing a hand against my stomach.


    I wish Matthew were here.


    I hate that I wish that.


    I hate that even after everything¡ªhis distance, his coldness¡ªsome part of me still wants him to care.


    A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and the doctor enters, offering a warm smile. "Good morning, Sarah. How are you feeling?"


    I force a smile. "A little nervous, I guess."


    "That¡¯spletely normal," she assures me as she pulls on a pair of gloves. "We will do a physical exam to determine how long you¡¯ve been pregnant. Are you ready?"


    I nod, though my throat feels tight. "Yeah. Let¡¯s do it."


    The doctor moves efficiently, exining each step as she goes. I try to focus on her words, on the sterile scent of the room, on anything but the gnawing ache in my chest.


    "Based on yourst period and what I see here, I¡¯d estimate you¡¯re about six weeks along," she says, offering a reassuring smile.


    Six weeks.


    I exhale slowly, my hand instinctively resting on my stomach. It feels more real now¡ªmore than just an idea.


    "You¡¯re doing great," the doctor continues. "We¡¯ll schedule your next appointment and go over prenatal care, but everything looks good so far."


    "Thank you," I whisper.


    ~-~


    Josh stands as soon as he sees me, his eyes scanning my face.


    "Everything okay?" he asks.


    I nod and manage a small smile as I hand him the ultrasound picture. "Everything¡¯s fine."


    Josh studies the image for a moment before his gaze lifts to mine. "Sarah, that¡¯s amazing."


    I exhale slowly. "Yeah. It is."


    He hesitates. "Do you want to go get some lunch?"


    I shake my head. "No, I think I better go home."


    "And do what? Come on, Sarah. We hadn¡¯t been able to catch up properly since I got back. So how about it? Spend some time with me and you can talk to me more about Matthew," Josh insists.


    I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the ultrasound picture. Part of me wants to retreat home and curl up in bed. But another part that feels unbearably alone¡ªwants to take Josh up on his offer.


    "Alright," I say finally, exhaling. "Lunch sounds good."


    Josh grins. "Great. There¡¯s a little caf¨¦ not far from here. I think you¡¯ll like it."


    We head to his car, and as he drives, I nce down at the ultrasound again. The tiny speck on the image represents so much more than I can put into words. A new life. A terrifying, beautiful change.


    Josh pulls into a parking lot outside a quiet caf¨¦ withrge windows and hanging nts by the entrance. It¡¯s cozy, weing. Exactly what I need right now.


    Once inside, we settle into a booth near the window, and a waitress brings us menus. I skim the options, but my appetite is nonexistent. Josh notices.


    "You should eat something," he says gently.


    "I know," I murmur, setting the menu down. "I¡¯m just... distracted."


    "By Matthew?" he guesses.


    I press my lips together. "By everything."


    Josh leans back in his seat, watching me carefully. "Sarah, talk to me. What¡¯s going on with him?"


    I let out a slow breath. "He just... he really hates me."


    Josh frowns. "Hates you? What are you talking about? You are married to him. You¡¯re carrying his baby."


    "Yeah," I say bitterly.


    Josh¡¯s jaw tightens. "Tell me why, Sarah. You deserve better than that."


    I stare down at my hands. "I don¡¯t know what I deserve anymore."


    Josh reaches across the table, resting his hand over mine. "You deserve someone who won¡¯t make you question your worth. And if Matthew isn¡¯t that person, then maybe it¡¯s time to figure out what you really want."


    I swallow hard, looking out the window. I wish it were that simple.


    But nothing about this is simple.


    Not Matthew.


    Not this baby.


    Not me.


    Maybe I should tell Josh what happened after all.

 Chapter 57: Date Me

    <h4>Chapter 57: Date Me</h4>


    Back then...


    Matthew


    My brain short-circuits. I stare at Sarah, then at Mr. Wilson, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.


    "I need some air," I finally manage, rising to my feet so quickly that my chair nearly topples backward. "Excuse me."


    I don¡¯t wait for permission. I stride out of the office, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor. I make my way to the elevator, jabbing at the button repeatedly.


    When the doors finally slide open, I step inside and lean against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath. What just happened? How did I go from potentially being fired to apparently dating the boss¡¯s daughter?


    The elevator doors open at the lobby, and I walk straight out of the building, loosening my tie as I gulp down fresh air. My phone buzzes in my pocket.


    Sarah: Meet me at the park across the street in 10 minutes. We need to talk.


    I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. Every instinct tells me to ignore it, to walk away, to call Amanda and beg her to listen. But I need answers.


    Ten minutester, I find Sarah sitting on a bench beneath a sprawling oak tree, her hair catching the sunlight. She looks up as I approach.


    "What the hell was that?" I demand, not bothering with pleasantries.


    Sarah pats the space beside her. "Sit down, Matthew."


    "I¡¯d rather stand."


    She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I saved your job."


    "By telling your father we¡¯re dating?" I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. "Sarah, I¡¯m in love with Amanda."


    Something flickers across her face¡ªdisappointment, maybe anger. "She left you."


    "Because of you!" The words burst out of me, louder than I intended.


    Sarah¡¯s expression shifts, her eyes darting away. "No one forced you to get drunk that night, Matthew."


    I shake my head, trying to suppress the anger rising in my chest. "Why are you doing this? What do you even get out of it?"


    She exhales, her gaze locking onto mine. "I told you. I saved your job. Will you please sit with me?"


    I exhale sharply and lower myself onto the bench, keeping a careful distance between us. "Talk," I say tly.


    Sarah studies me for a moment before speaking. "My father was going to fire you, Matthew. He thinks you took advantage of me."


    My jaw tightens. "You could¡¯ve just told him I didn¡¯t."


    She tilts her head. "He is very protective of me. I am his only child, after all."


    "So you lied?" I ask.


    "I didn¡¯t lie. I want to be with you, Matthew," she says.


    I let out a sharpugh, more out of disbelief than amusement. "Are you serious?"


    Sarah holds my gaze, unwavering. "Completely."


    I shake my head, raking a hand through my hair. "You think you can just decide that?"


    "I want us to decide it together. Let¡¯s give this a try, Matthew," she says.


    I stare at her, stunned. "You really want to date me?"


    Sarah nods. "Yes."


    Iugh, but there¡¯s no humor in it. "You can¡¯t be serious."


    "I am," she says simply. "You¡¯re angry now, I get that. But think about it¡ªreally think about it. My father believes we¡¯re together. You get to keep your job. And maybe...maybe you¡¯ll see that this isn¡¯t the worst thing that could happen."


    I clench my jaw, my pulse pounding. "And what if I say no?"


    Sarah studies me for a long moment. "Then my father finds out the truth. And you lose everything."


    My stomach tightens. "That sounds like ckmail."


    She shakes her head. "That¡¯s not what it is."


    "Isn¡¯t it?" I ask.


    "No. I am merely suggesting we date to keep up appearances so my father does not look at you as some sleazy opportunist. We can break up after a while if that¡¯s what you want," she says.


    I exhale, long and slow. "This is insane."


    Sarah smiles, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe. But you don¡¯t have a better option, do you?"


    I hate that she¡¯s right. I hate that she¡¯s backed me into a corner like this.


    And I hate that, despite everything, part of me is actually considering it.


    What the fuck is wrong with me?


    I nce at her, expecting to see smug satisfaction on her face. But instead, she just watches me with that same steady, calm expression.


    "You¡¯re not giving me much of a choice," I mutter.


    "You do have a choice," she says lightly. "You can walk away, lose your job, and deal with the fallout. Or you can agree, and we both get what we want."


    I let out a dry, humorlessugh. "You get what you want. I get ckmailed into being your boyfriend."


    Sarah sighs, like I¡¯m being difficult on purpose. "Matthew, I¡¯m not asking for much. Just pretend. y along when necessary. We¡¯ll set boundaries. And in a few months, when it¡¯s convenient, we¡¯ll break up. No harm, no foul."


    I rake a hand through my hair, frustration burning through me. "And what about Amanda?"


    She frowns. "What about her?"


    "You expect me to just forget about her?" I ask.


    Sarah¡¯s expression hardens slightly. "She already left you."


    I clench my jaw. "That¡¯s not true."


    She tilts her head. "Isn¡¯t it? She left, Matthew. She didn¡¯t fight for you. She didn¡¯t even hear you out."


    My stomach twists. It¡¯s not like I haven¡¯t had the same thoughts, but hearing them from her makes my blood boil.


    I stare at my hands, my fingers clenched into fists on myp. Sarah¡¯s right about one thing¡ªAmanda walked away. Didn¡¯t even give me a chance to exin. The memory of her cold eyes burns through me.


    "Just think about it," Sarah says, her voice softening. "This arrangement benefits us both."


    "How exactly does this benefit me?" I ask, bitterness edging my words.


    "You keep your job. You avoid the humiliation of everyone thinking you¡¯re some sleazy guy who got drunk and took advantage of the boss¡¯s daughter." She pauses, letting that sink in. "And who knows? Maybe you¡¯ll find that being with me isn¡¯t so terrible."


    I look up at her, really look at her. "I need time to think," I finally say.


    Sarah nods, standing from the bench. "Okay. But don¡¯t take too long." She smooths her skirt, then adds, "My father¡¯s hosting a dinner party Friday night. He¡¯ll expect you there. As my date."


    She walks away before I can respond, her heels clicking against the pavement, leaving me alone.

 Chapter 58: Friday Night

    <h4>Chapter 58: Friday Night</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Matthew


    I spend the next three days in a fog. At work, I avoid Sarah as much as possible, burying myself in projects, taking lunch at odd hours. But I can feel her watching me, waiting for my answer.


    Wednesday night, I find myself parked outside Amanda¡¯s apartment building. I¡¯ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, rehearsing what to say, wondering if she¡¯ll even open the door.


    My phone buzzes. Sarah again: Have you thought about Friday?


    I ignore it, pocketing my phone and finally gathering the courage to get out of the car. The walk to Amanda¡¯s door feels like crossing a minefield.


    I knock. Wait. Knock again.


    The door opens, and there she is. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, eyes tired. She¡¯s wearing an old sweatshirt I recognize¡ªone I¡¯d given herst Christmas.


    "Matthew." Her voice is t. Not angry, not sad. Just empty.


    "Can we talk?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.


    She hesitates, then steps back, allowing me inside.


    I swallow hard. "Amanda, about what happened¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t." She holds up a hand. "I don¡¯t want to hear it."


    "But you need to," I insist.


    She exhales through her nose, staring at me like I¡¯m something she¡¯s already decided to walk away from. "What do I need to hear? That you slept with Sarah? That you got drunk and somehow ended up in bed with her?" She shakes her head. "I know what happened. I just don¡¯t care anymore."


    Her words hit harder than I expected.


    "You do care," I say, stepping closer. "Otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t be looking at me like that."


    She scoffs, running a hand down her face. "God, Matthew, you still don¡¯t get it." She turns away, pacing toward the kitchen before spinning back around. "You don¡¯t fix betrayal with exnations. You don¡¯t undo what you did with some heartfelt apology."


    I clench my jaw. "I didn¡¯t betray you."


    Amanda lets out a dryugh. "Oh, right. You just identally fell into her bed. Silly me."


    I scrub a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I was drunk, Amanda. She¡ª" I stop myself. I know how this sounds. Like I¡¯m making excuses. Like I¡¯m putting the me on Sarah when I was the one who let it happen.


    She studies me, then shakes her head again. "You know, I spent days¡ªdays¡ªtrying to figure out if I was angrier at you or at myself."


    I frown. "At yourself?"


    "For trusting you," she says, voice breaking just slightly. "For thinking we were different. That you were different."


    Guilt knots in my stomach.


    "Amanda, I¡ª"


    She holds up a hand again, cutting me off. "Whatever you came here hoping for, Matthew... it¡¯s not happening. We¡¯re done. We¡¯ve been done."


    Pain grips my chest like a vice, but I can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t see thising.


    She exhales, softer now. "Please, just let me move on."


    I stare at her for a long moment, hoping¡ªpraying¡ªthat she¡¯ll change her mind. That she¡¯ll take it back.


    She doesn¡¯t.


    Finally, I nod. "Okay."


    I turn to leave, every step heavier than thest. When I reach the door, I pause, ncing back onest time.


    She¡¯s already looking away. Like I¡¯m nothing more than a memory she¡¯s trying to forget.


    I step outside, closing the door behind me, and just stand there in the hallway. Empty.


    My phone buzzes again.


    Sarah: See you Friday.


    I grip my phone so tightly my knuckles turn white.


    It¡¯s not like I expected Amanda to take me back¡ªI knew the damage was too deep. But hearing it, seeing it in her eyes... it fucking hurts.


    I inhale sharply, forcing my feet to move. Down the hall, down the stairs, out into the cold night air. My hands shake as I unlock my car, slipping inside and gripping the steering wheel.


    For a moment, I just sit there.


    Then, before I can stop myself, I type out a reply.


    Me: Fine.


    I hit send.


    I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m making a deal with the devil or just epting the inevitable. But either way, on Friday, I¡¯ll be by Sarah¡¯s side.


    Fuck it.


    I will indulge Sarah this Friday, and then I will be looking for another job.


    Friday will be the end of it.


    That¡¯s what I tell myself as I drive home, gripping the wheel like it¡¯s the only thing keeping me together.


    By Monday, I¡¯ll have a resignation letter drafted.


    New job, new start.


    ~-~


    Fridayes too quickly.


    I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, adjusting my tie for the third time. Sarah had texted me the details yesterday: dinner at Luciano¡¯s."


    I check my watch. Seven fifteen. I should have left five minutes ago.


    Part of me still wants to bail, to text Sarah that I can¡¯t do this after all. But I am the man of my word. I said, I will show up, so I will do just that.


    I need this job. At least for now.


    My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah: "Can¡¯t wait to see you. ??"


    I don¡¯t respond. Instead, I grab my keys and wallet, forcing myself out the door before I can change my mind.


    Luciano¡¯s is packed when I arrive. Through the window, I can see Sarah already seated at a table near the back, wearing a dark blue dress that clings to her curves. She looks up as if sensing me, her face brightening with a smile.


    I take a deep breath and push open the door.


    "Matthew," she says as I approach, rising slightly to kiss my cheek. Her perfume is expensive, overwhelming. "You look handsome."


    "Thanks," I manage, sliding into the seat across from her. "You look nice."


    She beams like I¡¯ve just handed her the moon. "I ordered us wine. I hope that¡¯s okay."


    I nod, scanning the restaurant. "Is your fathering?"


    "Maybeter," she says, reaching across the table to touch my hand. I resist the urge to pull away. "But let¡¯s not worry about that. Tonight is about us."


    There is no "us," I want to say. But I don¡¯t. Instead, I force a smile and pick up the menu.


    "Have you been here before?" she asks, her fingers still resting lightly on my wrist.


    "Once," I reply. "With Amanda."


    Sarah¡¯s smile falters for just a second before she recovers. "Well, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find tonight¡¯s experience much more enjoyable."


    I doubt it, but I keep that thought to myself.


    The waiter arrives with our wine, a bottle that costs more than I¡¯d usually spend on dinner for two.


    "So," she says once the waiter leaves, leaning forward slightly. "Tell me something I don¡¯t know about you, Matthew."


    I take a long sip of wine. "I¡¯m actively looking for another job."


    Her smile freezes. "That¡¯s not funny."


    I grin despite my ck mood. "I am not joking."


    Sarah pouts and I have to admit, she kind of looks cute when she does that.


    She swirls her wine, eyes narrowing slightly. "I don¡¯t see why you¡¯d want to leave. You¡¯ve got a good thing going."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Do I?"


    Her pout deepens. "Of course you do. You¡¯re talented, respected...and you have me."


    Thatst part makes my stomach twist. I set my ss down, studying her. "Sarah, what exactly do you want from me?"


    She blinks, tilting her head as if the question surprises her. "What do you mean?"


    "I mean this." I gesture between us. "What¡¯s the endgame here? Because I¡¯m not interested in whatever fantasy you¡¯ve cooked up."


    Her lips press together, and for the first time tonight, she looks genuinely irritated. "Matthew, don¡¯t be so dramatic."


    I exhale sharply. "Just be honest with me, Sarah."


    She leans back, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine ss. "Fine," she says after a pause. "I might be little in love with you."


    Iugh out loud at that. "That¡¯s ridiculous."


    Her big green eyes widen. "I am serious! Have you ever heard of love at first sight?"


    I waive my hand in dismissal. "It¡¯s not a real thing."


    "It¡¯s not," I protest.


    "It is too!" she counters.


    I shake my head, letting out a dry chuckle. "Sarah, you don¡¯t love me. You don¡¯t even know me."


    She tilts her head, lips curling into a slow smile. "I know enough."


    I take another sip of wine, forcing myself to stay calm. "You are young and foolish."


    Sarah leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You¡¯re scared."


    I snort. "Of what?"


    "Of feeling something for me."


    I shake my head,ughing under my breath. "Sarah, this isn¡¯t a romance novel. You¡¯re not going to fix me, and I¡¯m not going to suddenly realize you¡¯re the love of my life."


    "It will happen. I don¡¯t get why you are so hung up on Amanda. She is so...stuck up. And boring," Sarah deres.


    I let out a small chuckle. "Sarah, you really have a way of convincing yourself, don¡¯t you?"


    She shrugs with a grin. "What can I say? I know what I want."


    I lean back in my chair, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that?"


    She tilts her head, her eyes sparkling with that confident energy. "You, obviously."


    I stare at her across the table, torn between irritation and a grudging admiration for her sheer audacity. There¡¯s something almost hypnotic about her confidence¡ªthe way she deres she wants me with such unwavering certainty, as if the universe has already agreed to her demands and is simply waiting for me to catch up.


    "You¡¯re unbelievable," I mutter, shaking my head.

 Chapter 59: One Kiss

    <h4>Chapter 59: One Kiss</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Sarah


    I have him. I can already feel it.


    His wall is breaking. Bit by bit. And soon, he will fall in love with me and forget all about Amanda.


    The waiter appears with our appetizers, and I watch as Matthew shifts ufortably in his seat. He¡¯s trying so hard to maintain his distance, but I can see the cracks forming.


    "Tell me something," he says after the waiter leaves. "Did we actually sleep together that night?"


    I pause, my fork hovering over my te. "Does it matter now?"


    His eyes darken. "Yes, it fucking matters."


    I set my fork down carefully. "You really don¡¯t remember?"


    "No," he says, voice tight. "I don¡¯t."


    I consider him for a moment, weighing my options. The truth is a dangerous thing¡ªit can set you free or destroy everything you¡¯ve built.


    "I told you," I say finally. "It happened. Can we stop talking about it now?"


    "Hmm..." he hums but doesn¡¯t push the matter.


    I take a bite of my appetizer, savoring the taste as I let the quiet stretch out. I know it¡¯s only a matter of time before the next crack in his armores.


    "So," I begin. "Tell me about your family."


    He looks at me. "My family?"


    I nod. "Yeah. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"


    He leans back in his seat, setting his fork down, clearly taken aback by the shift in conversation.


    "I have a younger sister. Her name is Hailey," he replies.


    I lean in a little, intrigued. "Hailey," I repeat. "What¡¯s she like?"


    Matthew runs a hand through his hair, his gaze momentarily flicking away as if he¡¯s trying to gather his thoughts. "She¡¯s... smart. Funny. A little wild, I guess," he says, the edge in his voice softening just a fraction. "She¡¯s a handful, but she¡¯s my little sister. I love her."


    There¡¯s a softness in his tone when he speaks about her, and it makes me smile.


    "Sounds like you¡¯re close," I remark.


    He shrugs, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We are. But she is quite young. Just like you."


    I can¡¯t help but smile back. "I am not that young!"


    Matthew¡¯s gaze narrows at my protest. "You¡¯re like what, neen?"


    "Twenty next month," I correct, leaning forward. "And age is just a number."


    He takes a slow sip of wine, studying me over the rim of his ss. "Is that what you tell yourself?"


    I shrug, unfazed by his condescension. "It¡¯s what I know. My mother was five years younger than my father."


    "And how did that work out?" he asks, a sharp edge to his voice.


    I feel my smile falter, just for a second. "They are happy."


    Until they weren¡¯t, but he doesn¡¯t need to know that part.


    Matthew sighs, setting his ss down. "Look, Sarah¡ª"


    "No," I interrupt, reaching for his hand across the table. This time, he doesn¡¯t pull away. Progress. "You don¡¯t have to exin why you think this won¡¯t work. I already know all your objections."


    His eyebrow arches. "Do you now?"


    I count them off on my fingers. "You¡¯re still hung up on Amanda. You think I¡¯m too young. You¡¯re worried about your job." I lean closer, lowering my voice. "But none of that matters, Matthew. Not really."


    Heughs, the sound dry and disbelieving. "And why is that?"


    "Because I¡¯m patient," I say simply. "And I always get what I want."


    "You¡¯re very confident," he remarks.


    I smile. "It¡¯s one of my best qualities."


    The waiter returns with our entrees, and I watch as Matthew cuts into his steak, movements precise and controlled.


    "So," I say, taking a bite of my food. "Tell me more about Hailey. What does she do?"


    Matthew hesitates like he¡¯s deciding whether to indulge me or shut down the conversation. Finally, he relents. "She¡¯s in college. Art major."


    "That¡¯s wonderful," I say, genuinely interested. "Is she talented?"


    A ghost of a smile passes over his face. "Very. She¡¯s always been creative, even as a kid."


    Iugh. "My father would have had a stroke if I chose art instead of business."


    "Is he controlling?" Matthew observes.


    I nod, twirling pasta around my fork. "He is a little. But he loves me. He¡¯d do anything for me."


    "Including pressuring his employee to date you?" Matthew asks, his voice quiet but pointed.


    I meet his gaze steadily. "He didn¡¯t pressure you! It was all me."


    Matthew studies me for a long moment. "You are something else, Sarah."


    "Am I?" I tilt my head. "I¡¯m just enjoying myself."


    He snorts softly. "At least one of us is."


    I refuse to let his mood dampen mine. "You could try, you know. It might not be so terrible."


    "Dating the boss¡¯s daughter under duress?" He raises an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I don¡¯t see the appeal."


    "It¡¯s only duress if you¡¯re not willing," I counter, leaning forward. "And I think there¡¯s a part of you that is."


    Matthew sets his fork down, eyes darkening. "Don¡¯t tter yourself."


    "I don¡¯t need to." I reach for my wine, taking a slow sip. "Your eyes do it for me."


    Heughs, shaking his head. "You¡¯re delusional."


    "Am I?" I hold his gaze. "Then why are you still here?"


    "I don¡¯t know. The food is great here," he says, his eyes are twinkling with amusement. "Your dad never showed up."


    "That¡¯s because it¡¯s a date and it¡¯d be awkward if he was here," I dere.


    "So you lie to me to get me here?" Matthew furrows his brows.


    "A little. Hey, do you want to go for a walk in the park after this?" I suggest and look at him expectantly, even though I know he will say no.


    "Yeah...sure," he says, surprising me.


    I beam at him. "Really? You¡¯re actually up for it?"


    He nods, a faint smirk still tugging at his lips. "Yeah, why not? It¡¯s a date, right?"


    My heart sings with happiness. This night is going better than I ever imagined.


    Matthew pays for dinner despite my protests¡ªa gentlemanly gesture that sends a small thrill through me. Maybe he¡¯s warming up to this arrangement more quickly than I expected.


    The night air is cool as we step outside, stars scattered across the dark canvas above us. Matthew walks beside me, hands in his pockets, shoulders less tense than they were inside the restaurant.


    "This way," I say, leading him toward the park entrance.


    "So," Matthew says after we¡¯ve walked in silence for a minute. "What happens when you don¡¯t get what you want?"


    I shrug, my shoulder brushing against his arm. "I find another way."


    He chuckles, the sound surprisingly genuine. "I¡¯m starting to think you¡¯re a little dangerous, Sarah Wilson."


    "Only to those who underestimate me," I reply, feeling bold.


    We reach a small bridge arching over a narrow stream, and I pause, leaning against the railing. Matthew stands beside me, looking down at the water rippling below.


    "Can I ask you something?" I say, turning to face him.


    He nods, eyes reflecting themplight. "Go ahead."


    "Why do you like Amanda so much?" I ask.


    "She sees me," he says finally, voice low. "The real me. Not some version she created in her head."


    I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "And you think I don¡¯t see you?"


    "I know you don¡¯t." He turns to face me fully now. "You see what you want to see. A fantasy."


    "That¡¯s not true," I protest, stepping closer to him. "I see you, Matthew. I see how loyal you are, how dedicated. I see how you protect the people you care about."


    Heughs, the sound hollow. "You¡¯ve known me for what, a few months? And most of that time, we barely spoke."


    "Sometimes you just know," I see softly.


    Matthew shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about, Sarah. This fantasy you¡¯ve built up."


    "It¡¯s not a fantasy," I insist, reaching for his hand. He lets me take it, which I count as another small victory. "Give me a chance to prove it."


    The moonlight catches his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight furrow between his brows. God, he¡¯s beautiful when he¡¯s conflicted.


    "Will you kiss me?" I whisper.


    His eyes turn wide. "Sarah..."


    "Just one kiss. A real one. I don¡¯t want to force you, but..."


    "Fine," he interrupts. "Just one kiss."


    I step closer, heart pounding in my chest, and let go of his hand, my fingers brushing against his palm just briefly before I reach for his face. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his.


    "Just one kiss," he repeats, and his voice is rough, almost like a warning.


    I smile softly, a touch of mischief in my eyes. "Just one."


    And then, finally, the space between us closes. Matthew leans down, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that¡¯s not gentle, but not rough either. It¡¯s like a pull, an unspoken demand, but also a quiet surrender. I feel his hesitation at first, like he¡¯s unsure, but then it fades.


    I pull back just slightly, our lips still inches away from each other. My lips curve into a small, victorious smile.


    "See?" I whisper, my voice barely audible against the cool night air. "It wasn¡¯t so bad, was it?"


    He doesn¡¯t respond right away, his breath still uneven, but his eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race.


    "You¡¯re trouble, Sarah Wilson," he says after a beat.

 Chapter 60: Sailing

    <h4>Chapter 60: Sailing</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Matthew


    It would be a bold-faced lie if I said I didn¡¯t feel anything when I kissed Sarah Wilson.


    Unfortunately, that¡¯s the problem. I felt something¡ªa lot more than I should have.


    I watch her walk next to me, her back straight and her shoulders confident, as if she¡¯s already won. And in a way, I suppose she has. I never expected her to press me like this. I certainly never expected that kiss. I had hoped I could keep it simple, keep it controlled, but she¡¯s like a force I can¡¯t seem to outrun.


    And that damn kiss...


    It was supposed to be nothing. Just a moment to shut her up. A little exchange that would let her feel like she had won, to quiet that cocky little smile of hers.


    But instead, it made my pulse spike. It left me with a lingering warmth I couldn¡¯t ignore, a fire that I didn¡¯t want to admit was there.


    I drag my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the heat crawling up my neck. "Get it together," I mutter under my breath.


    She turns around. "Did you say something?"


    I stop walking. "Where are you going?"


    "To the dock," she replies.


    I raise an eyebrow. "What¡¯s there?"


    "A boat. I thought you¡¯d enjoy going sailing. My dad gave it to me when I turned seventeen."


    Of course, he did.


    "You don¡¯t have to go if you don¡¯t want to," she says, looking back at me.


    I force a smile. "It¡¯s fine. Lead the way."


    She starts walking again, her pace steady but casual.


    We reach the dock, and the sight of the boat catches me off guard. It¡¯s a small sailboat, sleek and well-maintained.


    She gestures toward it with a grin. "Well? What do you think?"


    I nod, unable to mask the surprise in my voice. "It¡¯s nice." I pause, ncing at her. "Do you actually know how to sail?"


    "Of course I do," she chirps. "Daddy taught me when I was thirteen."


    I follow her to the boat. "Isn¡¯t it dangerous to sail at night?"


    "No, its not. Come on," she says, already climbing aboard with the ease of someone who¡¯s done it a thousand times.


    "It¡¯s not going to be a long trip," she says, moving around the boat, checking things I don¡¯t understand. "Just around the bay and back."


    I stand awkwardly, unsure where to ce myself. "Need any help?"


    She looks up, a genuine smile recing her usual smirk. "Actually, yes. Can you untie us from the dock?"


    I do it while she continues her preparations. The boat rocks gently beneath us, and as we drift away from the dock, I realize I¡¯ve just willingly put myself at her mercy. Out here, I can¡¯t just walk away when things get ufortable.


    "Sit there," she instructs, pointing to a spot across from her. "And duck when I tell you to. The boom can swing pretty fast."


    "The what?" I ask, but she¡¯s already pulling on ropes, and suddenly the sail catches wind, filling like a lung taking a deep breath.


    The boat lurches forward, and I grab the side to steady myself. Sarahughs, and this time it¡¯s real¡ªfull and bright, carried away on the wind.


    "Rx, Matthew," she calls over the sound of water pping against the hull. "I promise not to drown you."


    The problem is, I¡¯m already drowning. Just not in the way she means.


    Herughter lingers in the air, and for a moment, I find myself smiling. She is easy to be around in this space, in the quiet rhythm of the water and the subtle sway of the boat.


    "You¡¯re getting the hang of it," she teases.


    "Yeah, sitting here is easy," I mutter, adjusting my position, my hands still gripping the edge of the boat like it¡¯s the only thing holding me together.


    Sarah steadies the wheel, her focus sharp as she steers the boat into a curve. The wind catches the sail, and I¡¯m reminded of how much control she has over all of this. Over everything.


    "I didn¡¯t expect you to be so...," I trail off, trying to find the right word, buting up short.


    "So...what?" she asks.


    "So...skilled at something like this," I finish quietly.


    Her smile widens. "You thought I am some spoiled princess who doesn¡¯t do anything but shop and party?"


    I chuckle at that. "Of course not. I saw how you handled things at your father¡¯spany. You are clearly capable of doing things more than leisurely things."


    Sarah blushes. "Thanks."


    "So, you¡¯ve done this a lot?" I ask.


    "Yeah," she says with a shrug, her eyes scanning the horizon. "It rxes me."


    I nod. "I can see that. It¡¯s really nice out here," I say as I reach down and touch the water.


    "Out here, the world feels smaller. Lessplicated," she says.


    "True," I remark.


    "And I thought it would cheer you up. Do you feel better?" she asks and looks at me curiously.


    I don¡¯t reply to that. Instead, I ask, "You really do like me, don¡¯t you Sarah?"


    She smiles at that. "Yes. I do. I know it¡¯s some kind of young girl crush, but it¡¯s not. It¡¯s more than that."


    "I see," I say, aware that my voice sounded raspy.


    "Can youe and sit next to me for a bit?" she asks.


    I hesitate for a moment then slide across the boat carefully, trying not to rock it too much, and sit next to her. There¡¯s something soft and genuine about her voice that makes it hard to say no to her.


    Sarah nces at me, her lips curling into a small smile. "I¡¯ve never taken someone in my boat before," she admits. "It¡¯s my quiet time. But I guess... I just wanted you to be here."


    I look at her, trying to read the sincerity in her eyes. "I¡¯m here."


    And I mean it. There¡¯s something about this moment, the quiet between us, that feels like more than just the night or the boat. It feels like we¡¯re two people, maybe for the first time, letting down our guards.


    "I¡¯m d," she says, almost to herself, as she leans back slightly against the side of the boat, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the moon.


    I follow her lead, leaning back too, the cool breeze stirring my hair. There¡¯s no rush to speak, no pressure to fill the silence with words. We just sit there, letting the boat carry us through the still waters.


    For a while, it¡¯s just us and the world around us¡ªno expectations, no obligations, just a simple kind of peace that feels like it¡¯s been a long timeing.


    I turn to Sarah after a while, my voice quieter now. "I don¡¯t know what I was expecting from tonight, but this... this is good."


    "Just...good?" she presses.


    "Don¡¯t push it, Wilson," I tease.


    "Okay, fine. I will take it. At least you aren¡¯t saying you are miserable," she says and leans toward me.


    I narrow my eyes. "What are you doing?"


    "I want to kiss again. Can we?" she breathes.

 Chapter 61: Give Me a Chance

    <h4>Chapter 61: Give Me a Chance</h4>


    Matthew


    I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Sarah..."


    I don¡¯t finish the thought. Her eyes are locked on mine. She looks so hopeful that it makes my heart squeeze.


    "You know this is a bad idea," I say, but I don¡¯t move away.


    "Most good things are," she whispers, her breath warm against my face.


    I should say no. I should remind her of all the reasons this can¡¯t happen¡ªAmanda, age difference, her father, my job. But out here on the water, those reasons feel distant, like they belong to another life.


    "Just one more," I hear myself say.


    She smiles, slowly closing the distance between us.


    The kiss is gentle at first, tentative, as if she¡¯s asking permission. Then I feel her hand on my cheek, and something inside me surrenders.


    I kiss her back, really kiss her this time. Not to prove a point or shut her up, but because I want to. Because the taste of her is intoxicating, and the small sigh she makes against my mouth is the most honest sound I¡¯ve heard in years.


    When we break apart, I keep my eyes closed for a moment, trying to regain myposure.


    "That wasn¡¯t nothing," she says softly.


    I open my eyes to find her watching me, her expression unguarded. "I guess not," I admit.


    She reaches for my hand, and I let her take it, our fingers intertwining. The boat drifts peacefully, the sail fluttering in the gentle breeze.


    "I¡¯m not asking for promises, Matthew," she says. "I just wanted you to know that this is real for me."


    I squeeze her hand, unable to offer words that would match her honesty. Instead, I look up at the vast sky above us, stars scattered like secrets waiting to be discovered.


    "We should head back," I finally say. "It looks like it might rain soon."


    She nods, reluctantly letting go of my hand to adjust the sail. The boat responds to her touch, turning smoothly toward the distant lights of the dock.


    As we sail back, I watch her¡ªthe focused set of her jaw, the way she moves with such certainty. She¡¯s not just a spoiled rich girl or the boss¡¯s daughter. She¡¯s Sarah Wilson,plicated and surprising, and I¡¯m beginning to realize just how dangerous that is for my carefully constructed life.


    The dockes into view too quickly. Soon, we¡¯ll be back on solid ground, where the rules are clear and the consequences real. But for now, I let myself exist in this moment with her.


    ~-~


    The next few days go by in a blur.


    I try distract myself from the whole incident with Amanda by keeping myself buried deep in work. Amanda still won¡¯t talk to me.


    Sarah and I didn¡¯t go on another date, but she¡¯s been showing up at my office with lunch. She calls them "working lunches," but I know better.


    Today, I¡¯m reviewing contracts when there¡¯s a soft knock at my door.


    "Come in," I call, not looking up from myputer.


    "Working hard or hardly working?" Sarah¡¯s voice fills the room, and despite myself, I feel the corners of my mouth turn up.


    "Some of us actually have responsibilities around here," I say.


    She sets a paper bag on my desk. "Thai food. I remembered you mentioned liking it."


    I finally look up at her. She¡¯s wearing a navy blue dress that hugs her curves in a way that makes me want to look away but can¡¯t. Her hair is pulled back, a few strands escaping to frame her face.


    "Thanks," I say, clearing my throat. "But I really am swamped today."


    "I know," she says, perching on the edge of my desk. "I won¡¯t stay. I just..." She hesitates, and I see a sh of vulnerability cross her face. "I just wanted to see you."


    The simple honesty of her words hits me like a physical blow. I lean back in my chair, putting distance between us.


    "Sarah¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t," she interrupts. "Don¡¯t give me a speech."


    Iugh. "You make me sound like an old, tired professor."


    "Then stop acting like one and enjoy life. If Amanda truly loved you, she would talk to you by now, wouldn¡¯t she? It has already been a month," Sarah says.


    Her words cut deeper than I expect. A month. It doesn¡¯t feel like that long, but she¡¯s right. Amanda¡¯s silence has stretched out like an open wound that refuses to heal.


    "You¡¯re direct," I say finally.


    "Mhm," she says, crossing her legs. "Now, eat your lunch before it gets cold."


    "Trying to buy my affection with food, are you?" I ask coyly.


    "You know I am, Matthew," she counters.


    I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "At least you¡¯re honest about it."


    I open the bag, the warm scent of Thai spices filling the air. It¡¯s a simple thing, but the fact that she remembered¡ªwhen I can barely remember thest time Amanda and I shared a meal that wasn¡¯t filled with tension¡ªdoes something to me.


    Sarah watches me as I take the first bite, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. "Good?"


    "Yeah," I admit. "It¡¯s good."


    She leans back slightly, resting her hands on the desk. "I know you think this is a bad idea, but I also know you don¡¯t regret that night."


    I swallow, setting my fork down. "Sarah¡ª"


    "You don¡¯t have to say anything," she interrupts. "Just... don¡¯t push me away because you think you should."


    "Okay," I say quietly.


    Her eyes light up like she¡¯s won something important. "Good. That¡¯s all I needed to hear."


    She slides off my desk with a grace that seems almost practiced, smoothing her dress as she stands.


    "I should go," she says, but doesn¡¯t move. "I have a meeting with Marketing in twenty minutes."


    "Right," I nod, picking up my fork again. "Thanks for lunch."


    My cell phone on the table suddenly starts to ring. The screen lights up, and my heart nearly stops.


    Amanda.


    Judging by the look on Sarah¡¯s face, I can tell she saw it too.

 Chapter 62: She Wants to Talk

    <h4>Chapter 62: She Wants to Talk</h4>


    Sarah


    I see the name on the screen and it makes my blood boil.


    Amanda.


    The woman he¡¯s been waiting for and rejecting me over and over again.


    Matthew snatches the phone off the desk without even blinking, as if I am not even here.


    The air turns ice cold.


    I take a step back, arms folding over my chest as he presses the phone to his ear.


    "Amanda," he says, his voice tight, full of emotions.


    I want to hate how quickly he answers. I want to hate how his face changes.


    I should leave. I should turn on my heel and walk out of this office with my head high, my pride intact.


    But I don¡¯t.


    I stay, watching, waiting.


    "...Yeah," Matthew says, rubbing his jaw. "I know."


    I can¡¯t hear her and it is killing me. What is she saying?


    He leans forward, resting his elbow on the desk. "When?" he asks eagerly.


    My stomach twists, my fingernails biting into my arms as I squeeze them tighter around myself. He sounds eager. Desperate, even.


    For her.


    I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing my expression to stay neutral even as my heart clenches.


    Matthew nods to whatever she¡¯s saying, his fingers drumming against the desk. He hasn¡¯t looked at me once since picking up that call. It¡¯s like I disappeared the second her name shed on the screen.


    I stand there, feeling like an idiot, like a child waiting for attention that will nevere. He¡¯s hanging onto her every word, nodding like she holds the universe in her hands. Like I never even existed.


    The paper bag with the half-eaten Thai food sits on his desk, forgotten. Just like me.


    He finally hangs up after what felt like an eternity and looks at me.


    For a moment, I see something like guilt sh across his face. But it¡¯s quickly reced with that distant look¡ªthe one I¡¯vee to recognize when he¡¯s thinking about her.


    "She wants to talk," he says. "Tonight."


    "I see," I manage, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. "After a month?"


    He runs his hand through his hair. "She said being away from me gave her the space she needed, and she is now ready to talk."


    "Right," I say, my voice nearly a whisper. "And what about you, Matthew? Have you just been sitting around, waiting for her to decide when you¡¯re worth her time again?"


    His jaw tightens. "It¡¯s not like that."


    "Isn¡¯t it?" I challenge, stepping closer.


    "I¡¯ve always loved Amanda. We have been together for a while, and she has every right to be angry at me because of what we did," he says sharply. If she wants to give me another chance, I will be a fool not to take it."


    "She leaves without listening to you. No calls, no messages. Nothing. And now you are going to drop everything for her," I scoff.


    He exhales heavily, looking down at his desk, at anything but me. "Sarah, I know this isn¡¯t what you want to hear¡ª"


    "No, Matthew," I snap and walk out of the office.


    I can¡¯t believe this is happening. Who does Amanda think she is? Just when things were going well with me and Matthew...


    I halt as an ideaes to mind.


    An idea that is twisted and somewhat cruel, but it may change the course of things. It may still get me what I want.


    I pull out my phone as I storm through the hallway.


    I duck into the empty conference room at the end of the hall, locking the door behind me. My hands are shaking as I scroll through my calendar app, counting days, calcting.


    Twenty-seven days since myst period. Notte enough to be concerning, but close enough to be believable.


    I stare at my reflection in the darkened window, watching my own face transform as the idea takes root.


    It¡¯s wrong. It¡¯s maniptive. It¡¯s exactly the kind of thing that would confirm what Matthew thinks about me.


    "Spoiled princess," I mutter to my reflection. "Daddy¡¯s little girl who always gets what she wants."


    Is this who I am? Someone who would lie about something so serious just to keep a man?


    I sink into one of the leather chairs, my mind racing. The boat, that night under the stars. The way he kissed me like he meant it. The way his fingers trembled slightly against my cheek.


    He felt something. I know he did.


    And now Amanda calls, and he¡¯s ready to run back to her without a second thought.


    "No," I whisper, straightening my spine. "Not this time."


    I¡¯ve never been the girl who loses. I¡¯ve never been the one left behind. Sarah Wilson doesn¡¯te in second ce¡ªnot in business, not in life, and certainly not in love.


    I pull up the browser on my phone, typing "early pregnancy symptoms" into the search bar. Morning sickness. Fatigue. Mood swings. Tender breasts. Food cravings or aversions.


    Simple enough to fake. Believable enough to buy me time.


    Time to make Matthew see what¡¯s right in front of him. Time to make him realize that what we have is worth fighting for.


    I know it¡¯s desperate. I know it¡¯s wrong. But the thought of him with Amanda, of losing him before we¡¯ve even had a chance, makes my chest ache in a way I¡¯ve never felt before.


    "Just long enough to make him see," I justify to myself, already nning how to y this. "Just until he realizes he doesn¡¯t want her anymore."


    I spend the next hour researching, nning, and preparing. By the time I leave the conference room, my decision is made.


    I spend the afternoon in meetings, smiling through presentations while my mind churns with possibilities. With each passing hour, my n crystallizes. By evening, I¡¯ve convinced myself it¡¯s the only way.


    I even purchased a fake pregnancy test and ultrasonogram picture online, which, surprisingly, is not so hard to find.


    At home, I stand in my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. "You¡¯re pregnant," I whisper, testing how the words feel in my mouth. "You¡¯re carrying Matthew¡¯s baby."


    The lie tastes bitter, but I push down the guilt. I think about Matthew with Amanda tonight, reconciling, falling back into theirfortable pattern while I¡¯m left alone, discarded after that magical night on the water.


    I ssh cold water on my face and change into silk pajamas. Then I pick up my phone and type out a message to Matthew: I need to see you tomorrow. It¡¯s important.


    Simple. Direct. Just enough urgency to make him concerned.


    His replyes faster than I expected: I¡¯m meeting with the Carter Group all morning. Can it wait until afternoon?


    I type back: 3 pm. I can¡¯t wait any longer than that.


    I put my phone down and lie in my bed. My mind says this was a bad idea, but my heart...it only wants to do whatever it takes to have Matthew.

 Chapter 63: It’s Tiny

    <h4>Chapter 63: It¡¯s Tiny</h4>


    Present time...


    Sarah


    No.


    I can¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t tell Josh about those days. He is one of the few people who still respects me now. If I tell him...


    "Sarah?"


    Josh¡¯s voice breaks through my thoughts. "You kind of zoned out there."


    I blink,ing back to the present. Josh is looking at me with concern, his brow furrowed.


    "Sorry," I say, forcing a smile. "Just got lost in thought."


    "You were about to tell me?" he prompts gently.


    I take a deep breath. For a moment, I had been ready to confess everything¡ªthe maniption, the desperation, the person I used to be. But the words die in my throat.


    "I just... I wasn¡¯t always a good person, Josh," I say instead, my voice barely above a whisper. "I did things I¡¯m not proud of."


    Josh reaches across the table and takes my hand. His palm is warm against mine, steady and reassuring.


    "We all have regrets," he says. "Things we wish we could take back."


    I look down at our intertwined fingers. "Mine are worse than most."


    "Sarah, whatever happened with Matthew¡ª"


    "No," I interrupt, pulling my hand away. "You don¡¯t understand."


    Josh is quiet for a moment, studying my face. "Then help me understand."


    I shake my head. "I can¡¯t today. I am so tired. Would you mind taking me home?"


    "But you barely ate anything," Josh protests.


    I offer a tight smile, pushing the half-full te away. "I just don¡¯t have much appetite."


    Josh stares at me. I can tell he wants to argue. But I also know he won¡¯t. Not if I ask him not to.


    He leans back in his chair, his jaw tight with unspoken questions. "Okay," he says quietly. "Let¡¯s get you home."


    ~-~


    "Do you want me toe inside?" he asks as we reach our driveway.


    "No. I¡¯m okay," I lie.


    He nods slowly, his hand gripping the steering wheel like he¡¯s holding himself back. "Sarah..."


    I nce over at him, already halfway out the door.


    "I don¡¯t care what you¡¯ve done," he says. "Whatever you¡¯re so afraid of telling me. I promise you, it doesn¡¯t change the way I see you."


    You wouldn¡¯t say that if you knew.


    If you knew how low I¡¯d sunk.


    If you knew I once lied about a pregnancy to trap someone whose only crime was that he didn¡¯t like me.


    But I don¡¯t say any of that. I just nod once, quickly, and step out of the car.


    "See youter, Josh."


    I shut the car door gently behind me and walk to the house, not looking back.


    Once inside, I lock the door and lean against it.


    I lied. Manipted. I tore someone¡¯s world apart because I couldn¡¯t handle being second best. And now? Now, I want to be seen as someone good. Someone worthy of love and respect.


    But it wouldn¡¯t happen easily, would it?


    Josh said it wouldn¡¯t change the way he sees me. But that¡¯s only because he does not know everything.


    "Back so soon?"


    I look up, startled. Matthew is standing in front of me, his handsome face twisted into an unpleasant expression. He looks me up and down, then steps closer. "So, you really did it, huh? You went to the doctor¡¯s appointment with...him."


    I straighten up. "I asked you toe with me, but you didn¡¯t," I say matter of factly.


    Matthew scoffs. A dry, humorless sound. "Yeah, because I wasn¡¯t about to sit there and pretend we are still ying house."


    I flinch at his words but force myself not to look away. Not this time.


    "You didn¡¯t have to pretend," I say quietly. "You could¡¯ve just shown up because it¡¯s for our baby."


    He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne.


    "Don¡¯t try to guilt me, Sarah," he sneered.


    My chest tightens. "I¡¯m not trying to guilt you. I¡¯m just telling the truth."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes darken, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. In one swift motion, his hands shoot out, fingers gripping my face roughly.


    "Truth?" he hisses, his face inches from mine. "You want to talk about truth? Tell me, Sarah. Is Josh yourtest target? Are you trying to trick him too so you can escape me?"


    I try to pull back, but he holds me firmly, his fingers digging deeper.


    "Wha...what are you saying?" I stammer.


    His breath is hot against my face, eyes boring into mine with such contempt that tears spring to my eyes.


    "I lost everything because of you," he says slowly. "My rtionship. My peace. My freedom. And you think I will let you be happy with another man?"


    A tear slips down my cheek, sliding over his thumb. "Let go of me," I whisper, my voice shaking. "You¡¯re hurting me," I say louder, my handsing up to grip his wrists.


    He blinks as ifing out of a trance and releases me suddenly. I stumble back, my hand flying to my cheek.


    Matthew takes a step back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other.


    "Six weeks," I say after a moment. "I am six weeks pregnant, in case you were wondering."


    "I wasn¡¯t wondering," he murmurs, avoiding my eyes.


    "The doctor said everything looks good so far," I continue as if I don¡¯t notice his contempt.


    Matthew presses his lips into a thin line. "I don¡¯t know why you are bothering to tell me these things," he snaps.


    I sigh and reach inside my purse. His eyes don¡¯t leave mine as I pull out the Proid.


    I hold the small photo out between us, my hand trembling slightly. The ck-and-white image is grainy.


    Matthew stares at it, then up at me. "What am I looking at?"


    "Our baby, Matthew." I try not to sound impatient.


    Matthew takes the picture from my hand and squints at it. "I don¡¯t see..."


    "Here!" I chirp and put my finger on the small bean-like shape in the picture. "This right here is the baby."


    He stares at the tiny, blurry shape like it¡¯s some alien object.


    "That?" he asks, his voice t. "It¡¯s tiny."


    I swallow the knot in my throat. "It¡¯s small now. But yes. That¡¯s our baby."


    "Hmph," he says.


    "Anyway, I am going to shower. Join me for dinnerter if you are done being a jerk. Or don¡¯t," I say and stride away to the bedroom.


    I close the bathroom door behind me, leaning against it as the tears finallye. My hands shake as I turn on the shower, cranking the heat until steam fills the small space.


    I need to wash away this feeling, this heaviness that seems to press down on me from all sides.


    I should be happy. I am going to be a mother. I had been dreaming about this since I was young, and now that it has finally happened...


    No, I won¡¯t let Matthew ruin this for me.


    I may not deserve to be a mother, but now that I have this gift, I will cherish it. I will be happy for my child no matter what.

 Chapter 64: Apology

    <h4>Chapter 64: Apology</h4>


    Matthew


    I keep staring at the ultrasonography photo even after Sarah left already.


    I can barely make out the shape she pointed to. This tiny, bean-sized blur that¡¯s apparently my child. Our child. The thought makes my stomach clench and my heart stutter.


    Setting the photo on the counter, I walk to the liquor cab and pour myself a generous ss of scotch.


    But even the burning sensation of the liquid doesn¡¯t help my nerves.


    I take another swig, remembering the way Sarah looked at me just now¡ªafraid. She was afraid of me. I¡¯ve be the kind of man I always despised.


    I look at the ultrasound again. A baby. My baby.


    It shouldn¡¯t change anything, this tiny blob on grainy paper. It shouldn¡¯t make me feel this... conflicted. But it does.


    I down the rest of my scotch in one gulp and pour another. The alcohol is starting to work its magic, dulling the pain in my chest.


    Should I apologize to her? I shouldn¡¯t have grabbed her face so hard. What if I left bruises on her again?


    The thought gnaws at me, but I push it down. What¡¯s done is done.


    I let myself copse onto the couch. The room feels too small, too hot.


    I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m supposed to feel. She¡¯s carrying my child. But I still resent her.


    I stare at the ultrasound again.


    "God," I mutter under my breath as I down another ss of whiskey. Then another.


    I push myself up from the couch, my legs shaky as I make my way toward the stairs.


    I go inside the bedroom and stand in front of the bathroom.


    The door swings open, and I find Sarah looking at me wide-eyed.


    "What? Why are you just standing there?" she asks.


    "I...uh...I came to see if you were done," I stutter.


    She narrows her eyes at me. "Are you drunk?"


    "A little," I reply.


    Sarah sighs. "Is this what it¡¯s going to be like? We argue and you get drunk?"


    "It helps," I say.


    "With what exactly?" Sarah mutters, tightening her grip on the towel wrapped around her body.


    I open my mouth to answer, but the words die in my throat. Water droplets cling to her skin, trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath the white towel. Her hair is wet, slicked back from her face, making her eyes look bigger, more vulnerable.


    "Matthew?" she prompts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.


    The movement causes the towel to slip slightly, revealing just a hint more of her chest. My mouth goes dry. This isn¡¯t the time to get aroused.


    But I am.


    Goddammit. Something is seriously wrong with me.


    "I..." I clear my throat, trying to remember why I came up here. "I wanted to apologize. For grabbing you like that."


    Sarah looks at me with a puzzled expression. She reaches up to brush a strand of wet hair from her face, and the towel shifts again. I force my eyes to stay on her face, but it¡¯s a battle I¡¯m rapidly losing.


    "Since when do you apologize for being mean to me?" she asks.


    "Since...now?" I ask.


    "I ept your apology. Now, would you mind moving aside so I can change?" she asks quietly.


    "Eh...yea," I mumble and move aside.


    Sarah hurries past me and moves toward the dresser. She turns to look at me. "Would you mind..."


    "What?" I ask.


    "Going to the other room so I can finish getting dressed?" she asks.


    Iugh out loud, feeling quite airy as the alcohol is working its magic in me. "Why would I do that, Sarah? No. I will sit right here while you get dressed because I have the right to enjoy the show," I dere.


    Sarah clutches the towel tighter around her body, and for a moment, I think she¡¯s going to tell me to leave again.


    "Fine," she says, her voice soft but not trembling. "If that¡¯s what you want."


    She turns away from me, moving toward the bed where she¡¯sid out her clothes. I settle into the armchair in the corner of the room.


    Sarah hesitates, her back to me. The curve of her spine is visible through the thin towel. Water still clings to her skin, glistening in the soft bedroom light.


    "You¡¯re really going to watch?" she asks, ncing over her shoulder.


    I nod. "Yup. I¡¯m really going to watch."


    She turns slightly. "Why?" she asks.


    "Why not? You are my wife, so I should be able to see you naked, no?" I drawl.


    "You¡¯ve seen me naked a hundred times already," she reminds me.


    "And now I get to see you naked the hundredth and one time," I say and wave my hand at her. "Drop the towel."


    Sarah stares at me and for a moment, I think she¡¯s going to refuse, to grab her clothes and storm off to the bathroom. But no.


    "Fine," she says, her voice surprisingly steady.


    She turns to face me fully, one hand still clutching the towel at her chest. With deliberate slowness, she lets it drop.


    The towel pools around her feet, and suddenly my mouth goes dry. Her body is still damp from the shower, her skin flushed pink from the hot water. The gentle swell of her belly isn¡¯t noticeable yet. It¡¯s too early for that, but I find my eyes drawn there anyway.


    "Happy now?" she asks, making no move to cover herself.


    I nod. "Come here."


    She shakes her head no.


    "Sarah, please. I am not trying to order you, I swear. Just..e to me," I plead.


    Her shoulders tense a little, but she takes a step toward me. Then another.


    When she reaches me, I gently take her hand, pulling her closer until she¡¯s standing between my knees.


    My palm rests against her abdomen, warm and smooth. There¡¯s nothing to feel yet, no physical evidence of the life growing inside her, but knowing it¡¯s there changes everything.


    "How long before I can feel it move?" I blurt out.


    "Around sixteen to twenty weeks," she says softly. "Though it might be earlier orter. Everyone¡¯s different."


    My hand remains on her stomach, my thumb moving in small circles against her skin.


    "I see," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.


    I feel her hand on top of my head, her fingers burying in my hair. Her touch is light, hesitant as if she¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll pull away.


    My hands move to her waist, drawing her closer. Shees willingly, settling onto myp, her naked body warm against mine. I can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong.


    "I won¡¯t let you go, you know. I will force you to stay with me forever so you won¡¯t get to be happy with some asshole like Josh," I murmur against her skin.


    "Hmm...okay," was all she had to say.

 Chapter 65: Lie Down

    <h4>Chapter 65: Lie Down</h4>


    Sarah


    I slowly stroke Matthew¡¯s hair as he buries his face between my breasts.


    He is acting like a little boy, I think to myself, smiling softly. Probably because he is drunk. God...how much did he have to drink?


    I can feel his possessiveness in the way his fingers dig into my waist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to im.


    "I¡¯m not going anywhere," I whisper, though I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m saying it to reassure him or myself.


    His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer against him. "Good," he mumbles against my skin. "Because I won¡¯t let you."


    "Matthew," I say softly, lifting his face so I can see his eyes. They¡¯re ssy from the alcohol, but there¡¯s something else there too. Something vulnerable. "You will have to let me go so I can get dressed."


    He groans like a petnt child, resting his forehead between my breasts again. "Just a minute," he mutters, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist. "Just... let me stay like this for a minute."


    I sigh, but my fingers instinctively return to his hair, threading through the soft strands. He leans into the touch like a man starved of affection, and for a moment, I let him have it. I let him hold me. And he lets me hold him.


    His breathing slows a little, evening out against my skin, and for a split second, I wonder if he¡¯s about to fall asleep like this, wrapped around me, clinging.


    "Matthew," I whisper.


    "Hmm?"


    "Marishka will be done with dinner soon. Aren¡¯t you hungry? You need to wake up," I reply.


    "Let¡¯s lie down for a bit. I need to lie down," he says gruffly.


    I hesitate, still cradling his head against my chest. He is never this gentle with me and I am not sure I want to give this up so soon.


    "Just for a little while," I whisper.


    He nods, almost boyishly, and releases his hold on my waist only long enough to take my hand and tug me gently toward the bed.


    The sheets are cool against my skin as we lie down, and he pulls me close again, his head nestled beneath my chin, one arm flung possessively over my waist.


    "You smell likevender," he murmurs, voice muffled against my corbone. "And soap."


    I giggle softly. "Mhm. I usedvender scented bodywash, that¡¯s why."


    "Mmm...I like it a lot," he hums.


    His lips brush softly against my corbone, barely there, almost as if he isn¡¯t aware he¡¯s doing it. The sensation sends a warm flutter through my chest. I press my hand against his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.


    "You¡¯re warm," I murmur, feeling sleepy myself. "I like it when you¡¯re warm. Makes me feel... safe."


    His fingers lightly trace small circles on my back, slow andzy.


    "Why in the world do you put up with all my...um...treatment of you?" he suddenly asks.


    I pull him in tighter, resting my cheek against the top of his head. "I told you. It¡¯s because I love you."


    "But why, Sarah? Is it because of my looks? If you had waited a bit longer, you could¡¯ve found someone much more handsome than me, you know," Matthew asks.


    "Matthew," I say softly, brushing my fingers along his cheek. "I didn¡¯t fall in love with your face."


    "Then why?"


    I let out another giggle. "I told you why before."


    "Tell me again."


    "You were just...different from other guys I met in the past," I said. "You weren¡¯t arrogant. You didn¡¯t have that need to unt your skills, even though you were brilliant at your job. And you didn¡¯t flirt with me just because I was the Boss¡¯s daughter. You were kind, genuinely kind."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes met mine with a steady intensity. "I am not kind to you now," he reminds me, his voice harsh.


    I draw in a slow, shaky breath. "That¡¯s because I ruined things between us."


    His grip on my body tightens slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the truth. "Yes. You did," he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt.


    "I know I did," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "I¡¯ve apologized a thousand times, Matthew. I don¡¯t know what else to say that¡¯ll make it better."


    "Nothing. Which is why I promised myself I would make you pay. I will make you feel trapped just like how you made me feel," he says and chuckles sleepily.


    My lips curl up. "And if I like being trapped by you?"


    "You¡¯re not supposed to like it," he says. "You¡¯re supposed to beg me to stop."


    I let out a softugh, curling my fingers into his hair again. "Well, I¡¯m afraid your n is wed because I don¡¯t want to escape. Not from you."


    He exhales against my corbone, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a low hum of contentment.


    "Matthew?" I ask after he hasn¡¯t said anything else for a while.


    He stirs in response but still doesn¡¯t say anything.


    Oh...he fell asleep.


    I smile faintly, brushing a soft kiss against the top of his head.


    His face ispletely rxed now, peaceful in a way I rarely get to see. The usual tension in his brows has melted away, and his breathing is slow, deep, and steady. One arm is still wrapped tightly around my waist, as though even in sleep, he doesn¡¯t want to let me go.


    I could move. I probably should move. Marishka would be calling for dinner soon. But I can¡¯t bring myself to shift even an inch.


    Instead, I rest my cheek against his hair and close my eyes.


    For now, this moment is mine and I don¡¯t want to miss it. Not even for a second.


    This man who is so full of anger and hurt and love he doesn¡¯t know what to do with is here in my arms. Vulnerable. Human. Mine.


    This feels right.

 Chapter 66: What’s Wrong?

    <h4>Chapter 66: What¡¯s Wrong?</h4>


    Matthew


    <i>I¡¯m running through a hallway. My legs feel like they¡¯re moving through mud, and there¡¯s this pressure in my chest that won¡¯t let up.</i>


    <i>Something¡¯s wrong.</i>


    <i>I know it before I even see her, like my body¡¯s picking up a signal my brain hasn¡¯t processed yet. Sarah is in trouble, and for some reason, that matters more than it should.</i>


    <i>The walls around me pulse like they¡¯re breathing. One moment they are the faded yellow of my childhood home, then they morph into the stark white of a hospital corridor. I hear a sound. A muffled cry, and my heart jumps into my throat.</i>


    <i>"Sarah?" My voice bounces back at me, hollow and useless.</i>


    <i>I turn a corner and suddenly I¡¯m in a room I don¡¯t recognize. It¡¯s dim, with shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink.</i>


    <i>And there she is.</i>


    <i>Sarah stands by the window, her back to me. When she turns, my breath catches. She is wearing her wedding dress. Her belly is round and full. She¡¯s pregnant.</i>


    <i>"Matthew," she says, but her lips don¡¯t move. Her voice is just there, inside my head. "You came."</i>


    <i>I try to step toward her, but my feet won¡¯t budge. The floor feels like it¡¯s tilting, sliding me away from her instead of closer. "What¡¯s going on?" I ask.</i>


    <i>Her eyes widen suddenly, focusing on something behind me. Fear sshes across her face like cold water.</i>


    <i>I try to turn to see what she¡¯s seeing, but my body won¡¯t cooperate. It¡¯s like I¡¯m frozen from the neck down, trapped in ce while something terrible creeps closer. "What is it?" I manage to choke out. "Sarah, what¡¯s wrong?"</i>


    <i>"They¡¯reing," she whispers, her hand moving to protect her belly. "They said they¡¯d find me."</i>


    <i>"Who¡¯sing? Who¡¯s ¡¯they¡¯?" The words feel thick and clumsy on my tongue.</i>


    <i>She whimpers.</i>


    <i>"Sarah, just¡ªjuste here, okay?" Despite everything, despite all the shit between us, all I want is to put myself between her and whatever¡¯s making her look so scared. "I¡¯ll help you. Juste to me."</i>


    <i>She shakes her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. "You hate me," she whispers.</i>


    <i>"I don¡¯t hate you," I say. "Just let me help you."</i>


    <i>Sarah presses herself further against the window, her hands syed protectively over her pregnant belly.</i>


    <i>"Matthew," she says, her face pale. And then I see blood seeping out of her white dress.</i>


    <i>"Sarah!" I shout in panic and move toward her, putting every ounce of strength into breaking whatever invisible force holds me back.</i>


    <i>"Our baby is dead," she whispers as she looks down.</i>


    <i>"No!" I cry out again.</i>


    ~-~


    I jolt awake with a gasp that feels like it¡¯s being torn from somewhere deep in my chest.


    My t-shirt is stuck to my skin, and cold sweat is making everything mmy and gross. My heart¡¯s doing this weird stuttering thing like it can¡¯t decide between racing and stopping altogether.


    A nightmare.


    I just had a fucking nightmare.


    For a few seconds, I don¡¯t know where I am. My brain scrambles to make sense of shadows and shapes that don¡¯t match the dark room from my dream. I blink hard, trying to reset my vision, my breathing stilling in quick, shallow bursts.


    I swallow hard and run a hand over my face. Ites away damp. Jesus. I haven¡¯t had a nightmare that bad since I was a kid.


    Something moves in my peripheral vision, and my head snaps toward it.


    There, sitting at the dresser, is Sarah.


    For a second, I think I¡¯m still dreaming. She¡¯s perched on the little bench in front of the mirror, running a brush through her long blonde hair with slow strokes.


    The relief that floods through me is so intense it¡¯s almost embarrassing.


    What the hell is wrong with me? It was just a dream. A stupid, meaningless dream that doesn¡¯t deserve this kind of reaction.


    Sarah¡¯s fine. And even if she wasn¡¯t, why should I care?


    Except my subconscious apparently didn¡¯t get that memo, because my heart¡¯s still racing like I just ran a marathon.


    I nce back at Sarah. She hasn¡¯t noticed I¡¯m awake yet. She looks so serious brushing her hair that I almost chuckle.


    I stand up slowly and walk toward her.


    She¡¯s alive. She¡¯s here. The relief of it makes me dizzy.


    I remember the nightmare again¡ªher eyes wide with fear, her hands protectively covering her pregnant belly, the shadow consuming her inch by inch while I stood helpless, unable to save her. I recall the crushing weight of loss, the desperate wish that I could go back and do things differently.


    But that wasn¡¯t real. This is real. Sarah, solid and warm and breathing, sitting at my dresser like she has a hundred times before.


    Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. Her hand stills, the brush pausing mid-stroke. "What¡¯s wrong?" she asks, and her voice is soft in the quiet room.


    I don¡¯t answer right away. Can¡¯t answer, really, because what would I say? That I had a nightmare about her dying? That I woke up terrified when I thought she was gone? That despite all my talk about hating her, I was desperately trying to save her?


    Yeah, no. Not happening.


    I reach out and pick up a lock of her hair. I run my fingers down the length of that strand, from where it meets her scalp to its feathered end. Her hair really is her best feature. Aside from her eyes.


    "Matthew?" she prompts, and I realize I still haven¡¯t answered her question.


    I clear my throat. "Nothing¡¯s wrong," I lie, letting her hair slip through my fingers. "Just couldn¡¯t sleep."


    She doesn¡¯t look convinced, but she doesn¡¯t press.


    She resumes brushing her hair. I watch, still standing too close, still not sure why I came over here in the first ce.


    "I won¡¯t be home for dinner tomorrow," she says after a while, her tone casual. "I made ns with Reba. We¡¯re trying that new Thai ce on Jefferson."


    "Oh," I say. "So you two are friends again, huh?"


    Sarah nods, setting the brush down on the dresser. "Yeah, she¡¯s been wanting to try this ce for ages. Apparently, they have the best pad Thai in the city." She turns slightly on the bench, half-facing me now, her knee brushing against my leg.


    "Great," I say. "Is Josh going too?"


    Sarah¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change, but something in her eyes goes a little harder, a little more distant. "Don¡¯t start."


    I shrug.


    "No," she says after a moment. "Josh isn¡¯ting. It¡¯s just me and Reba."


    I nod, trying to ignore the stupid rush of relief her words bring.


    "Anyway," she continues, turning back to the mirror, "I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn¡¯t wonder where I was."


    "Right," I say.


    "Are you sure you¡¯re okay?" she asks. "You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost."


    "I¡¯m fine," I snap. "Why didn¡¯t you wake me up?" I ask as I eye the clock on the wall. It was barely nine o¡¯clock.


    "Oh...you just looked so peaceful, so I thought I¡¯d let you sleep," she says and smiles at me.


    Something in my chest loosens and I bend down to kiss the top of her head.


    Her eyes widen in surprise as if this act is more shocking than my cruel treatment of her.


    "I...um...I am going out for a bit," I say, hurrying out of the room.

 Chapter 67: Paint Swatch

    <h4>Chapter 67: Paint Swatch</h4>


    Sarah


    "What do you think it is?" Reba chirps. "A boy or a girl?"


    I look at her and smile brightly. I haven¡¯t given it much thought because I know no matter what gender, I will love this baby with my whole heart.


    "I don¡¯t know," I say. "I think... maybe a boy. But then sometimes I get this strong feeling it¡¯s a girl."


    "Well, I can¡¯t wait until you find out. I want to start buying little onesies and socks! Oh! And hats! Don¡¯t even get me started on the hats," Reba rambles on.


    Iugh, the sound light and airy, filled with a joy I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d feel again. "Well, I was thinking of keeping it a surprise."


    Reba gasps. "A surprise? Are you serious, Sarah?"


    I nod, still smiling. "There¡¯s something kind of beautiful about not knowing. About meeting them for the first time and just... knowing."


    She raises her eyebrows. "But how will you know what color to paint your nursery?"


    I blink. Oh god, the nursery. I need to start preparing a room for that, don¡¯t I?


    "I... honestly hadn¡¯t even thought about that part yet," I admit with a sheepish grin. "There¡¯s just been so much going on. I guess I¡¯ve been focused more on getting through each day."


    Reba lets out a dramatic sigh, cing a hand over her heart. "Sarah, we need to get you a Pinterest board immediately. That baby deserves an adorable room, and you deserve to feel excited about it."


    I chuckle. "I am excited, I promise."


    "Okay, well. We will go shopping this weekend. Even if you don¡¯t know the gender, we can still make the nursery cute. Neutral colors are totally in."


    "Beige walls and tiny woond creatures?" I tease.


    "Exactly!" she grins. "Little foxes and bears and bunnies! Oh, and a mobile that ys lubies and makes you cry more than the baby."


    "You¡¯re ridiculous," Iugh, but my chest swells with warmth at the thought. I finally had my best friend back. I should be very happy. If only Matthew was this happy too.


    Reba must have sensed the shift in my mood because her smile softens, and she leans a little closer, lowering her voice.


    "Hey... are you okay?"


    I nod slowly, then shake my head. "I don¡¯t know. Some days, I feel like I¡¯m floating. Like I can breathe again. And others... it¡¯s like there¡¯s this ache just beneath the surface."


    "Matthew?" she asks gently.


    I nce down at my stomach, resting my hand protectively over the small bump. "He¡¯s... distant. Kind, sometimes. Cold, another time. He is still hurting."


    "I understand. But you are making amends." Reba reaches out and squeezes my arm. "He wille around."


    My heart stutters. I want to believe her. I really do.


    "I just don¡¯t know if he can forgive me fully," I murmur. "Or if I¡¯ll ever forgive myself."


    Reba frowns. "Sarah, you¡¯ve apologized. And now... you¡¯re carrying his child. That¡¯s not just a second chance. It¡¯s hope. He will see that, eventually."


    I smile, grateful but tired. "I hope you¡¯re right."


    Reba gives me a reassuring pat on the leg. "I¡¯m always right. Now¡ªlet¡¯s talk baby names. Don¡¯t even try to stop me. I already have a list."


    Iugh again, and just like that, the heaviness eases.


    "I kind of have a name in mind if it¡¯s a girl," I say.


    "Oh? Do tell," Reba chirps.


    I hesitate for a moment. The name has lived quietly in the back of my mind ever since I found out I was pregnant. It feels soft, gentle¡ªlike a whisper from the heart.


    "Rhea," I say finally, the word delicate on my tongue. "I don¡¯t know why... it just stuck with me."


    Reba¡¯s eyes widen with delight. "Oh my god, Rhea is beautiful. So elegant and timeless. Ugh, I¡¯m obsessed already!"


    I smile shyly. "Yeah? You think so?"


    "I know so," she grins. "Picture it¡ªtiny little baby Rhea in a knitted onesie, wrapped up like a cinnamon bun. Stop. My ovaries can¡¯t take it."


    I let out augh, one hand covering my mouth, but my heart feels warmer now. Saying the name aloud made it feel real, more than real. Like this baby, this little person, already had a ce in the world.


    "What about if it¡¯s a boy?" Reba nudges.


    I shrug, suddenly bashful. "I haven¡¯t thought of one yet."


    She nods in understanding. "Maybe Matthew would like to pick the boy¡¯s name."


    I nod slowly, the idea settling gently in my heart.


    "Yeah... maybe he would," I murmur.


    But what if he rejects the babypletely? That fear has been lingering inside me since I found out I was pregnant.


    "Oh, I know! Let¡¯s go get some paint swatches for the nursery. What do you think?" Reba asks and looks at me hopefully.


    "Yeah, let¡¯s do it," I say with a small smile, trying to push the worry aside for now. "We can get some ideas, even if I don¡¯t have everything figured out yet."


    Reba grins, her eyes lighting up. "Perfect! It¡¯s going to be so much fun! Trust me, you¡¯ll love the process. It¡¯ll help you feel more connected to everything."


    I nod, grateful for her enthusiasm. She has a way of making things feel lighter, even when everything else feels like it¡¯s floating just out of reach. It makes me realize how much I missed her.


    My phone starts to ring and I look down at it. My eyebrow immediately shoots up as I see Matthew¡¯s name. He does not call me unless he needs something, so I wonder what it¡¯s about.


    I nce at Reba. She can see the sudden tension in my body as I stare at the screen.


    "Answer it," Reba encourages softly, giving me a supportive nod. "It might be important."


    I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the green answer button. What if he¡¯s upset with me about something again? I don¡¯t want my good mood to be ruined right now.


    Taking a deep breath, I tap the screen and put the phone to my ear.


    "Matthew?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the knot forming in my throat.


    "Sarah," he barks. "Where the fuck are you?"


    "I told you...I am having dinner with Reba," I say.


    "For over an hour? You should be home by now," he says gruffly.


    I try to keep my tone as calm as I can manage. "Matthew, we were just talking. I haven¡¯t been here that long."


    There¡¯s a pause on the other end of the line. "It¡¯s long enough, soe home."


    What.


    "Matthew," I say slowly. "I am noting home right now. I am still hanging out with Reba. Since when do you care whether I¡¯m home or not?"


    "Since..." he stops.


    "What, Matthew?" I ask.


    "Since it doesn¡¯t fucking matter, Sarah. Come home because I am asking you toe home."


    I let out an exasperated sigh.


    "What is he saying?" Reba whispers.


    I press the mute button on my phone with a sharp jab of my finger and turn to Reba with wide eyes.


    "Matthew is being ridiculous," I groan, frustration building in my chest. "He¡¯s demanding Ie home right now. As if I¡¯m breaking curfew or something."


    Rebaughs. "Are you serious? You¡¯ve barely been out two hours."


    "I know." I look at my phone where Matthew¡¯s name still glows on the screen. "This is new. He¡¯s been distant for months, barely acknowledging when Ie and go, and suddenly he¡¯s tracking my schedule?"


    "That¡¯s..." Reba pauses, choosing her words carefully. "He misses you."


    I shoot her a look. "Yeah, right. Well, I¡¯m not going home yet. We were about to go look at paint swatches, and that¡¯s exactly what we¡¯re going to do."


    Reba¡¯s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Are you sure? I don¡¯t want to cause problems between you two."


    "You¡¯re not causing anything." I take a deep breath and press the unmute button.


    "What the fuck was that? Did you just put me on mute?" Matthew growls on the other line.


    For some reason, it makes me want tough. "Um...I have to go now, Matthew. I will see you when I get home." And with that, I hang up on him.

 Chapter 68: Her Fear

    <h4>Chapter 68: Her Fear</h4>


    Matthew


    I keep pacing back and forth in the living room.


    I can¡¯t believe she hung up on me!


    Where the hell is she?


    "Matthew, are you alright, son?" Marishka asks.


    I stop pacing and look at her. "Err...yeah. Did you talk to Sarah? Is sheing home soon?"


    Marishka raises her eyebrow. "She just told me she will not be home for dinner. Why, is there something wrong?"


    I run a hand through my hair, my jaw tightening. "No, nothing¡¯s wrong. I just...I don¡¯t know. I expected her to be home by now."


    Marishka gives me a long look, the kind that sees right through me. "You miss her," she says simply.


    I scoff, turning away. "It¡¯s not that. She¡¯s out with Reba, and she didn¡¯t even think to check the time. I just¡ª"


    "You miss her," she repeats, a small smile on her face. "It¡¯s okay to miss your wife, Matthew. Especially your new wife."


    I let out a frustrated sigh and slump onto the edge of the couch. There was no point in arguing with Marishka. She wouldn¡¯t understand. "She hung up on me," I mutter.


    Marishka arches a brow as she steps closer. "And did you give her a reason to?"


    I look up at her, caught. "I might¡¯ve... raised my voice a little. But she was out for hours, and she didn¡¯t even say when she¡¯d be back."


    Marishka smiled kindly. "She will be home soon. Don¡¯t worry, sweetheart."


    I nod. "Can I ask you something?"


    Marishka sits down on a couch in front of me. "Sure," she says, urging me to continue.


    "Did something bad happen to Sarah when she was little? Something that would make her terrified of dark ces?"


    Marishka frowns. "Did Sarah tell you to ask me this?"


    I shake my head slowly, watching her reaction carefully. "No. She didn¡¯t. But, I saw...um...signs that she is afraid of the dark. And I heard her talk in her sleep."


    Marishka¡¯s expression darkens. "It¡¯s not my story to tell, Matthew."


    "Sarah told me she doesn¡¯t remember," I say.


    "And it¡¯s for the best that she doesn¡¯t," Marishka says.


    I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees, heart beating a little faster. "But she does remember, doesn¡¯t she? Maybe not everything, but enough to wake up gasping, drenched in sweat. Enough to freeze when the lights go out."


    Marishka exhales slowly, like she¡¯s holding back years of pain. "Some memories don¡¯te back in pieces¡ªtheye back in feelings. In fear. In silence. And for Sarah...that silence is safer than the truth."


    I want to know what happened, but I also know that Marishka won¡¯t tell me. She is determined to keep the secret.


    "Anyway, I am calling it a night. Getting too old to be staying upte," Marishka says and yawns.


    I nod absently, watching her stand and walk toward the stairs, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the hardwood. "Goodnight, Matthew," she says gently, pausing on the first step. "Try to be patient with her."


    "Yeah," I reply.


    Once she disappears upstairs, the silence grows heavier around me. I lean back into the couch, the ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounding way too loud.


    What happened to her?


    I pull my phone out and stare at the screen.


    Still no messages.


    Still no call.


    Still no Sarah.


    I debate texting her again, but stop myself.


    Maybe her father knows something. If Marishka won¡¯t talk, maybe he will. I make a mental note to have a meeting with him.


    I hear the front door opening and jump up.


    Finally.


    I rush toward the door, nearly tripping over the corner of the rug as I skid into the entryway.


    And there she is¡ªSarah. Her coat is half off her shoulders, her eyes wide with surprise as she steps inside and sees me standing there, clearly startled by my urgency.


    "Matthew?" she says.


    I don¡¯t speak right away. I just look at her. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she looks tired.


    "You arete," I say sharply.


    Sarah frowns slightly, pulling her coat off fully now. "Matthew, not now. I am tired."


    My jaw tightens again. "How dare you hang up on me?"


    Her eyes widen a little, but she quickly looks away, setting her bag down by the door. "I didn¡¯t want to argue," she says quietly.


    "So you hang up instead?" I snap.


    She turns back around slowly. "Why are you yelling at me?"


    "I am not yelling at you!" I shout.


    Sarah blinks. "How can you tell me you aren¡¯t yelling at me while yelling?" she asks, shaking her head.


    The irony isn¡¯t lost on me, either.


    "I don¡¯t need to report my every movement to you, Matthew," she says, her voice tired but firm. "Can I please go to the bedroom now? I desperately need to lie down."


    I huff and get out of the way.


    She walks past me without another word, so I follow her.


    "And what exactly were you two doing for over three hours?" I ask, shutting the bedroom door behind me.


    She starts to peel off her clothes without looking at me. "We had dinner, and we went to the store to look at paint swatches."


    I arch an eyebrow. "Paint swatches?"


    She shrugs, heading to the bathroom. "Yeah, to paint the nursery."


    I freeze. It¡¯s as if I temporarily forgot about her being pregnant because hearing the word nursery made my heart stutter.


    "Nursery?" I echo.


    Sarah pauses at the bathroom doorway, one hand on the frame. "Yes, Matthew. Nursery. For our baby."


    I swallow hard. "I see."


    "You are more than wee to help me decorate. It¡¯s your baby too, as much as it is mine, whether you want to admit it or not," she says, disappearing into the bathroom.


    I stand still for a moment before striding in myself. For a reason I can¡¯t exin, I enjoy bantering with her.


    Sarah doesn¡¯t look up as I enter.


    "So you and Reba spent hours discussing paint colors? That¡¯s what was so important?" I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.


    She sighs, meeting my eyes before entering the shower. "Yes, Matthew. And baby furniture. And whether we should do a theme or keep it neutral." Her voice softens slightly. "These are decisions we should be making together, but you...you want no part in this. You said so yourself."


    I feel a stab of something. Guilt, maybe, but push it down. "Yeah. I don¡¯t. But..."


    "I¡¯m tired, Matthew. I don¡¯t have the energy to be your punching bag tonight," she says, turning the water on and standing under the stream.


    I watch for a few seconds before taking my clothes off and then quietly hopping inside the shower with her.


    Sarah makes a groaning sound as if she is annoyed by it and I can¡¯t help but smile.


    Good thing her back is turned to me and she didn¡¯t see me grinning.

 Chapter 69: Be Careful

    <h4>Chapter 69: Be Careful</h4>


    Sarah


    "Matthew!" I gasp as he leans down and bites my shoulder from behind.


    What is he even doing? Is he just trying to annoy me now?


    I hear him chuckle behind me, then feel his arms wrap around me.


    I can¡¯t decide if I¡¯m annoyed or...flustered. It¡¯s definitely unexpected, and I¡¯m not sure what he¡¯s trying to achieve, but the teasing, the suddenness of it all, catches me off guard.


    I can feel him smiling against my skin as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me back slightly against his chest. His warmth, the way his presence surrounds me, is familiar and unsettling at the same time.


    "What are you doing?" I demand.


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away, just nuzzles into my neck, his breath warm against my skin. "Just trying to get a rise out of you," he mutters, his voice low, amused.


    I roll my eyes, trying to pull away, but his hold on me is firm. "You are impossible," I mutter, but there¡¯s a small part of me that can¡¯t help but soften at his touch. "You¡¯re not funny."


    He chuckles again, the sound vibrating through his chest, making it impossible to stay entirely irritated with him.


    I can feel his fingers tracing lightly along my waist, the touch gentle but deliberate.


    "Let go of me," I try again.


    "No," he growls. "I want to fuck you."


    I shiver and not from the water that¡¯s cooling down. "I am tired."


    "And I have needs," he says.


    "Your needs are what got me pregnant," I remind him.


    "So fucking what? That doesn¡¯t mean I should stop fucking you. Your body belongs to me, remember? If you don¡¯t remember, I will be delighted to remind you," he snarls.


    His words are meant to hurt me, I know, but I keep my chin up. "I¡¯m growing a human being inside me. Doesn¡¯t that earn me a night off?"


    "No," he says simply.


    And just like that, I find myself being carried to bed. He didn¡¯t even give me time to dry off.


    He drops me on the bed carelessly and then hovers over me, paying no mind to how our bodies are soaking the sheets.


    "Matthew," I protest, pushing against his chest. "The sheets¡ª"


    "I don¡¯t care about the fucking sheets," he says, his eyes dark with desire as he pins my wrists above my head with one hand.


    His free hand slides down my body, lingering over the slight curve of my belly before moving lower. I gasp, arching despite myself.


    "See?" he murmurs against my ear. "Your mouth says no, but your body..." He traces circles against my skin. "Your body always tells the truth."


    I turn my face away, unwilling to let him see how easily he affects me. "The doctor said¡ª"


    "What?" he says darkly.


    "The doctor says we should be careful during the first trimester. That...we shouldn¡¯t have...um...rough sex."


    Matthew¡¯s expression shifts, and I see his eyes soften a bit. He loosens his grip on my wrists slightly, his eyes searching mine.


    "What else did the doctor say?" he asks, his voice still husky but with an edge of restraint now.


    I swallow, surprised by his reaction. "That we can still be intimate, just... gentler. At least until the second trimester."


    He releases my wristspletely and props himself up on his elbows, his body still hovering over mine but no longer pressing down with his full weight.


    "Is that right?" he asks, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face.


    "Yes," I breathe.


    "Fine," he says. "I will be gentle tonight."


    His eyes meet mine, and the blueness in them takes my breath away. "Spread your legs wider," he rasps.


    I find myself doing it without question as he scoots down.


    What is he...


    I gasp as he dips his head and licks along my slit.


    I grip the sheets beneath me, my back arching involuntarily as pleasure shoots through my body. Matthew¡¯s tongue is relentless, circling and teasing until my protests dissolve into breathless moans.


    "Matthew," I gasp, my fingers finding their way into his damp hair.


    He hums against me, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through my core. His hands slide up to hold my hips steady as I squirm beneath him.


    He takes his time, savoring me slowly, deliberately. It¡¯s torture of the sweetest kind. When I¡¯m trembling and desperate, he finally moves back up my body, hovering over me with those intense blue eyes.


    "Gentle enough?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint.


    I nod, unable to form words as he positions himself between my legs. He enters me slowly, watching my face with unusual care. The tenderness in his movements surprises me, so different from his earlier aggression.


    "Is this okay?" he whispers, and the question catches me off guard. Matthew rarely asks. He always takes.


    "Yes," I breathe, wrapping my legs around him.


    He moves with careful, measured thrusts, his forehead pressed against mine. One hand cradles my head while the other rests protectively over my stomach. The gesture is so unexpectedly intimate that tears spring to my eyes.


    "Sarah," he groans, his rhythm steady but restrained. "You feel so good."


    I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation of him inside me, around me.


    When releasees, it washes over me in gentle waves rather than the usual crashing storm. Matthew follows shortly after, his body tensing above mine before he carefully rolls to the side, pulling me against him.


    We lie there in silence, our breathing gradually slowing.


    "I¡¯ll get new sheets," he murmurs against my hair, but makes no move to get up.


    I nestle against his chest, savoring the rare moment of tenderness.


    "Thank you," I whisper.


    His fingers tracezy patterns along my spine. "For what?"


    "For..." I hesitate, not wanting to break whatever spell has fallen over us. "For being gentle."


    Matthew is quiet for so long, I wonder if he has fallen asleep.


    "I am not a goddamn monster, Sarah," he says.


    "I know," I whisper.


    His arm tightens around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. It is such a simple gesture, but it makes my heart ache.


    "Sleep," he says softly.

 Chapter 70: Favorite Flowers

    <h4>Chapter 70: Favorite Flowers</h4>


    Sarah


    I wake up when the sunlight hits my eyes, warm and persistent against my eyelids. For a moment, I¡¯m confused. Then everything fromst night slowlyes back to me.


    The argument.


    The tension.


    The shower.


    Matthew.


    I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the morning light spilling across the room. I shift slightly and realize I¡¯m not alone. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, his body pressed close behind mine.


    I don¡¯t move. I barely breathe. I just lie there.


    Something tells me to look at the time, so I reach for my phone on the nightstand next to me. I look at it and gasp.


    "The meeting!" I yelp.


    Matthew stirs behind me, his grip tightening instinctively as I try to sit up.


    "What meeting?" he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep.


    I twist around, pulling the sheet with me. "I have to be at the board meeting in less than an hour!"


    He blinks a few times, processing, then runs a hand through his messy hair. "You didn¡¯t set an rm?"


    I re at him like it¡¯s somehow his fault. "I always set an rm. You distracted me."


    He smirks. "You didn¡¯t seem very distractedst night."


    I groan, throwing the sheets off. "Not the time, Matthew!"


    I jump out of bed and scramble for the clothes in the dresser. Then I run to the bathroom to ssh water on my face, brush my teeth in record time, and return to find Matthew still in bed, watching me with azy expression.


    "You¡¯re really not gonna help?" I snap.


    "What do you want me to do? Brush your hair?"


    "Not helping!" I grab my bag and throw my phone in it. "Are you not going to work?"


    "I feel like staying in today. Is that okay with you...Boss?" he asks, cocking his head.


    Is he flirting with me?


    "Y...yeah...fine. I will see you when I get home. Bye," I say and rush out of the house.


    I rush inside my car and ask my driver to drive as fast as he can and then lean back.


    God...this is all Matthew¡¯s fault. If he hadn¡¯t made love to me so sweetlyst night. If his warmth hadn¡¯t put me into this deep sleep, I would¡¯ve woken up this morning just fine.


    I cross my arms and re out the window as the car speeds down the road, my heart still thudding too fast.


    Last night was supposed to be the usual tension. Another argument. More cold silence.


    But it wasn¡¯t.


    It was soft. Intimate. Real.


    And now I¡¯mte, flustered, andpletely thrown off bnce.


    "Ma¡¯am?" my driver, Aaron, says, ncing at me through the rearview mirror. "We¡¯re almost there."


    "Thank you," I reply, sitting up straighter and checking my reflection in my phone screen. My hair¡¯s a bit wild. I smooth it down and reapply a bit of gloss, wishing I had time for a proper touch-up.


    As we pull up to thepany building, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and step out of the car like I didn¡¯t just fall asleep wrapped up in the man who¡¯s been emotionally tormenting me for months.


    I make it inside with five minutes to spare. Not ideal, but not the worst. I give the receptionist a tight smile and take the elevator up to the conference floor.


    I push open the door, and all eyes turn to me.


    "Ah, there she is," says Martin, one of the older board members deres.


    I smile at them. "Sorry I amte. Let¡¯s begin."


    I take my seat at the head of the table, set down my bag, and open myptop.


    I try to focus on the presentations. Financials. Department reports. Strategic nning. I nod at the right times and ask a few sharp questions, but I¡¯m aware, too aware of the way my mind keeps drifting back to Matthew.


    The way his voice sounded when he called me Boss with thatzy smirk.


    "Sarah?" Martin¡¯s voice cuts into my thoughts.


    I blink and look up. "Yes?"


    He raises a brow. "Are you okay with moving forward with the restructuring n for Q3?"


    Right. Restructuring. I click back to the right tab on myptop.


    "Yes," I say confidently. "Let¡¯s move forward. But I want weekly reports and updated projections before the next quarter."


    Martin nods, satisfied, and the meeting rolls on.


    Half of me is here. The other half is still at home with Matthew.


    Why did he want to stay home anyway? Maybe he would like to meet me here for lunch?


    I shake my head. Why do I feel so nervous? Having lunch with my husband shouldn¡¯t feel like such a revolutionary proposition. I can just ask him.


    "And finally," Martin says, "the acquisition proposal from Westfield Industries."


    My attention snaps back instantly. This is the part I can¡¯t afford to miss.


    "Their final offer came in yesterday," Martin continues, sliding a folder toward me. "Twenty percent higher than their initial proposition."


    For the next thirty minutes, I listen carefully, taking notes and forcing myself to be fully present. This is mypany. My responsibility. My father¡¯s legacy that is now mine.


    After the meeting, I stare at Matthew¡¯s number for a full minute before typing: "Free for lunch? We could meet at that Italian ce you like."


    I send it before I can overthink it, then set my phone down and turn to the stack of reports waiting for my review.


    Ten minutester, my phone buzzes.


    "I am busy," he wrote.


    I stare at the message, feeling disappointed. Busy? He just decided to stay home this morning. What ns could he possibly have made so quickly?


    Unless he had them all along.


    I look up as I hear someone knock on my door. Sophia, my assistant, offers me a nervous smile. "Um...Sarah. Someone sent you some flowers. Do you want me to put them on your desk?"


    I blink at Sophia, caughtpletely off guard. Flowers?


    "Flowers?" I echo my thought. "From who?"


    She shrugs, already stepping into the office with arge, elegant bouquet in her arms, pale pink roses, and a few sprigs of eucalyptus wrapped in soft cream paper and tied with a satin ribbon.


    She sets them gently on my desk. "There¡¯s a card," she says quietly, then slips back out, leaving me alone with the unexpected gesture.


    I stare at the bouquet for a long second before reaching for the small white envelope tucked among the stems. My heart thuds as I open it.


    "Just wanted to congratte you on your pregnancy. You will be a great mother, Sarah." ¡ªLove, Josh.


    I smile at the note. This really is unexpected. Josh is the sweetest.


    At least someone cares about me.


    ~-~


    I get home prettyte and is surprised to find Matthew home.


    "Hey," I chirp.


    Matthew narrows his eyes. "Why are you so cheerful? Did something happen at work?"


    I hesitate. If I tell Matthew about the flowers, I bet he will be jealous. The thought gives me a secret satisfaction, so I go for it. "I got surprised by flowers today, so it made my day," I say, smiling brightly.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens almost instantly. "Flowers?" he asks. "From who?"


    "Josh," I say, as if it¡¯s no big deal. "He left a sweet note too. Said I¡¯d make a great mother."


    There¡¯s a beat of silence. A muscle in Matthew¡¯s jaw twitches. "That asshole..."


    "Matthew! You have no right to call him that. At least he thought of me and sent me flowers," I protest.


    "Oh yeah? What kind of flowers?" he growls.


    I give him a puzzled look. What does it matter what kind of flowers he sent? "He sent me these gorgeous pink roses," I reply.


    Matthew scoffs.


    "What?" I re at him. "Do you have something to say?"


    "Dude thinks he is in love with you but doesn¡¯t even remember your favorite flowers," he says.


    I blink. "What do you..."


    "You love white Lillies, not roses," he reminds me as if I don¡¯t know my own favorite flowers.


    "You...how do you know that?" I breathe.


    "Sweetheart. You used toe to my office, babbling about things you love, remember? Of course I fucking know what your favorite flowers are," Matthew says mockingly. "I also know your favorite food, your favorite color, your dream vacation, yada yada. God, you used to talk my damn head off," he grumbled.


    I stare at him.


    And then, I can feel a smile spreading across my face before I can stop it, warmth flooding through my chest.


    He remembers.


    All those times I sat in his office, rambling while he pretended to work. I thought he was just tolerating me, but he was listening. Really listening.


    "So Josh sent you roses," Matthew continues, leaning against the wall now, watching me with those intense eyes. "And what exactly did his note say again?"


    I walk closer to him, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Just that I¡¯ll be a good mother."


    "How would he know that?" he barks, his face twisted into a frown as if he is irritated.


    But his harshness does not bother me this time. All I feel is giddiness.


    Matthew remembers all my favorite things.

 Chapter 71: I Saw Her

    <h4>Chapter 71: I Saw Her</h4>


    Matthew


    "Why are you smiling like that?" I ask Sarah.


    She keeps smiling, that goofy little grin that used to drive me crazy in the early days. The one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.


    "Nothing," she says, but her voice has a lightness to it that wasn¡¯t there before.


    I cross my arms, studying her face. "Liar," I say and feel myself smiling back.


    She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Vani and something floral.


    "I thought you tuned me out," she admits. "Back then, when I¡¯d sit in your office and talk. You always looked so... annoyed."


    I let out a shortugh. "I was trying to concentrate on work while you sat there running your mouth."


    Sarah¡¯s cheeks flush slightly. "I liked talking to you."


    She¡¯s standing right in front of me now, looking up with those eyes. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin.


    "And for the record," I say, lowering my voice, "Josh is full of shit."


    Sarah rolls her eyes, but she¡¯s still smiling. "He is not! He is my friend."


    "He¡¯s trying to get in your pants," I correct her.


    "You are wrong," she says.


    But I know I am right.


    "Why were you busy today?" she asks suddenly. "When I texted about lunch."


    I arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn¡¯t you like to know?"


    "Yes, I would, actually," she says with such enthusiasm that I can¡¯t help butugh.


    I almost told her because I know it will hurt her. And that¡¯s exactly what I want, don¡¯t I? To hurt her. That¡¯s why I married her. Didn¡¯t I? So I can punish her.


    But as I look at her now, her hair slightly messy from a long day at work, those eyes full of curiosity and that ridiculous smile just because I remembered her favorite flowers... I can¡¯t bring myself to tell her I went to meet Amanda.


    "Have you eaten?" I ask instead.


    "No. I came straight home," she says.


    I nod slowly, my gaze lingering on her a second too long. "Let¡¯s go eat then. Marishka made roast beef."


    We reach the dining room, and the table is already set. Marishka always does that. Folded napkins, polished silverware, the works. Sarah sits down and watches me as I pour her a ss of water, then one for myself.


    "You¡¯re being weird," she says.


    I sit across from her. "Weird?"


    "Yes, you are being nice." She pauses, picking up her fork. "It¡¯s just... unexpected."


    I lean back in my chair, eyes fixed on her. "So I¡¯m not allowed to be nice now?"


    "You are," she says with a small smile, stabbing a piece of roast beef. "It¡¯s just... rare."


    I smirk. "Maybe I¡¯m trying something new."


    "I¡¯ll take what I can get," she says lightly.


    We eat in a strange,fortable silence. Every now and then, I catch her looking at me, a small smile ying on her lips before she quickly looks away.


    "So," I say, setting down my ss, "did I miss anything important at work?"


    Sarah shakes her head. "Everything was fine."


    After dinner, we move to the living room. Sarah kicks off her heels and curls up on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. I sit beside her, not too close, but close enough.


    "So," she says after a moment, "are you going to tell me why you stayed home today?"


    "I had some things to take care of," I say.


    "What things?"


    I study her face. There¡¯s no suspicion there, just genuine curiosity.


    I decided to tell her right then. "I went to see Amanda."


    Her smile disappears.


    I watch her body tense, the way her shoulders stiffen just slightly. She doesn¡¯t say anything at first, just looks down at her hands in herp.


    "You... went to see Amanda," she repeats slowly.


    "Yes," I say evenly.


    Sarah lifts her head again, her voice soft but steady. "Why?"


    "I wanted to talk to her. She finally returned my calls and agreed to meet me," I reply.


    She nods. Quiet. Too quiet.


    "And?" she asks. "Was it... good to see her?"


    There¡¯s no edge to her voice. No anger. That makes it worse.


    "It was necessary," I say.


    Sarah presses her lips together and looks away. I can see her blinking fast as if trying to hold back tears.


    She stands up, brushing invisible lint off her dress. "I¡¯m going to take a shower."


    I watch her walk away, her back straight, her pace slow¡ªbut I can feel it. The sadness trailing behind her like a ghost.


    I could¡¯ve lied.


    I could¡¯ve kept it buried.


    But I wanted her to hurt.


    And now that I¡¯ve done it, I hate myself for it.


    I have the urge to go after her, pull her into my arms, and tell her that nothing has happened between Amanda and me.


    But I don¡¯t do that. I wait about half an hour before sauntering over to the bedroom.


    I push open the bedroom door. Sarah stands by the bed, her back to me, dressed in a silk nightgown. It¡¯s pale blue, almost silver in this light. Her hair falls in damp waves down her back. She must have just gotten out of the shower.


    She doesn¡¯t turn when I enter, but I see her shoulders tense slightly.


    I lean against the doorframe, watching her pull back the covers.


    "She said she is willing to forgive me," I say, my voice cutting through the silence.


    Sarah freezes for just a moment before sliding into bed. "Did she?" Her voice is quiet.


    I push off from the doorframe and walk further into the room. "Yes. I exined how you trapped me. She was willing to listen this time. I think she believes me," I tell her.


    Sarah finally looks at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.


    I ignore the feeling of pressure in my chest. I want her to hear this.


    "We had coffee at that little ce near her office," I continue, ignoring her question. "The one with those pastries you like. She¡¯s cut her hair shorter. It suits her."


    Sarah¡¯s jaw tightens. She looks away, staring at the wall. "Why are you telling me this?"


    I circle around to my side of the bed, taking my time. "Why not?"


    "Did you tell her I am having your baby?" Sarah whispers.


    "I told her you were pregnant," I say curtly. "And that, it could be anyone¡¯s baby."


    Sarah lets out a soft gasp and strides over to me.


    Her hand flies across my face with surprising force. The p rings out in the quiet room, and my cheek burns hot with the imprint of her fingers.


    Ah...this is the second time Sarah pped me and I can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t deserve it both times.


    "How dare you," she hisses, voice trembling with rage. "You self-preening asshole."


    I grab her wrist when she moves to strike me again. "Sarah¡ª"


    "Let go of me." She hisses. "You know this baby is yours. You know it."


    I watch her, the way her chest heaves with each breath, the way tears spill down her cheeks now. She is beautiful.


    "I don¡¯t know anything," I say coldly.


    "Do you think you can just ride off to the sunset with Amanda?" she breathes.


    "Why not? She¡¯s willing to give me another chance," I say.


    "She said that?" Sarah¡¯s voice breaks.


    "More or less," I shrug.


    She bites her lower lip. "You are doing this now because you want me to snap and let you out of this marriage. You want me to be angry at you and leave you so you don¡¯t look like the asshole."


    I don¡¯t respond.


    Because she is right.


    I am doing this because I¡¯m a coward. Because somewhere deep down, I hoped she¡¯d be the one to walk away first.


    That she¡¯d make it easy for me by giving up, so I wouldn¡¯t have to keep pretending to know what the hell I am doing.


    Sarah yanks her wrist out of my grasp and steps back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "You don¡¯t get to rewrite the story. We are going to be raising this child together."


    The corner of my mouth kicked up. "Are we?"


    "Yes, we are, Matthew. I won¡¯t let you be with her again. I¡¯d rather die," she says.


    "That¡¯s a bit dramatic." I try to sound casual, but my voicees out strained. "Must be the pregnancy hormones talking," I say mockingly.


    "Fuck off, Matthew. I swear to god if you don¡¯t stop¡ª"


    I pull her against my body, wrapping my arms tightly around her slender shoulders. "Alright. How about you get some sleep? You look tired," I whisper into her hair.


    Sarah struggles in my arms at first, pushing against my chest, her fistsnding weak, frustrated blows that I absorb without flinching. But I don¡¯t let go.


    "Let me go," she breathes, voice raw. "You don¡¯t get to touch me like this after everything you just said."


    "I know," I murmur. "I know."


    She stiffens in my arms, trembling.


    I rest my chin lightly on the top of her head, breathing her in. The scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin, it undoes me in the most cruel way.

 Chapter 72: The Meeting

    <h4>Chapter 72: The Meeting</h4>


    Matthew


    I was beyond surprised when I received that text from Amanda.


    After that confrontation with her at the restaurant and everything that has happened with Sarah, I damned near gave up on Amanda.


    So when I saw that text that said she wanted to meet me, I didn¡¯t know what to think.


    I got ready quickly. Good thing I was already nning on not going to work today.


    The drive to Caf¨¦ Lumi¨¨re took twenty minutes. It was a small, upscale ce with wide windows and understated elegance ¨C exactly the kind of ce Amanda always preferred. I arrived fifteen minutes early, a habit she used to tease me about.


    "Always so punctual," she¡¯d say, smiling that smile that used to make my heart race.


    I chose a table in the corner, ordered ck coffee, and waited. Every time the door opened, my head snapped up, expecting to see her. When she finally walked in at precisely 10 AM, I almost didn¡¯t recognize her.


    Amanda¡¯s hair was shorter now, a sleek bob that framed her face perfectly. She wore a cream-colored blouse and tailored pants. For a moment, looking at her was like looking at a ghost ¨C a reminder of everything I¡¯d thrown away.


    Her eyes found mine immediately. "Matthew," she said, sliding into the seat across from me.


    "Amanda." My voice sounded rough, even to my own ears. "You look great," I finally said.


    "Thank you," she said, smiling softly. "And thank you for meeting me."


    Her voice was calm. Controlled. Not a trace of the fire I remembered from that night at the restaurant when she told me I was dead to her.


    "I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d hear from you again," I admitted.


    Amanda wrapped her hands around her cup of tea, eyes focused on the rising steam. "Neither did I."


    We sat in silence for a moment.


    "I¡¯ve been doing a lot of thinking," she said finally. "About us. About what happened."


    I stayed quiet, letting her speak.


    "I was angry. Hurt. You blindsided me, Matthew. One minute we were nning our future, the next..." Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she meant. The next, I was married to Sarah.


    "I tried to tell you what Sarah did, but you never wanted to hear me out, Amanda," I said.


    Her gaze flicked up to mine, sharp and unwavering. "Because it sounded like a goddamn excuse, Matthew."


    I swallowed hard. "It wasn¡¯t."


    "I¡¯m not here to fight," Amanda said, her voice softer now. "I just wanted to...I want to hear you out now."


    I blinked, taken aback. She wants to hear me out? Now? After everything?


    Amanda must¡¯ve seen the disbelief on my face because she added quickly, "Not to fix things. Not to go back. I just...I need closure. And I think maybe you do, too."


    I nodded slowly, unsure where to even begin. My hands curled around my coffee cup, more for something to hold than for the warmth. "It wasn¡¯t nned. Any of it. Sarah...she lied to me since the beginning and I let myself fall for it."


    Amanda¡¯s lips pressed into a tight line. "Why did you marry her?" she had asked.


    I hesitated. "By the time I found out the truth, it was toote. And now..."


    Amanda leaned back in her chair, staring at me like she was trying to see the man she once loved inside the man sitting in front of her. "Do you love her?"


    "No," I said, even though I wasn¡¯tpletely sure anymore.


    "Then what are you doing, Matthew? Why are you still with her?" she asked quietly.


    "She is pregnant," I blurted out. "And it¡¯s for real this time. I can¡¯t just up and leave her now."


    Amanda exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "So that¡¯s it? You¡¯re just going to spend the rest of your life paying for a mistake?"


    I clenched my jaw. "It¡¯s not that simple."


    "It is that simple," she countered, voice firm but not unkind. "You¡¯re choosing this, Matthew. You¡¯re choosing to stay in a marriage built on lies with a woman you don¡¯t love because you think it¡¯s the ¡¯right¡¯ thing to do. But what about your life? Your happiness?"


    I let out a humorless chuckle. "Happiness isn¡¯t really an option for me anymore."


    Amanda¡¯s eyes softened, but there was something else there too¡ªdisappointment. "She deceived you, Matthew."


    "I know," I said.


    "How do you know she is not lying this time too?" she asked.


    That question hit harder than I expected. I looked down at my coffee, at the way the surface rippled as I shifted in my seat, trying to buy myself a second to think.


    "I don¡¯t," I admitted. My voice came out quiet. Raw. "I don¡¯t know. It...it feels real this time."


    Amanda¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. "Sarah¡¯s good at ying the part when she wants something," she said. "You, of all people, should know that."


    "I do," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Trust me, I do."


    Amanda sat in silence for a moment, her gaze searching mine. Then she said, "I want us to be friends again, Matthew."


    Her words caught mepletely off guard.


    Friends?


    I wasn¡¯t expecting that.


    "I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a good idea," I said honestly. "Not because I don¡¯t want to... but because..."


    Amanda looked down at her tea, her thumb brushing the rim of the cup. "Because of her."


    I shook my head. "Because of me. Because I don¡¯t trust myself around you and I won¡¯t cheat on Sarah no matter what she did."


    "Matthew..." she began.


    "I should go," I said, pushing my chair back.


    But Amanda reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. "Wait. Please."


    I froze, caught between staying and leaving.


    "I¡¯m not asking for anything more than friendship," she said quietly.


    "Aren¡¯t you seeing someone?" I asked, remembering the man at the restaurant.


    "It didn¡¯t work out. He wasn¡¯t...you," Amanda said.


    I stared at her, not knowing what to say to that. Did I want Amanda back? I did at one point in time, but now...


    "I really should get going, Amanda," I said.


    Her hand lingered on mine for just a second longer before pulling back, her eyes dropping to herp. "Okay," she said softly.


    I gave her a tight nod, then turned and walked away, with the past ying in my head like movie scenes.

 Chapter 73: Be With Me

    <h4>Chapter 73: Be With Me</h4>


    Back then...


    Matthew


    I get to Sarah¡¯s apartment at 3 pm sharp, just like she asked me to.


    I have a feeling I know exactly what this is about. She is probably going to beg me and try to convince me not to get back together with Amanda again.


    But today, I will tell Sarah that there is no point in chasing after me. That Amanda and I are getting back together


    I told her the truth. Sarah and I work together. That she¡¯s been a friend. I don¡¯t even remember sleeping with her.


    I didn¡¯t mention the boat, or the way Sarah looks at me across conference tables, or how, sometimes, when sheughs, I forget why I¡¯m fighting so hard to fix things with Amanda.


    The doorman nods as I enter Sarah¡¯s building. The elevator ride up gives me time to prepare what I¡¯m going to say. I need to be firm but kind. I need to make her understand that whatever happened between us was a mistake, a moment of weakness during a rough patch with Amanda.


    Sarah opens the door before I can knock. She¡¯s wearing a simple sundress, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looks softer somehow, more vulnerable.


    "Come in," she says, her voice quiet. There¡¯s something in her tone that makes me uneasy.


    I follow her into the living room, taking a seat on the leather couch while she pours two sses of water.


    "How did it go with Amanda?" she asks, handing me a ss.


    I take a sip, buying time. "She¡¯s still hurt, but we had a good talk."


    Sarah nods, perching on the edge of the armchair across from me. Her fingers twist in herp. I¡¯ve never seen her nervous before.


    "Matthew, I need to tell you something," she says.


    "Me too, Sarah. I had a long talk with Amanda and I think we are going to get back together. Whatever happened between us..."


    "I¡¯m pregnant," she interrupts me.


    The water ss nearly slips from my hand. "What?"


    "I¡¯m pregnant," she repeats, her voice stronger now. "About four weeks along. It¡¯s yours."


    The room seems to tilt sideways.


    "That¡¯s... that¡¯s impossible," I stammer.


    "Is it?" she says with a small shrug. "We slept together."


    "I don¡¯t even remember doing that!" I shout.


    Sarah flinches but doesn¡¯t back down. "You don¡¯t remember, but I do," she says, her voice low but steady.


    I stand up, running both hands through my hair. I feel like I¡¯m being pulled underwater, like I can¡¯t breathe. "Why didn¡¯t you say anything earlier? Why now?"


    "I wasn¡¯t sure," she says. "But now I am. I took the test yesterday. And I thought... I thought you deserved to know."


    I stare at her, feeling sick. The talk I¡¯d nned, the speech about moving on and going back to Amanda¡ªit all vanishes in the haze of panic and disbelief.


    This changes everything.


    Then Sarah says softly, "I¡¯m keeping the baby, Matthew. You don¡¯t have to be involved if you don¡¯t want to."


    But that¡¯s the thing¡ªhow could I not be? How could I turn my back on this, even if it feels like the whole world is slipping through my fingers?


    "I know this is a shock," she says.


    A shock? It¡¯s a goddamn earthquake. My entire life n, crumbling before my eyes.


    "I need to see the test," I say, my voice hollow.


    Sarah nods, disappearing into the bathroom. I sink back onto the couch, my head in my hands. Amanda¡¯s face shes through my mind¡ªhow am I going to tell her? Just when we were finding our way back to each other.


    Sarah returns with a stic stick, holding it out to me. There it is: two pink lines, unmistakable. My stomach drops as I take it from her, examining it as if I might find some w, some evidence this isn¡¯t real.


    "You can¡¯t avoid this, Matthew," she says.


    I look up at her. "What am I supposed to do now?"


    "Be with me," she breathes.


    It feels like a trap, even though her voice is soft, almost pleading. It feels like I¡¯m being pulled in a direction I never agreed to go.


    "Sarah..." I start, but I don¡¯t even know where I¡¯m going with it. My voice dies in my throat.


    She steps closer, kneeling down in front of me so we¡¯re eye level. "I know what we had wasn¡¯t nned. I know you still love Amanda. But you can¡¯t leave me now that I¡¯m having your baby."


    I shake my head, staring at the test in my hand. "We don¡¯t even have a rtionship. We were coworkers. Friends at best. And now suddenly you¡¯re asking me to¡ªdo what?"


    She flinches. "I¡¯m asking you to step up. To choose to be here, with me."


    A sh of heat rises in my chest. "You haven¡¯t even tried to see what this does to me!" I snap. I can¡¯t be with someone just because she¡¯s having my baby. That¡¯s not fair to you. Or the kid."


    "So you will just walk away and go back to your perfect life with Amanda?" she snaps.


    I know I can¡¯t do that. I am not the kind of man who could walk away from this.


    I sigh. "Alright. I will be with you."


    "You will?" she finally whispers, as if afraid to believe it.


    I nod slowly. "Yeah. I can¡¯t abandon you. Or the baby."


    Her green eyes light up. "You will be with me then?"


    "Yes," I say, not knowing this was the worst decision I¡¯ve ever made.


    Sarah leans in, her eyes shining with unshed tears of victory. She moves closer, her hands reaching up to frame my face.


    "Matthew," she whispers. "You won¡¯t regret this. I promise."


    But I already do. The weight of my decision sits heavy in my chest, a stone I can¡¯t dislodge.


    Sarah¡¯s eyes flutter closed as she eliminates thest inches between us. Her lips find mine, soft and insistent. She kisses me like she¡¯s iming territory, like she¡¯s marking what now belongs to her.


    I kiss her back because I have to, because I¡¯ve just promised to be with her, to raise a child with her. My lips move mechanically against hers, my hands resting limply at her waist instead of pulling her closer. The passion I should feel, the desire that should be coursing through me¡ªit¡¯s all absent, reced by a hollow resignation.


    She doesn¡¯t seem to notice, or she doesn¡¯t care.


    When she finally pulls back, she is smiling.


    "I¡¯ve wanted this for so long," she murmurs.

 Chapter 74: Permission

    <h4>Chapter 74: Permission</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Sarah


    I did it.


    I lied to Matthew about my pregnancy, and he seems to believe it.


    But now what?


    I can¡¯t keep up this lie forever. Eventually, he¡¯s going to expect to see a growing belly, doctor¡¯s appointments, and ultrasounds. Real ones, not the fake picture I ordered online.


    I pace around my kitchen after Matthew leaves, running my fingers through my hair. He looked so devastated, so trapped. But he chose me. That¡¯s what matters.


    Isn¡¯t it?


    The guilt gnaws at me, but I push it down. I have maybe a month, two at most, before I need to stage a miscarriage. It¡¯s awful to even think about, but what choice do I have? I¡¯ve started this; I have to see it through.


    My phone buzzes. It¡¯s a text from Matthew: I told Amanda about the baby. She didn¡¯t take it well.


    My stomach twists. Of course she didn¡¯t. I wouldn¡¯t either.


    I need to buy that time.


    "I texted back: I¡¯m sorry. Are you okay?"


    I¡¯m not sorry at all, but I need to appear sympathetic. I need to y this right.


    Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. Finally: Not really. Need some time to process. Talk tomorrow.


    I set my phone down, a strange mixture of triumph and dread washing over me. I¡¯ve won, but at what cost?


    For the next week, I maintain the charade meticulously. I download pregnancy apps on my phone where he can see them. I leave prenatal vitamin bottles visible on my kitchen counter. I make a show of feeling nauseous during meetings, excusing myself at strategic moments.


    Matthew is attentive in a detached sort of way. He calls daily, asks how I¡¯m feeling, and whether I need anything. He¡¯s going through the motions, doing what¡¯s expected of a man whose one-night stand resulted in an unnned pregnancy.


    Two weeks after my announcement, he takes me to dinner at an upscale restaurant downtown. I wear a fitted dress, not yet needing to fake a baby bump. He pulls out my chair, orders sparkling water instead of wine.


    "I¡¯ve been thinking," he says halfway through the meal, setting down his fork. "We should move in together."


    I nearly choke on my risotto. "What?"


    "It makes sense," he continues, clinical and practical. "If we¡¯re going to co-parent, we should at least try to build something stable. And I need to be there when you are about to give birth."


    "Matthew..." I start, suddenly unsure. This is what I wanted, isn¡¯t it? Him, choosing me, building a life with me.


    "Unless you don¡¯t want that," he adds quickly.


    "No, I do," I say. "I just...I thought we could get married instead."


    Matthew blinks, taken aback.


    "Married?" he echoes, carefully.


    I nod slowly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "We¡¯re going to be parents, Matthew. Moving in together feels temporary. Marriage ismitment. Security. It¡¯s doing things right."


    He looks down at his te, jaw tight. "Sarah, we barely have a rtionship."


    I lean forward, resting my hand lightly over his. "But we can, can¡¯t we?"


    Matthew sighs, rubbing his forehead. "This is a lot."


    "I know," I whisper. "But we¡¯re in it together, right?"


    He hesitates, longer than I like and then gives the faintest nod. "We¡¯ll talk about it."


    It¡¯s not a yes. But it¡¯s not a no.


    When we get back to my ce that night, he doesn¡¯te up. Just kisses my cheek and says he¡¯ll call me tomorrow.


    As the door clicks shut behind him, I slide to the floor in the dark hallway, heart pounding.


    But I¡¯vee this far.


    I¡¯m not turning back now.


    ~-~


    The next morning, I am curled up on the couch, watching TV, when my phone rings.


    Dad.


    "Hi, Dad," I answer.


    "Sarah," he says, his voice low, calm in the way that means he¡¯s anything but. "Is there something you want to tell me?"


    I close my eyes. Crap. Does he know?


    "About what?"


    "Don¡¯t y games with me. Matthew came to me today, asking my permission to marry you. He said you were pregnant. What the hell is going on, Sarah?"


    I sit up, suddenly cold. The lie is going too far now.


    My throat goes dry.


    Matthew did what?


    He asked my dad for permission? I can barely process the words. That wasn¡¯t part of the n. That wasn¡¯t supposed to happen until I had it all figured out, until I decided how to end this cleanly.


    "Sarah," Dad presses, sharp now. "Are you pregnant or not?"


    "Yes," I whisper, swallowing hard. "I am."


    There¡¯s silence on the line.


    "I see. Well, I¡¯ve given him my permission and we will need to arrange this wedding as soon as possible. Your mother is not going to be happy about this, but what choices do we have?" Dad says irritably.


    I want tough. Or cry. I can¡¯t tell which.


    This was supposed to buy me time, give me leverage. But instead, it¡¯s speeding everything up. The walls are closing in faster than I thought they would.


    "What about Mom?" I ask, voice barely audible.


    "She¡¯s furious," he admits. "But she¡¯lle around. Once the wedding¡¯s nned. Once there¡¯s a grandchild to fawn over."


    I press my free hand to my forehead, trying to stay upright. My head spins.


    "Dad, this is all happening really fast¡ª"


    "Exactly," he cuts in. "You need to act fast. The longer we wait, the more scandal this could be. People will talk. And Matthew, well, he¡¯s not exactly husband material in your mother¡¯s eyes yet, but if he¡¯s stepping up, we¡¯ll deal with it."


    I nod even though he can¡¯t see me. My mouth moves to respond, but nothinges out.


    "You¡¯ll call your motherter," he says tly. "Start thinking about venues. End of discussion."


    Then he hangs up.


    Just like that.


    I stare at the dark screen, numb.


    Now everyone believes the lie.


    And I¡¯m getting married.


    But there is no baby.


    And no way out.

 Chapter 75: Baby Stuff

    <h4>Chapter 75: Baby Stuff</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Sarah


    The next day, things go from bad to worse.


    I hear a sharp knock on my door, and when I open it, Reba stands there, her cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright with excitement.


    "Oh my god, Sarah, why didn¡¯t you tell me!?" she squeals, pushing past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation.


    I close the door slowly, trying topose myself.


    "What do you mean?" I manage, forcing a smile as I already know what this is about.


    Reba sps her hands together, drawing a deep breath. "You are pregnant!" she deres, her voice ringing through my apartment. "How the hell did this happen? I didn¡¯t even realize you slept with Matthew."


    That¡¯s because I didn¡¯t.


    The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. "It just happened," I say instead.


    Reba throws herself onto my couch, kicking off her shoes. "And now you¡¯re getting married! Your mom called me this morning, asking if I¡¯d be your maid of honor. She¡¯s already talking about venues and caterers. She sounded... well, not thrilled, but definitely in full nning mode."


    My stomach drops. Of course Mom would call Reba. Of course she¡¯s already nning. The Wilson family never lets scandal simmer¡ªthey smother it with expensive floral arrangements and champagne fountains.


    "It¡¯s all happening so fast," I say, sinking into the armchair across from her.


    Reba studies me, her excitement dimming slightly. "Are you okay? You don¡¯t seem very... pregnant-happy."


    I force a smile. "Just morning sickness. And shock, I guess."


    What are you doing, Sarah? A voice asks me somewhere at the back of my mind. Reba is your best friend. Tell her the truth.


    But I keep my mouth shut because I am a goddamn coward.


    "Well, at least Matthew is doing the right thing," she says, pulling out her phone. "Not many men would propose so quickly. Shows character."


    Does it? Or does it show a man trapped by obligation?


    "Have you set a date yet?" she asks, already scrolling through what looks like wedding venues.


    "No, but apparently my mother has ideas," I say, not hiding the bitterness in my tone.


    Rebaughs. "Don¡¯t be too hard on her."


    God, what am I going to do? I can¡¯t fake a pregnancy forever. I can¡¯t walk down the aisle to a man who¡¯s only marrying me because of a baby that doesn¡¯t exist.


    "Hey," Reba says softly, noticing my expression. "This is a lot, isn¡¯t it?"


    I nod, not trusting myself to speak.


    "Do you love him?" she asks.


    The question hits me like a p. Do I? Or do I just want him because he chose Amanda? Because he¡¯s the first man who didn¡¯t immediately fall at my feet?


    No, that¡¯s not true. I do love Matthew.


    "I do," I whisper.


    Reba sets her phone down, leaning forward. "Then you should look more excited."


    For a moment, I think about telling her everything again. Reba would understand. She¡¯s kept my secrets before. But the words stick in my throat.


    "We need to go shopping for baby stuff," she chirps.


    I only stare at her.


    Shopping?


    For baby stuff?


    Reba is beaming with enthusiasm. "You will need a crib, cute little onesies, everything. We should make a whole day of it."


    Panic res in my chest. My hands feel mmy. I can barely think past the tightness in my throat.


    I can¡¯t do this.


    I can¡¯t walk into a baby store and pretend to be picking out things for a child that doesn¡¯t exist.


    "I¡ª" I clear my throat, forcing out a weakugh. "I think it¡¯s a little early for that, don¡¯t you? I¡¯m barely a few weeks along."


    Reba waves a hand. "It¡¯s never too early!"


    I grip the armrest of the chair, my nails digging into the fabric. "Maybe next week," I say, my voice light, casual.


    Reba nods. "Okay. How about next weekend?"


    I nod, but my stomach is in knots.


    Next weekend.


    I have until then to figure out a way out of this.


    But could I really get out of this?


    The lie is already too big. My mother is nning a wedding. My father has given his blessing.


    And now there¡¯s Reba, promising baby shopping and nursery colors and god knows what else.


    I have until next weekend.


    Seven days.


    Seven days to fix this before it alles crashing down.


    ~-~


    But s, I couldn¡¯te up with a way to fix anything.


    I really am a coward.


    Reba managed to drag me inside a baby boutique, and now, I am standing in front of a hand-carved crib, feeling like the worst person in the world.


    Reba, meanwhile, is in full shopping mode. She runs her fingers along tiny knitted nkets, cooing at the impossibly small socks. "Oh my god, Sarah, look at this," she says, holding up a onesie that says Mommy¡¯s Little Miracle in cursive letters.


    Miracle.


    More like a disaster.


    I force a smile, my throat tight. "It¡¯s cute."


    Reba beams, tossing it into a growing pile of items she¡¯s already decided I need. "You should start thinking about themes. Are you leaning towards something ssic? Or maybe modern and minimalist? Oh! What if we do a vintage aesthetic? Think soft pastels andce."


    She¡¯s talking so fast, so enthusiastically, that I can barely process the words. My vision blurs slightly as I stare at the crib in front of me, its delicate carvings taunting me with the life I¡¯m pretending to have.


    I grip the edge of it, forcing my breathing to stay even.


    I should stop this.


    Right now.


    But the words won¡¯te out.


    Reba turns to me, holding up a tiny stuffed rabbit. "Sarah, what do you think?"


    I think I am a terrible person.


    I think I am digging myself deeper into a lie I will never escape.


    I think I am about to pass out in a damn baby store.


    Instead, I take the rabbit from her hands and squeeze it gently, the softness almost painful against my fingertips. "It¡¯s perfect," I whisper.

 Chapter 76: Come Clean

    <h4>Chapter 76: Come Clean</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Sarah


    I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, staring at my fake pregnant belly.


    Every day, I told myself I¡¯de clean. I will tell Matthew, my parents, and then Reba.


    But then, I chicken out.


    I knew I couldn¡¯t fake a baby bump. Not with my mother¡¯s form-fitting wedding dress alterations scheduled for tomorrow.


    So, I stoop even lower and buy a prosthetic belly.


    They were expensive, absurdly so, but I didn¡¯t hesitate. I selected the "16-week" model and paid for overnight shipping.


    Because I am a horrible, shameless person.


    When the package arrived the next day, I tore it open with trembling fingers. The prosthetic bellyy nestled in tissue paper, flesh-colored and eerily realistic. It came with a special adhesive and detailed instructions for application.


    I stripped down to my underwear and carefully followed each step. When I looked in the mirror, I gasped. My slender frame was curved outward in a perfect, round bump. I ran my hands over it, marveling at how real it felt. And after a few weeks, it was as if I started to believe my own lie.


    It was perfect. Too perfect. No one would question this.


    The next day, I wore it to my dress fitting.


    No one figured it out.


    The seamstress fawned over me, running her hands over the bodice of my gown with an approving smile.


    "Such a lovely little bump," she had gushed.


    Even my mother looked happy. She never paid much attention to me before and when I saw her look at me like I was finally worth something, I let the lie grow even more.


    Now, three months in, the prosthetic belly has be part of my daily routine. I wake up, shower, apply the adhesive, and smooth it into ce.


    I practice how I move, how I sit, how I stand. I rest a hand on my belly when I talk, just like real pregnant women do.


    I know how much weight I should be gaining. I know which symptoms to fake. Nausea? Easy. Just grimace and excuse myself. Fatigue? Perfect excuse to avoid family gatherings. I have it down to a science. But the guilt is eating me alive.


    It gets much worse when Reba throws me a baby shower.


    Reba went all out, decorating the venue with pastel-colored balloons, an borate dessert table, and even a ridiculous baby-shaped cake.


    "Surprise!" she screams as I step into the room, surrounded by friends, family, and people I barely recognize.


    My stomach churns.


    "Do you love it?" Reba asks, grabbing my hands excitedly.


    I nod, because what else can I do?


    I see Matthew watching me from across the room. He walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. "You look pretty," he says and I hold back tears.


    Tell him, my conscience screams at me.


    Tell him now and finish this charade.


    But I don¡¯t do that.


    "Time for gifts!" Reba announces, pping her hands together.


    I sit down. Reba hands me gift after gift.


    A tiny blue onesie, a plush bunny, a handmade nket.


    Oh god...I¡¯m going to be sick.


    I decided to tell Matthew the truth. I can¡¯t keep dragging this out anymore. This has gone way too far. "M-Matthew, can I talk to you?" I lean over and whisper in his ear.


    Matthew stands up, his face suddenly serious. "Actually," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I¡¯d like to say something first."


    My heart stops. Is he going to expose me? Did he somehow figure out my lie?


    But instead of usation, his eyes hold something different¡ªa warmth I haven¡¯t seen directed at me before. He takes my hand, guiding me to stand.


    "I know I haven¡¯t been very nice to you," he says with a nervousugh that ripples through the crowd. "But I want to change it."


    I watch in horror as he lowers himself to one knee, still holding my hand.


    "Sarah Wilson," he says, his voice steady and sure, "I know this isn¡¯t how either of us nned our lives to go. But over these past months, watching you carry our child, it made me realize something. I want this to be more than just an obligation," he continues, pulling out a small velvet box. "I want to be your husband, your partner, and support you in every way possible. So before the wedding, I want to do this right. Will you marry me?"


    He opens the box to reveal a stunning diamond ring¡ªarge emerald-cut stone nked by smaller diamonds.


    The room erupts in cheers and apuse and I¡¯m frozen, staring down at this man who¡¯s proposing to me based on a lie that¡¯s spiraled so far out of control I can barely remember who I am anymore.


    "Say yes!" someone shouts from the back.


    Matthew looks up at me when I don¡¯t say anything. "Sarah?"


    I open my mouth to confess, to end this madness once and for all. The truth burns in my throat, desperate to escape.


    But the words thate out are: "Yes. Of course, yes."


    Matthew slides the ring onto my finger. It feels heavy on my finger as if weighted by my lies. He stands and kisses me, a real kiss.


    I finally got what I wanted. Matthew is willingly marrying me.


    ~-~


    Thenes the wedding day.


    My mother fusses at me, smoothing wrinkles from my gown, adjusting my veil, telling me how she wished I was not as pale.


    I pay no attention to her insults because my mind is filled with anxiety.I can¡¯t stop shaking.


    The prosthetic belly is secure beneath my wedding dress, held in ce with extra adhesive. I tested it twice, triple-checked every detail. No one can know.


    Reba bursts into the bridal suite, squealing with excitement. "You look stunning!" she says, hugging me.


    I force a smile. "Thank you."


    She studies my face. "You okay? You look a little pale."


    "I¡¯m just nervous," I lie.


    She grins. "Cold feet? Don¡¯t worry. Once you see Matthew waiting for you at the altar, it¡¯ll all melt away."


    I doubt that.


    "I will be at the alter. Make sure to keep your shoulders straight when you walk down. I will send your Dad now," Mom says before leaving.


    Oh god, oh god, oh god.


    I can¡¯t do this.


    I can¡¯t.


    I grab the edge of the vanity, breathing heavily.


    "Sarah? What¡¯s wrong? Are you okay?" Reba asks.


    I shake my head vigorously. "No, I am not okay," I say, bursting into tears.


    Reba¡¯s smile falters. "Hey, hey, what¡¯s wrong?" She grips my shoulders. "Is it nerves? Do you need water? Should I get your mom?"


    "No," I gasp, shaking my head. "I can¡¯t...I can¡¯t do this."


    Her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"


    "I¡¯ve been lying," I whisper, the words finally wing their way out of my throat.


    She blinks, confused. "Lying about what?"


    I squeeze my eyes shut. "I¡¯m not pregnant."


    Silence.


    A heavy, suffocating silence.


    Then Reba lets out a small, bewilderedugh. "Wait... what?"


    I choke on a sob. "I faked the whole thing. I bought a prosthetic belly and learned how to act pregnant. I made it all up." My breath shudders. "I wanted Matthew to stay. I wanted my mom to look at me like I mattered. And now, now I don¡¯t know how to fix this."


    Reba just stares at me, her mouth slightly open. Then, she exhales sharply and runs a hand through her hair. "Oh my God, Sarah."


    "I know," I whisper. "I know I messed up."


    "Messed up?" Her voice rises. "Sarah, you told the biggest lie imaginable. You let Matthew propose to you! You let us throw you a freaking baby shower! How¡ª" She stops, inhaling deeply. "Does anyone else know?"


    I shake my head.


    She lets out another sharp breath. "Okay. You need to tell Matthew. Now."


    I clutch the fabric of my wedding dress. "If I tell him, I¡¯ll lose him."


    Reba¡¯s expression hardens. "Sarah, you never had him."


    The words m into me like a brick wall.


    She steps back, rubbing her temples. "I can¡¯t believe this," she mutters. "God, Sarah, I would¡¯ve helped you. How could you lie to me? Your best friend!"


    My throat tightens. "I am so sorry."


    Reba shakes her head. "This is so messed up. But you have toe clean."


    I nod, wiping my eyes. "But..."


    Reba holds my gaze. "Tell him, or I will."

 Chapter 77: It was Fake

    <h4>Chapter 77: It was Fake</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Matthew


    I stand right outside of the bridal suite, my hand frozen on the doorknob. I came to give something to Sarah, a gift my mother asked me to give to my future bride before the ceremony started. But when I arrived here, I heard something that stopped me dead.


    "I faked the whole thing. I bought a prosthetic belly and learned how to act pregnant. I made it all up." I hear Sarah say.


    The words hit me like a physical blow. Not pregnant. The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet.


    I should leave. Or I should burst in. I should do something besides stand here like an idiot, but my body refuses to move.


    She lied. She has been lying to me this whole time.


    I ended things with Amanda. I fucking proposed to her.


    All for a baby that doesn¡¯t exist. Never existed.


    The cold that started in my chest spread through my limbs. My fingers go numb against the doorframe, and I¡¯m now gripping for support.


    Two perfect pink lines. I remember staring at that test and thinking I could get used to the idea of being a father. I have always wanted to have children, maybe not with Sarah, but if that¡¯s what life throws at me, I am willing to ept it. ept her.


    But now, I find out how she manipted me.


    There is no baby. There never was.


    The numbness in my hands spreads to my face. A strange heat builds in my chest, ufortable and growing. It takes me a moment to recognize it¡ªnot sadness, not even disbelief anymore.


    Rage.


    Pure, unfiltered rage pulses through me with each heartbeat. I¡¯ve never been an angry person. Never been the type to yell or throw things. But right now, standing outside this door with the pieces of my shattered future at my feet, I feel something primal and ugly rising inside me.


    I burst inside the room.


    Sarah stands there in her wedding dress, looking every bit like a bride. For a split second, we just stare at each other. Me, breathing hard with barely contained fury. Her, lips parted in surprise.


    Then everything erupts at once. "There¡¯s no baby, is there?" The questiones out as a shout, echoing off the hotel room walls. "It was all a lie. All of it!"


    Sarah¡¯s eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth, and tears stream down her cheeks.


    "Matthew, I am so sorry," she says. The color drains from her face. She takes a step back, bumping against the dresser.


    "You tricked me into marrying you," I hiss.


    Her lips press together, eyes darting around the room like she¡¯s looking for an escape route. "You don¡¯t understand¡ª"


    "Oh, I understand perfectly," I cut in, my voice rising again. "I understand that you lied about being pregnant. What did you do? Buy a fake test online? Y-you...you manipted me, my family, everyone."


    "I never meant for it to go this far," she whispers.


    "Bullshit!" I roar. "This is exactly what you meant to happen. You wanted a ring on your finger. All because of what? To win against Amanda?"


    Sarah chokes out a sob. "That¡¯s not fair. I love you, Matthew."


    "Love?" I repeat, the word sour in my mouth. "You don¡¯t even know what that means. Love isn¡¯t lying. Love isn¡¯t maniption."


    Her gaze drops to the carpet, unable to meet mine.


    "I trusted you," I continue, my voice cracking slightly. "I believed everything you said. I defended you to my friends when they said we were rushing things. I rejected Amanda for you because I wanted to do the right thing by you!"


    Sarah reaches for my hand, but I jerk away like her touch might burn me.


    "Don¡¯t," I warn. "Don¡¯t touch me."


    Her tears flow faster now. "Matthew, please. We can work this out. I made a mistake¡ª"


    "A mistake?" My voice rises again, incredulous.


    "Matthew, maybe we should all take a moment and..." Reba starts but I re at her.


    The door opens again and Sarah¡¯s father walks in. His eyes take in the scene. His daughter in tears on the bed, me standing with fists clenched, the tension thick enough to choke on. "What the hell is going on here?" he demands, looking between us.


    Sarah makes a sound somewhere between a hup and a sob, her makeup streaked down her face like melting wax.


    "Dad," she manages, stretching out her arms like a child seeking protection.


    Her father moves to her side immediately, one arm around her shoulders, his re fixed on me. "What did you do to her?" he demands.


    "I didn¡¯t do anything to her," I say, my voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Maybe you should ask your daughter what she did."


    "What¡¯s going on, Sarah?" her father asks Sarah.


    Sarah pulls back. "I...I made a huge mistake."


    "A mistake?" I repeat, taking a step toward them. "You think what you did is a mistake?"


    Her father stands, moving slightly in front of Sarah like he¡¯s shielding her from me. "I want to know what¡¯s going on right now," he demands. "This is my daughter¡¯s wedding day, and I¡¯m not having it ruined by whatever this is."


    "Tell him," I address Sarah through gritted teeth.


    "I was stupid, Daddy," she says, her voice small and trembling. "I was so so dumb. I am so sorry."


    Her father frowns, looking between us. "What happened? What did you do?"


    Sarah¡¯s eyes meet mine, silently begging. She doesn¡¯t want her father to know. Doesn¡¯t want anyone to know the kind of person she really is.


    "Tell him," I say, crossing my arms. "Tell him about the baby."


    Her father¡¯s expression shifts to confusion. "The baby? What about the baby? Is something wrong?"


    Sarah¡¯s face crumples. "Matthew, please," she whispers.


    "Tell him," I repeat, unmoved by her tears. "Or I will."


    She shakes her head, more tears spilling over. Her father looks increasingly rmed.


    "What¡¯s wrong with the baby?" he asks, his voice rising. "Sarah, are you havingplications? Is that what this is about?"


    "There is no baby," I say tly when it¡¯s clear Sarah won¡¯t. "There never was."


    Her father stares at me like I¡¯ve started speaking in tongues. "What are you talking about? Sarah¡¯s pregnant. That¡¯s why you two got married so quickly."


    "That¡¯s what she wanted everyone to think," I tell him, each word precise and cutting. "Ask her. Ask your daughter if she¡¯s actually pregnant."


    His eyes swing to Sarah, who seems to shrink under his gaze. "Sarah?"


    She looks down at her hands, twisted in herp. "I¡¯m not pregnant," she admits in a whisper.


    "I don¡¯t understand," Sarah¡¯s father says. "You told everyone you were pregnant."


    Sarah just continues crying, offering no exnation. I feel a twisted satisfaction watching her father grapple with the same bewilderment I experienced earlier.


    "She lied," I say. "She bought a fake pregnancy test online. Made the whole thing up so I¡¯d propose."


    Her father takes a step back from the bed, as if distancing himself from his daughter¡¯s deception. "Is this true?" he asks her.


    Sarah nods miserably, not looking up.


    "Why?" he demands. "Why would you do something like that?"


    "I...I love him. I thought he...he wouldn¡¯t want me and would choose Amanda if I didn¡¯t go this far," she says.


    I feel disgusted just listening to her.


    Her father turns to me, genuine regret in his eyes. "Matthew, can I speak to you alone?"

 Chapter 78: Wedding Day

    <h4>Chapter 78: Wedding Day</h4>


    Back then continues...


    Matthew


    I nod stiffly and follow him out into the hallway, leaving Sarah sobbing on the bed. As soon as the door closes behind us, her father runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, looking suddenly older than his years.


    "I don¡¯t know what to say," he begins, his voice low and strained. "I had no idea she would... Christ, Matthew, I¡¯m sorry."


    The apology catches me off guard.


    "I didn¡¯t know either," I manage to say. "I just found out."


    He nods. "What are you going to do?"


    It¡¯s a simple question with an obvious answer, but hearing it spoken aloud makes everything suddenly, terribly real. The wedding. The guests. My family waiting downstairs, unaware that everything has fallen apart.


    "I can¡¯t marry her," I say, the words tasting like ash. "I can¡¯t be with someone who would lie about something like this."


    Her father¡¯s face hardens, the momentary sympathy evaporating.


    "You will marry my daughter today," he says, his voice low but carrying the unmistakable weight ofmand.


    I blink, certain I¡¯ve misheard. "Excuse me?"


    "You heard me perfectly well, Matthew." He steps close. "This wedding is happening. Today. As nned."


    A disbelievingugh escapes me. "You can¡¯t be serious. Did you miss the part where she lied about being pregnant? Where she manipted me into proposing?"


    "I heard everything," he replies, unmoved. "And I understand you¡¯re upset. But there are two hundred guests downstairs. Business associates, family friends, people who have flown in from across the country."


    He straightens his tie, a gesture so mundane it seems absurd in this moment. "The Wilson name means something in this town. I won¡¯t have it dragged through the mud because my daughter made a foolish mistake."


    "A foolish mistake?" I repeat, incredulous. "This isn¡¯t like she forgot to pay a parking ticket. She fabricated an entire pregnancy."


    The corridor feels too narrow suddenly and I feel suffocated.


    "Matthew," he says, his tone softening. "Let¡¯s be practical."


    "Practical," I repeat dumbly.


    "Sarah is my only daughter. I have given her everything she has ever wanted and for a good reason. This time won¡¯t be any different because I know she loves you. And I won¡¯t, under any circumstances, let her be humiliated," he says firmly.


    His eyes lock with mine, and I see what he¡¯s really saying. This isn¡¯t about saving his daughter from humiliation. This is about saving face. About his reputation.


    "With all due respect, sir," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, "I don¡¯t give a damn about your family name right now. Your daughter lied to me about something unforgivable."


    He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Let me be clear. If you walk away today, I will make sure you regret it. You don¡¯t know the extent of my influence. I will make sure you are cklisted. No one will hire you again. You will be ruined, Matthew."


    "Are you threatening me?" I ask, disbelief coloring my tone.


    "I¡¯m exining reality," he says smoothly. "Actions have consequences, Matthew. For everyone."


    I think of my father and how hard he worked to raise my sister and me.


    "So I¡¯m supposed to just smile and say my vows like nothing happened? Commit my life to someone who would deceive me this way?"


    "You¡¯re supposed to be a man," he says coldly. "Handle this privately, like adults. The ceremony starts in five minutes."


    With that, he walks away. My mind races, trying to process everything that¡¯s happened in thest fifteen minutes. My entire future has been derailed.


    I slump against the wall, running my hands through my hair. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Marry a woman I can¡¯t trust to save my career? Walk away and risk everything I¡¯ve worked for?


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. It¡¯s a text from my sister.


    "Matthew, where are you? You are supposed to be standing at the altar!"


    I stare at the screen, unable to form a response.


    This can¡¯t be happening to me.


    I head back outside, each step harder than thest.


    I can feel my pulse hammering in my temples, a physical manifestation of the rage that¡¯s building inside me with each passing second.


    Her deception was soplete, so expertly executed. How many nights had Iin awake, thinking about this damned baby? All while she lied and lied.


    I¡¯ve never felt this kind of rage before. It¡¯s like a living thing inside me, wing to get out.


    I hate her.


    But I will marry her.


    I¡¯m going to say my vows. And then I¡¯m going to make her regret every single day that she decided to trick me into this marriage.


    So I do what her father asks me to do. I stand at the altar, my fists clenched at my sides as the murmur of the guests dies down. My heart pounds, but not from nerves¡ªit¡¯s from barely restrained fury.


    Then the music starts.


    Heads turn, eyes lighting up with admiration as Sarah appears at the end of the aisle, a vision in white. She looks beautiful, but all I see is a liar. A maniptor.


    She walks toward me, her steps hesitant. Her face is pale, her smile brittle, as if she knows exactly what I¡¯m thinking. Good. She should be afraid.


    I keep my expression neutral as she stops beside me. Her hands tremble when she takes mine.


    The officiant begins to speak, but I barely hear him. My gaze is locked onto Sarah¡¯s.


    Does she even realize what she is getting herself into?


    When it¡¯s time for the vows, her voice wavers. "I, Sarah, take you, Matthew... to be mywfully wedded husband." She blinks rapidly, like she might cry.


    I hope she does.


    The room is silent as everyone waits for me to speak. I let the silence stretch, feeling Sarah¡¯s fingers tighten around mine. A faint, desperate plea lingers in her eyes.


    I clear my throat and say the words that will bind me to this woman.


    "I, Matthew, take you, Sarah..."


    She exhales, relief flickering across her face.


    Foolish.


    I finish the vow, my tone steady, but inside, I¡¯m already nning my next move.


    She thinks she¡¯s won.


    She has no idea what¡¯sing.

 Chapter 79: The Crib

    <h4>Chapter 79: The Crib</h4>


    Back to present...


    Sarah


    "Oh, dear god, no," I exim as Reba points at the clown poster.


    She looks at me with amusement. "Why not? I heard clowns are trendy nowadays."


    I wince. "In what world? There is no way this is going in my baby¡¯s room. It¡¯s terrifying. Do you want him or her to grow up with childhood trauma?"


    Reba snorts. "Fine, fine. No creepy clowns. What about this?" She holds up a pastel-colored print of baby animals.


    Now that I can work with. I let out a relieved sigh. "Much better. Cute and non-threatening. Exactly what we need."


    She smirks. "Whatever you say."


    I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips. "Trust me, my kid will thank me one day for not subjecting them to nightmare fuel."


    Reba chuckles as she flips through another stack of prints. "So, do you have a theme in mind, or are we just winging it?"


    I hesitate, running my fingers over a soft, neutral-colored crib nket. "I don¡¯t know... Something calming, maybe. Nothing too bright or chaotic."


    She raises an eyebrow. "So, no circus theme?"


    I give her a t look. "Reba."


    Sheughs, holding up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! What about stars? Or maybe a forest theme?"


    I nod slowly, considering it. "Stars might be nice... Kind of peaceful."


    Reba hums in agreement. "Yeah, like a little gxy for your baby."


    A lump forms in my throat at the thought. A whole world, a whole future, waiting to be shaped. My hand unconsciously drifts to my stomach.


    Reba notices and nudges me yfully. "You okay?"


    I force a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking."


    Thinking about the future. Thinking about the past. Thinking about him.


    What will happen when this child sees that their father hates their mother?


    Reba picks up a small, knitted star-shaped pillow. "This would be cute for the nursery."


    I nod absently, my fingers tightening around the fabric of the nket I¡¯m still holding.


    A bitter taste fills my mouth. No matter how beautiful I make this nursery, no matter how much love I pour into preparing for this baby, there¡¯s one thing I can¡¯t control. Matthew.


    Will he ever forgive me? Or will my child always see the anger in his eyes when he looks at me?


    Reba¡¯s voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Hey," she says gently, "I know things areplicated. But your baby is going to love you. And that¡¯s more than enough."


    I swallow hard and nod. "Yeah. You are right."


    "Matthew wille around too," she adds.


    I blurt it out then. "He went to see Amanda."


    Reba¡¯s eyes widen, her smile faltering. "What?"


    I nod. "He went to see Amanda. He told me."


    Her expression shifts quickly from concern to disbelief. "What... Why would he do that?"


    I shrug. "I guess he needed closure," I say, but do I really believe that? He damned near told me that he wants Amanda back. Didn¡¯t he?


    But I don¡¯t want to tell Reba that. I don¡¯t want her to know how pathetic I have be. How I want to be with him no matter how much he hurts me.


    Reba sets down the star pillow and takes both of my hands in hers, the nursery items momentarily forgotten. Her face is serious now, all traces of teasing gone.


    "Sarah, I need you to be honest with me. How are you really feeling about this?"


    I bite my lip, fighting the urge to brush it off, to pretend everything¡¯s fine.


    "I¡¯m scared," I whisper, my voice cracking. "What if he never forgives me? What if he¡¯s still in love with her and leaves me alone to be with her?"


    Reba guides me to a nearby disy chair, sitting beside me.


    "Did he say that? That he wants her back?"


    I shake my head. "More or less." I twist the fabric of my shirt between my fingers.


    "Or maybe," Reba says carefully, "He only wants you to think that because he knows it will bother you. He wouldn¡¯t leave you and his baby."


    I want to believe her. God, how I want to.


    Reba squeezes my hand tightly. "Don¡¯t worry so much. Come on, be happy. We still have a lot of shopping to do."


    I take a deep breath, trying to push the worry down, but it lingers like an unwanted shadow. "Yeah, you are right," I say. "We still have a lot to do."


    We spend all day shopping. When it¡¯s time to go, Reba gives me a hug before we part ways. "Take care, Sarah," she says.


    At least my best friend loves me again, I think to myself, smiling.


    A few minutester, I am home, but I can¡¯t find Matthew anywhere in the house.


    My heart stops. It¡¯s Saturday, so I know he is not at work. Did he go to see Amanda again?


    "Sarah! What¡¯s wrong? Are you looking for something, dear?" Marishka¡¯s voice startles me.


    I spin around to face her. "Matthew...where is he?"


    Marishka smiles reassuringly. "He¡¯s in the garage. Been there for hours now."


    "The garage?" I repeat, confusion recing my panic.


    She nods, wiping her hands on her apron. "Making quite a racket too. Sawing and hammering since after lunch."


    My confusion deepens. "What is he doing?"


    "Who knows? Why don¡¯t you go and see?" she suggests.


    I nod and make my way toward the garage, moving slowly, unsure of what to expect. As I approach, I can hear the muffled sound. It sounds like a scrape of sandpaper against wood, the asional metallic ng of tools being set down.


    I hesitate at the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Part of me wants to burst in. Another part is scared that he will be annoyed by me.


    I hear another loud noise followed by a curse.


    "Matthew?" I call out, pushing the door open.


    I stare at the scene before me. The garage floor is covered in sawdust and wood shavings everywhere. Tools I didn¡¯t even know we owned are spread across his workbench.


    And in the center of it all stands Matthew, a pencil behind his ear, a measuring tape in one hand, and a look ofplete surprise on his face.


    "What..." my breath catches in my throat when I see what¡¯s behind him.


    A crib.


    Half-built, but unmistakably a crib. The frame is nearlyplete, solid oak by the look of it.


    "You weren¡¯t supposed to see this yet," Matthew says, his voice somewhere between frustration and embarrassment. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of sawdust across his forehead. "It was going to be a surprise."


    I step further into the garage, my eyes never leaving the crib. "You are... building a crib? For the baby?"


    He nods, suddenly looking uncertain. "I took some woodshop sses in high school and college. I thought I¡¯d be a carpenter, but changed my career at thest minute." He chuckles. "But I am still quite good at building things, I think," he says, motioning at the handmaid crib.


    I can¡¯t speak. My throat feels too tight, my eyes burning.


    Matthew misinterprets my silence. "I know it¡¯s not as fancy as the ones in the stores," he says quickly, defensively. "But it¡¯s sturdy. I¡¯ve triple-checked every measurement, every joint. And I¡¯m adding some modern safety features..."


    "It¡¯s beautiful," I breathe. "It¡¯s perfect, Matthew." I stride toward him and wrap my arms around his neck.


    He frowns. "Eh...what are you doing? I am all sweaty and covered in sawdust."


    I don¡¯t care. I hold him tighter, burying my face against his chest. "I don¡¯t care about sawdust," I murmur against his shirt. "You¡¯re building our baby a crib."


    "Don¡¯t make a big deal out of it," he barks, but I feel his arms around me.


    I sniffle, trying to hold back tears. "It is a big deal. You¡¯re doing something for the baby."


    His arms tighten around me for a moment before he pulls back. "Alright, that¡¯s enough."


    I watch as he turns back to the crib, running his fingers along the smooth edge of the headboard.


    "I was thinking of carving some stars into it," he says, not looking at me. "To match the nursery theme you mentioned to Marishka."


    "You¡¯ve been talking to Marishka about the nursery?"


    He shrugs, picking up a piece of sandpaper. "She mentioned you were considering a star theme. I thought it might be nice."


    I¡¯m speechless. All day I¡¯d been worrying about Matthew and Amanda, imagining the worst, while he was here, building something for our child. Creating something with his hands that our baby will sleep in.


    "Do you want to help?" he asks suddenly, holding out a piece of sandpaper. "This part¡¯s easy. Just smooth it down in the direction of the grain."


    I take the sandpaper hesitantly. "I don¡¯t want to mess it up."


    "You won¡¯t." His voice is gruff but not unkind. "Here, like this." He stands behind me, guiding my hand over the wood. His chest presses against my back, his breath warm on my neck.


    I fight back tears again. Damn these pregnancy hormones.

 Chapter 80: Let Me Help

    <h4>Chapter 80: Let Me Help</h4>


    Matthew


    I watch Sarah delicately sand the wood. My lips curled into a small smile. This girl has never had to work with her hands in her entire life, and I can tell that from watching her.


    But she¡¯s trying. That¡¯s what gets me. She¡¯s holding the sandpaper awkwardly, her movements slow and careful, like she¡¯s afraid she¡¯ll ruin the crib if she presses too hard.


    I lean against the workbench, arms crossed, watching her struggle for a moment longer before finally stepping in. "Here," I say, reaching for her hand. "You¡¯ve gotta hold it like this."


    Sarah looks up at me, her brows furrowed. "I am holding it like that."


    I smirk. "No, you¡¯re holding it like you think it¡¯s about to bite you." I take her hand gently, adjusting her grip. "Use firm, even strokes. Let the sandpaper do the work."


    She huffs but follows my guidance, trying again. It¡¯s still not perfect, but at least she¡¯s not treating it like fragile ss anymore.


    "You¡¯re enjoying this, aren¡¯t you?" she uses, ncing up at me.


    "A little," I admit, smirking. "But I appreciate the effort."


    Sarah rolls her eyes, but I don¡¯t miss the small smile tugging at her lips.


    For a while, we work in silence, side by side. I focus on assembling the final joints of the crib while she continues sanding thest few pieces. It¡¯s... nice. Peaceful. Something I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever have again, not with her.


    I nce over at her, taking in the way her hair falls over her face as she concentrates, the way her hands are delicate but determined.


    "Why do we need to sand this again?" she asks.


    I chuckle, shaking my head as I tighten a screw into ce. "So the baby doesn¡¯t get splinters."


    Sarah pauses, staring at the sandpaper like it personally offended her. "Splinters? From this?" She runs her fingers over the wood as if testing my im.


    "Trust me," I say, grabbing another piece of sandpaper. "You wouldn¡¯t want to deal with a crying baby and splinters at the same time. Besides, the paint won¡¯t look good if the surface isn¡¯t smooth."


    She nods and keeps sanding, her strokes bing steadier.


    "You¡¯re doing good," I say.


    Sarah looks up at me and smiles. And something in my chest loosens.


    "Where were you today?" I ask.


    Her face lights up. "Becky and I had been at the baby stores. We bought SO much stuff, you wouldn¡¯t believe it!"


    I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, I would believe it. How much damage are we talking?"


    Sarah grins, clearly proud of herself. "Let¡¯s just say the baby won¡¯t need clothes for at least a year."


    I let out a low whistle. "That bad, huh?"


    She shrugs, still smiling. "Everything was just so cute. Becky practically had to drag me away before I bought an entire nursery set."


    I shake my head, amused. "You know babies grow fast, right? Half that stuff won¡¯t even fit after a few months."


    She waves me off. "I know that. But I couldn¡¯t help myself. You should¡¯ve seen the little onesies with animal ears. And the tiny socks!"


    I lean back, watching her ramble. There¡¯s a glow to her, something I haven¡¯t seen in a long time. She is happy. And despite my decision to make her miserable, I can¡¯t bring myself to ruin this moment.


    "That¡¯s enough sanding," I tell her and she puts the sandpaper down. "Let¡¯s leave it for now. I will paint it tomorrow."


    Sarah smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for doing this," she says softly. "For the baby."


    "It¡¯s nothing," I mutter, suddenly ufortable with her gaze. "You should rest. I can finish up here."


    She sighs. "Yeah. Maybe I am a little tired."


    She then walks over and, before I can react, ces a quick kiss on my cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, and then she¡¯s gone, leaving me standing there, the ghost of her lips still warm on my skin.


    I run my fingers over the spot, confused by the rush of conflicting emotions.


    I stare at the crib for a long moment before going back inside the house.


    I grab a beer from the fridge, draining half of it in one long pull before heading upstairs. I need a shower too.


    As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear it, the soft ssh of water, the faint melody of Sarah humming to herself. I pause outside the bathroom door, which is cracked open just enough to release tendrils of steam into the hallway.


    Without thinking, I push it open wider.


    Sarah is soaking in the bathtub, her hair piled messily atop her head, loose strands clinging to her damp neck. The water is clouded with bath salts or oils, small inds of bubbles floating on the surface.


    Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back against the porcin edge, and one arm is drapedzily over the side of the tub. She looks peaceful. Beautiful, even.


    She opens her eyes, startling slightly when she sees me standing in the doorway.


    "Matthew," she says, her voice soft with surprise. "I didn¡¯t hear youe up."


    "I, uh..." I clear my throat, suddenly aware that I¡¯m still holding my half-empty beer. "I was going to take a shower, but I can wait."


    Sarah shifts slightly in the water, causing small ripples to spread across the surface. "It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m almost done anyway."


    I step fully into the bathroom, setting my beer down on the counter.


    "How about I help you wash your hair?" I say.


    Her eyes widen slightly. "What?"


    "Your hair," I repeat. "Let me help you wash your hair."


    She looks at me, then slowly nods. "Okay."


    I roll up my sleeves, feeling oddly nervous as Sarah turns in the tub, presenting her back to me. She reaches up and pulls the stic from her hair, letting it tumble down in loose waves.


    "There¡¯s shampoo on the shelf," she says, her voice soft.


    I reach for the bottle, pouring a generous amount into my palm. The scent fills the steamy air¡ªcitrus and something floral. Sarah¡¯s scent.


    "Tilt your head back," I instruct, and sheplies, leaning against the edge of the tub.


    I hesitate for just a moment before sinking my fingers into her hair. It¡¯s silky and thick, sliding between my fingers like water itself. I begin to massage the shampoo into her scalp, working from her temples back.


    Sarah lets out a small, contented sigh, her eyes fluttering closed. "That feels nice."


    I swallow hard, rinsing thest of the shampoo from her strands.


    "All done," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.


    Sarah blinks her eyes open and turns slightly to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed. "Tha-thank you."


    "Yeah," I murmur and stand up, my cock hard.


    "I just remembered, I need to make a call. Business stuff," I mutter, backing away from the tub. "Forgotpletely."


    The bathroom suddenly feels too small. The steam clings to my skin, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it¡¯s not the steam at all. Maybe it¡¯s the way Sarah is looking at me, her eyes wide and questioning, water droplets dripping from her corbone to her breasts.


    I don¡¯t wait for her response. I grab my beer from the counter and practically bolt from the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me with more force than necessary. The sound echoes through the hallway, making me wince.


    In the safety of my office, I lock the door and copse into my chair, running both hands through my hair. What the hell am I doing? This wasn¡¯t part of the n. I was supposed to be cold, distant. I was supposed to make her feel my pain, not wash her fucking hair like we¡¯re in some romantic movie.


    I take a long pull from my beer, but it does nothing to cool the heat coursing through me. The memory of her wet hair slipping through my fingers, the small sigh she made when I massaged her scalp¡ª


    "Fuck," I mutter.


    I¡¯m still hard, painfully so. The image of Sarah in that tub won¡¯t leave me alone¡ªher flushed skin, the curve of her neck, those wisps of hair clinging to her damp shoulders. I want her.


    Control...I need to learn how to control my urges.


    Maybe I need to get out of here. Away from this house, away from her.

 Chapter 81: False Hope

    <h4>Chapter 81: False Hope</h4>


    Matthew


    "Oh, Matthew. I am d to have caught you," Marishka says as I am on my way out. She hands me an envelope. "This came for you."


    I take the envelope from Marishka, frowning slightly as I turn it over in my hands. "It looks like some kind of an invitation," I murmur absently.


    Marishka tilts her head, curiosity shing in her eyes. "An invitation? To what?"


    I shrug. "Only one way to find out."


    Sliding a finger beneath the seal, I open the envelope and pull out a thick, cream-colored card. The edges are embossed with a silver pattern, elegant and old-fashioned. Our names are printed at the top in calligraphy, followed by a short message:


    "You are cordially invited to attend the 50th marriage anniversary party of Charles and Evelyn at the Grand Sky Hotel. Dress in evening wear.


    March 17th, Seven PM."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Sarah¡¯s parents¡¯ anniversary party. But what¡¯s with the formal invitation? Why not just call us directly?" I muse.


    Marishka chuckles. "Well, you know Evelyn and how she is. She likes to show off."


    "You are invited too of course," I tell her.


    Marishka brightens. "Oh, that¡¯s kind of them to invite me."


    I smile at her. "You are family. It¡¯s only natural you would be invited too."


    Marishka nods. "I suppose you better go tell Sarah."


    I hesitate. "Actually, could you tell her? I was about to head out," I ask. The truth is, I am not ready to face her yet. Not when I am about to burst out of my jeans.


    God...I hope Marishka didn¡¯t notice.


    Marishka gives me a knowing look, her lips twitching like she¡¯s holding back a smirk.


    "Of course, Matthew," she says smoothly, tucking the envelope under her arm. "I¡¯ll let Sarah know."


    I clear my throat, shifting my stance in a way that I hope hides my... predicament. "Thanks."


    Marishka lingers for a second longer. "You know," she muses, "it is nice that you have been spending a little more time with Sarah. She seems... happiertely."


    I run a hand through my hair, forcing a neutral expression. "Yeah. I guess."


    Her smirk deepens. "Well, don¡¯t be out toote."


    With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, exhaling slowly.


    Fresh air, that¡¯s what I need.


    I step outside, inhaling the crisp evening air, hoping it will cool the heat running through me.


    I walk, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, trying to clear my head. But no matter how much distance I put between myself and that damn bathroom moment, Sarah¡¯s soft sighs and the way her head tilted back under my touch won¡¯t leave my mind.


    Dammit. Why am I trying to resist this anyway? It¡¯s not like we haven¡¯t had sex over a hundred times already.


    My phone rings in my pocket, so I snatch it out.


    Sarah¡¯s name shes before me.


    "Wha-what?" I bark, unable to stop the tremor in my voice.


    "Where did you go?" Sarah asks softly.


    I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, trying to steady myself. Her voice alone is enough to mess with my head.


    "Just... out," I say.


    Sarah hums on the other end. "Out where?"


    I huff, rubbing the back of my neck. "Does it matter?"


    "It does when you leave so suddenly," she counters. "And when you sound all... flustered."


    Damn her. She knows.


    I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Did Marishka tell you about the invitation?"


    "She did," Sarah confirms. "You didn¡¯t want to tell me yourself?"


    I exhale sharply. "I figured you¡¯d hear about it soon enough."


    Sarah is quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice far too sweet, she asks, "Come home, Matthew."


    "Sarah..." I start, but I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m trying to say.


    "Matthew," she says my name softly and that alone makes me want to run back.


    She is a damn Siren.


    I turn, already walking back. "I aming back, but not because you asked me to," I say, lying to her and myself.


    She giggles. "Okay."


    Damn her.


    ~-~


    I go up the stairs slowly and pause outside the bedroom, my hand hovering over the doorknob.


    What am I doing? What is she doing to me? This push and pull between us is maddening. One minute I¡¯m determined to make her life hell, the next I¡¯m washing her hair and rushing home at her beck and call.


    With a deep breath, I push the door open.


    Sarah is lying stretched across the bed on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, her bare feet crossed at the ankles and swayingzily in the air. She¡¯s wearing her sheer nightgown, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thighs.


    She is looking at the invitation card, her fingertips tracing the embossed silver pattern as she studies it with an intensity that makes me wonder what she¡¯s really thinking about.


    Her hair falls in damp waves around her shoulders, still carrying the faint scent of that citrus shampoo. The memory of it sliding between my fingers hits me like a physical force.


    She looks up at my entrance, her eyes meeting mine.


    "You came back quickly," she says simply, her lips curving into a small smile.


    I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. "I said I would."


    "So," she says, tapping the card with a fingernail. "The big anniversary party. Mom¡¯s been nning this for months."


    I step further into the room, keeping a safe distance from the bed. "Fifty years is a long time."


    Sarah nods, her expression thoughtful. "It is. Hmm...I am going to need a dress to wear."


    "You have plenty of dresses," I say, staring at her body again.


    She looks at me, her eyes dark. "None that will be good enough, ording to my mother. She alwaysins that nothing looks good on me since I didn¡¯t inherit all of her beauty."


    My jaw tightens. "That¡¯s bullshit."


    Sarah lets out a softugh, but there¡¯s no real amusement in it. "Is it?"


    I step closer, ignoring the warning bells in my head that tell me to keep my distance. "Yeah, it is," I say firmly. "Your mother is full of shit, Sarah."


    She exhales, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "Maybe. But she is notpletely wrong. I mean, I am not what you would call ssically beautiful."


    I stare at her, my frustration mounting. "What the hell does that even mean?"


    Sarah turns her head to look at me, something unreadable in her eyes. "You know what I mean, Matthew. I don¡¯t have my mother¡¯s perfect bone structure, her sharp features, her...presence."


    She waves a hand vaguely, then lets it fall onto the bed. "People don¡¯t turn their heads when I walk into a room. And besides, why are you arguing with me anyway? You said I was not pretty either, remember? Not beautiful like Amanda."


    My whole body goes rigid.


    I did say that, didn¡¯t I?


    "I said that out of anger," I murmur.


    She shrugs, still staring at the ceiling. "Doesn¡¯t make it any less true."


    I cross the room and hover over her. "It does, actually. It makes itpletely untrue."


    Sarah looks at me with surprise. "What are you doing? Why are you¡ª"


    "I¡¯ve been trying to control myself since I¡¯ve seen you soaking in that damn tub," I say, gritting my teeth. "Now, why would I want you so much if you were not pretty?"


    Her eyes widen slightly, lips parting. "Matt¡ª"


    "You¡¯re not pretty, Sarah," I say, voice low as I lean closer. "You¡¯re fucking breathtaking."


    She blinks rapidly. "You don¡¯t have to¡ª"


    "I¡¯m not saying it to make you feel better." My hands press into the mattress on either side of her, creating a cage.


    Sarah¡¯s breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes it hard for me to focus. "You shouldn¡¯t say things like that," she whispers, but she doesn¡¯t move away. If anything, she arches slightly toward me.


    "Why not?"


    "Because..." She swallows hard. "Because it will give me false hope."


    I lean closer, my breath brushing against her ear as I whisper, "Maybe that¡¯s my n. Giving you hope and then taking it away."


    Her body stiffens beneath me, but she doesn¡¯t pull away. Instead, she meets my gaze, those eyes of hers both guarded and daring all at once. There¡¯s a challenge in them.


    "That I can believe. But I won¡¯t dare hope. Not with you," she breathes.


    "Because you¡¯re afraid of me?" I ask, studying the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.


    "Because I¡¯m smart," she counters, though her voicecks conviction. "You¡¯re just...bored."


    Iugh. "Is that what you think this is?"


    Sarah¡¯s fingers twist in the bedsheets. "What else could it be? You like to use my body when you want it. When you feel the need."


    "Do you want me to leave you alone tonight, then?" I ask.


    Please say no.


    She bites her lip. "No..."


    Oh, thank god.

 Chapter 82: Let’s Go Shopping

    <h4>Chapter 82: Let¡¯s Go Shopping</h4>


    Sarah


    Matthew is so darned confusing! I think to myself as I shower for the second time tonight.


    One minute, he deres he hates me. The next minute, he calls me beautiful and makes love to me like I am the most precious thing in the world. I don¡¯t know how much more I can take of this roller coaster.


    What is he doing to me? And why am I letting him?


    It¡¯s almost easier when he is angry at me. It is something I¡¯ve grown ustomed to. Sadly. But when he is so sweet to me, something twists in my heart.


    Part of me wants to pull back, to shut it all down before I get hurt, but another part of me wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, he loves me.


    I step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel, my skin still humming from the pleasure of our lovemaking. I wonder if he is aware of how much he affects me, how his words can break me and heal me in the same breath.


    Oh, I am sure he is aware. He is totally ying me, isn¡¯t he?


    Isn¡¯t he?


    I groan out loud.


    He is suddenly here in front of me, his eyes watching me carefully. "What¡¯s wrong? Why did you just groan?"


    I blink. "How did you hear that? Have you been standing outside my door this whole time?"


    Matthew shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. "I was passing by. You weren¡¯t exactly quiet."


    I clutch the towel tighter around me. "Well, I didn¡¯t think I needed to be quiet in my own bathroom."


    His eyes travel down my body, lingering on the water droplets trailing down my neck, before meeting my gaze again. "You didn¡¯t answer my question. Why did you groan?"


    I consider lying, but what¡¯s the point? "Because I don¡¯t understand you, Matthew. One minute you hate me, the next..."


    "I still hate you," he says.


    Yeah, right.


    "Don¡¯t overthink," he says firmly. "I am only being nice to you because you are pregnant."


    "With a child you refuse to acknowledge as yours," I remind him.


    His face hardens, jaw clenching. "Right."


    I immediately regret my words. Why do I keep pushing him? Why can¡¯t I just enjoy the moments of peace between us?


    "Matthew, I¡ª"


    "No," he cuts me off, pushing away from the doorframe. "You are right. Let¡¯s not pretend, Sarah."


    I step toward him, one hand still clutching my towel. "But that¡¯s just it¡ªI don¡¯t know what¡¯s real anymore. When you touch me like that, when you look at me like I¡¯m..." I trail off, unable to finish.


    "Like you¡¯re what?" he challenges, his voice low.


    "Like I¡¯m special to you. Like you love me," I whisper.


    "In your dreams, wife," he says in a t tone, but the corner of his lips twitch.


    "Whatever. I won¡¯t talk about this anymore," I say, shaking my head.


    "Good," he says. "Neither will I."


    And with that, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.


    I stand there for a moment, staring at the door, trying to process everything.


    Is this it? Is this how it¡¯s going to be? This back-and-forth, this push and pull, never really getting anywhere? One minute, he makes me feel like the most important person in the world, and the next, he¡¯s distant, almost like I¡¯m nothing to him.


    I don¡¯t know what hurts more: the distance or the closeness.


    With a sigh, I slide back into the bed. His warm body is next to mine, his eyes closed.


    I curl up next to him. He doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t acknowledge me as I settle in beside him, but I can feel the heat radiating from his body,forting and infuriating all at once.


    How is it possible to feel both cherished and abandoned by the same person?


    I watch him as he sleeps, his features softened in rest, and for a moment, I almost believe that things could be different. Maybe he really does care. Maybe he¡¯s just scared. Or maybe I¡¯m just fooling myself, clinging to hope when all I¡¯m really doing is setting myself up for more pain.


    But I don¡¯t want to leave him either.


    ~-~


    The next morning, I wake up to find Matthew¡¯s side of the bed empty. For a moment, I just lie there, listening to the quiet sounds of the house.


    I stretch. My hand drifts to my stomach, a habit I¡¯ve developed recently. The baby bump is barely noticeable yet, but knowing it¡¯s there fills me with happiness.


    I get dressed infortable leggings and an oversized sweater. I find Matthew in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee while scrolling through his phone. The morning light catches on his profile, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates.


    "Good morning," I say, my voice still slightly rough with sleep.


    Matthew looks up. "Morning."


    Marishka slides a te of toast and eggs in front of me with a warm smile.


    "Thank you," I murmur then look at Matthew. "I was thinking about my parents¡¯ anniversary party."


    Matthew raises an eyebrow, waiting.


    "I need to get a new dress," I continue, pushing my empty te away. "An evening gown my mother will approve."


    He sets down his coffee. "And?"


    I take a deep breath. "Would youe with me? To the dress shop, I mean."


    Matthew stares at me for a long moment. "Why?" he asks finally, his voice neutral.


    I shrug. "I could use a second opinion. And you know how my mother is. If I show up in something she doesn¡¯t approve of, I¡¯ll never hear the end of it."


    "And you think I know what your mother will approve?" He sounds amused.


    "Maybe? I don¡¯t know. Will youe or not?" I ask hurriedly.


    Matthew sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he says, shocking me. "I¡¯ll go with you."


    I try to hide my smile, but fail miserably. "Really?"


    "No need to look this happy," he warns. "I¡¯m not exactly known for my fashion expertise."


    I giggle. "I can¡¯t help it. We need to get you new suit too."


    Matthew rolls his eyes. "I have a perfectly good suit already."


    "But this is a special asion," I insist. "You need new ones."


    "My suit is fine, Sarah," he says firmly, but I can tell he¡¯s wavering.


    "Please? It¡¯ll be fun," I say, trying to sound casual. "We can make a day of it. Go for lunch afterward."


    Matthew eyes me suspiciously. "Is this your way of asking me on a date?"


    My cheeks warm at his teasing tone. "Maybe. Is that so terrible to ask my husband for a date?"


    He studies me for a moment, then sighs dramatically. "Fine. But I¡¯m not trying on a hundred suits."


    "Just five or six," I promise quickly, earning a groan from him.


    "I am so excited!" I chirp and stand up. Maybe I got up too quickly because I suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. I grip the table to steady myself.


    "Sarah?" Matthew is at my side in an instant, one hand on my elbow, the other at my waist. "What¡¯s wrong?"


    "Just stood up too fast," I murmur, embarrassed by the concern in his voice. "I¡¯m fine."


    His eyes narrow as he studies my face. "Maybe we should do this another day."


    "No," I say firmly. "I¡¯m perfectly fine. Just a little dizzy spell. Happens all the time with pregnancy."


    Matthew frowns but doesn¡¯t argue. "If you¡¯re sure."


    "I am," I insist, straightening my shoulders. "Let¡¯s go," I say, afraid he will change his mind if we wait too long.

 Chapter 83: New Dress

    <h4>Chapter 83: New Dress</h4>


    Sarah


    Matthew nods and grabs his keys from the counter.


    "Let¡¯s go then. Before you pass out on the way to the car," he mutters.


    I don¡¯t even bother rolling my eyes. I¡¯m too busy trying to hide the stupid smile tugging at my lips.


    He¡¯sing with me. And I know it¡¯s a small thing, but with Matthew, even the smallest things feel like victories.


    The dress boutique is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of ce that smells faintly ofvender and luxury. The moment we walk in, a woman with perfectly styled hair and an overly bright smile greets us.


    "Wee! Looking for something special today?"


    I nod. "An evening gown¡ªfor my parents¡¯ anniversary party."


    "And a suit for him," I add, nudging Matthew.


    He grimaces like I¡¯ve sentenced him to death by shopping.


    The woman beams. "Perfect. I¡¯ll have a few gowns brought to the fitting room for you, and I¡¯ll show your husband to our tailored suit section."


    Husband.


    I don¡¯t miss the way Matthew tenses slightly beside me when she says it.


    "Right this way," she says cheerfully.


    The attendant brings out a handful of gorgeous gowns in shades of midnight blue, emerald green, deep burgundy. I try on the first. It is an elegant, fitted navy dress with delicatece sleeves. I step out of the fitting room to show Matthew.


    He¡¯s sitting on a velvet couch, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he owns the ce. But his eyes sharpen the second he sees me.


    "Well?" I ask, giving a little twirl.


    He narrows his eyes. "Not bad."


    "Not bad?" I repeat, hands on hips.


    He smirks. "It¡¯s okay."


    Iugh despite myself. "Fine. No to this, then."


    The second dress is green, with a dramatic slit and off-shoulder neckline. I step out again, feeling a bit more daring this time.


    Matthew stops smiling


    I wince. "Too much? Yeah, it doesn¡¯t fit me. I should find something more...tame."


    "No," he nearly growls. "It¡¯s perfect."


    Matthew stands, slow and deliberate.


    His eyes travel down the length of the gown, lingering a bit too long at the slit that reveals just enough thigh to make my skin tingle beneath his gaze.


    I shift awkwardly. "You don¡¯t like it?" I ask again, even though I can feel the heat rolling off him like a silent answer.


    "I said it¡¯s perfect," he repeats, his voice lower now. Rougher. "That doesn¡¯t mean I like the idea of you walking into a room full of people in it."


    My breath catches in my throat. "Why not?"


    His eyes snap up to mine. "Because everyone will look at you."


    I blink. "That¡¯s sort of the point of dressing up for an event, Matthew."


    He steps closer. "Yeah, but they¡¯ll look at you the way I¡¯m looking at you. And I don¡¯t want that."


    My heart does this embarrassing flutter thing in my chest.


    "Matthew..."


    He stops himself before saying more, exhaling sharply and dragging a hand through his hair like he¡¯s frustrated with himself. "Forget it. It¡¯s fine. You look good. Get it."


    I smile, unable to help it. "You sure? Because you seem like you¡¯re about to fight someone."


    He gives me a look. "Let one of those men stare too long at that slit, and we¡¯ll find out."


    I roll my eyes, but inside? I¡¯m melting.


    I go back into the fitting room, cheeks burning. God help me, why is he suddenly acting possessive like that? I change out of the gown, my fingers fumbling a little more than usual.


    When I step out in my regr clothes, Matthew¡¯s no longer on the couch.


    "Your husband¡¯s trying on suits," the saledy says with a wink.


    I head toward the other side of the boutique where I find him standing stiffly in front of a mirror, wearing a sleek charcoal gray suit.


    He looks incredible. The kind of incredible that makes my knees weak and my brain forget how to function.


    He sees me and raises a brow. "Well?"


    "Not bad," I tease, mimicking his earlier words.


    Matthew smirks. "It¡¯s okay."


    I step closer, pretending to smooth thepels of his jacket just so I can touch him. "You always look so good in suits."


    He shrugs like it¡¯s no big deal, but I catch satisfaction in his eyes. Or maybe he just likes it when I say things like that, even if he¡¯ll never admit it.


    "You saying that just so I¡¯ll stopining about shopping?" he asks, watching me closely.


    "No," I say, fingers brushing the crisp line of hispel.


    His hand reaches out, slow and deliberate, resting lightly on my hip. His fingers flex there like he¡¯s fighting the urge to pull me closer.


    "Don¡¯t tempt me," he murmurs.


    I nce around, half expecting the saledy to pop out of nowhere with another overly bright smile, but the room is blissfully empty.


    "Why not?" I whisper.


    We stare at each other in silence, the air between us thick with something electric and warm and a little bit reckless.


    Finally, Matthew clears his throat and takes a step back, dragging his hand off me like it physically pains him.


    "I¡¯m getting this one," he says gruffly.


    I nod, trying to steady my pulse. "Good. You should."


    We pay and leave the boutique and walk out. As we head back to the car, Matthew reaches out and grabs my hand, surprising me.


    I nce up at him, heart hammering. He doesn¡¯t look at me, just keeps walking like nothing¡¯s changed.


    His hand is warm and steady in mine, his grip casual but firm, like he¡¯s done this a hundred times before. Like this is something familiar. Normal.


    I don¡¯t say anything. I don¡¯t want to break the moment. So I just walk beside him, trying not to smile too hard, trying not to read into the fact that his thumb is brushing lightly over my knuckles every few steps like he doesn¡¯t even realize he¡¯s doing it.


    When we reach the car, he unlocks it and opens my door before I can even reach for the handle. And okay, that might actually make me melt a little. Again.


    "Thanks," I say softly as I slide into the seat.


    He just gives a small nod, closes the door, and walks around to the driver¡¯s side.


    "Thanks foring with me today," I say.


    "You are wee," he says curtly.

 Chapter 84: The Party

    <h4>Chapter 84: The Party</h4>


    Matthew


    She doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m watching.


    At least, I don¡¯t think she does.


    Sarah is standing in front of the mirror, pinning back thest few strands of hair. There¡¯s this crease of concentration between her brows, the kind that makes me want to walk over and smooth it out with my thumb.


    But I don¡¯t.


    Instead, I lean against the doorframe of her room, arms crossed, and watch. She hasn¡¯t put the dress on yet, the green one, but even in the robe she¡¯s wearing, she¡¯s already glowing. There¡¯s something about the way she moves when she thinks no one¡¯s looking. Softer. Freer.


    She turns a little and sees me. Her lips curl into a small smile.


    "How long have you been standing there?" she asks, voice light.


    "Just got here," I lie.


    She raises a brow. "Yeah, right." She bends down to pick something up from her dresser.


    My eyes catch on the silver hairpin in her hand. The one I gave her on our honeymoon.


    She holds it gently, brushing her thumb over the curve of the metal like it¡¯s something precious. And then she lifts it to her hair and pins it in ce with practiced ease.


    "You are wearing that thing?" I ask.


    Sarah nces at me in the mirror, smiling. "Of course. I love it."


    And I love seeing it in her hair even though I don¡¯t want to admit it.


    She turns slightly, adjusting the angle in the mirror, fingers brushing over the hairpin like it¡¯s a part of her.


    My throat feels tight.


    I watch as she reaches for the belt of her robe, her fingers slowly untying it. The robe slips from her shoulders, pooling around her feet. She stands before me in nothing but herce underwear. My breath catches in my throat.


    I watch her as she steps into the green dress carefully, pulling it up over her hips with practiced grace.


    "Can you zip me up?" she asks, ncing over her shoulder, her voice soft in the quiet room.


    I hesitate only for a moment before crossing to her. My fingers brush against her bare back as I take hold of the zipper, and I feel her shiver slightly under my touch. I draw the zipper up slowly.


    The dress is perfect. It¡¯s sophisticated and tasteful. Exactly the kind of thing that would impress her mother.


    "How do I look?" Sarah asks, turning to face me fully, her hands smoothing down the fabric.


    I can¡¯t speak right away.


    She looks... breathtaking. The kind of beautiful that punches the air out of your lungs and then has the nerve to ask if you¡¯re okay.


    How the hell did I ever think she was in?


    I swallow hard. "You look..."


    My voice cracks, so I clear my throat and try again. "You look pretty."


    She brightens. "Thank you. I still feel kind of silly in this dress. It¡¯s so...over the top."


    "It¡¯s not. It looks perfect on you," I growl. I have the intense urge to rip it off her body, but I ignore it.


    Control Matthew...control.


    She tilts her head, that soft smile still ying on her lips. "You really think so?"


    I nod, jaw tight. "Yeah. I do. Now let¡¯s go," I say, grabbing my jacket.


    Marishkaes out to the living room to meet us. She is wearing a silver dress. "Gosh, I feel so odd wearing a dress so fancy," she says,ughing nervously.


    I turn to look at Marishka, offering a reassuring smile. "You look great," I say.


    Sarah turns as well, a soft smile on her lips. "You look beautiful, Marishka," she says, her tone warm, genuine.


    Marishka seems to brighten a little, her shoulders rxing. "Thank you, both. I¡¯m not really used to this kind of thing."


    Sarahughs lightly, adjusting her clutch. "I know. But you¡¯ll be fine. Maybe you will catch someone¡¯s eyes and find someone you can date."


    Marishka chuckles. "At my age? Oh dear god, no."


    ~-~


    I pull up to the curb at the Grand Sky Hotel, handing my keys to a young valet who nods respectfully. Sarah sits beside me, her fingers fidgeting with the sp of her clutch, a nervous habit I¡¯ve noticed since I met her.


    "Ready?" I ask.


    She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling beneath the emerald fabric of her dress. "As I¡¯ll ever be."


    I step out and circle around to open her door. When she emerges, the green dress catches the light, making her skin glow.


    "Your mother will approve," I murmur as I offer her my arm.


    Sarah¡¯s lips quirk into a half-smile. "Yeah, we will see."


    We enter the hotel lobby, a huge space with marble floors and crystal chandeliers. A sign with elegant calligraphy directs guests to the "Golden Anniversary Celebration" in the Grand Ballroom.


    Sarah¡¯s grip on my arm tightens as we approach the ballroom doors.


    And there they are, standing at the entrance like royalty receiving their subjects. Charles, tall and distinguished in his tuxedo, silver hair perfectly groomed.


    And Evelyn, resplendent in a champagne-colored gown that probably cost more than some people¡¯s cars, her blonde hair arranged in an elegant updo, diamonds glittering at her throat and ears.


    I nearly roll my eyes at her shiness.


    "Sarah, darling," Evelyn says, air-kissing both of Sarah¡¯s cheeks. "You made it. And that dress..." She pauses, tilting her head slightly.


    "...Finally, you¡¯re wearing something age-appropriate," Evelyn says with a tight smile that doesn¡¯t quite reach her eyes.


    Sarah¡¯s hand clenches slightly around my arm.


    "Good evening, Evelyn," I say, keeping my tone cool. I don¡¯t smile.


    Evelyn gives Marishka a fleeting nce. Barely polite. "Marishka," she says. "You came."


    "Thank you for the invite, Evelyn," Marishka says politely but I can feel the tension radiating off her.


    Strange...Marishka is Sarah¡¯s nanny. The woman practically raised her and yet, Evelyn looked at her with contempt.


    "Your father¡¯s been dying to see you," Evelyn adds with a faint wave toward Charles.


    Charles strides toward her and pulls her into a warm hug. "Sweetheart, you look gorgeous."


    "Thanks, Daddy," Sarah murmurs.


    He looks at Marishka. "Ah, Mari...you look beautiful as well.


    I see Evelyn tense beside him as she smiles tightly.


    "Thank you," Mariska says. "I am happy to be here to share your special asion tonight."


    Charles waves his hand in dismissal. "Of course you will be here. You are family."


    Evelyn shifts her gaze back to me. "Matthew, you clean up quite well. What a nice suit."


    I nod, offering a thin smile in return. "Thanks, Evelyn. Sarah picked out for me."


    "Oh, did she?" she quirked up an eyebrow.


    "Sarah, Matthew. I want you to meet a dear old friend of mine. He just flew all the way from Brazil just to visit us," Charles says.


    Charles waves over to a man who¡¯s making his way toward us, dressed in an immacte ck suit. His smile is wide, but there¡¯s something calcting in his eyes like he¡¯s already assessing everyone around him.


    "Matthew, Sarah, this is Rodrigo," Charles introduces him with a flourish, a hand ced proudly on the man¡¯s shoulder. "Rodrigo, you remember my daughter Sarah? And this is her husband, Matthew."


    Rodrigo extends his hand to me first, his grip firm, almost too firm. "It¡¯s a pleasure, Matthew. I¡¯ve heard so much about you," he says with a thick ent.


    He smiles at Sarah. "Ah, Sarah. You are all grown up."


    I feel her tense and her hand trembles slightly.


    "I...um...have we met before?" she asks.


    "Why yes," Rodrigo replies. "But, of course, it has been decades since Ist saw you. You were maybe...eight or nine?"Sarah¡¯s smile freezes on her face. "I... I don¡¯t recall meeting you."


    Rodrigoughs, the sound rich and confident. "Ah, well, you were very young. I was doing business with your father in those days." His eyes linger on her face for a moment too long. "You have grown into quite an attractive woman."


    Something about his tone makes my skin crawl.


    I instinctively step closer to Sarah, my hand finding its ce gently on the small of her back.


    She stands rigidly beside me, her posture tense, as if she¡¯s afraid to make even the slightest movement.


    What is her problem?

 Chapter 85: Who is Rodrigo?

    <h4>Chapter 85: Who is Rodrigo?</h4>


    Sarah


    The sound of his voice. It stirred something deep within me, like a long-forgotten song.


    Yet, despite the familiarity, I can¡¯t remember who he is. All I can do is feel a wave of overwhelming fear. Why is that?


    "Sarah?" Matthew murmurs in my ear.


    I snap my head toward him and force out a smile. "Yeah?"


    "What¡¯s the matter with you?" he asks.


    "Nothing," I reply, but my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.


    Matthew¡¯s eyes search mine, his brow furrowing slightly. He doesn¡¯t believe me.


    "I need something to drink," I say, desperate to move away from Rodrigo.


    Matthew nods, his hand still protectively at my back as he guides me toward the bar. I can feel Rodrigo watching us as we walk away, his stare burning into my shoulder des.


    "Whiskey, neat," Matthew tells the bartender. "And a soda for my wife."


    "Thanks," I say absent-mindedly.


    Matthew waits until the bartender moves away before turning to me. "Who is that guy? And don¡¯t tell me ¡¯nobody¡¯ because you look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost."


    I take a deep breath, fingers drumming nervously against the polished mahogany of the bar. "I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s the truth. I don¡¯t remember him."


    "But?"


    "But something feels... wrong." I shake my head, frustrated by my own vague unease. "It¡¯s like when you hear a song and you know all the words but can¡¯t remember where you learned them."


    The bartender slides our drinks over. I grab mine and take a small sip.


    "Well, he is your father¡¯s friend and he remembers you well it seems," Matthew says, his voice careful, measured.


    I nod slowly. "It¡¯s probably no big deal."


    I nce over my shoulder. Rodrigo is still there, chatting with someone else now, but I can feel the weight of his presence like a shadow crawling up my spine.


    "You clearly don¡¯t like him, Sarah," Matthew says quietly. "Try to remember why."


    But I can¡¯t remember. No matter how much I search in my memories, nothinges up. "I think I will tell my parents that I am pregnant tonight," I say, desperate to change the subject.


    Matthew gives me an odd look. "You didn¡¯t tell them?"


    I shake my head. "I didn¡¯t find the right time. They just got back from vacation. And besides, I wanted you to be here when I tell them the news."


    "Ah," he says simply and sips on his drink.


    He cocks his head to the side. "Are you trying to distract me from the subject of Rodrigo?"


    I bite my lip. "No."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes soften slightly. He leans in, his voice low. "Alright. When do you want to tell them?"


    "Maybe near the end of the party," I reply.


    Matthew nods, his gaze drifting over my shoulder. "Your mother is waving us over."


    I turn to see her gesturing imperiously toward a table near the front of the room.


    "Let¡¯s get this over with," I mutter, smoothing down my dress.


    Matthew ces his hand on my lower back again, guiding me through the crowd. The touch is reassuring, grounding me when I feel like I might float away on a tide of anxiety.


    The table is already half-full. My father sits at the head, with my mother to his right. Rodrigo is seated beside her, and there are two empty chairs next to him. My stomach drops.


    "Sarah, Matthew," my father says warmly, "we saved you seats right here."


    Right next to Rodrigo. Perfect.


    I hesitate, and Matthew¡¯s hand presses more firmly against my back.


    "Where¡¯s Marishka?" I ask, noticing her absence.


    "Oh, I seated her at table three," my mother says with a dismissive wave. "With some of the staff. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be morefortable there."


    I open my mouth to protest, but Matthew¡¯s hand squeezes my waist gently. A warning. Not now.


    "Hello again," Rodrigo says as we sit, his smile wide and gleaming. "Charles was just telling me about your work at thepany, Matthew. Very impressive for someone so young."


    Matthew nods curtly. "Thank you. Sarah is the one who is responsible for thepany¡¯s sess."


    I feel a warmth spread through me. Matthew almost sounds like he is proud of me. Could it be that he doesn¡¯t hate me as much anymore?


    The waiter arrives with champagne, pouring it into crystal flutes. I watch the bubbles rise and pop at the surface, wishing I could take a sip to calm my nerves. But I can¡¯t.


    "A toast," my father announces, raising his ss. "To fifty years with the most beautiful woman I¡¯ve ever known."


    Everyone raises their sses. I lift mine but don¡¯t drink, hoping no one notices.


    "Why aren¡¯t you drinking, Sarah? It¡¯s bad luck not to take a sip when you toast," my mother says sharply.


    Darn it.


    My fingers tighten around the stem of the ss. For a second, my mind nks, then Matthew swoops in, his voice calm and smooth.


    "She¡¯s been feeling a bit queasy all day," he says with a light chuckle. "Must be something she ate."


    I shoot him a grateful look. My mother arches a suspicious brow but says nothing, taking a sip of her champagne instead. Rodrigo watches me over the rim of his ss, and it sends another chill down my spine.


    "Well, I hope you¡¯re noting down with anything," my father says, concern softening his voice. "We need you healthy and sharp."


    "I¡¯ll be fine," I murmur, setting my ss down.


    Conversation swells around the table again, but I¡¯m only half-listening. Rodrigo is far too close. Every time he shifts in his seat, I feel it. The scent of his cologne¡ªit¡¯s unfamiliar, yet my body reacts like it¡¯s something I should fear. Like it¡¯s something I¡¯ve feared before.


    "You look lovely tonight," Rodrigo says quietly, just to me. "I almost didn¡¯t recognize you. It¡¯s been so long."


    I blink at him, heart thudding. "You say you know me... but I don¡¯t remember you."


    His smile is polite, but his eyes hold something colder. "Memories can be tricky things."


    Matthew¡¯s hand slides beneath the table, finding mine. His fingers wrap around mine tightly.


    "What is it that you do again, Rodrigo?" Matthew asks, his tone carefully neutral.


    "Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that," Rodrigo replies breezily. "Consulting mostly. Your father and I worked together on a few projects overseas."


    "Right," Matthew says, not even pretending to be interested.


    I nce at my mother, who isughing at something my father said. She looks... happy. Content. As if nothing in the world is wrong.


    But my hands are shaking.


    I lean toward Matthew. "I want to tell them. Now. Before I lose my nerve."


    He looks at me, assessing. "You sure?"


    I nod. "Yeah."


    Matthew gently taps his fork against his ss. The clear ting ting ting rings out over the chatter, drawing eyes. My heart jumps into my throat.


    "If I could have everyone¡¯s attention," he says, smiling as if this were all perfectly normal. "Sarah would like to share some news."


    All eyes fall on me.


    I smile and force my voice to steady.


    "I¡¯m pregnant," I say, louder than I meant to.


    A beat of silence.


    Then my mother gasps. My father¡¯s face lights up. Guests start pping and smiling.


    "Congrattions," Rodrigo says.


    "Pregnant? We have been through this before. Are you sure it¡¯s real this time?" Momments.


    "Evelyn!" Dad scolds her.


    I flinch at her words, the heat rising to my cheeks.


    "It is real," Matthew says firmly. "No tricks this time."


    My mother¡¯s lips press into a thin line, but she says nothing more. My father reaches across the table, cing a hand over mine.


    "This is wonderful news, sweetheart," he says, his eyes twinkling with genuine delight. "You¡¯re going to be an amazing mother."


    Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I nod, offering him a small, grateful smile.


    "Congrattions," Rodrigo repeats, his tone syrupy. "A child is a true blessing."


    I pull my hand from the table and fold it into myp, hiding the tremble I can¡¯t seem to control.


    "Thank you," I manage, my voice barely audible.


    The conversation picks up again. Clinking sses,ughter, and questions about the due date, but I feel detached like I¡¯m floating just outside of my own body.


    Matthew leans close to me, his breath warm against my ear. "Wanna dance?"


    I look at him with surprise. "What?" I ask dumbly.


    "Do you want to dance, Sarah?" he repeats. "What¡¯s the matter? You used to beg me to dance with you, remember?"


    "I..." I nce at Matthew, meeting his gaze. There¡¯s a subtle kindness in his eyes that makes the suggestion feelforting, like a lifeline.


    "Okay," I whisper. "Let¡¯s dance."


    Matthew¡¯s lips curl into a small smile, and without another word, he stands and extends his hand to me. His grip is steady as I ce my hand in his, and he gently leads me away from the table.


    As we stand on the dance floor, Matthew ces his other hand on my waist, his touch firm but gentle. I feel the subtle rhythm of the music, the steady beat pulsing through me, but it¡¯s Matthew¡¯s presence that anchors me, his warmth offering a rescue from the unease that has been lingering.


    "You are safe," he murmurs softly, as if reading my mind.


    For a moment, I forget about Rodrigo and just focus on the dance. Focus on Matthew.


    I feel like I can breathe again.

 Chapter 86: Stay Away

    <h4>Chapter 86: Stay Away</h4>


    Matthew


    I hold Sarah close as we slowly move with the music. "You are too stiff," I say


    "Sorry," she breathes.


    I soften my gaze. "It¡¯s okay. Do you want to leave?"


    "My mom will have my head if we leave early," she says, pouting.


    I chuckle. "Maybe it¡¯s time you stopped worrying about what your mother thinks of you."


    She rests her cheek on my chest. "Yeah, you are probably right."


    "I usually am," I say.


    She scoffs against my chest, but I feel the way her body rxes a little more in my arms. "Don¡¯t get cocky."


    "Toote," I murmur, my lips brushing her hair.


    We dance for a few moments more, and I find myself enjoying the warmth of her body against mine.


    "I think I am ready to leave," Sarah whispers against my chest.


    "Alright. Let¡¯s go then," I say, pulling back.


    "I need to go to thedies¡¯ room first," she tells me.


    I nod. "Okay, I will wait right here."


    She gives me a small smile and slips away through the crowd, her dress swaying with each step.


    I stand near the edge of the dance floor, watching her disappear into the hallway, my eyes instinctively scanning the room. The lights are dim, golden and warm, but something about Rodrigo¡¯s smile earlier keeps showing up in my head.


    I hate that guy.


    I¡¯m still scanning the crowd when every light in the ballroom abruptly cuts out. The music stops mid-note, plunging us intoplete darkness.


    "What the hell?" someone nearby mutters.


    For a moment, there¡¯s a collective pause, like everyone¡¯s waiting for the lights to flicker back on. Thenes the nervousughter, the murmurs rising into a concerned buzz. Phones start lighting up around me, small blue-white constetions in the darkness.


    "Ladies and gentlemen," a staff member¡¯s voice calls out, "please remain calm. We¡¯re experiencing a temporary power outage. Our generators should kick in momentarily."


    I immediately think of Sarah. She¡¯s alone somewhere in this darkness.


    I pull out my phone, activating the shlight as I push through the confused crowd. "Excuse me," I mutter, shouldering past a cluster of people standing frozen on the dance floor.


    "Sarah!" I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. A few guests nce my way, but most are too preupied with their own confusion to care.


    No answer.


    I pick up my pace, almost running now, past tables, chairs, startled guests. The further I go, the quieter it gets. The noise of the ballroom fades behind me, reced by the eerie hum of emergency lights flickering faintly along the floor.


    I round the corner into the hallway.


    "Sarah?" My voice echoes off the marble walls. Still no response.


    I tried to call her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.


    "Sarah!" I call again, my voice bouncing back to me, hollow and unanswered.


    A waiter hurries past, clutching a shlight. "Sir, we¡¯re asking guests to return to the ballroom until¡ª"


    "My wife," I cut him off. "She went to the bathroom right before the lights went out."


    He hesitates, then points down the corridor. "Women¡¯s restroom is at the end of this hall, to the left."


    I nod my thanks and press forward, my phone¡¯s shlight beam cutting through the darkness.


    As I approach the end of the hallway, I notice something on the floor. I crouch down, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of Sarah¡¯s hairpin¡ªthe one I gave her, the one she¡¯d carefully ced in her hair hours ago. My stomach tightens.


    "Sarah?" I call out, louder now, urgency bleeding into my voice.


    I stand, slipping the hairpin into my pocket, and continue toward the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beyond. I push it open slowly.


    "Sarah, are you in here?" I ask.


    I hear the sound of someone sobbing.


    My heart stops.


    "Sarah?" I step further in.


    The lightse on then. Sarah is crumpled against the wall, her green dress pooled around her like spilled paint. Her face is turned away from me, hair falling across her cheek in disarray. The silver hairpin¡¯s absence now makes terrible sense.


    Rodrigo hovers above her. His back is to me, one hand braced against the wall, the other reaching for her face.


    "Get away from her," I growl, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.


    Rodrigo turns slowly, a practiced smile already forming on his lips. "Ah, Matthew. There seems to be a misunderstanding. Your wife was feeling faint when the lights¡ª"


    I cross the distance between us in two strides, grabbing him by his crisp white shirt cor. "I said get away from her."


    His face changes then, the polite veneer dropping away like a mask. His eyes harden, calcting, assessing me with cold precision. "You Americans," he says quietly, "always so dramatic."


    Sarah makes a small, broken sound, and my attention snaps to her. Her makeup is smeared, mascara tracking dark rivers down her cheeks. There¡¯s a red mark blooming on her cheekbone.


    Something primal and violent surges through me.


    "Matthew," Sarah whispers, her voice trembling. "Please, just get me out of here."


    Rodrigo¡¯s lips curl into a smirk. "Listen to your wife, Matthew. Take her home. She¡¯s clearly unwell."


    I can feel my knuckles going white where I grip his shirt. Every instinct screams at me to m his head against the wall, to make him pay for whatever he¡¯s done, for the terror in Sarah¡¯s eyes.


    "I guess you got this. I will get back to the party." Rodrigo looks at Sarah. "Feel better, my dear." And with that, he leaves.


    I turn to Sarah, kneeling beside her. "Can you stand?"


    She nods shakily, reaching for my hand. I help her to her feet, wrapping my arm protectively around her waist. Her entire body is trembling.


    "I...I am sorry. I didn¡¯t mean..."


    "Shh...it¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t be sorry," I soothe, pulling her into my arms.


    "I freaked out when the lights went out," she says. "And Rodrigo..."


    "Did he do something to you?" I interrupt.


    She shakes her head. "No...I mean, I don¡¯t think so. Not tonight anyway."


    I freeze.


    Not tonight?


    "What do you mean? Did he do something to you before?" I ask carefully.


    Sarah looks confused for a moment. "Huh? Oh, I don¡¯t think so. I don¡¯t know why I said that."


    I study her face carefully, my mind racing.


    "Sarah," I say softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "you said ¡¯not tonight.¡¯ That¡¯s not something you just say without meaning to."


    She blinks, swaying slightly in my arms. "I¡ªmy head¡¯s all foggy. Maybe I hit it? I¡¯m not sure. Everything¡¯s kind of... blurry."


    My gut twists. Something is wrong¡ªvery wrong. It¡¯s not just fear or shock on her face. It¡¯s confusion, like she¡¯s trying to remember something.


    "We¡¯re going to the hospital," I say firmly, guiding her gently toward the hallway.


    "No," she murmurs, tugging weakly against me. "It¡¯s just stress, I think."


    I stop walking and turn to face her, holding her shoulders gently. "Sarah, look at me. This isn¡¯t just stress. Something happened. I can see it all over you."


    Her eyes search mine, ssy and unfocused. "I don¡¯t want to cause a scene. My mom... the party¡ª"


    "To hell with the party," I say, more harshly than intended. I soften my voice.


    She frowns. "Fine. But it¡¯s not necessary."


    I lead her out of the bathroom, shielding her with my body as best I can. The hallway is mostly empty now, the distant buzz of concerned voices from the ballroom echoing faintly behind us. I slip us through a side exit and into the cool night air, guiding her toward the car.


    Once we¡¯re inside and I¡¯ve started driving, Sarah leans her head against the window, the streetlights washing her pale face in gold every few seconds.


    "Sarah," I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the road. "Do you remember anything? Anything at all about Rodrigo?"


    She doesn¡¯t respond immediately. I nce over to see her staring out the window, her reflection ghostly in the ss.


    "I remember..." she starts, then stops. Her hand moves to her temple, rubbing slowly. "I remember being afraid of him. When I was little."


    My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. "Why were you afraid of him?"


    "I don¡¯t know." Her voice sounds small, distant. "I just remember wanting to hide whenever he came to visit Dad."


    I take a deep breath, trying to steady the rage building inside me. "Did he ever... touch you? When you were a child?"


    Sarah turns to look at me, her eyes wide and confused. "I don¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t remember. There¡¯s just this... darkness. Like a nk space where memories should be."


    The implications of what she¡¯s saying hit me like a physical blow. I¡¯ve read about this¡ªtraumatic amnesia. The mind protecting itself by burying what it can¡¯t face.


    If that bastard touched her...


    "I don¡¯t want to go to the hospital," she says suddenly. "Please, just take me home."


    Part of me wants to argue, to insist on getting her checked out. But the fragility in her voice stops me.


    "Okay," I concede. "But if you start feeling worse, we¡¯re going. No arguments."


    She nods, leaning back against the seat. "Thank you."


    When we arrive home, I help her inside, my arm steady around her waist. She moves like someone much older, each step careful and measured.


    "I want to take a shower," she says, her voice t.


    I nod, watching as she makes her way to the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the apartment momentster.


    While she¡¯s in the shower, I call Marishka. She answers on the third ring.


    "Matthew? Is everything alright? You two disappeared¡ª"


    "We had to leave," I cut in. "I sent the driver to get you."


    "Is everything okay?" The rm in Marishka¡¯s voice is immediate.


    "Yeah. She wasn¡¯t feeling well." I say.


    I will need to ask her about Rodrigo when she gets home.

 Chapter 87: Work Harder

    <h4>Chapter 87: Work Harder</h4>


    Sarah


    When I heard his voice in the dark, cold fear gripped me like a vice.


    My breath hitched in my throat, my heartbeat pounding in my ears louder than the music echoing from the ballroom. I knew that voice. Smooth. Charming. Familiar in the worst kind of way.


    "He shouldn¡¯t have let you leave alone," he had said.


    Did he follow me to the bathroom?


    I turned slowly, but I couldn¡¯t see him. It was pitch dark.


    "What...why did you follow me?" I asked.


    "I wanted to speak to you alone, and now it is as good a time as any. You really don¡¯t remember me, do you?" he said softly, tilting his head. "But I remember you."


    Something in his voice had changed. It wasn¡¯t just charm anymore. It was nostalgia twisted with something darker.


    "You were always so quiet," he continued, his tone low and intimate, "always hiding behind your nanny¡¯s skirts. But you would look at me. Do you remember that? You would watch me."


    "I don¡¯t know what you mean," I said, heart hammering now. "I need to go find Matthew."


    He chuckled, and the sound sent my stomach twisting.


    "You won¡¯t find him in the dark," he murmured. "I will have to say. You¡¯ve be quite the woman, Sarah."


    I stumbled backward and pressed against the bathroom wall. I felt trapped like a cornered animal.


    The darkness pressed in around me, thick and suffocating. My lungs constricted as my eyes frantically tried to adjust, searching for any hint of his outline in the ckness. I couldn¡¯t see him, but I could feel his presence¡ªa predatory stillness that made the hair on my arms rise.


    "Please," I whispered, my voice cracking. "The lights. Can we turn on the lights?"


    "The power is out, my dear." His voice floated from somewhere to my left, then seemed to shift to my right. "Still afraid? You were always so scared of the dark. I remember that too. I guess something never changes."


    My chest tightened painfully. I tried to slow my breathing, but panic was rising in me like a tide.


    Where was Matthew? Isn¡¯t he looking for me?


    "I¡¯m not a little girl anymore," I managed.


    "No," he agreed, suddenly sounding much closer. "You are not."


    I gasped, jerking sideways, away from his voice. My shoulder knocked against something hard, the sink perhaps.


    Pain shot through me. The disorientation was making everything worse. In the dark, I couldn¡¯t even trust my senses.


    What did he want? Why corner me like this?


    I pressed my palms t against the wall, trying to ground myself as cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My legs felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath me.


    "Matthew!" I called out, my voice breaking into a desperate sob. "Matthew, please!"


    "He can¡¯t hear you," came the soft reply. "Not with the music. Not through these walls."


    I felt a brush of fabric against my arm and recoiled violently, stumbling sideways. A small whimper escaped my lips as tears began to well in my eyes.


    "Don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t touch me," I gasped, turning blindly.


    "I just want to talk, Sarah. I missed you."


    "I don¡¯t know you," I insisted, my voice rising with hysteria. "I don¡¯t know you!"


    He grabbed my arm again, and my knees buckled. I slid against the floor and sat on the floor, sobbing.


    "Calm down. Always so dramatic. I just want to..."


    And that¡¯s when Matthew interrupted him.


    ~-~


    Sarah!


    Someone is shaking me.


    I wake up with a gasp and try to p the shadow in front of me, but it grabs my arm and pins it against the bed.


    "Sarah, it¡¯s me, Matthew. You are having a nightmare again," he says.


    My chest heaves as I breathe heavily. Matthew¡¯s voice is steady, calm, but my heart hasn¡¯t caught up with reality yet.


    I blink rapidly, trying to ground myself, his face slowlying into focus through the haze of fear.


    "Matthew," I breathe.


    He loosens his grip on my arm, brushing his hand down toce our fingers together. "I¡¯ve got you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking gently across my skin. "You¡¯re safe. It was just a dream."


    But it doesn¡¯t feel like just a dream.


    "I heard him," I say, tears already spilling again. "I could hear him, smell the cologne he used to wear. I couldn¡¯t move, Matthew. I thought I was back there. I thought he had me again."


    My voice cracks, and the words tumble out faster, messier, like I can purge the fear if I just say it all out loud.


    Matthew pulls me into his arms, wrapping them tightly around me. His warmth, his steady heartbeat is the only thing reminding me this is now. This is real. I¡¯m not alone in the dark.


    "I am going to find out who he is, Sarah," he says gruffly.


    My fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt. "But..."


    He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. His jaw is clenched, his brows drawn tight. "Don¡¯t tell me you want to argue against it."


    My lips tremble. "What if I don¡¯t want to remember?"


    "So what? You are just going to live in fear of the darkness and basements for the rest of your life?" he barks.


    I push him off and lie down, turning my back on him. "What do you care anyway? You wanted me to suffer, didn¡¯t you? Well, now you have someone helping you do it for you."


    Matthew is quiet for a moment.


    "Is that really what you think?" he asks, voice quieter now.


    "I don¡¯t think. I know. Only because you told me yourself," I remind him.


    "For a good reason and you know it," he says.


    I shiver as I feel something touch my back. A fingertip?


    "Yes," I whisper. "I lied to you and I didn¡¯t try to stop my father when he forced you to marry me. I lied, lied, and lied. I even hired those men to rob me, so you¡¯lle save me, thinking I was the damsel in distress."


    God, I was so fucking dumb back then.


    "Yes. You were quite vindictive," he says, near my ear now. "What else did you lie to me about?"


    I stiffen, holding my breath.


    "Nothing," I whisper.


    His finger traces my spine through my thin nightgown. "Sarah."


    His touch burns through the fabric. I want to push him away and pull him closer all at once. The contradiction is maddening.


    "Tell me what else you lied about," he asks again.


    I stay silent for a moment, trying to keep my breathing steady. But his finger moves again, slowly, deliberately down my spine, and my control snaps just a little.


    "Fine," I say, voice muffled by the pillow. "I also told you I made that meatloaf you liked so much."


    He stills behind me.


    "...What?"


    "I didn¡¯t make it. Marishka did," I say quickly, turning just enough to re at him over my shoulder. "I was just trying to impress you."


    Matthew blinks, and for a second, there¡¯s nothing but stunned silence between us. Then, against all odds, his lips twitch.


    "You lied about the meatloaf?"


    I nod, burying my face into the pillow again. "She even sprinkled parsley on it. I wouldn¡¯t know how to make meatloaf if my life depended on it."


    Matthew makes a sound, partugh, part groan, as he drapes an arm over my waist and pulls me closer. "Unbelievable. How can I trust you ever again? And to think I was starting to like you...a little."


    Is he making fun of me?


    Was that a joke? Or...is he being serious?


    His tone is impossible to read. It is somewhere between teasing and something deeper, more vulnerable. I turn to face him, trying to gauge the expression on his face. His lips are curved into a smirk.


    Oh, he is definitely messing with me. Bastard.


    I narrow my eyes at him, swatting his chest with the back of my hand. "You¡¯re such an ass."


    Matthew just chuckles, catching my wrist easily and bringing it to his lips. "Maybe," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, "but you still owe me meatloaf. The one you will make yourself."


    I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I will do that but don¡¯t me me if it¡¯s too dry."


    We stay quiet for a moment.


    "I asked Marishka about Rodrigo," he says, breaking the silence.


    I stiffen against him. "What did she say?"


    "She didn¡¯t see him do anything to you," Matthew says, sounding disappointed. "But said she never liked him because there was always something off about him."


    "Oh," I say. I don¡¯t know what else to say.


    "She said she tried to keep you away when he visited as much as she could, and you were never alone with him," he added.


    My heart is pounding again. Hearing Rodrigo¡¯s name still makes my stomach twist.


    "That¡¯s good, right?" I whisper.


    "I don¡¯t know, Sarah. I believe her, but he must¡¯ve done something. And I¡¯ll find out what he did, how he got to you..." He pauses, then adds, "Even if you don¡¯t remember, someone does."


    A lump forms in my throat. I press my face against his chest, my voice small. "What if I don¡¯t want to know? What if remembering just breaks me?"


    Matthew hugs me. "You are not going to break," he says gently. "You are strong."


    I shut my eyes tightly, biting back the sudden rush of emotion that threatens to spill over again. "How do you know?"


    "You seem to be surviving me just fine," he says, kissing my forehead.


    I scoff. "Oh, please. You are not as bad as you want to act."


    Matthew chuckles softly against my skin. "Don¡¯t ruin this for me, Sarah. I¡¯ve worked very hard to be the emotionally unavable viin in your story."


    I close my eyes. "You need to work harder," I mumble before falling asleep.

 Chapter 88: I Can Help

    <h4>Chapter 88: I Can Help</h4>


    Sarah


    I stand in the doorway of what will soon be the nursery. I rest my hand on the bump that¡¯s just started to show beneath my t-shirt.


    Tomorrow, I have a doctor¡¯s appointment, and since I am in my twelfth week of pregnancy, I can finally hear my baby¡¯s heartbeat.


    I can¡¯t wait.


    I try to picture a crib against the wall, stuffed animals piled in a corner. The doorbell rings and breaks my trance.


    Reba¡¯s early.


    "I brought presents," Reba announces when I open the door. She¡¯s hidden behind bags from the hardware store and a tray of iced coffees. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping around her face like she¡¯s been running her fingers through it.


    "Is one of those decaf?" I ask, eyeing the coffee.


    "Duh." She pushes past me into the apartment, dropping the bags with a tter. "One boring, vorless decaf for the baby mama."


    I take the cup she offers and nod gratefully.


    Reba pulls cans of paint from the bags like a magician producing rabbits. "I got samples. We need to test them on the wall beforemitting."


    "You didn¡¯t buy the mint green we talked about?" I lift one of the sample cans. Thebel reads ¡¯Whisper Blue.¡¯


    "I got it too, but options are good. What if mint green looks like hospital walls once it¡¯s up?" She arranges five sample cans on the floor. "Blue, green, yellow, gray, and this weird off-white that the guy at the store swore was the most popr nursery color this year."


    "I don¡¯t want what¡¯s popr. I want something that feels like... I don¡¯t know," I mutter.


    Reba snorts. "Always so indecisive. Well, we got options so choose wisely."


    "Okay." I dip a small brush into the mint green sample and dab it against the wall. "This one. It¡¯s fresh but not too bright. Gender-neutral but not boring."


    "Are you sure? The yellow is nice too," Reba says.


    "Too much like sunshine. The baby will never sleep," I joke.


    Rebaughs. "We can¡¯t have that."


    We spend the next hour prepping the room. Reba taped down the drop cloths while I removed the outlet covers and light switch tes. There¡¯s something satisfying about this preparation, this careful dismantling before we create something new. It makes me forget to be anxious about other things.


    Nothing weird has happened since the night at the party, and I would like to keep it that way. Matthew kept wanting to speak to my parents about Rodrigo, but I begged him not to. I am scared. Too scared to delve into the past. I just want to think about this baby and be happy.


    "So, have you decided what you will name your baby if it¡¯s a boy?" Reba asks.


    "I was thinking, Benjamin," I say.


    "Solid choice. Regr human name. I approve." She steps back to examine her taping job. "What does Matthew think about it?" she asks in a careful tone.


    I pause. "He said he doesn¡¯t care," I say quietly.


    Reba¡¯s expression darkens. "Is he still cold toward you?"


    I hesitate. "He has been...cordial."


    "Cordial isn¡¯t exactly what a woman wants from her husband," Reba says, raising her eyebrows.


    I shrug, trying to make it seem less painful than it is. "It¡¯s better than I had hoped for. At least he is being nice to me now."


    Reba shakes her head. "Sarah, you can¡¯t keep tiptoeing around this forever. You are 12 weeks into your pregnancy. It¡¯s time that he stops being angry at you."


    "I know, but I don¡¯t want to push him," I say, forcing out a smile. "Come on. Let¡¯s just focus on what we are doing now."


    "Fine." Reba pries the lid off with a screwdriver, and the wet, chemical smell hits me immediately.


    "Strong," I mutter, wrinkling my nose.


    Reba doesn¡¯t seem to notice. She stirs the paint with a wooden stick, the surface rippling hypnotically. "Time to transform this room. You want first honors?" She offers me a brush.


    I take it, feeling the weight of it in my hand. There¡¯s something ceremonial about this moment. The first stroke of color in the room where my child will sleep, dream, and grow. I dip the brush into the paint and approach the wall.


    The first stripe of mint green is startling against the nk white. Wet, it looks darker than I expected. "I love it," Iment.


    I¡¯m working on a tricky corner when a wave of dizziness hits me. The paint smell seems suddenly overwhelming, burning in my nose and making my empty stomach turn. I pause.


    "Sarah?" Reba¡¯s voice sounds concerned. "You okay?"


    "Just a little dizzy." I straighten up.


    Reba drops her roller into the tray and is at my side in an instant, her paint-sttered hand on my elbow. "Sit down. The fumes are too strong."


    "I¡¯m fine," I insist, but the room is tilting slightly.


    "You¡¯re not fine. Paint fumes are bad for the baby. I should have thought of that before we started." Her voice is tight with worry.


    "But I want to help finish." My protest sounds weak even to my own ears.


    "Sarah." Reba uses her no-nonsense voice, the one she uses with her kindergarten students. "You need to go sit on the balcony, get some fresh air. I can handle this."


    "But it¡¯s the nursery. I should be the one painting it." I feel childish even as I say it, but it¡¯s important somehow.


    Reba¡¯s face softens. "I know this is your thing. But right now, your thing is growing a healthy baby. Let me do this for you."


    My eyes fill with stupid tears. Pregnancy hormones make me cry atmercials for car insurance, so it¡¯s no surprise they¡¯re showing up now. "I hate not being able to do things."


    "I know," Reba says, guiding me firmly toward the door. "But there will be plenty of time for you to do all the things once the baby¡¯s born. Believe me, you¡¯ll be begging for a break."


    I hesitate onest moment, but another whiff of the paint makes my decision for me. Reba is right. The babyes first now.


    "Fine," I concede. "But take pictures as you go. I want to see the progress."


    "Deal." Reba is already back at her roller.


    The balcony air feels clean after the paint fumes, but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that I¡¯m missing out on something important. I take a deep breath. The crisp October air fills my lungs, and I have to admit it feels good.


    My hand finds its way to my stomach again, a habit I¡¯ve developed over the past few weeks. The bump is finally noticeable and I feel this tightness, the subtle curve, the way my jeans dig in at the waistband.


    It¡¯s wonderful.


    "Just you and me out here, kid," I murmur. "While Aunt Reba does all the fun stuff."


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, hoping Matthew is checking in from work. Instead, Josh¡¯s name lights up the screen.


    For a second, my thumb hovers over the screen. Josh always calls me and texts me every few days, checking to see if I am doing okay much to Matthew¡¯s annoyance.


    I swipe to answer. "Hey, stranger."


    "Sarah!" His voice booms through the speaker, too loud as always. I pull the phone away from my ear slightly. "Long time no talky."


    "It¡¯s been less than two weeks, Josh."


    "Exactly! Almost twelve whole days. I could have died and been reincarnated as a sea cucumber in that time," Josh deres.


    Despite my mood, I giggle. "Why a sea cucumber?"


    "They can eject their internal organs to distract predators and then regrow themter. Tell me that¡¯s not the coolest defense mechanism ever."


    "That¡¯s disgusting. And also not how reincarnation works, I think," I protest.


    "Nonsense." I hear street noise in his background, the honk of a car horn. "So what are you up to?"


    "We are painting the nursery today. Well, Reba is painting. I got banished to the balcony because apparently paint fumes are bad for babies," I say, frowning.


    "No shit? That¡¯s a big step!" he says excitedly.


    "Yes." I smile brightly.


    "Can Ie and help?" he asks.


    I pause. "Come over?"


    "Yes. I want to see what¡¯s Reba doing to the walls. Plus, I have a gift for the baby," he says.


    My stomach does a little flip. "You bought a baby gift?"


    "Don¡¯t sound so shocked. You are my bestie."


    I hesitate and think about Matthew. Thest time Josh and Matthew were in a room together, the tension was thick enough to spread on toast. Something about Josh brings out Matthew¡¯s territorial side, though he¡¯d never admit it.


    "Today?" I ask.


    "No time like the present. I¡¯m actually not far from your ce. Was meeting a client in your neighborhood," Josh says.


    I should probably check with Matthew first. That would be the considerate thing to do. But Matthew is at work, and I¡¯m stuck on this balcony while my nursery gets painted without me, and suddenly, the idea of Josh¡¯s energy filling the house sounds perfect.


    Besides, Matthew doesn¡¯t dictate all my decisions!


    "Sure," I say, making the decision. "Come over. Reba could probably use help with the painting anyway."


    "Sweet! I¡¯ll be there in twenty." He hangs up before I can respond, typical Josh style.

 Chapter 89: No Drama

    <h4>Chapter 89: No Drama</h4>


    Sarah


    I let the phone drop into myp and lean back in the chair, looking up at the sky.


    Matthew will have to live with me being friends Josh. He will probably be fine. Probably. Maybe.


    I sigh and stand up, stretching my back. I should warn Reba that Hurricane Josh is about to makendfall.


    "Josh ising over," I announce.


    Reba looks up from where she¡¯s crouched by the baseboard, paintbrush in hand. The room is already half-transformed, the color brightening the space in a way that makes my chest feel full.


    Reba¡¯s eyebrows shoot up. "Josh? As in Josh, who Matthew practically grows hives thinking about?"


    I shrug, trying for casual. "He called while I was on the balcony. He was in the neighborhood."


    "I see." Reba sets down her brush and sits back on her heels. "Does Matthew know?"


    "I didn¡¯t go out of my way and told him." I pick at a loose thread on my shirt. "I don¡¯t need his permission for friends to visit."


    Reba shrugs. "I guess he will live. And I am here so it¡¯s not like you are alone with him."


    "I am an adult, Becky. I don¡¯t need a chaperone to see Josh," I say. "And he said he has a gift for the baby."


    "Fine. But you are exining to Matthew why his archenemies¡¯ fingerprints are all over his child¡¯s bedroom." Reba grins.


    Iugh. "They are not archenemies. This isn¡¯t aic book." But even as I say it, I can picture them in spandex suits, facing off across a cityscape. Matthew in sensible blue, Josh in something wild, like neon.


    "Tell that to Matthew¡¯s face whenever Josh¡¯s namees up." Reba stands and stretches. "I¡¯m almost done with this wall. Should be dry enough for a second coat by the time he gets here."


    Josh arrives in less than twenty minutes.


    I open the door to find him leaning against the wall, a lopsided grin on his face and arge, clumsily wrapped package tucked under one arm.


    "There she is!" He sweeps me into a hug before I can prepare for it, the package jabbing awkwardly between us. He smells like he always does¡ªcoffee and that specific deodorant he¡¯s used since I¡¯ve known him, with an underlying hint of cigarettes, though he swears he has quit. "Look at you, all glowy and maternal."


    I extract myself from his bear hug. "I¡¯m not glowing, I¡¯m sweating. It¡¯s hot in here."


    "Pregnancy suits you." His eyes move to my stomach, and there¡¯s something tender in his expression that makes me look away. "How far along now? Four months?"


    "Sixteen weeks," I confirm. "Size of an avocado, ording to the app."


    Joshughs. "Leave it to technology topare babies to produce. Here¡ª" He thrusts the package toward me. "Baby¡¯s first gift from Uncle Josh."


    "Uncle Josh?" I raise an eyebrow, but I¡¯m smiling as I take the package.


    "Every kid needs a cool uncle to teach them inappropriate things and sneak them candy." He follows me into the living room, looking around. "ce hasn¡¯t changed much. Still got that uglymp?"


    "Hey! I like thismp!" I exim.


    "You need to reevaluate your taste in things." Josh flops onto the sofa, taking up too much space as always. "Open it!"


    I sit beside him and carefully pull at the tapedic pages. Inside is a stuffed animal. A plushie of Venom.


    Iugh. "You really loveic book characters."


    "That¡¯s my brand." He taps the side of his head. "Where¡¯s Bec? I heard she was ying interior decorator."


    "In the nursery," I tell him.


    "Great, I¡¯ll go say hi." Josh stands up.


    Reba is adding a second coat when we reach the nursery doorway. She looks over her shoulder at the sound of our approach, and her face breaks into a genuine smile. "Josh! I¡¯d hug you, but..." She gestures at her paint-covered hands.


    "Bec! Look at you, all domestic and shit. The color¡¯s perfect, by the way. Very conducive to baby genius development."


    I watch them chatter. It was so good to have my friends here, together. There was a time when I thought I¡¯d never be able to fix things with Reba.


    The doorbell suddenly rings.


    I lifted my brow. I wasn¡¯t expecting anyone else today.


    "Are you expecting someone?" Josh asks, his head tilting slightly.


    I shake my head, brows drawn. "Nope. Unless it¡¯s Matthew, but Matthew has a key, so he wouldn¡¯t ring the doorbell."


    The doorbell rings again, insistently this time.


    I rush to the door to open it. I pull open the door to find Matthew standing there.


    "Hey," he says, looking me up and down. "I forgot my key."


    "Oh." I smile at him, but he doesn¡¯t smile back.


    Still trying to act cold and distant, huh?


    He follows me inside, kicking the door shut behind him. I can feel the exact moment he registers the extra pair of shoes by the door.


    He narrows his eyes. "Do we havepany?"


    Before I can answer, Josh¡¯s boomingugh echoes from the nursery, followed by Reba¡¯s softer giggle. Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens.


    "Josh and Reba stopped by," I say, trying to sound casual.


    Matthew¡¯s face is still dark. "I see."


    Oh boy, he does not look happy.


    "Hey, who was at the¡ª" Josh appears in the hallway, stopping short when he sees Matthew. "Oh. Hey, man."


    "Josh." Matthew¡¯s voice is cool but not openly hostile. Progress, I suppose.


    An awkward silence falls over the room. Reba appears behind Josh, her expression cautious as she looks between the two men.


    "I¡¯m gonna go shower," Matthew says curtly and leaves the room.


    Josh lets out a whistle. "Whew! He does not like me at all, does he?" he muses.


    I exhale, feeling the tension like a storm cloud pressing down over the house. "He¡¯s just...I don¡¯t know," I mutter.


    Josh raises an eyebrow. "A jealous asshole?"


    Reba steps in. "Let¡¯s not poke the bear, okay? This house is too nice to get bloodstains on the walls."


    Josh smirks but lifts both hands in surrender. "Fine. I¡¯ll behave. I brought a gift, I made conversation, I refrained from flipping him off. Gold star for Uncle Josh."


    I rub my temples. "Can we just...not make this a thing? I don¡¯t want drama today."


    "You got it." Josh slouches back toward the nursery. "But if hees out and tries to challenge me to a duel, I call lightsabers."


    "Grow up," Reba mutters, but she is grinning.


    I linger in the hallway, biting my lip. I didn¡¯t do anything wrong so why do I feel guilty?


    Josh has been my friend forever. And Matthew knew that. We¡¯ve talked about this. Or, well, argued about this.


    "I should go talk to him. Ask him what he wants for dinner," I mutter and walk to the bedroom.


    I pause outside the bedroom door, hand hovering just above the knob. The door is closed, but I can hear faint movement inside. Drawers opening, the soft thud of something being set down. I take a breath, then go in.


    I step into the bedroom just as Matthew pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the familiar, muscled nes of his back. My breath catches in my throat as he tosses the garment onto the bed. His shoulder des flex as he walks toward the bathroom.


    "Hey," I say, my voiceing out more high-pitched than I intended.


    He turns, and a sudden flush of heat spreads through me, unexpected and urgent. Even after all this time, his bare skin affects me like a fever.


    "I thought you were entertaining your guests," he says, but his eyes catch mine, registering the shift in my expression.


    "I..." My thoughts scatter. I can¡¯t remember why I came in here. Something about dinner? Instead, I find myself crossing the room toward him.


    "Sarah?" he looks at me questioningly.


    I ce my palm against his chest. "I missed you today," I breathe.


    He covers my hand with his own, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Yeah?"


    "Yeah." I lean in, breathing in the scent of his skin. My free hand traces the contour of his side, feeling the subtle ridge of each rib.


    Matthew¡¯s breath hitches. "Are you trying to distract me?" he asks.


    His hands find my hips, warm and steady.


    "Distract you from what?" I counter, my fingers trailing down to the button of his jeans.


    He catches my wrist, stopping me. "From Josh."


    "Why would I want to do that? Are you still jealous of him?" I ask coyly.


    He ces his hand on my belly. "Why should I be? Does he still want to y daddy?"


    I gasp. "He never did!"


    Matthew¡¯s jaw flexes, but his eyes stay on mine, dark and intense. "Could¡¯ve fooled me," he says quietly, fingers syed protectively over the curve of my belly.


    I take a small step back, but I don¡¯t break his gaze. "You¡¯re being unfair," I say, voice soft but firm.


    He leans in and kisses me fast and hard before walking away from me.


    God, he IS an asshole sometimes.


    "Whatever. Be that way," I murmur and leave the room. He can sulk all day if he wants to, but I¡¯ve got a nursery to decorate.


    I storm out of the bedroom, my pulse still racing from our encounter. I just don¡¯t understand Matthew at all. How can he go from touching me so tenderly to being so infuriating in the span of seconds?


    As I reach the hallway, a wave of dizziness hits me without warning. The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. My vision clouds at the edges, dark spots dancing across my sight.


    "Whoa," I whisper, but my voice sounds distant to my own ears.


    I try to take another step toward the nursery, but my legs feel like they are made of cotton. The dizziness intensifies, and a sharp painnces through my abdomen.


    My knees buckle. I slide down the wall, unable to stay upright.


    Something is wrong.

 Chapter 90: It’s Enough

    <h4>Chapter 90: It¡¯s Enough</h4>


    Sarah


    The pain intensifies, radiating through my lower back. I press my hand to my belly, panic rising in my throat.


    Something¡¯s wrong. Something¡¯s very wrong.


    I manage to find my voice. "Matthew!" I cry out, the fear making ite out as a strangled sob.


    Footsteps thunder down the hall. Matthew appears first, his face transforming from lingering irritation to rm in an instant.


    "Sarah!" He drops to his knees beside me. "What¡¯s wrong?"


    "I don¡¯t¡ª" The pain cuts me off, sharper this time. I clutch at his arm. "I am scared."


    Josh and Reba appear in the hallway, their faces blurring in my vision.


    "Call 911," Matthew barks, and I hear Reba fumbling for her phone.


    "I¡¯m bleeding," I whisper, the realization hitting me as I feel the warmth between my legs. "Matthew, I¡¯m bleeding."


    His face goes pale. He scoops me up into his arms with surprising gentleness, his previous angerpletely vanished.


    "It¡¯s okay, Sarah," he says, his voice tight with fear. "We¡¯re going to the hospital right now. Don¡¯t wait for the ambnce," he tells Josh. "Get the car."


    Josh moves faster than I¡¯ve ever seen him, bolting for the door. Reba hovers nearby, her paintbrush forgotten, face ashen.


    "The baby," I murmur, tears streaming down my face.


    Matthew holds me closer, and I can feel his heart hammering against his chest. "It¡¯s going to be okay," he says, but his voice breaks.


    Josh pulls the car up to the curb with a screech of tires. Matthew carries me inside carefully.


    "Is this my punishment for lying about this before?" I whisper.


    Matthew holds me tight. "Don¡¯t be ridiculous. Nothing will happen to you or the baby."


    I am not so sure about that.


    Nothing feels okay.


    The bleeding hasn¡¯t stopped. The cramping is worse.


    My vision swims in and out, and the fear ws at me like a living thing.


    We swerve into the ER entrance. Josh barely puts the car in park before Matthew throws the door open and yells for help.


    "She is pregnant. She is bleeding. We need help!" His voice cracks with desperation.


    Two nurses rush out with a wheelchair. Matthew tries to set me down gently, but I cry out, the movement too much. My legs feel numb. The nurses work quickly, asking questions I can barely answer.


    "Gestational age?"


    "Sixteen weeks," Matthew says. His eyes are wild. "Please, just help her."


    They wheel me through sliding doors, the harsh white lights stabbing at my eyes. I hear Matthew arguing with someone about staying with me, but they pull him back. I want to reach for him, but my arms feel too heavy.


    "Matthew," I whisper.


    "I¡¯m right here!" he shouts, and somehow, that gives me just enough strength to stay conscious.


    They wheel me into a private room, immediately hooking me up to monitors. A doctor appears.


    "We are going to check the baby¡¯s heartbeat first, okay?"


    I nod weakly.


    Please. Just let there be a heartbeat.


    The room falls into silence, broken only by the beeping of machines and the shuffle of movement. The doctor presses the Doppler to my belly.


    Nothing.


    I squeeze my eyes shut.


    Please. Don¡¯t let my baby die. I couldn¡¯t bear it.


    ba-dum... ba-dum... ba-dum...


    I sob in relief as I hear it. My baby¡¯s heartbeat.


    "There¡¯s a heartbeat," the doctor says, his voice a balm. "It¡¯s a bit weak, but the baby is alive."


    "Oh, thank god," I breathe.


    But his expression stays serious. "You¡¯re experiencing a threatened miscarriage. We¡¯ll need to monitor you closely and keep you on bed rest for now. No stress, no activity. And no leaving until we¡¯re sure the bleeding has stopped."


    I nod again. "Could you let my husband in? I want him to hear our baby¡¯s heartbeat," I whisper.


    The doctor gives a gentle nod. "Of course."


    A nurse hurries out of the room, and momentster, Matthew rushes in. His eyes scan me from head to toe, and the fear in them nearly undoes me.


    "Sarah," he breathes, crossing the room in two long strides and dropping to his knees beside the bed. He takes my hand carefully like he¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll break.


    I squeeze his fingers. "The baby¡¯s alive. The heartbeat¡¯s a little weak, but..." My voice cracks, emotion welling up in my chest. "Our baby is alive, Matthew."


    He gives me a small smile. "Sarah, I..."


    "Shh...just listen," I urge him to listen to the monitor.


    The doctor moves the Doppler again, and the room fills with the rapid, delicate sound of our baby¡¯s heart.


    Matthew sighs and listens for a bit before turning to the doctor. "Why did she pass out like that?" he asks curtly.


    The doctor takes a breath, his expression calm but serious. "Her blood pressure dropped significantly due to the bleeding and shock. That,bined with the pain, likely caused the fainting. It¡¯s good she made it here when she did."


    Matthew nods slowly, but his jaw is tight, his hand gripping mine like a lifeline. "Is the baby really going to be okay?"


    "Stay positive," the doctor replies. "The heartbeat is a good sign, but we need to monitor both of them closely. We¡¯ll run some additional scans to rule out anything more serious."


    Matthew doesn¡¯t look away from me. "Okay," he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. "Okay."


    Tears sting the corners of my eyes again, not from pain this time, but from the aching tenderness in his gaze. I squeeze his hand weakly. "I¡¯m scared."


    "I know," he says, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face.


    A nurse enters quietly and begins checking the IV line. "We¡¯re going to give you something to help calm the cramping, Sarah," she says kindly. "And keep you hydrated. Just rest, alright?"


    I nod, too exhausted to answer. The adrenaline is wearing off, and in its ce is a bone-deep fatigue.


    Matthew shifts in his chair. "You didn¡¯t deserve this," he says suddenly.


    "What do you mean?" I ask.


    "Earlier, you asked if this was a punishment for you. But no, this isn¡¯t some punishment. You hear me?" he says firmly.


    Tears welled in my eyes. "I just...I was so horrible for lying about being pregnant before. Faking those tests and pictures. Maybe I brought this on."


    "No," he growls in a low voice. "You didn¡¯t bring this on yourself. Life is just...messed up sometimes."


    "But you still haven¡¯t forgiven me," I remind him.


    Matthew goes quiet.


    "Maybe notpletely," he finally says after a moment, his voice rough. "But that doesn¡¯t mean I want anything to happen to you," he adds, softer now, almost like he¡¯s confessing something to himself. "Or the baby. I was terrified, Sarah. Seeing you like that, I thought I was going to lose you both."


    I blink hard, trying to hold back the tears, but they spill anyway. "You were?"


    He closes his eyes for a moment, like the words physically hurt. "Yes," he says.


    "I don¡¯t know how to just flip a switch and let go of what you did," Matthew admits quietly. "But none of that mattered when I saw you in that hospital bed. All I could think was, God, please don¡¯t take her from me."


    My throat tightens, emotion catching in it like a knot. "Do you still hate me?" I ask, my voice trembling.


    He shakes his head slowly, then squeezes. "No. I hate what happened between us. But I don¡¯t hate you, Sarah. I don¡¯t think I ever truly did."


    Fresh tears slide down my cheeks, hot and silent. I tug his hand gently. "Kiss me," I whisper.


    He hesitates, but only for a second before leaning in. His lips brush mine, tentative at first. But when I respond, pressing back with all the emotion I¡¯ve buried, he deepens the kiss.


    His hand moves to my cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that don¡¯t seem to stop. When we pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing shakily.


    "I love you," I murmur. "I know you don¡¯t want to say it back, but I still want to tell you that."


    "And I don¡¯t want you to stop saying it to me," he says.


    "And the baby? Do you think you could love the baby?" I ask.


    "Of course, I love the baby, Sarah. "It¡¯s my fucking baby." He res at me.


    I give him a cheeky smile. "So you are finally admitting it¡¯s your baby?"


    "I never doubted it for a second. I only denied it to hurt you," he replies.


    Of course.


    "Enough talking. You need to rest," he says, fluffing the pillow behind me.


    "You always were a bit of a softie," I tease weakly.


    Matthew huffs out augh, shaking his head. "Don¡¯t let it go to your head. I¡¯m only doing this because you¡¯re stuck in a hospital bed."


    I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around me like a nket. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Not because everything is okay...it isn¡¯t. But because he is here. For me.


    He brushes my hair back again. "Get some sleep. I will tell Josh and Reba toe back tomorrow to visit."


    "But you wille back, right?" I ask eagerly.


    Matthew leans close. "You really think I¡¯d leave now?" he murmurs. "You scared the hell out of me, Sarah. I¡¯m not going anywhere."


    My throat tightens again at his words, and I nod, trying to smile through the tears threatening to return.


    He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "I¡¯ll be right here. Even if you¡¯re asleep, I¡¯m staying."


    Outside the room, the world might be chaotic. Complicated. But in this moment, it¡¯s just us.


    Me. Him. And the tiny heartbeat still fluttering inside me.


    And for now, that¡¯s enough.

 Chapter 91: Worried

    <h4>Chapter 91: Worried</h4>


    Matthew


    I sit beside Sarah¡¯s hospital bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. The machines beep quietly, a reminder that she¡¯s still here. That both the baby and her are here, alive.


    My eyes burn from exhaustion, but I can¡¯t bring myself to close them. Every time I do, I imagine her falling, her face drained of color, that look of pure terror in her eyes. I hear her voice, so small, telling me she was bleeding.


    Christ.


    I thought I was going to lose her.


    I run my thumb over the back of her hand, careful not to disturb the IV. Her skin is warm now, not mmy like it was when I carried her to the car. I¡¯ve never been so scared in my entire life.


    Sarah shifts in her sleep, making a small sound. I lean forward, instantly alert, but her eyes remain closed. A strand of hair has fallen across her face, and I gently brush it away, letting my fingers linger against her cheek.


    "I¡¯m here," I whisper, though she can¡¯t hear me.


    Marishka was here earlier, crying her eyes out, insisting that I let her stay overnight. Both Sarah and I had to force her to go back home.


    The doctor said the next twenty-four hours would be critical. That she wasn¡¯tpletely well. But the bleeding has slowed, and our baby¡¯s heartbeat has remained steady for the past few hours.


    Our baby. The thought still catches me sometimes, makes my chest tight in a way I can¡¯t fully describe. When I heard that heartbeat today, something inside me broke open. Something I¡¯ve been trying to hold back since Sarah told me she was pregnant for real.


    I look at her belly, barely visible beneath the thin hospital nket. Sixteen weeks. She told me the other day that it was the size of an avocado.


    My throat constricts. I¡¯ve been such an ass. Holding onto my anger like it was some kind of shield, punishing her for the past instead of focusing on our future. And for what? So I could feel righteous? So I could make her suffer a little longer?


    None of that seemed important when I thought I might lose her.


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Reba.


    "Any updates?"


    I quickly type a response. "She¡¯s sleeping. Doctor says she¡¯s stable."


    A momentter, Reba replies.


    "Thank God. Do you want Josh and me toe by tonight? He is very worried about her."


    I nce at Sarah again. She looks so fragile under the fluorescent lights, but there¡¯s a calm to her face now. Peaceful. I don¡¯t want that disturbed.


    I text back: "No. Let her rest. Tomorrow morning¡¯s better."


    Reba doesn¡¯t argue.


    I set the phone down and lean back in the chair, rubbing my hands over my face. I should try to sleep too, but I know I won¡¯t. Not while she¡¯s like this. I¡¯ve spent so long pretending I didn¡¯t care, guarding myself, keeping her at a distance. And now I just want to crawl into bed beside her and wrap her up in my arms.


    She shivers in her sleep.


    I reach for the extra nket at the foot of the bed and gentlyy it over her. She doesn¡¯t stir, but her shivering stops. I sit back down, rubbing the heels of my hands against my tired eyes.


    The door opens softly, and a nurse enters with a clipboard.


    "How¡¯s she doing?" she whispers, checking the monitors.


    "Sleeping," I reply, my voice rough.


    The nurse nods, making a note. "That¡¯s good. Her vitals are stable." She gives me a sympathetic look. "You should get some rest too, you know. There¡¯s a recliner in the corner that pulls out. I can bring you a pillow and nket."


    I shake my head. "I¡¯m fine."


    She doesn¡¯t push it, just checks Sarah¡¯s IV and adjusts the nket before leaving.


    Alone again, I let my mind wander back to earlier today. To Josh showing up at our house. To my childish jealousy. God, what was I thinking? Fighting with her over something so stupid when she¡¯s carrying our child.


    I fucking stressed her out, didn¡¯t I?


    She¡¯d been so happy,ughing with him. And I¡¯d been so determined to be cold, to make her feel my disapproval.


    Idiot.


    Sarah stirs again, her eyelids fluttering. I lean forward, holding my breath.


    "Matthew?" she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.


    "I¡¯m here." I take her hand, squeezing gently. "How are you feeling?"


    She blinks slowly, orienting herself. "Tired. Sore." Her free hand moves to her belly. "The baby?"


    "Still good," I assure her quickly. "Heart rate¡¯s been steady. Doctor says that¡¯s a really good sign."


    Relief washes over her face. She looks around the dim hospital room, then back at me. "You stayed."


    It¡¯s not a question, but I answer anyway. "Of course, I stayed."


    She studies my face. "You look terrible."


    A surprisedugh escapes me. "Thanks."


    "No, I mean¡ª" She shifts, wincing slightly. "You look exhausted. Have you slept at all?"


    I shrug. "Not important."


    Sarah frowns. "It is important. You should sleep."


    "I¡¯m fine," I insist.


    She sighs. "You are very stubborn."


    I kiss the tip of her nose. "And you are very argumentative."


    Sarah¡¯s lips twitch faintly, as if she wants to smile but doesn¡¯t quite have the strength. "Fine then."


    She closes her eyes again. Her breathing evens out. She looks pale and worn out, but there is this softness in her expression that makes me want to kiss her again and again.


    Maybe it¡¯s time I start letting the past go. Maybe it¡¯s time I let myself be happy with her. With our baby.


    ~-~


    I don¡¯t know when I fell asleep, but when I open my eyes next, I see sunlight seeping through the blinds.


    My neck aches from the awkward angle, and my legs are stiff from being curled in the hospital recliner. I blink away the blur of sleep and sit up slowly, instinctively looking to Sarah.


    She¡¯s awake.


    Her eyes are open, watching me.


    "Hey," she whispers.


    My heart thuds in relief. "Hey yourself." I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake off the grogginess. "How long have you been awake?"


    "A little while," she says. "I didn¡¯t want to wake you. You look extra handsome when you sleep."


    I give her a look.


    She smiles faintly. There¡¯s a hint of color in her cheeks again, and it makes my chest loosen just a little.


    "How are you feeling?" I ask.


    "Better," she murmurs.


    The door to the room opens, making both of us jump. Sarah¡¯s father rushes in first, his face flushed with panic, followed by her mother who has a grim expression on her face.


    "Sarah! Oh my God, darling!" Her father is at the bedside in an instant.


    "Dad," Sarah breathes, surprise evident in her voice. "Mom. What are you¡ªhow did you know?"


    Her father¡¯s face is ashen. "Marishka called us," he exins, his usually booming voice subdued in the hospital setting. "


    "I am fine, really," Sarah protests weakly, but I can see tears gathering in her eyes.

 Chapter 92: Flowers

    <h4>Chapter 92: Flowers</h4>


    Matthew


    "I had a feeling this would happen," her mother says.


    Sarah flinches as if she¡¯s been pped, and I feel a surge of anger rise up my spine.


    "Mom," Sarah whispers, her voice small. "Please, not now."


    "Evelyn," her father warns, giving his wife a sharp look.


    But Sarah¡¯s mother just smooths her immacte skirt, her expression unmoved. "What? I¡¯m simply stating facts. The way Sarah handles herself...sauntering around without a care in the world. No expecting mother should ever..."


    I stand up so quickly that my chair nearly topples. "Evelyn, with all due respect, you should leave."


    Sarah¡¯s mother draws back. "Excuse me? I am her mother."


    "Then act like it," I reply, my voice dangerously quiet. "Sarah doesn¡¯t need this right now."


    "How dare you?" Evelyn barks.


    "Mom, please," Sarah pleads.


    I clench my jaw.


    Sarah¡¯s father steps between us, hands raised catingly. "He¡¯s right, Evelyn. Sarah needs rest, not stress."


    A doctor enters, eyebrows raised at the sudden crowd in the room. "Good morning. I need to check on my patient." She looks pointedly at everyone. "Perhaps we could limit visitors to one or two at a time?"


    Evelyn sniffs but allows herself to be guided toward the door by her husband. "We¡¯ll be right outside," Charles promises Sarah, who nods gratefully.


    As they leave, I exhale slowly, unclenching my fists. Sarah reaches for my hand.


    "Thank you," she whispers.


    The doctor approaches the bed, clipboard in hand. "How are you feeling this morning, Sarah?"


    "Better," Sarah says.


    "That¡¯s good." The doctor checks the monitors. "Your blood pressure has stabilized, and the bleeding has stoppedpletely. Those are excellent signs."


    I squeeze Sarah¡¯s hand. "And the baby?"


    The doctor smiles. "Let¡¯s check."


    ~-~


    "I never understood why she hates me so much," Sarah tells meter that evening.


    "Hmm? Who are you talking about?" I ask and move to sit next to her.


    "My mother. At least it made sense to me when you hated me. But with my mother...I just don¡¯t know," she whispers.


    I hate hearing the tremor in her voice as if she is about to burst into tears.


    "I don¡¯t know," I say, brushing my thumb along her shoulder. "I am sure she doesn¡¯t actually hate you. You are her daughter. How can a mother genuinely hate her own daughter?"


    "She told me once that having me ruined her life," Sarah whispers. "I was sixteen. She said it like she was talking about a stain she couldn¡¯t get out of a dress."


    My chest tightens. I don¡¯t even realize how tightly I¡¯m holding her until she winces, and I quickly loosen my grip.


    I try to think of what to say. Anything to make her feel better, but I draw a nk.


    Right then, the door opens and a nurse walks in with arge bouquet of roses. "These came in for you," she says with a smile.


    I raise my eyebrows. "Roses? Is Josh trying to one-up me again?"


    Sarah giggles. "Stop that."


    "Well, he sent you roses before," I remind her.


    "Yes, and you gave me a lecture about how he doesn¡¯t know roses aren¡¯t my favorite and how he needs to do better to get inside my pants." Sarah rolls her eyes.


    I wince. "I never said he needs to do better. He better not try because I will break his legs."


    Sarah groans. "Will you please bring them to me?"


    I stand and cross the room, lifting the bouquet from the nurse¡¯s hands with a polite smile before she quietly slips out. The roses are deep red, fresh, and arranged in a way that looks like someone put real effort into them. I narrow my eyes, inspecting the card tucked between the blooms.


    "Who are they from?" Sarah asks, propped up on her pillows.


    I hand her the bouquet, but keep the card in my hand. "Let me check. Just in case Josh is trying something."


    Sheughs softly. "You¡¯re so possessive."


    "I prefer ¡¯appropriately territorial,¡¯" I mutter, opening the envelope.


    I read the name on the car and wrinkle my forehead.


    "It¡¯s not Josh," I say slowly.


    Sarah blinks. "Then who?"


    I nce at her, my voice neutral but guarded. "Rodrigo."


    Sarah freezes. "What?"


    "He wishes you well," I reply.


    "Wh-why would he send me flowers? How does he know I am in the hospital?" Her voice is shaking, her eyes lighting up with fear.


    I set the flowers down on a chair. "I don¡¯t know," I say, looking worriedly at her. Her face is pale, and I can see beads of sweat forming on her temple. Does hearing Rodrigo¡¯s name inflict that much fear in her?


    Sarah doesn¡¯t answer me right away. She¡¯s gripping the sheets now, knuckles white, her breathing shallow.


    "Sarah?" I move closer, cupping her face gently. "Hey, hey. Look at me. Breathe."


    She finally meets my eyes, but hers are wide, almost wild with panic. "Take them out."


    My stomach twists. "What?"


    She shakes her head, biting her bottom lip so hard I¡¯m afraid she¡¯ll draw blood. "Take the flowers and throw them out, please," she breathes.


    "Alright. I will do that," I say, pulling her to my chest. "Just calm down, okay? We can¡¯t have you be stressed out again."


    She nods against my chest and I feel her hot tears soaking my shirt.


    That¡¯s it...I need to find out what Rodrigo did to her. I can¡¯t wait anymore. Not when just hearing his name made her like this.


    Sarah trembles in my arms for a few more moments before her breathing finally steadies. I wait until her grip on my shirt loosens before gently pulling away to look at her face.


    "Better?" I ask softly.


    She nods, but her eyes still dart nervously to the flowers. "I¡¯m sorry. I just¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t apologize," I interrupt firmly. I stand and grab the bouquet, carrying it toward the door. "I¡¯ll be right back."


    In the hallway, I pause, staring down at the roses.


    I walk to the nurses¡¯ station. "Is there a ce I can dispose of these?"


    The nurse behind the counter gives me a puzzled look. "You want to throw away those beautiful flowers?"


    "They¡¯re from someone my wife doesn¡¯t want to hear from," I say shortly.


    Her expression shifts to understanding. "Oh. There¡¯s a dumpster in the staff area, but¡ª" She holds out her hands. "I can take care of it for you."


    I hesitate, then hand them over. "Thank you."


    When I walk back into the room, Sarah is sitting up straighter, trying topose herself, but her eyes immediately search mine.


    "They are gone," I assure her.


    Relief floods her face. "Thank you."


    I sit on the edge of the bed and take her hand. "You still don¡¯t remember what happened with Rodrigo?"


    She stiffens. "No. But I think he has something to do with my fear of darkness and...um...basements."

 Chapter 93: I Was Desperate

    <h4>Chapter 93: I Was Desperate</h4>


    Matthew


    The minute Sarah falls asleep, I leave.


    I don¡¯t care that it¡¯s almost midnight. I don¡¯t care that I haven¡¯t eaten since breakfast. All I can think about is that terrified look on her face when she saw his name.


    Rodrigo.


    I drive like a man possessed. I barely remember the roads, just the rising fury boiling in my chest.


    By the time I pull into Charles and Evelyn¡¯s driveway, my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel. The house is dark except for the porch light, but I know they are home.


    I knock on the door.


    The door swings open after a moment, and Charles stands there in a robe, blinking blearily behind his sses. "Matthew? What the hell are you¡ª?"


    "What happened between Sarah and Rodrigo?" I cut him off, my voice low, shaking with fury.


    He straightens, suddenly alert. "Keep your voice down. It¡¯ste."


    "I don¡¯t care," I snap. "She nearly had another panic attack because that sick bastard sent her flowers. Do you hear me? Flowers. She was trembling. Hyperventting. Crying."


    Charles sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead. "Matthew, calm down¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t tell me to calm down!" I hiss. "She¡¯s in the hospital, pregnant and terrified. And you¡¯re going to stand there and pretend you don¡¯t know why?"


    A tense silence falls between us. Finally, Charles steps back and opens the door wider.


    "Come inside."


    I hesitate. My fists are still clenched, and I don¡¯t trust myself not to put one through a wall. But I go in.


    The living room looks the same as always¡ªpolished wood, stiff furniture, everything cold and perfect. Just like Evelyn.


    Charles gestures toward the couch, so I sit.


    He exhales again, walks to the liquor cab, and pours himself a drink with a shaking hand. He doesn¡¯t offer me one.


    "I hoped she forgot," he murmurs. "


    "Rodrigo," I ask. "What did he do to her?"


    Charles stares at his ss, then finally meets my eyes. "He didn¡¯t do anything to her."


    "Are you serious right now? You expect me to believe that she is scared of him for nothing?" I growl.


    "Not for nothing. But it¡¯s not what you think," Charles says.


    I clench my jaw. "Then tell me what the hell it is."


    Charles takes a long drink and then sets his ss down hard on the table. "When Sarah was six, I almost faced bankruptcy, Matthew. About ten years ago. Mypany was on the verge of copse, bad investments, market crash, you name it." He runs a hand through his thinning hair. "We were weeks away from losing everything. The house, the cars, thepany..."


    I stare at him. "What does this have to do with Rodrigo?"


    Charles continues as if he hadn¡¯t heard me. "I asked Evelyn to convince her father to lend me the money. Just enough to save thepany. But her father refused. He told me I was never good enough for Evelyn in the begin with. Said once I lose anything, she should just find someone else to marry," Charles says bitterly.


    I narrow my eyes but don¡¯t say anything. I need him to keep talking.


    "Rodrigo was my business partner, and he had this idea for me to convince Sarah¡¯s father to pay up. He came up with a n. Said if I needed fast money, there was a way to get it. Quick and clean. All I had to do was stage a kidnapping."


    I stare at him, stunned. "What?"


    He nods slowly, eyes full of guilt. "He told me to fake Sarah¡¯s kidnapping. The idea was to make it look real¡ªanonymous threats, a dramatic ransom drop. Surely Evelyn¡¯s father would want to save his own granddaughter."


    I feel the blood drain from my face. "You were going to use her?"


    Charles doesn¡¯t flinch, but the guilt on his face deepens. "It was never supposed to be real. Rodrigo said he¡¯d handle everything. Hire someone trustworthy, keep her safe, make it quick. A few hours, tops. No harm. Just a scare. Then we¡¯d ¡¯find¡¯ her, collect the money, and return to normal."


    "You let Rodrigo take your daughter?" My voice is barely audible now, but every word is sharp.


    "I had no choice," Charles mutters.


    "You had a choice not to put your daughter in danger," I say coldly.


    Charles closes his eyes like the words physically strike him. "She was not going to be in danger. This was a fake kidnapping."


    "What happened?" I demanded.


    Charles swallows hard. "I don¡¯t know."


    I lean forward, my nails digging into my palms. "Bullshit."


    He doesn¡¯t look at me when he speaks. "The men Rodrigo took her as nned. They took her when Marishka was visiting the park with her to make it look like a real kidnapping."


    Charles¡¯s voice falters. "They grabbed her. Just like that. Broad daylight. Marishka screamed for help, but they were gone in seconds. ck van. No tes. No way to track them. It was supposed to be staged. A few hours, he said. But then..."


    He rubs his forehead again, his hand trembling. "Evelyn¡¯s father didn¡¯t agree to pay the ransom right away so hours turned into a day."


    "A day," I repeat, my voice low, deadly. "You let your daughter stay in the hands of strangers for a day?"


    Charles looks like he¡¯s aged ten years in front of me. His eyes are red-rimmed, voice hoarse. "I didn¡¯t know what to do. Rodrigo kept insisting it was under control. That the dy wouldn¡¯t change anything."


    My jaw tightens so hard it aches. "And when did you realize something was wrong?"


    "When it became two days," he whispers. "When Rodrigo stopped answering my calls. When the updates stoppeding."


    I stand, pacing now, because if I don¡¯t, I¡¯ll snap. "You let her stay with those animals for two days before it urred to you something might be off?"


    "It was supposed to be fake!" he says again, as if that makes any of this less horrific.


    "And it wasn¡¯t," I snap. "So where the hell was she?"


    Charles drops into the armchair like his legs won¡¯t hold him up anymore. "They found her on the third day. In a roadside motel two towns over. Alone. Shivering in the bathroom with the lights off. She wouldn¡¯t speak for almost a week. Wouldn¡¯t eat. Wouldn¡¯t even look at Evelyn or me."


    I stare at him in silence. The image of six-year-old Sarah, my Sarah, curled up in a filthy bathroom, terrified, is enough to make me want to drive straight to Rodrigo and rip him apart with my bare hands.


    "What did they do to her?" I ask quietly, and I almost don¡¯t want to know the answer.


    Charles shakes his head. "We don¡¯t know. She never told us. The doctors said there was no evidence of¡ª" he stops himself, his throat working. "But there were bruises and the fear in her eyes were real. After that, she screamed every time the lights went out. Couldn¡¯t sleep alone. Started wetting the bed."


    I press a hand to my face, trying to stay calm. Trying not to let the rage consume me. "And did she remember Rodrigo. Did she say anything about him?"


    He shakes his head. "She just remembers being taken. The van."


    "She remembers him," I say. "She doesn¡¯t know how, but she remembers Rodrigo. He did something to her."


    Charles shakes his head. "He denies it. Says he wasn¡¯t there with those men."


    "And you believe him?" I roar.


    Charles flinches like I struck him. "No," he says hoarsely. "I don¡¯t. But he had an alibi and he convinced me back then."


    I stare at him, breathing hard, every muscle in my body wound so tight I feel like I might explode. "You gave your daughter to a monster," I growl. "And now you sit there acting like a victim."


    His face twists with something between shame and pain. "I thought I was doing what I had to do¡ªfor my family. For Sarah¡¯s future."


    "For her future?" Iugh bitterly. "You risked her life. Her safety. Her mind."


    "I know," Charles whispers. "I know I¡¯ll never forgive myself. I made sure I give her everything she ever wanted in life because of this."


    I don¡¯t say anything. I can¡¯t. Because every word out of his mouth is a reminder of what she went through. Alone. Because of him.


    "She never told me she remembered Rodrigo," Charles says. "I thought maybe... maybe he didn¡¯t do anything. But if she¡¯s reacting now..."


    "He did something," I say coldly. "She may not have the words for it. But her body remembers."


    Charles looks down, shoulders slumped. "I wanted to protect her. I swear I did."


    "You failed," I say. "And now she¡¯s carrying my child. And I won¡¯t let him anywhere near her. Or that baby."


    He nods slowly, tears welling in his eyes. "I understand."


    I stand, ready to leave, my fists still clenched. But then I pause.


    "Rodrigo sent her flowers today," I say. "If he is nning something, I need to know everything you¡¯ve ever done with that man. Every deal. Every favor. Every lie."


    Charles nods numbly. "I¡¯ll tell you everything. I promise."


    "You better," I say. "Because if you don¡¯t, and he gets near her again¡ª"


    I lean in close, my voice low and venomous.


    "¡ªI won¡¯t hesitate to do what you should have done ten years ago."


    And with that, I turn and walk out, the door mming behind me.


    The cold night air hits my face like a p, but it does nothing to cool the fire burning inside me.


    I will protect Sarah. I don¡¯t care what it takes.

 Chapter 94: Miss Me?

    <h4>Chapter 94: Miss Me?</h4>


    Sarah


    "But I am bored!" I say and Matthew raises his brows.


    I hate that I sound so whiney, but I have been lying in this hospital bed for two days now, and I am sick of it.


    "I want to go home and look at what Reba did to the nursery," I add.


    Matthew chuckles softly, moving closer to the bed. "She has done a great job."


    "Yes, and I want to see it," I huff, folding my arms.


    He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. "You¡¯re still under observation, Sarah. The doctor said another day, maybe two."


    I groan dramatically. "You said that yesterday."


    "And the day before," he adds with a smirk.


    I narrow my eyes at him. "You¡¯re enjoying this, aren¡¯t you?"


    "Not at all," he says and shakes his head. "I want you toe home too."


    My heart skips at the way he says it. "Do you really mean it?"


    "Yes," he says without hesitation.


    "Does that mean you miss me?" I say as I smile at him. He never openly admitted that before.


    Matthew tilts his head, giving me that amused look that always makes my stomach flip. "No, I don¡¯t. But Marishka does."


    I bite back a grin. "Liar."


    Matthew raises both hands in mock surrender, his grin growing wider. "Alright, fine. Maybe I miss you a little. One gets used to having someone by their side all the time, pestering them about stupid things."


    "I don¡¯t pester you! By the way, is everything okay at the office?" I ask, changing the subject. As the owner, I am supposed to be running thepany, but here I am, bedridden instead. God, what must everyone at thepany think of me?


    Matthew leans against the side of the bed, his expression softening. "The office is fine. Don¡¯t worry about it."


    "But I am the CEO," I protest. "I should be there."


    "And you have a COO to handle things when you can¡¯t. Ivo is doing just fine. If anything goes wrong, he will let you know," Matthew says.


    I sigh, fidgeting with the edge of the nket. The truth is, I¡¯m not just bored¡ªI¡¯m anxious. Being away from work makes me feel like I¡¯m losing control, especially now when everything in my life is changing so rapidly.


    I reach for Matthew¡¯s hand, surprised by my own boldness. His fingers are warm against mine, and he doesn¡¯t pull away.


    "Thank you," I say softly. "For taking care of me."


    He shrugs. "You should get back to sleep."


    "No, I am tired of sleeping," I protest.


    "Then I have something else for you," Matthew says, reaching for his briefcase, "I brought you something to keep you upied."


    He pulls out myptop and ces it on the adjustable table. "I¡¯ve loaded all the reports from thest quarter. Thought you might want to review them."


    "Work?" I ask, brightening immediately. "You¡¯re actually giving me work to do?"


    "Limited work," he corrects, holding up a finger. "Two hours max per day. Doctor¡¯s orders."


    "Matthew! You are an angel!" I chirp.


    "And you sound like a damn workaholic," he replies dryly. "And," he adds, pulling something else from his briefcase, "Reba sent these."


    He hands me a small stack of nursery paint samples and fabric swatches.


    "She said you need to decide on the final ent colors by tomorrow if you want everything ready in time."


    I take the samples, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. This is really happening. In a few months, there will be a baby¡ªmy baby¡ªin that nursery.


    "Hey," Matthew says softly, noticing my expression. "You okay?"


    I nod, blinking back tears. "Is sheing to visit?"


    "Yes,ter." Matthew hesitates before adding: "Josh too."


    I look at him curiously. "And you are okay with that? Joshing here to visit me, I think."


    "And why wouldn¡¯t I be?" he barks.


    "Because you are jealous of him, why else?" I remind him.


    Matthew sighs. "I don¡¯t like the guy, but I won¡¯t stop him from seeing you. He is worried about you just like the rest of us," he says.


    I smile. "Thank you."


    He clears his throat. "Yeah, well...I guess I will go check what time they are bringing you lunch."


    I watch Matthew as he walks toward the door, pretending like he¡¯s not flustered. But I know him. His stiff shoulders and the way he rubs the back of his neck give him away.


    "Matthew," I call out, and he pauses, hand on the doorframe. "Did you hear anything else from...Rodrigo?" I shiver as I say his name. Ever since I got those flowers, I can¡¯t help but think Rodrigo has been watching me. Maybe waiting to find me alone here. Maybe he wants to...


    He wants to what though? It¡¯s not like I remember him hurting me so why am I so damn scared?


    Matthew turns slowly, his face hardening the second the name leaves my mouth. That protective look sharpens in his eyes, the one that always makes me feel safe even when everything else is spinning.


    "No," he says firmly. "Nothing new. I made sure the hospital has added extra security. No one gets in without going through two checkpoints. You¡¯re safe here, Sarah."


    I nod, though the knot in my stomach doesn¡¯t loosen.


    "But if he hasn¡¯t done anything," I whisper, "then why does it feel like he¡¯s everywhere?" I nce toward the small bouquet on the windowsill.


    Matthew follows my gaze, his jaw tight. "Because trauma doesn¡¯t always need a fresh wound to hurt. I will find out what he did, don¡¯t worry and we will deal with this."


    I suck in a breath. That word trauma, it wraps around me like a shadow. And the worst part is, I can¡¯t even remember what he did to me. Only the fear lingers. A smell. A feeling. A strange ache in my chest when I hear his name. It¡¯s driving me crazy.


    "I will be right back," Matthew says and leaves.


    I sigh and lean back on my pillow.


    "Knock knock!"


    I look up and see Josh¡¯s smiling face. I smile back. "Josh! Matthew said you wereing."


    "Did he? Well, I just passed him in the hallway just now. He gave me the death re," he says as he pulls up a chair next to me.


    Josh sits down beside the bed and shes me that familiar, boyish grin that makes me feel warm and safe in a different way.


    "You¡¯re looking better," he says, studying my face carefully. "Still bored out of your mind?"


    "Completely," I admit with a sigh. "I feel like I¡¯ve been in here forever. They won¡¯t even let me take a walk."


    Josh chuckles. "I brought contraband," he whispers, pulling a chocte bar from his jacket pocket.


    Iugh, the tension easing from my shoulders. "You¡¯re going to get me kicked out of here."


    "Then my n is working," he jokes.


    I take the chocte gratefully and break off a piece. "Thank you. Foring."


    He grows serious for a moment, watching me. "Of course I came. I was worried. I still am."


    I nce down at the swatches in myp, suddenly shy. "It¡¯s just... everything feels like it¡¯s changing. The nursery, the baby, thepany. Even Matthew, he¡¯s different."


    "Different good?" Josh asks carefully.


    I nod. "Yeah. Good. He¡¯s been there for me, more than I ever expected."


    Josh gives a quiet smile, but there¡¯s a flicker of something behind it. Regret, maybe. Or understanding. "He loves you."


    I look up at him, surprised. "You really think so?"


    Josh leans back in the chair, his hands resting on his knees. "I don¡¯t know the guy, but I can see the way he looks at you. He¡¯d do anything for you, Sarah."


    A silence stretches between us, soft and full of things we don¡¯t say.


    The thought gives mefort.


    The door suddenly flies open with a bang, startling both of us.


    "Sarah! Oh my God, I¡¯ve been worried sick!" Hailey rushes to my bedside, dropping her handbag on the floor. "Why didn¡¯t anyone call me sooner?"


    "Hailey," I say. "I¡¯m fine, really. It was just¡ª"


    "Just aplete disaster, ording to Matthew," she interrupts, leaning down to hug me carefully. "Fainting like that? Pregnancy is no joke."


    She straightens up, finally noticing Josh sitting beside me. Her rapid-fire energy seems to pause for a moment.


    "Oh," she says, her voice dropping half an octave. "I didn¡¯t realize you had...pany."


    Josh stands, extending his hand. "Josh Daniels. I¡¯m an old friend of Sarah¡¯s."


    "Hailey Jameson," she replies, taking his hand. "Matthew¡¯s sister."


    "Ah," Josh says with a slow smile.


    I nce between them, suddenly feeling like I¡¯ve disappeared from the room. Josh¡¯s posture has changed, shoulders back, chin slightly lifted. And Hailey keeps touching her hair.


    "So how do you know our Sarah?" Hailey asks, perching on the edge of my bed without taking her eyes off Josh.


    "College," Josh replies. "We go way back."


    "Hmm," Hailey hums, her gaze traveling over him.


    I clear my throat. "Matthew went out to check on lunch."


    Neither of them seems to hear me.


    "And what exactly do you do, Josh?" Hailey asks.


    "Architectural design," he answers. "What do you do?"


    "Photography," she says, leaning forward slightly.


    I shift ufortably in my bed, feeling like I¡¯m watching the most awkward mating ritual in human history. The tension between them is so thick I could cut it with a stic knife.


    "Ahem," I clear my throat.


    They both look at me at the same time.


    "Oh, Sarah. Tell me what happened," she says, prying her eyes off of Josh.


    "I will go find Matthew," Josh says quickly and rushes out of the room.

 Chapter 95: Not Him

    <h4>Chapter 95: Not Him</h4>


    Sarah


    I can¡¯t help but smile at how quickly Josh ran out. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Hailey, who¡¯s still staring at the door.


    "Earth to Hailey," I say, waving my hand in front of her face. "Stop drooling."


    She snaps out of her trance and yfully swats my hand away. "I was not drooling. I was... observing."


    "Sure you were," I tease. "Your jaw practically hit the floor."


    "He¡¯s cute," she admits with a shrug. "Is he single?"


    Iugh. "I think so, but I haven¡¯t exactly been keeping tabs on his love life."


    "Hmm," she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Interesting."


    "Don¡¯t you dare," I warn her. "I don¡¯t know if Matthew would approve."


    "What? I¡¯m just making mental notes," she says innocently. "And it¡¯s not like I need his permission."


    I shake my head, smiling.


    So, are you going to tell me what happened or not? Matthew was all cryptic on the phone, said you fainted and they¡¯re running tests."


    I sigh, the memory of copsing at the office still fresh. "I was just overworking myself. The doctor says it¡¯s not umon during pregnancy, but they¡¯re being cautious because of my blood pressure."


    Hailey¡¯s expression softens. "Sarah, you need to take better care of yourself. That baby needs you healthy."


    "I know," I say, absently cing a hand on my still-t stomach. "It¡¯s just hard to step back. Thepany¡ª"


    "Thepany will survive without you micromanaging every detail for a few days," she interrupts firmly.


    "Yeah, I guess," I grumble.


    Hailey reaches into her bag and pulls out some books. "Which is why I brought entertainment. Fashion magazines and your favorite novel."


    My face lights up despite myself. "You¡¯re a lifesaver."


    "I know," she says smugly. "Now tell me, how are things with you and my brother?"


    I pause. "Why do you ask?"


    She hesitates. "I sensed a certain tension between you two thest time I saw you together."


    "I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about," I say, trying to sound casual but knowing I¡¯m failing miserably.


    Hailey gives me a knowing look, the kind that says she can see right through me. "Oh please. You can¡¯t fool me."


    I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "It¡¯s nothing to worry about. We are working on some...things."


    "Uh-huh," Hailey says, unconvinced.


    Iugh despite myself. "Things are... different. Good different. He¡¯s been really supportive and kind and¡ª"


    "And?" Hailey prompts, leaning forward eagerly.


    The door opens, and Matthew walks in carrying a tray. "Lunch," he announces, then looks between us suspiciously. "What are you two whispering about?"


    "Nothing," we say in unison, which only makes him look more suspicious.


    "Right," he says slowly, cing the tray on the table. "They had chicken soup or beef stew. I got you both."


    "Such a thoughtful brother," Hailey says with exaggerated sweetness.


    Matthew narrows his eyes at her. "What do you want?"


    "Can¡¯t I justpliment my wonderful big brother without ulterior motives?" she asks innocently.


    "No," he says tly.


    Iugh, and they both turn to look at me.


    "Where is Josh?" Hailey asks.


    "He said he had to take a call," Matthew says, giving Hailey a curious look. "Why? Did something happen?"


    "Nothing at all," Hailey says, suddenly very interested in examining her nails. "Just wondering."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes narrow with suspicion as he looks between us. "Hailey, what are you up to?"


    "Me? Nothing!" She protests with a dramatic hand over her heart. "Can¡¯t I ask about a person¡¯s whereabouts without being interrogated?"


    I can¡¯t help but smile at their sibling banter. I don¡¯t have a brother or sister, so I have never experienced this. The kind that bickers and teases but would do anything for each other.


    "You¡¯ve known the guy for all of five minutes," Matthew points out.


    "Sometimes that¡¯s all it takes," Hailey retorts with a wink at me.


    Matthew res at her and turns to me. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness?"


    "I¡¯m fine," I say, reaching for the soup. "Just impatient."


    "The doctor will be by in an hour," he informs me. "Maybe he¡¯ll have good news."


    "Or maybe he¡¯ll say I need to stay another week," I grumble.


    Hailey pats my hand sympathetically. "Look on the bright side ¨C hospital food and ufortable beds!"


    Iugh. "You¡¯re terrible at cheering people up."


    "I¡¯m excellent at it," she corrects me. "You justughed, didn¡¯t you?"


    The door opens again, and Josh returns, slipping his phone into his pocket. His eyes immediately find Hailey, and I notice him straighten his posture.


    "Everything okay?" I ask him.


    "Yeah, just work stuff," he says, waving it off. "Sorry about that."


    Matthew clears his throat. "I think we should let Sarah rest. Doctor¡¯s orders."


    "You just brought lunch," I point out.


    "And you can eat it while resting," he counters smoothly.


    Josh nods, taking the hint. "I should get going anyway. I¡¯ve got a client meeting in an hour."


    "I¡¯ll walk you out," Hailey says quickly, standing up. "I need to make a call myself."


    Matthew watches them with suspicious eyes as they leave the room together, Josh holding the door open for Hailey.


    Once they¡¯re gone, Matthew turns to me with raised eyebrows. "What was that about?"


    "I think your sister has a crush," I say, unable to hide my amusement.


    Matthew groans. "On Josh? Seriously?"


    "What¡¯s wrong with Josh?" I ask defensively.


    "Nothing," he says quickly. "Just... he¡¯s not her type."


    "And what exactly is Hailey¡¯s type?"


    Matthew shrugs. "Not Josh."


    Iugh at his brotherly protectiveness. "You¡¯re impossible."


    "I don¡¯t want my sister associating with him," he says.


    "Why not? I thought you were worried about him liking me. Wouldn¡¯t it be best for him to like her?" I counter.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens. "That¡¯s not what I meant."


    "Then what did you mean?" I press, watching his face carefully.


    He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I just don¡¯t want her getting hurt. Josh seems like the type who doesn¡¯t stick around."


    "You don¡¯t know that," I say softly. "Besides, Hailey¡¯s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions."


    "Doesn¡¯t mean I have to like them," he mutters.


    I take a spoonful of soup, hiding my smile. There¡¯s something endearing about his protectiveness, even if it¡¯s misced.


    "So," I say, changing the subject, "did you talk to the doctor? Any chance I can go home tomorrow?"


    Matthew sits on the edge of the bed, his expression softening. "He mentioned your blood pressure is looking better. If the testse back normal today, there¡¯s a good chance."


    My heart lifts. "Really?"


    "Really," he confirms. "But¡ª" he holds up a finger, "You will need to take it easy at home. No work for at least a week."


    "A week?" I nearly choke on my soup. "Matthew, I can¡¯t just¡ª"


    "You can and you will," he says firmly. "Doctor¡¯s orders, not mine."


    I slump back against the pillows. "Fine. But I¡¯m not happy about it."


    "Noted," he says dryly.


    We sit infortable silence as I eat my soup. It¡¯s strange how natural it feels now, being with Matthew like this. The awkwardness that used to define our interactions has gradually faded, reced by something I can¡¯t quite name.


    "Matthew?" I say after a while.


    "Hmm?"


    "Thank you. For everything." I look down at my bowl, suddenly shy. "For taking care of me. For being here."


    He doesn¡¯t respond immediately, and when I look up, I find him watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.


    "You don¡¯t need to thank me," he says finally, his voice low. "I am your husband."


    The word still sends a strange flutter through me. Husband. It¡¯s been months, but sometimes it still feels surreal.


    "Still," I insist.


    Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else falls away. There¡¯s something in his gaze, something warm and deep and achingly familiar, that makes me wonder what might have been if we¡¯d met under different circumstances.


    The moment stretches between us, electric and fragile.


    Then his phone buzzes, shattering the silence. Matthew blinks and pulls it from his pocket, ncing at the screen.


    "Work?" I ask, trying to ignore the disappointment I feel.


    "No. It¡¯s your Dad. I need to go talk to him," he says and leaves without saying another word.


    Well...that was weird.

 Chapter 96: Obsessed

    <h4>Chapter 96: Obsessed</h4>


    Matthew


    "Meet me at Red¡¯s Cigar Bar as soon as you can," Charles¡¯s text said so I rush there.


    This is better be about Rodrigo.


    I push open the heavy wood door and step inside. The bar is dimly lit, smoky, and reeks of leather and stale whiskey. A jazz tune hums softly from the speakers, shing with the tension brewing in my chest.


    Charles is already there, seated in a booth at the back with a ss of bourbon in hand. He doesn¡¯t wave. He just lifts his eyes and gives me a look.


    I slide into the seat across from him. "What¡¯s going on?"


    He nces around first, then leans in. "I made a few calls. Pulled some favors from old contacts."


    I lean forward, every muscle in my body tensing. "And?"


    Charles lowers his voice. "I found someone. A guy who used to work security for Rodrigo a few years back. He quit, disappeared off the grid¡ªuntil now."


    My jaw tightens. "And he knows something?"


    Charles nods. "He says Rodrigo has always been involved with some bad people."


    "I¡¯d guessed that much," I say grimly. "Why else would he suggest kidnapping of an innocent child?"


    Charles takes a slow sip of his bourbon, then sets the ss down with a deliberate thud. "And I listened to him and let him do it. God...I can never forgive myself."


    I waive my hand in dismissal. "I don¡¯t have time for you to have a pity party, Charles. Tell me what else you found out."


    "Alvarez said Rodrigo didn¡¯t just ¡¯suggest¡¯ the kidnapping¡ªhe personally orchestrated the logistics. He hired the men, picked the park where Marishka would be distracted, and arranged the van. He monitored their progress on a burner phone."


    My fists clench on the table. "So this wasn¡¯t some half©\baked scheme that got out of hand. Rodrigo nned it down to thest detail."


    "He even scoped out Sarah¡¯s routines," Charles continues. "Alvarez said Rodrigo watched Marishka¡¯s schedule and made notes of her."


    I push back from the booth. "Did Alvarez say why he was so eager to "help" you?"


    Charles runs a hand through his hair, eyes haunted. "Alvarez said...he said, since Rodrigo saw my daughter, he kind of became obsessed with her," he says and winces as if he tasted something disgusting.


    The air between us suddenly feels thin. I sink back down, my legs going weak.


    "Obsessed?" I repeat, the word tasting like poison. "What do you mean, obsessed?"


    Charles drains his bourbon in one gulp as if needing the burn to continue. "I don¡¯t know."


    "Jesus Christ," I mutter, nausea rising in my throat. "And you never noticed anything off about him?"


    Charles¡¯s eyes sh with anger, then dim with shame. "He was careful around me. Professional. I never saw...I never thought..." His voice cracks.


    A waitress approaches, but I wave her away before she can speak. This isn¡¯t a conversation I want to be interrupted.


    "Where is Alvarez now?" I demand. "Can he lead us to the men who kidnapped Sarah?"


    "Holed up in a motel off Route 16. He¡¯s terrified, Matthew. ims that¡¯s why he never came forward before."


    "Then he better stay terrified," I snap. "Because if he¡¯s lying or holding anything back, I¡¯ll make sure he¡¯s more afraid of me than of Rodrigo."


    Charles leans back, rubbing his face. "He gave me the names of the couple who took Sarah. He said to keep him out of all this now."


    "Then we go see the couple," I say grimly.


    Charles¡¯s eyes turn wide. "Matthew, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea. Those are dangerous people. What if..."


    "You are telling me to let this go?" I growl. "Your daughter is still traumatized because those people kidnapped her when she was just a child."


    Charles flinches, his lips parting, but no wordse out. I can see the guilt twisting behind his eyes, weighing him down like chains.


    "I¡¯m not telling you to let it go," he finally says, voice low. "I¡¯m saying if we go after them, we have to be smart. They¡¯re not the kind of people you knock on the door and have a little chat with."


    I m my palm against the table, the sound cutting through the murmur of the bar. A few heads turn, but I don¡¯t care. "I¡¯m done waiting, Charles. Sarah does not deserve to live in fear like this."


    His face twists in pain, but he doesn¡¯t argue. He knows he can¡¯t. There¡¯s no excuse big enough to erase what he allowed.


    "Where are they?" I demand, my voice is low and sharp like a de. "The couple who took her. I want names and an address."


    Charles slowly reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a crumpled slip of paper. "Their names are ke and Serena Nash. Alvarez says they¡¯re holed up in an old farmhouse just outside of town."


    I snatch the paper from his hand. The names mean nothing to me, but they will. Soon.


    "Shouldn¡¯t we call the police?" he asks.


    "We don¡¯t have enough evidence to show it, and it happened decades ago. Don¡¯t worry. I am not nning on going over there and demanding answers right away," I say.


    Charles raises a brow, skeptical. "Then what are you nning?"


    "I just want to ask them some questions, that¡¯s all," I say cryptically.


    Charles studies me for a moment like he¡¯s trying to decide whether or not to believe me. "I don¡¯t like this," he mutters.


    I give him a hard smile. "I¡¯ll go alone," I say, tucking the paper into my coat. "If I have to."


    "No, I wille with you. Sarah is my daughter and I want to do what¡¯s best for her. When do you want to go?" he asks.


    "As soon as Sarah is out of the hospital and back home. Meanwhile, I think it¡¯d be good if you visited her. Oh, and by the way, I¡¯ve been meaning to ask," I pause.


    He raises an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"


    "Who do Evelyn act like she hates Sarah?" I ask.

 Chapter 97: Remember Me

    <h4>Chapter 97: Remember Me</h4>


    Sarah


    They are finally letting me go home.


    It has been three days since I¡¯ve been stuck in this hospital bed, and if I had to stay here one more day, I would go crazy.


    "Got everything packed and ready to go?" Matthew asks as I grab my purse.


    "Yup!" I chirp. "I can¡¯t wait to go home. I need to catch up with work and the nursery..."


    "Hold on there, missy," Matthew interrupts me. "Not so fast."


    I raise my eyebrow. "What?"


    "Just because you¡¯re going home doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re back to normal," Matthew says, his expression stern. "Doctor Reynolds was very clear. You need at least another week to take it easy. Note nights at the office, no painting the nursery, no rearranging furniture."


    I roll my eyes. "Matthew, I¡¯m pregnant, not invalid. I just had a little fainting spell."


    "A ¡¯little fainting spell¡¯ thatnded you in the hospital for three days with severe dehydration and high blood pressure," he counters, taking my overnight bag from my hand. "Sarah, you have to take this seriously."


    The firmness in his voice makes me pause. I¡¯ve never seen Matthew this worried before.


    "Fine," I sigh reluctantly. "I¡¯ll work from home."


    "No, not ¡¯work from home.¡¯ Rest at home. There¡¯s a difference." He ces his hand gently on my baby bump.


    The softness in his voice makes my inside warm. "Alright, fine. I will rest."


    "Thank you," he says.


    A nurse wheels in a wheelchair, and I start to protest.


    "Hospital policy," she says before I can argue.


    The ride down to the parking garage is quiet. Matthew walks beside the wheelchair, asionally squeezing my shoulder. I know he¡¯s right, but the thought of sitting around doing nothing makes me anxious.


    As Matthew helps me into the car, I catch him watching me with that same worried expression.


    "What?" I ask.


    "I know what you¡¯re thinking," he says, buckling my seatbelt for me despite my protests. "You¡¯re mentally organizing all the work you¡¯re going to do the minute I leave for the office tomorrow."


    I feel my cheeks flush. "Am not."


    He chuckles and kisses my forehead before closing the door and walking around to the driver¡¯s side.


    ~-~


    The next day, Matthew leaves for work, so I am alone in the house.


    And bored.


    Well, I guess not entirely alone since Marishka is here, but she went to the grocery store and has been gone for hours. I tried to convince her to take me with her, but she wouldn¡¯t listen!


    Maybe I will call Reba to see if she wants toe over.


    I reach for my phone on the coffee table, but before I can even pull up Reba¡¯s contact, it buzzes in my hand with an iing call. An unknown number shes across the screen.


    I hesitate before clicking the answer button. "Hello?"


    "Sarah. This is Rodrigo."


    The familiar feeling of fear and nausea creeps up my body and I quickly press the end call button.


    What the hell? Why is he calling me?


    The phone starts to ring again.


    I should ignore the call, I know, but what good would it do? I have a feeling Rodrigo is not nning on leaving me alone, and I can¡¯t run away from this fear forever. I want to know why I am so scared of him.


    So I answer.


    "Hello, Rodrigo." I keep my voice steady and casual, as if I¡¯m talking to an old acquaintance rather than someone who makes my heart race with dread.


    "Sarah! I¡¯m so d you picked up. I am d you are out of the hospital. Are you okay?" he says.


    I take a deep breath, settling deeper into the couch cushions. "How do you know about that?" I twist a strand of hair around my finger, trying to appear rxed even though no one can see me.


    "I have my resources," Rodrigo says silkenly.


    My throat tightens, but I maintain myposure. "Why are you calling me?"


    "We never got to finish talking at the party. I¡¯ve been wanting to see you, Sarah. We should meet," he says.


    I gulp. "There is no reason for us to meet, Rodrigo. Like I told you, I don¡¯t know you, nor do I remember you."


    "That¡¯s not entirely true now, is it, princess?"


    My blood turns to ice.


    The way he says princess, so familiar, so intimate, sends a shiver up my spine.


    Suddenly, I¡¯m not in my living room anymore. I¡¯m small, tiny hands clutching a stuffed rabbit with a missing eye. The smell of cigar smoke hangs in the air.


    "Come here, princess," Rodrigo says, patting his knee. His voice is sticky-sweet, like honey that¡¯s been left out too long. "Come sit with Uncle Rodrigo."


    I¡¯m six years old, wearing a blue dress with white polka dots.


    "Sarah," he coaxes, "don¡¯t you want to be a good girl? Good girls do what they¡¯re told."


    His smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. Those eyes, dark and intense, make my stomach hurt. I shake my head, backing away until I bump into the bookshelf behind me. My rabbit dangles from my fingertips.


    "Don¡¯t be shy now," he says, reaching for me¡ª


    I gasp, jolting back to the present. My phone has slipped from my hand onto the couch. I can hear Rodrigo¡¯s voice, tiny and distant, calling my name through the speaker.


    "Sarah? Sarah, are you still there?"


    My hands tremble as I pick up the phone again. "Don¡¯t call me again," I whisper. "Stay away from me." My voice sounds stronger than I feel. "I don¡¯t want to see you. I don¡¯t want to talk to you."


    Heughs, a sound that makes my skin crawl. "Don¡¯t be like this."


    "I¡¯m hanging up."


    "I¡¯ll be seeing you soon," he says, just before I end the call.


    I drop the phone like it¡¯s burned me and wrap my arms around myself, shaking.


    I need to tell Matthew. But what would I say? That I remembered sitting on someone¡¯sp when I was six? That doesn¡¯t sound traumatic on its own. But the feeling...the dread, the wrongness of it all, that¡¯s what I can¡¯t exin.


    I need a distraction, I think to myself and stride to the nursery.


    I walk over to the crib Matthew made for our baby and trail my finger over the railing. And soon, I am smiling to myself.


    I remember how proud Matthew looked the day he finished it.


    Our baby hasn¡¯t even arrived yet, but I already feel the love this little room holds.


    Here, I feel safe and happy. I won¡¯t let Rodrigo ruin my chance at happiness with Matthew.

 Chapter 98: Welfare

    <h4>Chapter 98: Welfare</h4>


    Matthew


    I think about myst conversation with Charles.


    When I asked him why Evelyn hated Sarah, he refused to give me a straight answer. He denied it was true. But I know something is definitely up with her. Sarah is not imagining it and neither am I. I wonder if it has anything to do with Rodrigo.


    I left the house and told Sarah that I was going to work, but I fully intended to see that couple, Serena and ke. I need to know the truth about Sarah¡¯s kidnapping and it seems like only the kidnappers themselves will give me real answers.


    I go to Charles¡¯s house so we can go together.


    Charles opens the door as if he had been waiting for me this whole time. His hair is disheveled, and his eyes are red-rimmed.


    "Matthew, you made it," he says.


    "Let¡¯s go," I say.


    Charles¡¯s expression darkens. "Are you sure you want to do this?"


    "Why not? Don¡¯t you want to know what really happened to Sarah?" I feel my frustration rising. Everyone seems intent on burying the truth, but I can¡¯t let it go. "Sarah deserves answers."


    Charles sighs heavily, leaning against the wall. "Alright."


    Five minutester, we are in Charles¡¯s car, heading toward the farmhouse where ke and Serena supposedly live.


    The road out of town feels long and winding. Charles is quiet, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. I watch the trees blur past the window, trying to hold onto my nerves.


    The road turns to gravel. We pass a rusted gate and drive up a winding path nked by dry, overgrown fields. At the top of a hill, we see the house. It is weathered and gray, its windows half-covered by old curtains. There¡¯s a truck parked out front and a dog barking somewhere in the distance.


    Charles cuts the engine.


    We walk up the creaking porch steps together. Charles knocks.


    A long silence. Then the door creaks open.


    Serena stands on the doorway. She is tall and slender, her long hair is long and tangled, and her clothes are old and faded. Her face is pale and drawn with lots of wrinkles.


    "The fuck do you want?" she barks.


    "I am Matthew. And this is Charles," I say, not at all deterred by her unfriendliness.


    Serena¡¯s eyes flick between us, her expression sour and unreadable. Behind her, I can see a living room that¡¯s cluttered with empty bottles and magazines. "Are you from the IRS?" she barks again.


    "No, ma¡¯am," I say quickly, forcing a more official tone into my voice. "We¡¯re from the county welfare office. Just doing routine follow-ups on... recipients in the area."


    Charles shoots me a surprised look but quicklyposes himself.


    Serena¡¯s face twists into something like a snarl. "Welfare office? Well it¡¯s about damn time someone showed up." She steps back, waving us in with a bony hand. "Check¡¯s beente three weeks now. How¡¯m I supposed to pay the electric?"


    We step inside, and the smell hits me immediately. Stale cigarettes, unwashed dishes, and something else I can¡¯t identify. The living room is worse than it appeared from the doorway. Newspapers are stacked in uneven piles, ashtrays overflow on every surface, and the couch has a permanent depression in its middle.


    Charles gives me a subtle nod, impressed by my quick thinking.


    "Sit if you want," Serena says, clearing some magazines from a threadbare armchair. "Though I don¡¯t know why you need toe all the way out here when you could¡¯ve just mailed the damn check."


    "Where is ke?" I ask.


    She narrows her eyes at me. "Why¡¯d you wanna know?"


    "He lives here too, doesn¡¯t he?" I ask.


    "I haven¡¯t seen that bastard since he went to prison two years ago," she snaps.


    "I see," Charles murmurs.


    Serena shuffles over to a cab in the corner and pulls out a dusty bottle of amber liquid. "Y¡¯all want a drink? Got some Wild Turkey. Ain¡¯t the fancy stuff, but it burns good going down."


    "No, thank you," I reply quickly, noticing thebel is partially torn and the liquid inside looks suspiciously darker than proper bourbon should.


    "Suit yourselves. More for me." She unscrews the cap and takes a long swig directly from the bottle, not bothering with a ss. Her throat works as she gulps it down, and when she finally lowers the bottle, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Damn welfare people,ing to my house, judging me."


    I exchange a nce with Charles as Serena drops heavily onto the couch, the bottle clutched between her knobby fingers. She takes another long pull.


    "We¡¯re not here to judge," I say carefully. "We just need to ask you about¡ª"


    "About what?" she interrupts, her words already slightly slurred. "About how I¡¯m living? About how that son of a bitch ke left me with nothing but debt?" She drinks again, and I notice her hands are trembling.


    "Why did he go to prison?" I ask.


    "Fucking armed robber," Serena says, taking another swig.


    "I was just wondering...has ke ever been involved with a kidnapping charge?" I ask slowly, never taking my eyes off her.


    Serena freezes mid-swig.


    The bottle halts just inches from her lips, her bloodshot eyes narrowing with suspicion. The silence that follows feels thick, almost tangible, like the room is holding its breath right along with us.


    "You ain¡¯t welfare officers," she mutters, her voice low and suddenly sober. "Ain¡¯t nobody from the county ask questions like that."


    "It is important for us to know his past criminal history," Charles quickly adds.


    "I know nothin¡¯ about no kidnapping," she snarls.


    "Are you sure?" I press.


    "You need to leave. Both of you," she says, her eyes hard.


    Serena¡¯s sudden shift in tone puts me on edge, but I don¡¯t move. Neither does Charles.


    "We¡¯re not here to hurt you," I say slowly, calmly.


    "Leave...now. Or I am calling the cops," she says.


    I stand up. "Alright. Thank you for your time," I say and motion Charles toward the door.


    Charles follows me to the door without another word, but I can feel his tension buzzing just beneath the surface. The wooden boards creak beneath our feet as we step out onto the porch. Behind us, the door ms shut with a force that rattles the frame.


    We don¡¯t speak until we¡¯re back in the car, the engine humming softly as Charles pulls back onto the gravel road.


    "Well," he mutters, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, "what now?"


    "I am going to see ke in prison," I dere.

 Chapter 99: Information

    <h4>Chapter 99: Information</h4>


    Matthew


    I end up going to see ke alone, as the prison only allows one visitor at a time.


    I follow a bored-looking guard through a series of heavy doors. The visiting area is arge room with stic chairs bolted to the floor and thick plexiss barriers between inmates and visitors.


    I take my assigned seat and wait, my heart pounding. What if ke doesn¡¯t admit to anything? What if this whole trip was pointless?


    The door on the other side buzzes open, and a man shuffles in wearing an orange jumpsuit. He¡¯s tall but hunched, with a scraggly beard and hollow eyes. This is ke, the man who supposedly kidnapped my wife.


    He sits down across from me and picks up the phone receiver. I do the same.


    "Who are you?" His voice is gravelly, disinterested.


    "My name is Matthew. I¡¯m here about Sarah."


    His expression doesn¡¯t change. "Don¡¯t know any Sarah."


    "She was six. You and Serena..." I pause, unsure how to phrase it. "You took her."


    ke shifts in his chair. "I don¡¯t talk about that. Not to cops, not towyers, not to you."


    "I¡¯m her husband."


    This gets his attention. He leans forward slightly, studying my face. "Husband? Well, ain¡¯t that something." Heughs a dry, humorless sound. "I forget how old I am sometimes. That girl grew up, huh?"


    "Yes, she did and the kidnapping took a toll on her. She still has nightmares about that," I growl.


    Rodrigo frowns. "That ain¡¯t my fault."


    "How is it not? You kidnapped her," I remind him.


    "It was all fake. Her father arranged it I heard," ke protests. "Look, what do you want from me? I am in fucking prison already."


    "I want information," I tell him. "I want to know about Rodrigo¡¯s involvements."


    ke makes a face. "Ah, I remember that asshole. He is a creep and a real piece of shit."


    "And yet, you are behind bars and he is not. How are you any different from him?" I ask.


    ke ms his palm against the plexiss, making me flinch. His face contorts with sudden rage.


    "Don¡¯t you fucking darepare me to that piece of shit!" he hisses, leaning so close to the barrier I can see the yellowing of his teeth. "I may be a lot of things¡ªthief, junkie, kidnapper, but I ain¡¯t no child-touching pervert like Rodrigo."


    I lean back, surprised by his vehemence. "What do you mean?"


    ke¡¯s eyes dart around the visiting area before he lowers his voice. "That sick bastard likes em little kids."


    My stomach churns. "Did...did he hurt Sarah?"


    ke shrugs. "I don¡¯t know. But he kept trying to leave that girl alone with him. Just for a couple of hours, he kept saying."


    I try to remain calm. "And did you let him?"


    He shakes his head. "Nah. Serena won¡¯t let him. She told me she didn¡¯t like the way he was looking at the little girl. That bitch is a drunken whore but not heartless or stupid. She wasn¡¯t gonna let no child-loving perv go near a little girl."


    I feel relieved by it, just a little.


    "So what happened?" I ask.


    "I kept asking when we should make a call to her father for ransom. I mean...wasn¡¯t it the point of this whole facade? That Rodrigo kept dying and said not to call yet. Said, the little girl¡¯s grandpa is paying and we need to let him sweat more or he won¡¯t pay up."


    I urge him to keep going as my visiting time is running out.


    "On thest day of the kidnapping, I had to leave the house to run some errands. When I got back, I found Rodrigo alone with the girl."


    Dread fills me again, but I force myself to keep my face straight.


    "She was crying when I walked in," he mutters. "Huddled in the corner. Didn¡¯t look like she was hurt, but her face... it was like she¡¯d been scared out of her skin."


    My breath catches in my throat. "Did she say anything?"


    "She wouldn¡¯t talk to me," ke says. "Not a damn word. Just kept crying. Serena started screaming at Rodrigo, calling him a sick bastard. Told him to get the fuck out. That¡¯s when things went to hell."


    I grip the receiver so hard my knuckles turn white. "What happened then?"


    "Rodrigo got pissed. Real pissed. Said we¡¯d ruined everything. That he had ¡¯permission¡¯ and that we didn¡¯t understand the arrangement. Serena went at him with a frying pan, and I had to pull her off before she killed him. We kicked him out that night. Next day, we dropped the girl off at a motel room, called the cops and bolted. Figured it was the safest ce."


    My chest is tight. So many emotions are crashing through me. I force my voice to stay even. "Why did you even agree to that setup in the first ce?"


    ke scratches at the stubble on his jaw. "Needed the money, what else?"


    "Times up," the cop behind ke announces.


    "I ain¡¯t proud of what I did," he says, his voice low. "But if you¡¯re looking for justice, you¡¯re barking up the wrong damn tree. Go see that pervert, Rodrigo."


    I hesitate. My mind is spinning, my stomach twisted with anger.


    "I will," I say.


    I barely remember the drive home from the prison. I was lost in my own thoughts, piecing together what ke had told me. The idea that Rodrigo had tried to hurt Sarah made my blood boil. I need to confront him, but first, I need to see Sarah.


    When I pull into our driveway, the sun is starting to set.


    I run into Marishka. "Where is she?" I ask.


    "In the garden. She said the weather is too nice to be cooped up inside. You should go join her," she suggests.


    I nod and head there.


    Sarah is wearing a blue sundress, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wisps escaping around her face.


    I stand there watching her for a moment. She hasn¡¯t noticed me yet. The evening light bathes her in a golden glow, and my heart swells at the sight of her.


    I push the gate open, and she looks up, startled at first, then smiling when she sees it¡¯s me.


    "You are finally home," she says.


    I cross the garden and pull her into my arms without saying a word. I hold her tightly, breathing in the scent ofvender shampoo.


    "Matthew?" she questions, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "What¡¯s wrong?"


    I pull back just enough to look at her face. "Nothing," I say. "Are you feeling better?"


    She studies my face. "Did something happen at work?"


    I shake my head, not ready to tell her about ke yet. "No."


    She reaches up, brushing her thumb across my cheek. "I missed you."


    I catch her hand and press a kiss on her palm. "I missed you too."


    She looks at me wide-eyed as if she didn¡¯t expect me to confess this to her. "I have to tell you something," she whispers.


    I look at her questioningly.


    She gulps. "Rodrigo called me today."

 Chapter 100: Not Welcome

    <h4>Chapter 100: Not Wee</h4>


    Sarah


    I wait for Matthew¡¯s reaction, but he isn¡¯t saying anything. "Matthew?" I ask.


    "What did that bastard say to you?" Matthew¡¯s voice is rough.


    "He...he said he wants to meet me," I tell him.


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens. "He what?" he finally says, his voice a low growl.


    "I said no, of course," I add quickly. "But Matthew, something else happened. He...he called me princess and I remembered something."


    Matthew goes still. His eyes are locked on mine, searching my face, his own full of something between dread and disbelief.


    "You... remembered?" he asks. "What did you remember?"


    I nod, my throat suddenly dry. "Just a sh. But it felt real. He was there and he asked me to sit on hisp."


    "That sick bastard," Matthew mutters.


    "But I didn¡¯t do it!" I quickly add. "I ran away from him. I always ran away. I think even as a six year old girl, I knew something was wrong about him. Like he was a bad man."


    Matthew nods and wraps his arms around my waist. "Yes, Sarah. He is a bad man. And I have more proof of that."


    I look at him with surprise. "What do you mean?"


    Matthew hesitates. "I don¡¯t know if we should discuss this. I don¡¯t want you to be upset. I don¡¯t want to put you and our baby at risk again."


    I rest my hand gently over his as he holds my waist, trying to ground both of us in this moment. My heart races at his words, but I speak softly, calmly, "Matthew, I need to know. Whatever it is, please don¡¯t keep it from me. I can handle the truth."


    He studies me for a moment, conflict clear in his eyes. Then he sighs, rubbing his thumb over my side in slow, soothing circles.


    "I can¡¯t tell you everything right now. You have to trust me, Sarah. Trust me to make things better for you. But right now, you will have to let me keep this a secret," he says.


    I pout. "But..."


    He kisses me then. His lips press against mine, warm and firm, cutting off my protest. For a moment, the world goes quiet. The tension, the fear, the memories, all fading under the weight of that kiss. He¡¯s not trying to distract me, not entirely. It¡¯s more like he¡¯s begging me to understand without words.


    When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. His breath is shaky. "I need you to be safe, Sarah. That¡¯s all I care about right now."


    I search his eyes, trying to read the things he won¡¯t say aloud. There¡¯s pain there. Anger. But also a fierce, almost like love.


    I don¡¯t like being left in the dark, but I know I should trust him.


    "You promise," I whisper, "You will tell me eventually?"


    He nods slowly. "I promise."


    A part of me still aches with curiosity and worry, but I let myself lean into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. His arms tighten around me.


    "What about Rodrigo? He might call me again," I whisper.


    "I will deal with him. Don¡¯t worry," he says.


    I look up. "Don¡¯t do anything crazy," I say.


    "I won¡¯t," he says.


    I¡¯m not sure if I believe him.


    Matthew strokes my back gently, his touch reassuring despite the storm raging behind his eyes. He¡¯s saying the words he thinks I need to hear, but I think he is nning something.


    "I mean it, Matthew," I say, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "Promise me you won¡¯t go after him alone. No reckless ns."


    His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn¡¯t respond. Then, with a sigh, he cups my face in his hands. "I promise I won¡¯t do anything reckless," he says.


    It¡¯s not enough to satisfy me, but I nod anyway, knowing I can¡¯t force him to do anything.


    ~-~


    The next day, I am home alone as Matthew leaves for work and Marishka goes out of town to visit a rtive.


    "Are you sure you are going to be okay, Sarah?" she asked me, still hesitating to leave.


    I gave her a bright smile. "Of course. You know you don¡¯t have to be my nanny anymore, Marishka. I am all grown up."


    Marishka hadughed. "Yes, you are, darling. And you are going to be a mother yourself. But you are not in good health, so maybe..."


    "Please don¡¯t worry. I will take it easy, I promise," I had said.


    And now, I am lonely as the house ispletely empty.


    Well, except for our live-in maid, Millie.


    I decide to go out in the garden again. It is going to be spring soon, so maybe it¡¯s time for me to start nting more flowers. To make it mine, to shape it into something new and beautiful.


    I imagine roses and marigolds, daisies and climbing vines, all opening under the sun. In the middle of it all, I see a small figure,ughing, ying. I stand out there, looking towards the bare patches of dirt and grass. I picture a little child running around the garden paths, chasing butterflies, hands covered in mud, cheeks flushed with joy.


    I imagine my child running around and it makes me smile to myself. Maybe Matthew will agree to get a dog. I never had one growing up, but it would be so nice to have one that will grow with my baby.


    "Hello, princess."


    I freeze.


    That voice. My body turns cold, unable to move as if the sound itself has paralyzed me. Slowly, I turn around.


    Rodrigo is standing there, just inside the garden gate. He¡¯s wearing an expensive suit, and his silver hair is perfectly styled. And his eyes...they are cold, calcting, like a predator¡¯s.


    "How did you get in here?" My voicees out stronger than I feel, one hand instinctively moving to my stomach.


    He smiles. "Your little maid let me in. You ought to teach her more about security and believing strangers."


    My heart hammers against my ribs. I nce toward the house. My phone is inside on the kitchen counter.


    "You need to leave. Now." I take a step backward, trying to maintain distance between us.


    Rodrigo steps forward, matching my retreat. "Not before we talk. You¡¯ve been avoiding me, Sarah. That¡¯s not very nice." His ent thickens as he speaks, reminding me of fragments of memory, his voice in a dark room, telling me to be quiet.


    "There¡¯s nothing to talk about." I continue backing away, my eyes darting around for anything I could use as a weapon. "Matthew will be home any minute."


    "We both know that¡¯s not true." Rodrigo¡¯s smile widens. "I¡¯ve been watching. Your husband is at yourpany downtown. Won¡¯t be back for hours."


    "What do you want?" I demand, fighting to keep my voice steady.


    "Just to talk about old times. About what you remember." He takes another step toward me. "About what you think you remember."

 Chapter 101: Come with Me

    <h4>Chapter 101: Come with Me</h4>


    Sarah


    I stop retreating. Something shifts inside me, a fierce protective instinct, not just for myself but for my baby. I stand taller, squaring my shoulders.


    "I don¡¯t remember anything and you are not wee here."


    Heughs. "Such spirit. You always had that, even as a little girl. It made things... interesting."


    My stomach turns at his words, but I don¡¯t let my disgust show. "What did you do to me, Rodrigo? Did you hurt me when I was little? Are you afraid now that I am older, I will tell my parents about that?" I ask.


    Rodrigo¡¯s smile falters, just slightly. He takes a step closer, but I don¡¯t move. Not this time. I won¡¯t give him the satisfaction of seeing me scared.


    "You don¡¯t remember," he says slowly, almost thoughtfully. "But you feel it, don¡¯t you? A pull. Somewhere inside, you know."


    I grit my teeth, forcing myself to breathe steadily. "What I know," I say through clenched teeth, "is that I was a child. And you were a grown man who had no business being near me. So, if you did anything, you better start praying. Because I will not let you anywhere near me or my child."


    His eyes narrow. "So dramatic. It wasn¡¯t like that¡ª"


    "Then tell me what it was like!" I snap. "Because from what little I do remember, it was wrong. You were wrong. And if you think for one second that I¡¯m going to be scared into silence, you¡¯re wrong again."


    Rodrigo¡¯s face darkens. "You¡¯re making a mistake, Sarah. You don¡¯t understand the consequences of using a man like me."


    "I don¡¯t care," I say, voice low but steady. "I¡¯m not that little girl anymore. You don¡¯t get to manipte me or threaten me."


    He smiles slowly. "I never really got what I wanted back then. But it¡¯s never toote, I think."


    "You¡¯re sick," I breathe, my voice shaking with rage.


    He suddenly grabs my hand. "Come with me. I¡¯d want nothing more than us to be together. You, me, and the baby," he says, eyeing my stomach.


    I gape at him. Is he actually insane?


    "Let go of me!" I yank my arm away, stumbling backward. My heel catches on a garden stone, and I nearly fall, catching myself against a tree.


    Rodrigo¡¯s face transforms, the charming mask slipping to reveal something dark and twisted beneath. "You don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re refusing, princess. I can give you everything¡ªwealth, protection, a life of luxury. Better than anyone can."


    "I¡¯d rather die," I spit, fury recing fear. I scan the garden desperately for a weapon, anything I can use. My eyesnd on the garden shears lying on the bench a few feet away.


    He follows my gaze andughs. "Don¡¯t be foolish, Sarah. You wouldn¡¯t want to harm your baby with unnecessary exertion."


    I edge toward the bench anyway. "I¡¯m warning you, Rodrigo. Leave now, or¡ª"


    "Or what?" He lunges forward suddenly, grabbing both my wrists. "You¡¯ll call the police? Tell them what? That a family friend paid you a visit? That you¡¯re having delusions about your childhood?"


    I struggle against his grip, panic rising in my throat. "Matthew will kill you if you touch me!"


    "Matthew," he sneers, "is a boy ying a man¡¯s game. He has no idea what he¡¯s dealing with."


    With a surge of adrenaline, I twist one hand free and p him hard across the face. The crack echoes through the garden.


    Rodrigo freezes, shock registering before his eyes darken with rage. His hand flies to his reddening cheek. "You shouldn¡¯t have done that."


    "Get out!" I scream.


    He grabs me again, more roughly this time. "You¡¯reing with me. We have much to discuss about your future¡ªabout our future."


    "There is no ¡¯our¡¯ future!" I kick at his shin, connecting solidly.


    He grunts in pain but doesn¡¯t release me. Instead, he starts dragging me toward the garden gate. I dig my heels into the soil, fighting him with every step.


    "Help!" I shout. "Millie! Somebody help me!"


    "Shut up!" Rodrigo hisses, mping a hand over my mouth.


    The taste of his skin against my lips triggers another sh of memory¡ªbeing silenced this way before, in a dark room, tears streaming down my face. The recollection fuels my rage.


    I bite down on his hand, hard.


    Rodrigo howls, yanking his bleeding hand away. "You little bitch!"


    He raises his fist, and I brace myself for the blow, turning to protect my stomach.


    But the impact neveres.


    Instead, there¡¯s a sickening thud, and Rodrigo crumples to the ground.


    I look up in surprise. "Josh? What are you doing here?"


    Josh stands over Rodrigo, fists clenched. A heavy metal trowel dangles from his right hand, its edge stained with blood.


    "I was in the neighborhood," he says, eyes flicking from me to Rodrigo¡¯s limp form. "I heard you scream."


    I stare at him, stunned, the adrenaline still roaring through my veins. "You... you knocked him out."


    Josh looks down at the body. "I think so. At least long enough for us to get help."


    Rodrigo groans faintly, his fingers twitching in the dirt.


    Josh steps back, his expression sharpening. "We need to call the police. Now."


    I nod, my legs trembling. Josh steadies me with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other.


    The moment gives me a chance to breathe, and everything hits me all at once. The fear, the fury, the memory of Rodrigo¡¯s hand over my mouth. I grip the edge of the bench to steady myself as my knees nearly give out.


    Josh notices. "Sarah, sit. You¡¯re shaking."


    "I¡¯m okay," I whisper, even though I¡¯m not sure I believe it. "Just... get Matthew."


    Josh presses a number on his phone. "I am calling him now."


    Rodrigo stirs again, groaning.


    I nce down at him, my voice shaking. "He was going to take me. He said there was a future for us. He is crazy."


    Josh¡¯s eyes narrow as he looks down at the man on the ground. "Who is he?"


    I sit down slowly on the bench, my heart pounding so loud it¡¯s all I can hear for a second. I swallow hard, feeling the tremble in my fingers as I press them against my belly, reassuring myself that the baby is okay.


    "He¡¯s Rodrigo," I say. "He...he is a friend of my father. Visited a lot when I was little. I think¡ª" My voice catches. "I think he hurt me back then. Or tried to hurt me. And now he¡¯s back, talking like we should be together. Like he owns me."


    Josh¡¯s knuckles whiten around the phone. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Sarah, that¡¯s fucked up."


    On the ground, Rodrigo groans louder, starting to shift.


    Josh steps in front of me protectively, the metal trowel still in his hand. "We should tie him up. Can you find some duct tape or rope?"

 Chapter 102: Tell Her the Truth

    <h4>Chapter 102: Tell Her the Truth</h4>


    Matthew


    I rush home as soon as I get off the phone with Josh.


    That fucking bastard. How dare hee into my home and threaten my wife!


    The tires screech as I pull into the driveway. I don¡¯t even bother turning the engine off. I throw the door open and bolt toward the back garden, my heart pounding in time with the fury roaring in my blood.


    The first thing I see is Sarah sitting on the bench, pale, trembling, one hand protectively cradling her stomach. Josh is sitting with her, no sign of Rodrigo.


    "Sarah," I breathe, rushing to her side. I drop to my knees in front of her, cupping her face with both hands. "Are you hurt? Did he¡ª" My voice breaks.


    She shakes her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He tried to take me. It¡¯s like he is obsessed with me. He grabbed me."


    I close my eyes, trying to keep control. Barely seeding. "I swear to God, he won¡¯t touch you ever again."


    I exhale sharply and look at Josh. "Where is he now?"


    "I tied him up and locked him inside the shade," Josh says. "I figured I¡¯d wait to call the cops until you get here."


    "Good call. I have something to ask him. I called Charles toe here too," I say grimly.


    Sarah looks at me with surprise. "My dad? He won¡¯t like this."


    "Your father knows about Rodrigo and what kind of a shitty person he is," I say.


    "Wh-what do you mean? What does he know?" Sarah asks.


    I put my arm around her and pull her closer. "I think it¡¯s best we wait for him and you hear it from his own mouth."


    I didn¡¯t want her to find out what her father did this way, but now is a good time than any. Sarah deserves to know the truth.


    I kiss Sarah¡¯s forehead and stand up. "Stay here with Josh. I¡¯ll be right back."


    "Matthew, wait¡ª" Sarah grabs my wrist, her eyes wide with fear. "What are you going to do?"


    I cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. "I¡¯m just going to talk to him."


    Josh gives me a knowing look. "Do you want me toe with you?"


    "No," I say firmly. "Stay with Sarah. Don¡¯t let her out of your sight."


    As I walk toward the garden shed, rage builds with each step. My hands clench into fists, knuckles white. The bastard who tried to hurt my wife, who tormented her as a child, is just a few feet away.


    The padlock clicks open, and I swing the door wide. Rodrigo sits bound to a metal chair, duct tape around his wrists and ankles. A thin line of blood trickles from his temple where Josh struck him. His eyes narrow when he sees me.


    "Ah, the husband arrives," he says. "Come to defend your little wife¡¯s honor?"


    I shut the door behind me. "You came into my home. You put your hands on my pregnant wife."


    "She belongs with me," he hisses.


    My fist connects with his jaw before I even realize I¡¯ve swung. Pain radiates through my knuckles, but it¡¯s nothingpared to the satisfaction of watching his head snap back.


    "That¡¯s for touching her," I growl.


    Rodrigo spits blood onto the concrete floor. "You think you¡¯re the hero? You know nothing. Ask Charles why he let me near his daughter all those years. Ask him what he traded for his sess."


    My stomach turns. I already know, but hearing it from this monster¡¯s mouth makes it real in a way I wasn¡¯t prepared for.


    "Charles won¡¯t save you now," I say coldly. "And neither will your money or connections."


    A car door ms outside. Charles has arrived.


    The shed door opens, and Charles stands there, his face ashen. He looks older somehow, the weight of his sins finally catching up to him.


    "Matthew," he says quietly. "Let me handle this."


    I look between Charles and Rodrigo, two men who destroyed Sarah¡¯s childhood for their own selfish reasons.


    "She deserves to know everything," I tell Charles. "All of it."


    Charles nods slowly. "I know. And she will."


    "Now. You tell her what you did. How you used her as bait," I demand.


    "What is he talking about, Daddy?" Sarah¡¯s voice startles us both.


    Charles flinches like he¡¯s been shot. Slowly, he turns around to face his daughter, who stands in the doorway of the shed. Josh lingers just behind her, looking guilty as he couldn¡¯t hold her back.


    Her hands are clenched at her sides, her jaw trembling. "What does he mean, Dad?" she repeats, more forcefully this time. "What did you do?"


    "Sarah..." Charles takes a step forward, but she recoils.


    "Don¡¯t," she whispers. "Don¡¯t take another step until you tell me the truth."


    Charles looks at me, then back at her, and I can see him unraveling. Whatever mask of control he wore his entire life is slipping now, fast. The silence stretches for a beat too long before he finally speaks.


    "I faked your kidnapping when you were six, so I could use the ransom to pay off my debt," he says softly. "With Rodrigo¡¯s help."


    Sarah stares at him in disbelief. "You...what!?"


    Charles exhales shakily, raking a hand through his hair. "It wasn¡¯t supposed to end up like how it did. But...it¡¯s a long story. Rodrigo tricked me and kept you away longer. I am so sorry, sweetheart. I had no idea he had other intentions for you."


    Sarah¡¯s face drains of color, her eyes widening with horror. "You... you had me kidnapped?" Her voicees out as a broken whisper. "Your own daughter?"


    Rodrigoughs, a cold, cruel sound that fills the small space. "Tell her the rest, Charles. Tell her how desperate you were. How pathetic."


    Charles¡¯s shoulders slump. "I was in debt¡ªgambling debts I couldn¡¯t pay. Rodrigo offered to help stage a kidnapping. Evelyn¡¯s father, your grandfather, would pay it, and you¡¯d only be gone for a day. That was the n."


    "But that¡¯s not what happened," I say, unable to contain my disgust. "Tell her what really happened."


    Sarah¡¯s gaze darts between us, her breathing shallow and quick. "What happened to me?"


    Charles can¡¯t meet her eyes. "Rodrigo kept you for three days instead of one. Police found you in a motel and you were... different. Withdrawn. You had nightmares."


    "I was traumatized," Sarah finishes, her voice hollow. "Rodrigo did something to me."


    Charles turned to Rodrigo. "Tell the truth now, Rodrigo. Did you hurt her?"


    Rodrigo sneers, a grotesque smile twisting his face despite the blood on his lips. "I couldn¡¯t do what I wanted with her," he says, eyes gleaming with a sick amusement. "The little princess was too wild, too defiant. She scratched and bit and screamed like a banshee whenever I tried to touch her."


    His gaze slides to Sarah, appraising her. "Even at six, you knew how to fight. I¡¯d get close, and you¡¯d start thrashing. Kicked me right in the groin once." He chuckles darkly.


    Sarah¡¯s hand flies to her mouth, memories crashing over her in waves. Her legs wobble beneath her.


    "I remember," she whispers. "I remember being in that house. And this woman...she dragged me away from you."


    Charles lunges forward suddenly, grabbing Rodrigo by the cor. "You sick bastard! You told me you just wanted to help! You said she won¡¯t be harmed!"


    "You¡¯ve always been an idiot, Charles," Rodrigo says coldly.


    "You think your little ruse of a kidnapping would work for free? I just wanted something in return."


    My stomach churns with disgust, but I force myself to step forward. I need to end this now.


    "That¡¯s enough," I say, my voice deadly calm. "Sarah, go back to the house."


    She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "No. I need to hear everything."


    I look at her, my heart breaking. She deserves to know, but not like this. Not from him.


    "The police are on their way," Josh says from behind Sarah. "They should be here any minute."


    Rodrigo¡¯s smug expression falters. "You can¡¯t prove anything. It was twenty years ago."


    "We don¡¯t need to prove what happened then," I say coldly. "Attempted kidnapping today is enough. Sarah has the marks on her wrists from where you grabbed her."


    Charles turns to Sarah, his face crumpled with shame and regret. "Sarah, I never knew what he tried to do to you. I swear. When I realized he wasn¡¯t bringing you back after the first day, I panicked."


    "And then what?" Sarah demands, her voice trembling with fury. "You just let me think I had imaginary trauma? You let me believe I was crazy when I had nightmares?"


    "The doctors said it was better not to make you relive it," Charles says weakly. "Your mother and I thought¡ª"


    "You were protecting yourselves," I cut in. "Not her."


    Sarah sways slightly on her feet. Josh steadies her with a hand on her elbow.


    "Did Mom know?" she asks, her voice small. "About the fake kidnapping?"


    Charles hesitates. "Not at first. I told her after it went wrong."


    Sarah wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. "I can¡¯t believe this," she whispers.


    "Princess," Rodrigo interjects, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Your father is the viin here, not me. Charles, why don¡¯t you tell her why her grandpa didn¡¯t jump in with the money to rescue her right away, hmm? Since we are revealing all the truths here, tell her the true origin of her birth."

 Chapter 103: A Mistake

    <h4>Chapter 103: A Mistake</h4>


    Sarah


    My entire world crumbles around me. I feel like I¡¯m six years old again, terrified and alone, but this time with the horrifying knowledge that my father put me there.


    "What is he talking about?" I demand. My hands instinctively move to my stomach, protecting my unborn child as the truth about my own childhood unravels before me. "What origin? What else have you been hiding from me?"


    Dad¡¯s face drains of all colors. For the first time in my life, I see him truly afraid.


    "Sarah, he is just trying to hurt you," he stammers.


    "Tell me!" I scream, my voice breaking. "What about my childhood?"


    Matthew steps closer to me and I feel his arm around me. I don¡¯t move a muscle.


    Dad looks at Rodrigo with pure hatred before turning back to me. "Your mother... she couldn¡¯t have children. We tried for years."


    "What are you saying?" My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. "Are you not my real father?"


    "I am your father!" Dad exims. "But..."


    "But what?" I ask impatiently.


    Dad looks down, not saying anything.


    "Dad!" I cry out. I am not letting him slip away without giving me real answers.


    The shrill sound of sirens interrupts us.


    The shed door bursts open as two police officers rush in, guns drawn. "Police! Everyone stay where you are!"


    I barely register their presence.


    "Sir, ma¡¯am, I need you to step outside," one officer says firmly.


    Matthew speaks up. "This man," he points to Rodrigo, "broke into our property and attempted to kidnap my pregnant wife."


    The officers move swiftly, one securing Rodrigo while the other ushers us out of the shed. I stumble forward, my legs barely holding me up. Outside, more police cars have arrived, lights shing against the growing darkness.


    "We need to continue this conversation," I tell my father as we are separated for questioning.


    An hourter, after giving our statements, the police led Rodrigo away in handcuffs. He looks back at me and smiles, making me feel sick to my stomach.


    "This isn¡¯t over, princess," he calls out.


    The officer pushes his head down as they ce him in the back of the cruiser.


    We gather in our living room ¨C Matthew, Josh, my father, and I. The silence is suffocating.


    "I need you to tell me everything," I say.


    Dad sinks into the armchair, suddenly looking decades older. "I am your biological father, Sarah."


    "But?" I press.


    "Your mother...Evelyn...well, she is not your real mother," he says.


    I feel like the air has been sucked out of my lungs.


    Not my real mother?


    Everything inside me twists. I stumble back, nearly copsing onto the couch as Matthew grabs my hand, helping me sit.


    "What do you mean?" I whisper.


    "Like I said, she couldn¡¯t conceive. We have tried everything with no luck. I was going to give up and ept the fact that I¡¯d never have any children, but..." Dad sighs heavily.


    "But what, Dad?" I ask.


    Dad takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I was home alone one day. Your mother and I had a fight again. She med me for not being able to impregnate her and stormed out to stay with some friends. So I drank too much that night. Way too much."


    His eyes dart around the room, avoiding mine. "Marishka was there. She¡¯d been our housekeeper. She was beautiful, kind... she listened to me talk about my problems that night."


    I feel Matthew¡¯s hand tighten around mine.


    "One thing led to another," Dad continues, his voice barely audible. "I was drunk, lonely, desperate. We...I spent the night with her. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake. We both agreed it would never happen again."


    My mind reels, trying to process what he¡¯s telling me.


    "Three weekster, she told me she was pregnant." Dad looks at me directly now, his eyes filled with tears. "With you, Sarah."


    The room spins around me. I grip Matthew¡¯s hand like it¡¯s my only anchor to reality.


    "Marishka is your biological mother," Dad says. "Not Evelyn."


    "And Mom, Evelyn, she knew?" I manage to ask through the tightness in my throat.


    Dad nods slowly. "I confessed everything to her. I was prepared for her to leave me, but instead...she suggested we raise you as our own. We made an arrangement with Marishka."


    "An arrangement?" I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue.


    Dad nods. "Marishka agreed to carry the pregnancy to term. Evelyn made her promise not to tell a soul that she was pregnant and made her give you to us."


    "H-how...how did she convince her to do that?" I ask, my voice trembling.


    Dad¡¯s gaze drops to the floor again. "She paid her."


    My heart sinks, a sharp pain ripping through my chest. "Paid her?" I echo.


    "She offered Marishka arge sum of money, enough to help her family in Ukraine. Marishka agreed...reluctantly. But it tore her apart." His voice cracks, and he wipes at his eyes. "Don¡¯t be angry at Marishka. She was desperate and Evelyn...I think she threatened her somehow. Marishka begged Evelyn to let her stay with you as your nanny and signed an agreement not to ever let the secret out."


    I sit there, stunned with Matthew¡¯s arms wrapped around me. All this cannot be true! I lean against Matthew and take a deep breath.


    "Is that why Mom hates me? Is that why she always treated me like I was never good enough in her eyes?" I breathe.


    Dad¡¯s eyes brim with fresh tears, and for a moment, he can¡¯t answer. Then he gives the smallest nod.


    "Yes," he says hoarsely. "In the beginning, when you were a baby, Evelyn seemed fine with it. But as soon as you started to grow into a young woman, she started to resent you. Not because you did anything wrong, but because every time she looked at you, she saw my betrayal. She saw Marishka."


    "So all that time, she hated me for something I had no control over." My voice cracks with each word.


    "I tried to make up for it," Dad says quietly. "I tried to love you enough for both of us. I gave you everything you ever wanted."


    Iugh bitterly. "Why didn¡¯t she just give me back to Marishka then? Why force herself to act like my mother?"


    Dad sighs. "It was toote to do that. Everyone in our family and social circle thought Evelyn was the one who gave birth to you. If people found out your nanny is the real mother, there would¡¯ve been a great scandal. It would¡¯ve ruined our lives."


    The room falls into an unbearable silence. My mind feels like it¡¯s splitting apart, my emotions a chaotic storm that I can¡¯t control.


    "So, to save your reputation, you both decided to lie about everything," I say bitterly, my voice shaking. "You lied to me, to everyone. And Mom hated me because I was a living reminder of your mistake?"


    "Sarah..." Dad begins, his tone pleading, but I cut him off.


    "Don¡¯t ¡¯Sarah¡¯ me, Dad!" I shout, rising to my feet. "This wasn¡¯t just some small secret! This is my life! My identity! I grew up feeling like I wasn¡¯t enough, like I had to work twice as hard to earn her love. And now you are telling me it was all because I was your mistake to cover up?"


    Dad¡¯s face crumples. "I didn¡¯t know how to fix it," he admits quietly.


    Tears blur my vision as I copse back onto the couch. Matthew pulls me close, his arms a steadyfort, but nothing can steady the chaos inside me.


    "Marishka loved me as her own daughter because I was actually her daughter. How funny is that?" I whisper, my voice cracking.


    Matthew strokes my back gently. "I think you should leave, Charles," he says grimly.


    "I¡¯m not going anywhere," Dad says quietly, his voice shaking. "Sarah, please, don¡¯t push me away. I need to exin¡ª"


    "No," I cut him off sharply, standing up again, feeling the urge to escape this conversation, this house, this reality. "There¡¯s nothing left to exin. You can¡¯t fix this with words."


    The heaviness of the truth presses on me, making it hard to breathe. My mother, who had been judging me for lying to Matthew, was a big fat liar herself. All this feels like a cruel joke.


    "I need to speak to Marishka," I mumble.

 Chapter 104: True Mother

    <h4>Chapter 104: True Mother</h4>


    Sarah


    Matthew stiffens beside me. "She went to see a rtive, didn¡¯t she?" he says.


    I nod. "Yes. When shees back tomorrow, I want to talk to her."


    "Please, don¡¯t me her for all this. She had no choice but to listen to your mother," Dad says.


    "Everyone has a choice, Dad," I say grimly.


    Matthew rubs his thumb across the back of my hand. He leans in closer, speaking low so only I can hear. "You don¡¯t have to deal with this tonight if you are not ready."


    But I do.


    I want to know how Marishka feels about all of this. I want to know how she was able to pretend to be my nanny while being my true mother.


    I shake my head at Matthew gently. "I have to," I whisper. "I need to hear it from her."


    He nods, not pushing me, just staying close, ready to catch me if I fall apart again.


    "Maybe I should go home and speak to Evelyn..." he starts to say, but I cut him off.


    I don¡¯t say anything as I have nothing more to say to him.


    ~-~


    The next day, I wait for Marishka for what feels like an eternity. But at least I am not alone. Matthew is here with me.


    I¡¯m sitting on the couch, barely slept the night. How could I? Every time I close my eyes, memories rey in my mind, but they¡¯re different now, tainted by new understanding.


    Every interaction with my mother...no, with Evelyn suddenly makes sense in a horrifying way. The coldness, the distance, the constant criticism.


    It all makes sense now.


    The doorbell rings, and I freeze. Matthew squeezes my hand before getting up to answer it. I hear murmured voices in the hallway, and then Marishka appears in the doorway.


    But she¡¯s not just Marishka anymore. She¡¯s my mother.


    "Oh, hello," she says.


    "Sit down," I manage to say, gesturing to the armchair across from me.


    Matthew fidgets. "I¡¯ll give you two some privacy."


    "No," I say quickly. "Stay. Please."


    Matthew gives me a wry smile and puts his arm around me.


    Marishka looks at us with worry. "What¡¯s going on, Sarah? When you asked me toe home earlier, I got really worried. Is everything okay?"


    "Is it true?" I ask. "Are you my mother?"


    Marishka blinks, startled, as if the words physically struck her.


    She opens her mouth, then closes it again.


    Her hands twist nervously in herp.


    Finally, she nods.


    "Yes. I am."


    The room seems to tilt slightly. Even though I already knew, hearing it from her feels different. It makes it real.


    "Why didn¡¯t you tell me?" My voice shakes despite how hard I¡¯m trying to keep it steady.


    Tears well up in her eyes. She leans forward slightly, her face raw with emotion.


    "I wanted to, Sarah. Every day, I wanted to. But Evelyn, she wouldn¡¯t let me. She threatened to send me away if I ever said a word."


    I stare at her, trying to process everything.


    "So you just...pretended?" I whisper.


    "I stayed," she says softly. "I stayed as your nanny because it was the only way I could be near you. I thought...even if you didn¡¯t know the truth, at least I could nurture and protect you."


    I swallow the lump rising in my throat. "You took money from my parents," I say. "Am I really that seble?"


    Marishka flinches as if I pped her.


    "No," she says quickly, shaking her head. Tears slip down her cheeks, and she doesn¡¯t even try to wipe them away. "It wasn¡¯t like that, Sarah. I only took the money because I was desperate. Charles was generous enough to give me it. My brother got into a bit of trouble in Ukraine, and I needed to send him the money. It saved his life."


    I stare at her, a thousand emotions churn inside me.


    "You could¡¯ve told me," I whisper. "About who you were. About everything after I grew up."


    "I know," Marishka says brokenly. "And every day I didn¡¯t... I hated myself a little more. But I couldn¡¯t break the deal with your parents. I couldn¡¯t risk being sent away from you," She trails off, shaking her head. "Will you ever forgive me?"


    Of course, I will forgive her. She is the only mother who loved me unconditionally. My true mother. "Yes," I breathe.


    Marishka lets out a choked sob and covers her mouth with her trembling hand.


    She gets up slowly, as if afraid I might change my mind, and kneels in front of me.


    "I love you so much, Sarah," she whispers. "I have loved you every single day of your life."


    I reach out, hesitantly at first, but then with more certainty, and wrap my arms around her.


    For the first time in my life, I am hugging my mother.


    Not a stranger in disguise. Not a lie.


    My mother.


    She clutches me tightly, and I feel her tears soak into my sweater. I feel Matthew¡¯s hand still resting on my back, steadying me, grounding me.


    For a long time, none of us says a word. Maybe we couldn¡¯t erase the past. Maybe we couldn¡¯t fix everything overnight.


    But we could start here.


    Together.


    "Well, I should check on dinner, shall I?" Marishka says, wiping her tears.


    I frown. "I don¡¯t know if I like you acting like my employee anymore."


    Marishka waves her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You treat me nothing like that. You¡¯ve always treated me like a family member anyway."


    "You know what I mean. You are always taking care of the house, cooking, and..." I start to protest.


    "Stop it, sweetheart. I don¡¯t mind doing these things. If we were in my country and you were my child, I¡¯d be doing this too. Oh, don¡¯t tell me you want your old mother to move out now?" she frowns.


    I shake my head furiously. "God, no."


    She smiles. "Good. Then let me go prepare dinner and you spend time with your husband," she says and kisses my cheek before getting up to leave.


    I watch her disappear into the kitchen, my heart feeling lighter and heavier all at once.


    Matthew shifts beside me, his arm still around my shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asks.


    I let out a shakyugh. "Yeah. I am great."


    "Come here," Matthew says, tugging me gently into his side.


    I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.


    "You did so good," he whispers into my hair. "I¡¯m proud of you."


    A lump forms in my throat again, but this time, it¡¯s not from sadness. It¡¯s from the overwhelming warmth swelling in my chest.


    "How about we go somewhere nice? Just the two of us? The doctor said you need to rest at home, but we can go somewhere where you can rx after you recover fully," he suggests.


    "I would like that," I murmur.

 Chapter 105: I’ve Missed You

    <h4>Chapter 105: I¡¯ve Missed You</h4>


    Sarah


    Do you think this is too much?" I ask, holding up a flowy sundress against my growing baby bump. The blue fabricplements my tan skin perfectly.


    Matthew leans against the headboard, watching me with amusement as I flit between the bed piled with clothes and the open suitcase.


    "No," he says with a grin.


    I fold the dress carefully and tuck it into my suitcase. We are going to Aruba again. I asked Matthew if he wanted to go somewhere new since we had already gone there for our honeymoon, but he insisted we go there.


    "You liked it there, didn¡¯t you?" he had asked.


    "Yes," I replied.


    "Then it¡¯s perfect. Besides, there are ces there we hadn¡¯t seen yet."


    So here I am, packing away.


    It¡¯s been three weeks since my world turned upside down, three weeks of processing, healing, and rebuilding. T


    "I just checked the weather again," Matthew says, scrolling through his phone. "Sunny and 85 degrees every single day we¡¯re there."


    "Perfect," I murmur, moving to the dresser to select swimsuits. My hand rests on my stomach, which has grown noticeably in the past few weeks. "Little avocado is going to love the ocean air."


    Someone knocks on the door, so I look up.


    "Sarah?" Marishka says, smiling brightly. "I brought you something for your trip!"


    I head downstairs to find her holding arge woven tote bag. "I made this for you," she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "For the beach."


    I take the bag, running my fingers over the intricate pattern. "It¡¯s beautiful," I breathe. "Did you weave this yourself?"


    She nods, beaming with pride. "An old Ukrainian technique my grandmother taught me. I used to make these all the time back home."


    The mention of her homnd no longer feels like a distant, abstract concept. Now it¡¯s part of my heritage, my history. I¡¯ve been asking her about Ukraine more and moretely, hungry to learn about that side of myself.


    "I love it," I say, hugging her tightly. "Thank you."


    "Have you packed your sun hat?" she asks, switching effortlessly into her maternal mode. "And your prenatal vitamins."


    Iugh softly, feeling the kind of warmth that onlyes from being truly cared for.


    "Yes, Mama, I packed them," I tease.


    "I will never get tired of hearing you call me that," Marishka says, her voice thick with emotion.


    Matthew appears in the hallway behind me. "Alright, you two. Don¡¯t start crying again. Sarah, go finish packing," he orders.


    "Yes, sir," I say quickly and walk toward the suitcase.


    Marishka chuckles. "I will leave you to it."


    ~-~


    The flight to Aruba is smooth, and I spend most of it sleeping against Matthew¡¯s shoulder. When wend, the familiar tropical heat embraces us as we step off the ne.


    "Wee back," Matthew says, squeezing my hand.


    At baggage im, I notice him checking his phone constantly, typing quick messages when he thinks I¡¯m not looking. He shifts from one foot to another, a nervous energy radiating from him that wasn¡¯t there this morning.


    "Everything okay?" I ask as we wait for our luggage.


    "Hmm? Yeah, fine," he says too quickly, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Just checking on some work stuff."


    "I thought you said you werepletely offline for this trip," I remind him, frowning slightly.


    "I am," he insists, but his eyes dart away from mine. "Just tying up a few loose ends."


    When our taxi pulls up to the resort, Matthew seems distracted during check-in, constantly ncing around the lobby as if looking for someone. The receptionist hands him our room key, and he pockets it quickly.


    In the elevator, Matthew¡¯s fingers drum against his thigh. He checks his watch three times in two minutes.


    "Are you sure everything¡¯s okay?" I press again, studying his face. "You seem... anxious."


    "I am fine," he says curtly.


    I frown. Something is going on with him, I can feel it.


    Our room is beautiful, a spacious suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the turquoise Caribbean. I wander to the balcony, breathing in the salt air, but when I turn back, Matthew is on his phone again, speaking in hushed tones.


    "Yes, everything¡¯s set," I hear him whisper. "Seven o¡¯clock, exactly as nned."


    He notices me watching and abruptly ends the call.


    "Who was that?" I ask.


    "Just the concierge," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. "I was confirming our dinner reservation."


    "Oh." I nod, unconvinced. "I didn¡¯t know we had dinner ns already."


    "I thought it would be nice," he says, busying himself with unpacking. He¡¯s avoiding eye contact now. "Why don¡¯t you rest a bit? The flight was long."


    I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him move around the room with uncharacteristic nervousness.


    Something isn¡¯t right. Matthew is hiding something from me, and after everything we¡¯ve been through, the secrets and lies in my family, a cold knot of dread forms in my belly.


    What if things are not okay? What if Matthew still hates me and...


    "Sarah?"


    I look at him and force a smile. "Yeah?"


    "Take a shower and get to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," he says, not smiling.


    A long day? What is that supposed to mean!?


    "I will," I say, even as unease creeps through me. I grab my toiletry bag and head to the bathroom, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.


    The bathroom is luxurious, with marble countertops and a ss-enclosed shower big enough for two. I turn on the water, letting steam fill the room as I undress slowly.


    Maybe a hot shower will clear my head, help me figure out what¡¯s going on with Matthew.


    I step under the spray, letting the warm water cascade over my shoulders, my hands instinctively cradling my baby bump. The water soothes my travel-weary muscles but does nothing to ease the tension in my mind.


    Just as I¡¯m working shampoo into my hair, I hear the bathroom door open. Through the steamy ss, I see Matthew¡¯s silhouette.


    "Can I join you?" he asks, his voice soft.


    I hesitate only briefly before nodding. "Sure."


    He undresses quickly and slides open the shower door, stepping in behind me. "Hey," he says.


    "Hi," I reply.


    His arms wrap around me from behind, his chest pressing against my back. The hot water streams over us both as his lips find my neck, kissing a path from my shoulder to my ear. I tilt my head, giving him better ess, my eyes fluttering closed as his hands begin to wander.


    "I¡¯ve missed touching you," he whispers against my skin, his voice husky with desire.


    His palms slide over my wet skin, one hand cupping my breast while the other travels lower, across my rounded belly and down. His fingers find their way between my thighs, gentle yet deliberate. I gasp as he begins to stroke me, slow circles that make my knees weak.


    "Matthew," I breathe, leaning back against him for support.


    "I¡¯ve got you," he murmurs, his touch growing more insistent as he feels my response.


    "Turn around," he says, his voice thick with need.


    Iply, facing him now. His eyes are dark and intense as they roam over my body. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, passionately, before dropping to his knees before me.


    "What are you¡ª"


    "Shhh," he says, looking up at me with a mischievous smile. "Let me take care of you."


    His hands grip my hips as his mouth reces his fingers. I gasp, one hand flying to the shower wall for support while the other tangles in his wet hair. The dual sensation of the hot shower and his hot mouth is overwhelming.


    "Matthew," I moan, my head falling back against the tiles.


    He takes his time, savoring me, bringing me to the edge and then backing away, teasing until I¡¯m practically begging. When he finally lets me fall apart, I cry out his name, my entire body shuddering with release.


    Afterward, he rises, holding me close as my breathing steadies. He kisses me tenderly, then picks me up in his arms.


    He carries me out of the shower, not bothering with towels andys me gently on the bed. The sheets are cool against my damp skin as he hovers over me, his eyes taking in every inch of my body with reverence.


    "You¡¯re so beautiful," he whispers, running his fingertips down my side, over the curve of my hip.


    There¡¯s something different about the way he touches me now, it¡¯s tender, almost worshipful, like he¡¯s trying to memorize every detail. He lowers himself beside me, propped on one elbow, and traces the outline of my face with his finger.


    "I¡¯ve been wanting to make love to you for a long time now," he says, his voice catching.

 Chapter 106: Is This Goodbye?

    <h4>Chapter 106: Is This Goodbye?</h4>


    Sarah


    His lips capture mine in a deep, slow kiss as his body covers mine. I feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, and I part my legs instinctively, inviting him closer. Matthew moves between them, his eyes never leaving mine as he positions himself.


    "Sarah," he whispers against my lips as he pushes inside me, joining uspletely.


    I gasp at the sensation, my hands gripping his shoulders. He stays still for a moment, then begins to move, slow and deliberate thrusts that make me moan with each one. My legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper. His rhythm is unhurried and passionate, like he¡¯s savoring every second of our connection.


    "Sarah," he breathes, kissing along my jaw, my neck, my corbone. "My Sarah."


    I arch beneath him, meeting his movements, my fingers tangling in his hair as pleasure builds within me. Matthew¡¯s pace quickens slightly, his breathing growing ragged against my ear. I can feel myself approaching the edge again, my body tightening around him.


    "Let go," he urges, his voice thick with desire. "Come for me."


    I shatter beneath him, waves of pleasure rippling through my entire body. Matthew follows momentster, his face buried in my neck as he groans my name. We stay connected, breathing heavily, our sweat-slicked bodies pressed together.


    Why did this kind of feel like he was saying goodbye to me?


    Is he saying goodbye?


    No, it can¡¯t be. Everything is fine between us now. He hadn¡¯t forgiven me entirely, but he told me he didn¡¯t hate me anymore. I am having his baby, so he won¡¯t leave me now. He will stay with me to work things out, won¡¯t he?


    The rush of thoughts lodges in my chest, cold and sharp. His strange behavior, the secretive phone calls, and the intensity of this moment all swirl together into something that feels dangerously like an ending.


    "Matthew," I whisper against his lips as he moves inside me. "Are you sure there¡¯s nothing wrong?"


    "Nothing¡¯s wrong," he murmurs, kissing away a tear I didn¡¯t realize had fallen. "Everything is perfect."


    But I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something is slipping away from me.


    Afterward, he holds me close, my back against his chest. I should feel content, but anxiety gnaws at me.


    "You¡¯d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn¡¯t you?" I ask quietly.


    I feel him tense slightly behind me. "Of course," he says after a brief pause. "Stop worrying so much and go to sleep."


    I close my eyes.


    I must¡¯ve been more tired than I thought because when I opened my eyes next, it was already morning.


    I stretchnguidly, feeling the warm Aruban sunlight streaming through the partially open curtains. Matthew isn¡¯t beside me, but I hear him moving around in the suite. The digital clock reads 9:30 AM.


    "Morning, sleepyhead," Matthew says, appearing in the doorway with a cup of steaming coffee. His smile seems more rxed today, the strange tension from yesterday gone.


    "Hi," I say, sitting up and adjusting the sheet around me. "You let me sleep in."


    "You needed it." He hands me the coffee and sits on the edge of the bed. "I¡¯ve made some ns for you today."


    I take a sip, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. "What kind of ns?"


    "Well," he says, running his hand through his hair, "I made you a special appointment at the resort spa. Hair, makeup, the works. I thought you might enjoy being pampered."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Hair and makeup? Are we going somewhere fancy?"


    He shrugs, trying to look casual but failing miserably. "Something like that."


    "Matthew," I say slowly, "what are you up to?"


    "Nothing," he insists, but his eyes gleam with something secretive. "Your appointment is at eleven. That gives you time for breakfast and a walk on the beach if you want."


    I narrow my eyes at him, but he just leans forward to kiss my forehead before standing up.


    "I have a few things to take care of this morning," he says. "But I¡¯ll meet you after your spa treatment, around two o¡¯clock."


    "Things to take care of? On vacation?" I question.


    "Just some... arrangements." He smiles mysteriously. "Trust me, okay?"


    I sigh, nodding. "Okay."


    At eleven, I make my way to the resort spa, where I¡¯m greeted by a smiling attendant.


    "Ms. Wilson! We¡¯ve been expecting you," she chirps.


    I raise my eyebrow. "It¡¯s Mrs. Jameson now. Wilson is my maiden name. Isn¡¯t that what my name listed as Sarah Jameson for the appointment?"


    She shakes her head. "Well, Mr. Jameson made the appointment for you as Sarah Wilson. But please, follow me."


    Oh, god. What does this mean? Is this Matthew¡¯s way of telling me he wants a divorce!?


    But why now?


    I shake my head. No, I am being silly. Why would he bring me all the way to Aruba to tell me he wants to leave me?


    I¡¯m led through the luxurious spa to a private suite where three staff members wait.


    The next three hours go by in a blur of rxation and beauty treatments.


    The stylist works magic with my long hair, creating soft waves that frame my face perfectly. Thenes the makeup.


    "You are a very lucky woman. Your husband must love you so much," the makeup artist says as she adds the final touches to my blush.


    I freeze.


    Love...it¡¯s hard to tell. I can feel love through his actions these past few days, but he hadn¡¯t exactly uttered those words to me, so I didn¡¯t exactly feel reassured.


    "I guess he does," I respond with a small smile, my mind still racing with uncertainty.


    When the treatments areplete, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. My skin glows, my hair falls in perfect waves, and my makeup is wless yet natural. I look like I¡¯m ready for something important, much more than a casual dinner at the resort.


    "One more thing," the makeup artist says, handing me a small envelope. "Mr. Jameson asked us to give you this when you¡¯re done."


    I open it with slightly trembling fingers and find a handwritten note inside:


    *Go back to our suite. Something¡¯s waiting for you. - Matthew*


    My heart pounds as I make my way back through the resort. What could he possibly be nning? The walk feels endless, my mind spinning scenarios ranging from wonderful to heartbreaking.


    I slide the keycard into our suite door and push it open slowly. The room is empty, but there¡¯s soft music ying. I step further inside and that¡¯s when I see it.


    I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.


    My wedding dress, the one I wore when I married Matthew is hanging on the wardrobe door.


    "What is this?" I whisper to the empty room, moving closer.


    I touch the smooth satin fabric with my fingers. How is this even possible? Matthew destroyed this dress on our wedding night when he angrily tore it off my body. This must be a duplicate.


    With shaking hands, I open the second envelope:


    *Put it on. Meet me at the beach gazebo at 4:00. - Your husband*


    Tears spring to my eyes as understanding begins to dawn. This isn¡¯t an ending. It¡¯s a beginning.

 Chapter 107: A Beginning

    <h4>Chapter 107: A Beginning</h4>


    Sarah


    I slip into the wedding dress, amazed that he remembered to get it sized over my baby bump. Matthew had thought of everything.


    At precisely four o¡¯clock, I make my way down to the beach, my bare feet sinking into the warm sand. In the distance, I see a white gazebo that¡¯s decorated with flowers and flowing white fabric.


    As I get closer, I see Matthew waiting, handsome in a white linen suit, his face lighting up when he spots me. But he¡¯s not alone. Standing with him are Matthew¡¯s family and Marishka. Even Josh and Reba is here.


    "Oh my God," I breathe, tears threatening to ruin my perfect makeup.


    Matthew steps forward to meet me, taking my hands in his.


    "What is all this?" I whisper.


    "A second chance," he says simply. "A new beginning for us. I wanted to see if you would marry me again so I can give you a proper wedding night this time. Sarah. Will you?"


    I stare at him, tears flowing freely now. "You want to marry me again?"


    "Yes," Matthew says, his voice husky with emotion. "I want to erase that first night. I want to start fresh with you, Sarah. I want a renewal of our vows, but this time with love, with truth between us."


    I can hardly breathe through the tightness in my chest. All his secretive behavior suddenly makes perfect sense.


    "Is this why you¡¯ve been acting so strange?" I ask,ughing through my tears.


    He nods, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "I¡¯m terrible at surprises. I was so afraid I¡¯d give it away."


    I nce at our gathered family. Marishka is openly weeping, her hands sped together in joy. Josh gives me a thumbs up and a wink.


    Matthew¡¯s mother steps forward, taking my hands in hers. "We wanted to be here for this moment," she says warmly.


    I look back at Matthew, overwhelmed. "When did you n all this?"


    "I¡¯ve been working on it since... well, since everything came out in the open," he admits. "I realized I never gave us a proper start. I was so angry, so hurt when we first married. I didn¡¯t let myself love you the way I should have."


    He takes a deep breath. "But I do love you, Sarah. I¡¯ve loved you for longer than I was willing to admit to myself."


    The words I¡¯ve been longing to hear. The deration I wasn¡¯t sure would evere.


    "I love you too," I whisper, squeezing his hands.


    Matthew nces at the officiant standing in the gazebo. "So, what do you say? Will you marry me again?"


    I nod, unable to form words around the lump in my throat.


    He leads me toward the gazebo, where white chairs have been set up facing the ocean.


    This time, as I stand before Matthew and repeat my vows, there are no secrets between us. No lies. Just the truth of who we are and the love we¡¯ve fought to build.


    "I, Sarah, take you, Matthew, to be my husband once more," I say, my voice steady despite my tears. "With honesty and openness, I promise to love you through whatever life brings us."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes never leave mine as he speaks his vows. "I, Matthew, take you, Sarah, to be my wife again. This time with my whole heart, myplete trust, and all the love I have to give."


    When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, Matthew cups my face with both hands and kisses me tenderly. The small gathering of our loved ones erupts in apuse, but I barely hear them.


    In this moment, there is only Matthew and me.


    "I can¡¯t believe you did all this," I say, still in awe after several hours at the dance floor. "How did you manage to get everyone here without me knowing?"


    He grins, spinning me gently. "Josh helped coordinate everything."


    My eyes turn wide. "You let Josh help you? Are you serious? You can¡¯t stand him!"


    Matthew frowns. "Well, Reba and my parents helped too. Yeah, I still don¡¯t like him, but he isn¡¯t all that bad."


    I grin. "Oh no? You don¡¯t think he is trying to steal me away from you anymore?"


    Matthew chuckles, pulling me closer as we sway to the music on the beach. The sun is setting, casting golden light across the water. Our small reception is intimate and perfect.


    "No," he admits, his lips brushing my ear. "He can¡¯t even if he tries. You chose me. You¡¯re carrying my child. And he..." Matthew nces over at Josh, who¡¯sughing with Reba near the bar, "he¡¯s actually been a good friend to both of us."


    I lean back to study his face, searching for any trace of jealousy. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"


    "Very funny," he says, rolling his eyes. "People change, Sarah. I¡¯ve changed. We both have."


    I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "For the better, I hope."


    "Definitely for the better."


    The music shifts to something slower, more intimate. Matthew¡¯s arms tighten around me.


    "So," he murmurs. "Are you ready for our wedding night? The proper one this time?"


    Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I think I might be."


    He presses a kiss on my forehead. "Good. And this time, I will be taking your dress off without tearing it. God knows I had a hard time finding the exact one."


    I giggle. "How did you manage it anyway?"


    Matthew smiles, looking pleased with himself. "I had a little help from Marishka. She remembered the designer and style. Turns out, they still had the pattern, so Imissioned a custom one."


    "But how did you know it would fit?" I ask, ncing down at my growing baby bump.


    "I may have stolen one of your dresses while you were sleeping and sent your measurements," he admits with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Plus, I added a note about amodating for a five-month pregnancy."


    Iugh, shaking my head in wonder. "You thought of everything."


    "I tried," he says, his expression growing serious. "I wanted today to be perfect for you. To make up for¡ª"


    I ce my finger against his lips. "Don¡¯t. We¡¯re not looking back anymore, remember? Only forward."


    He kisses my fingertip, then takes my hand in his. "You¡¯re right."


    The party continues around us, but we¡¯re in our own little world. Marishka catches my eye from across the beach and raises her ss to me, her face radiant with maternal pride. I smile back, feeling apleteness I¡¯ve never known before.


    After we finish our dance, Marishka approaches us, her eyes still bright with happy tears.


    "My darling," she says, embracing me tightly. "I never thought I would see this day. To be here as your mother at your wedding."


    I hug her back fiercely. "I¡¯m so d you¡¯re here," I whisper.


    She pulls back, cupping my face with her weathered hands. "Your father... Charles...he wanted toe," she says hesitantly. "He asked me to tell you."


    I stiffen slightly, and Matthew¡¯s hand finds the small of my back, steadying me.


    "I¡¯m not ready to forgive him yet," I admit. "Maybe someday, but not today."


    Marishka nods, understanding in her eyes. "There is time. Healinges slowly."


    As the night deepens, our guests begin to disperse. Matthew¡¯s parents and Hailey hug us both before retreating to their rooms.


    "We¡¯ll see you two tomorrow for brunch," his mother says, squeezing my hand. "And Sarah? Thank you for making my son happy."


    Finally, it¡¯s just Matthew and me, walking barefoot along the moonlit beach.


    "So," I say, swinging our joined hands between us.


    "So?" He raises an eyebrow.


    "I thought you were going to divorce me," I confess.


    He stops abruptly, turning to face me. "What? Why would you think that?"


    I shrug, suddenly feeling foolish. "You were acting secretive, checking your phone constantly. And then you booked the spa appointment under my maiden name..."


    Matthew chuckles. "Sorry to disappoint, wife, but I¡¯m never letting you go again."


    I rest my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching the sound of wavespping at the shore.


    "Do you remember the first time we were here?" I ask, looking up at him.


    His eyes darken momentarily. "Yes. I was so angry then."


    "And now?"


    "Now I¡¯m just grateful," he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Grateful that despite everything... all the lies, all the pain, we found our way back to each other."


    I smile, tracing the contours of his face with my fingertips. "Not just the two of us anymore."


    "No," he agrees, his palm warm against my belly. "The three of us now."


    Matthew kisses me, slow and deep. There is no urgency, only the gentle certainty that we have all the time in the world.


    This is just the beginning of our love story.

 Chapter 108: Bonus Story: Hailey

    <h4>Chapter 108: Bonus Story: Hailey</h4>


    Hailey


    Today is a big day for me.


    My phone rings just as I¡¯m arranging my portfolio for the hundredth time.


    "Ms. Haley Jameson?"


    "This is she. Who am I speaking with?" I ask.


    "This is Vivian Chen from Luxe Magazine." The woman¡¯s voice is crisp and professional. "I¡¯ve been reviewing the photographs you submittedst month."


    My heart skips a beat. Luxe is one of the top fashion magazines in the country. I submitted my portfolio on a whim, never actually expecting a response.


    "Your urban street style series caught my attention," she continues. "Particrly the contrast work in the rain-soaked models against the neon backgrounds. It¡¯s exactly the aesthetic we¡¯re looking for in our September issue."


    I grip the phone tighter, trying to sound calm while my free hand clutches at my desk for support. "Thank you, I¡¯m d you liked them."


    "Liked them? Ms. Jameson, we¡¯d like to offer you the feature spread. Ten pages, full creative control, with our top three models. It pays eight thousand, plus expenses."


    The room seems to tilt. Eight thousand dors? That¡¯s more than I¡¯ve made in photography all year.


    "Are you still there?" Vivian asks.


    "Yes! Yes, I¡¯m here. That sounds incredible."


    "Good. We¡¯ll need you in New York next week. I¡¯m emailing the contract over now. Our creative director is particrly excited about working with fresh talent."


    After we hang up, I stand frozen for several seconds before letting out a scream that probably rms my neighbors. I¡¯ve been shooting weddings and pet portraits for two years, scraping by while dreaming of something bigger. And now Luxe Magazine. Luxe! They want my vision, my style.


    I have to tell someone. With shaking hands, I grab my phone and scroll to Sarah¡¯s number. My brother¡¯s wife has always been my biggest cheerleader, even when my parents thought photography was just a phase.


    The phone rings five times before she answers with a groggy, "Hello?"


    "Sarah! You won¡¯t believe what just happened!" I¡¯m practically shouting.


    "Hailey?" Her voice is thick with sleep. "What time is it?"


    I nce at my watch. 7:15 AM. Shoot. With the adrenaline pumping through me, Ipletely forgot how early it is.


    "Sorry, did I wake you?" I ask, though I already know the answer.


    "Mmm, yeah." I hear rustling on the other end, like she¡¯s sitting up in bed. "Hold on, let me... where¡¯s my... what day is it?"


    "It¡¯s Tuesday," I say, trying to contain my excitement while she gets her bearings.


    "Tuesday," she repeats slowly. "Right. Tuesday. Ok, I¡¯m awake. Sort of. What¡¯s happening?"


    "Luxe Magazine called. They want me for their September issue. A ten-page spread, Sarah! With creative control!"


    "Wait, what?" Her voice sharpens with sudden rity. "The Luxe Magazine? The one you¡¯ve been obsessing over since college?"


    "Yes! And they¡¯re paying me eight thousand dors!"


    Sarah lets out a shriek so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Oh my god, Hailey! That¡¯s incredible! I knew it would happen for you!"


    "I¡¯m freaking out. They need me in New York next week. I have to find someone to cover my wedding shoot on Saturday, and I need to figure out what to pack, and¡ª"


    "Slow down," Sarah says, now sounding fully awake. "First things first. We¡¯re celebrating tonight. I¡¯m making reservations at Emilio¡¯s. My treat."


    "Sarah, you don¡¯t have to¡ª"


    "This is major, Hailey. Your big break! Matthew will watch the baby, and we¡¯ll have a proper girls¡¯ night. I want to hear every detail."


    As we talk, I pace my small apartment, the reality of what¡¯s happening slowly sinking in. New York. Luxe Magazine. My photographs in the hands of millions of readers.


    It¡¯s everything I¡¯ve dreamed of¡ªand more.


    ~-~


    The week flew by in a blur of preparation. I updated my portfolio, packed and repacked my camera equipment, and tried on every outfit I owned at least twice. Sarah helped me pick the perfect "professional but creative" look for my first meeting with the Luxe team.


    Now, as my rideshare crawls along the highway at a snail¡¯s pace, I check my phone again. 10:42 AM. My flight is at noon.


    "How much longer to the airport?" I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.


    The driver nces at me in the rearview mirror. "Hard to say with this mess. Looks like a multi-car pileup ahead."


    I crane my neck to see past the sea of brake lights stretching before us. In the distance, emergency lights sh, and traffic funnels into a singlene.


    "Is there another route we could take?"


    He shakes his head. "Not at this point. We¡¯re boxed in."


    My stomach knots as I check the flight status app. Still on time. Of course my career-making opportunity has to collide with the worst traffic jam in history. I quickly text Vivian:


    Stuck in traffic due to ident. Might be cutting it close for my flight.


    Her responsees fast: Keep me posted. First meeting is tomorrow morning, so as long as you¡¯re in NY by tonight, we¡¯re good.


    I take a deep breath. I can do this. I have to.


    Ten more minutes pass without a single inch of movement. My heart pounds harder with each second. The digital clock on the dashboard ticks over to 10:57 AM, mocking me.


    "This is impossible," I mutter, refreshing the app again.


    When I nce up, more emergency vehicles have arrived. The driver sighs. "Looks like they¡¯ve closed anotherne. We might be here for an hour."


    An hour. The word ms into me like a punch to the chest.


    "I can¡¯t miss this flight," I say, mostly to myself. "I just can¡¯t."


    Something in me snaps. I grab my camera bag and portfolio without thinking.


    "I need to get out," I say, fumbling with my seatbelt. "How far are we from the airport?"


    "About three miles, but¡ª"


    I¡¯m already tossing cash at him. "Keep the change!"


    Before he can respond, I throw the door open and stumble onto the shoulder. The summer heat ms into me, but I barely register it. I scramble over the guardrail and down the embankment to the sidewalk that runs parallel to the highway.


    My boots p against the concrete as I run, camera bag bouncing painfully at my hip. Honks re behind me from the sea of gridlocked cars. I must lookpletely insane¡ªa woman in a zer and boots sprinting down the road with an oversized portfolio under one arm.


    But I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m not missing that flight.


    "Three miles," I gasped to myself. "You can do three miles."


    But I wasn¡¯t a runner. Half a mile in, my lungs were burning and sweat stered my carefully styled hair to my forehead. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn¡¯t stop to check it.


    A stitch forms in my side, sharp as a knife. I slow to a pained walk, gulping air.


    "Need a ride?"


    I turn to see a motorcycle idling alongside me. The rider flips up his visor, then pulls off his ck helmet. A familiar smile greets me, framed by tousled brown hair that looks effortlessly charming.


    His eyes sparkle with mischief, and that crooked grin of his is enough to make anyone¡¯s heart skip a beat. "Josh?" I gasp between breaths, my mind shing back to the first time I saw him.


    Even then, his boyish charm and easyughter had left me smitten. Josh Daniels¡ªSarah¡¯s childhood friend¡ªis looking at me, smiling wide, and I can¡¯t help but blush.


    Jeez... what is wrong with me?


    "Hailey, right? What the hell are you doing running on the highway?" His eyes crinkle with amusement.


    "I have to¡ª" I wheeze, "¡ªcatch a flight. Career-changing opportunity. Traffic¡¯s dead."


    Josh nces at my sweat-soaked zer and the bulky portfolio tucked under my arm. Without hesitation, he reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out a spare helmet.


    "Hop on. I¡¯ll get you there."


    "I¡¯ve never been on a motorcycle," I admit, eyeing the sleek machine warily.


    "First time for everything. Sarah would kill me if I let her sister-inw miss her big break." He winks.


    I hesitate only a second before strapping on the helmet. Josh helps secure my portfolio in his saddlebag and shows me where to put my feet.


    "Hold on tight," he says as I climb on behind him.


    I wrap my arms around his waist, the leather of his jacket pressing against my cheek as he revs the engine. We weave through the standstill traffic, slipping between cars with a precision that both terrifies and exhrates me.


    The airport appears on the horizon, and Josh picks up speed. My heart races¡ªbut not just from the ride.


    We pull up to the departures terminal at 11:23. I dismount on wobbly legs, my hair a wild mess beneath the helmet.


    "I don¡¯t know how to thank you," I say, handing the helmet back to him.


    Josh grins as he retrieves my portfolio. "Buy me dinner when you get back from New York. Tell me all about your fancy magazine shoot."


    I feel a blush creep up my neck that has nothing to do with my impromptu sprint. "It¡¯s a date," I say, then immediately wonder if I¡¯ve been too forward.


    But Josh¡¯s smile only widens. "I¡¯ll hold you to that, Hailey Jameson."

 Chapter 109: Impulsive

    <h4>Chapter 109: Impulsive</h4>


    Josh


    I watch the little redhead dash through the sliding doors, portfolio clutched to her chest, hair wild from the helmet.


    Something about the way she moves, so determined, focused, and a little frantic, makes me smile.


    When I first met Hailey Jameson in Sarah¡¯s hospital room, my heart did a little flip. There was something about her that made me stare at her for a bit too long, and her face lingered in my mind even after I was home alone. I pushed it aside since she was Matthew¡¯s sister.


    The guy may not hate me as much as before, but I am pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t love the fact that I was lusting after his baby sister.


    I even made a point not to move farther than hi and hellos at their wedding.


    But there she was, running along the highway like some kind of beautiful madwoman. I couldn¡¯t resist but rescue her.


    The memory of Hailey¡¯s arms wrapped tightly around my waist lingers, along with the faint scent of her perfume, something floral with a hint of vani is still haunting me.


    I swing my leg over the bike and sit for a second, helmet in myp, trying to shake the ridiculous grin off my face. I¡¯ve had flings before, but they were casual and clean, with no strings. But this doesn¡¯t feel like that. This feels like a door creaked open and before I knew it, I¡¯d walked through it.


    Matthew¡¯s going to lose his damn mind if I try to date his sister.


    But Matthew does not dictate my life now, does he? And I, for one, am not scared of him!


    The girl with the wild red hair and the oversized portfolio just cracked something open in me.


    I rev the engine, ready to head back to work, when a thought strikes me so suddenly that I almostugh out loud.


    What if I go to New York too?


    The idea hits me like a jolt of electricity, ridiculous and reckless and yet, it refuses to leave my mind.


    Go to New York?


    I nce down the road, the airport fading in the distance behind me, then back at the traffic ahead.


    Work can wait. My schedule¡¯s flexible, and it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve never taken ast-minute trip before. Besides, I have a lot of airline miles.


    I sit there for a moment longer, the engine rumbling under me.


    It¡¯s insane. Impulsive. Potentially disastrous.


    But my gut¡¯s telling me to stop ying it safe. I¡¯ve spent too many years guarding myself, keeping things simple, casual, and unattached.


    But ever since I saw her running down the highway...


    Fuck it. I am doing it.


    I pull out my phone and scroll to the Delta app. My fingers move before my brain can argue, tapping through flight options like I¡¯m buying a concert ticket instead of chasing a woman I barely know.


    There¡¯s a flight out in ny minutes. Direct. It¡¯s pricey, but it¡¯s nothing I can¡¯t cover. I book it.


    Done.


    I stare at the confirmation screen like it¡¯s a contract I just signed with the universe. No turning back now.


    I shoot a quick text to my boss:


    "Family thing. Gone for a couple of days. Laptop¡¯s with me."


    He won¡¯t ask questions. He never does.


    Then I hit up Reba. I had to tell someone.


    "If Matthew kills me, it was worth it. But don¡¯t mention anything to Sarah yet," I say cryptically.


    Her replyes within seconds.


    "What did you do?"


    I don¡¯t respond. Not yet.


    I ride home fast, throw a couple of shirts and myptop into a duffel, and change into something that doesn¡¯t smell like exhaust fumes. Then I¡¯m back on the road, heading to the airport with nothing but instinct and a wildly stupid idea.


    I just want to see her again.


    I park my car in long-term parking, sling the duffel over my shoulder, and make my way to the terminal with a strange lightness in my step.


    My phone lights up.


    "Josh. Seriously. What did you do?" Reba texted.


    I smirk and type back, "Tell youter."


    I like to keep my friends guessing. It¡¯s a hobby of mine.


    The gate attendant calls for boarding, and I stand, my heart thumping harder than it should.


    Nerves? Maybe.


    I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen in New York. Maybe I just get a drink with Hailey. Maybe sheughs, says it was sweet, and thanks me for the effort before moving on with her big career. Or maybe she will think I am some kind of a stalker and tell me to fuck off.


    I don¡¯t expect a fairytale. I¡¯m not that delusional.


    But I¡¯m also not the guy who just sits around and waits for something to happen. I make things happen.


    The second my feet hit the ground at JFK, reality punches me square in the chest.


    I have no idea where Hailey is.


    No address. No clue where her job is. Just the image of her dashing into the airport, portfolio clutched to her chest like a life raft.


    I curse under my breath and lean against a pir, thinking. I could call Sarah and ask, but she would tell Matthew.


    Shit...


    I scrub a hand down my face and mutter, "Okay, Josh. You flew across the damn country for a girl you haven¡¯t even taken on a date. What now, genius?"


    I scan the arrivals lounge, half-hoping to spot a sh of red hair by some miracle. Nothing since this wasn¡¯t a fucking RomCom. This is real life.


    My phone buzzes again. Reba, persistent as always: "Joshua Daniels, I swear to God..."


    I sigh and make a decision. Reba was my best friend. I should tell her about my misadventures. I call her.


    "Hey, Becky," I say casually.


    Her sigh on the other end is immediate and dramatic. "Don¡¯t ¡¯Hey, Becky¡¯ me. What the hell did you do, Josh?"


    I grin, stepping out of the way as a group of tourists barrels past me with rolling luggage. "Okay, maybe I did a thing."


    "What thing?" she asks suspiciously.


    "I flew to New York," I say.


    "Okay, and?" She is getting impatient now.


    "I did that to go after Hailey," I say. "I want to chase her down and take her out on a date."


    "Hail...wait a minute. Do you mean Matthew¡¯s sister, Hailey?" she asks incredulously.


    "Yup," I reply casually.


    "WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!"


    I wince. "Why do you have to yell in my ear? Jeez..."


    "Matthew is going to murder you."


    "He has to catch me first," I say, half-joking, trying to downy the tightening in my chest. "And hey, technically, I haven¡¯t done anything yet."


    Rebaughs. "You flew across the country for a girl who you met like what? Twice?"


    "Three times now," I mutter.


    "Three times makes it official then," she deadpans. "How do you know where she is staying in New York? Did Hailey tell you? Or did Sarah?"


    "About that...that¡¯s the minor hup I¡¯m working on," I say, pacing near the baggage im like it¡¯ll magically help me think. "I have no idea where she is."


    Reba goes quiet for a second. I can practically hear her blinking in disbelief through the phone.


    "...You flew across the country for a girl, and you don¡¯t even know her address?" she finally says.


    "Correct."


    "Jesus, Josh."


    "I know, okay? I wasn¡¯t thinking with my brain."


    "Oh, I¡¯m very aware. This has all the markings of a ¡¯thinking with your dick¡¯ situation."


    I sigh. "It wasn¡¯t like that. I mean, yeah, she¡¯s hot, obviously, but it¡¯s more than that. There¡¯s something about her."


    "You are such a sap," she mutters, but there¡¯s no bite to it. "All right, I¡¯ll help you find her. But if Matthew finds out and you die a slow and painful death, I¡¯m not giving the eulogy. I¡¯m just saying, ¡¯He died as he lived¡ªimpulsive and underprepared.¡¯"


    "Fair."


    "Do you know what she said she is doing in New York?" Reba asks.


    "Something about getting a big break," I say.


    There¡¯s a short pause on the line before Reba replies, "That¡¯s vague enough to cover everything from Broadway to bartending."


    I drag a hand through my hair. "I know. She had an oversized portfolio, though. I¡¯m guessing art? Design? Maybe fashion?"


    "Hmm." I hear her tapping away, probably on herptop. "Okay, a redhead with a portfolio chasing a dream in New York. That narrows it down to only like five million people."


    "Thanks for the optimism," I snap.


    She snorts. "Sarah will tell me, I am sure. Why didn¡¯t you ask her in the first ce?"


    I groan. "Because Sarah will tell Matthew. And then boom¡ªnext thing you know, I¡¯m getting a strongly worded death threat or worse, an intervention."


    Reba hums thoughtfully. "You make a solid point. Okay, give me some time to find out. I¡¯ll ask her super casually. Like, ¡¯Hey, where¡¯s your fabulous sister-inw Hailey these days? I need her opinion on a print for my living room.¡¯ Boom. usible."


    I blink. "You¡¯re a terrifying genius."


    "Don¡¯t forget resourceful and incredibly good looking," she replies.


    Iugh, the tension in my chest loosening for the first time since Inded. "I owe you, Beck."


    "You owe me so much more than a thank-you. I want dinner. Somewhere expensive. And if you end up marrying this girl, I¡¯m giving a toast. A long one."


    "I¡¯ll let you DJ the wedding," I say.


    "You are goddamn right you will."

 Chapter 110: First Time

    <h4>Chapter 110: First Time</h4>


    Hailey


    The second I step out of the subway, the scent of roasted peanuts and hot garbage hits me like a punch.


    I wrinkle my nose, shifting my weight to keep my oversized portfolio bnced on my hip. My boots scrape against the curb as I cross into Williamsburg, weaving between food carts and moody hipsters with earbuds and tote bags.


    This is it.


    New York.


    The city I¡¯ve dreamed about since I was sixteen, sketching gowns in the margins of my biology notebook.


    I finally made it. I call Vivian.


    "I¡¯m in Brooklyn," I tell her as soon as she picks up. "About ten minutes from the hotel, I think."


    "Perfect timing. The creative director just finished another meeting." There¡¯s a shuffling of papers on her end. "How was your flight?"


    I think about my mad dash through the terminal, thest-second boarding, and Josh¡¯s motorcycle rescue. A strange flutter ripples through my stomach at the memory of his crooked smile.


    "It was... eventful," I manage. "But I made it."


    "Good. Get settled in, and we¡¯ll see you at the studio tomorrow morning at nine. The address is in your wee packet."


    I hang up and adjust my grip on the portfolio. Thete afternoon sun casts long shadows between the buildings as I navigate the unfamiliar streets. My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah:


    "How¡¯s the big city? Send pictures!"


    I smile and snap a quick shot of the Brooklyn skyline, adding: "Made it! Still can¡¯t believe this is happening."


    "Have fun in NY!" Sarah wrote.


    I tuck my phone away and continue walking, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened at the mention of Josh¡¯s name. I have more important things to focus on than some motorcycle-riding charmer with perfect hair.


    Like the fact that tomorrow, I¡¯ll be directing a photoshoot for one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country.


    The hotel lobby is sleek and minimalist¡ªall concrete and ss with potted sulents strategically ced on floating shelves. Not the kind of ce I¡¯d normally stay, but Luxe is footing the bill.


    "Checking in," I tell the receptionist. "Hailey Jameson."


    She hands me a key card and a thick man envelope. "Your wee package from Luxe Magazine arrived earlier. Enjoy your stay."


    My room is on the sixth floor¡ªa corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the East River. I drop my bags and stand motionless, taking it all in. The king-sized bed with its crisp white duvet. The designermp shaped like a bird. Theplimentary bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.


    This is really happening.


    I tear open the man envelope. Inside is a detailed schedule for the week, contact information, a map of the studio, and a note from the creative director: "Hailey¡ªLooking forward to seeing your visione to life. Don¡¯t hold back. ¡ªMarcus"


    I copse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I¡¯ll meet Marcus Winters, the legendary creative director who oversees Luxe.


    I stare up at the ceiling, my heart thudding steadily beneath my ribs. Marcus Winters. The name alone carries weight because he¡¯s the type of legend people whisper about in fashion school. Known for his ruthless eye, unpredictable mood swings, and a genius that could make or break careers. He once shut down an entire shoot because the lighting was "too apologetic," whatever that means.


    And now I¡¯m meeting him tomorrow.


    The girl who barely scraped together enough to buy her first camera is about to pitch a vision to him. I let out a breath, part nerves, part disbelief.


    What is he like in real life? Intimidating, probably. Charismatic, definitely. He¡¯s the kind of man who could walk into a room and change the atmosphere without saying a word.


    I¡¯ve seen pictures¡ªsharp suits, steel-gray hair, and the kind of piercing gaze that makes you want to confess all your creative sins. Rumor has it he once fired an entire styling team with a single raised eyebrow.


    I try not to let my mind spiral too far down the "what if I screw this up" rabbit hole.


    I sit up on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, gripping the hem of my hoodie like it might anchor me.


    It¡¯s just a job, I tell myself. A job I¡¯ve dreamed about since I was sixteen and taking blurry photos of my friend Grace in thrift-store dresses behind the school gym. A job that could change everything.


    No pressure.


    I grab the schedule again, flipping through the itinerary for the week. Pre-production meeting. Styling brief. The shoot itself. And then...gulp...a presentation of final selects directly to Marcus. It¡¯s all written in neat, confident print, as if none of it is earth-shatteringly terrifying.


    I nce at the champagne, still sitting in its frosty bucket. I consider popping it open, celebrating... but my stomach¡¯s too tight. I need my mind sharp tomorrow, not fuzzy from bubbly.


    Instead, I grab my camera from my bag and head to the window.


    New York at dusk is magic.


    The skyline glows gold and amber, streaks of pink bleeding into the river, and for a second, I forget about Marcus Winters and my fluttering nerves. I lift the camera and snap a few shots. The click of the shutter soothes something in me. This, at least, I know how to do.


    ~-~


    The Next Day, my rm went off at six sharp.


    I don¡¯t need it.


    I¡¯ve been awake since five, lying on my back in the massive hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining every possible way this morning could go wrong. Coffee first, then wardrobe. I dress in ck high-waisted trousers and a fitted cream blouse. It¡¯s professional, but still, I pull my hair into a low ponytail.


    The Luxe studio is a converted warehouse tucked between a vegan donut shop and a gallery that smells aggressively of incense and ambition. Inside, it¡¯s everything you¡¯d expect: exposed brick, towering windows, racks of designer clothing, and beautiful people moving with purpose.


    I¡¯m led through the space by a harried assistant with a tablet. "This way, Hailey. Marcus just wrapped with theyout team."


    Marcus.


    Just hearing his name again turns my hands mmy.


    We stop at a ss-walled office perched like amand center above the main floor. The assistant taps once, then nudges the door open.


    "Mr. Winters? Hailey Jameson is here."


    I step inside.


    Marcus Winters is standing with his back to me, staring at a giant mood board full of test shots and fabric swatches. He¡¯s taller than I expected, impably dressed in a navy suit with no tie. His silver hair is swept back, his posture rxed butmanding. Without turning, he speaks.


    "You¡¯rete."


    My stomach plummets. "I¡ªI don¡¯t think I am," I stammer, ncing at the wall clock. "It¡¯s just after nine."


    He finally turns.


    Oh.


    His eyes are sharp, gray and unflinching and when theynd on me, it¡¯s like he¡¯s reading every fear I haven¡¯t said out loud. He looks at my boots, my blouse, and the portfolio clutched too tightly in my hands.


    "No, you¡¯re notte," he says slowly. "But I was early. And I hate waiting."


    He doesn¡¯t smile. Not even a twitch.


    I try to speak, to introduce myself, but my throat tightens and all thates out is, "Right. Of course."


    There¡¯s a long pause.


    Then he gestures to a chair. "Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got."


    I scramble to open the portfolio, careful not to fumble the pages as Iy out the concept shots and lighting notes. I exin the theme and how it¡¯s about strength and softness, the intersection of armor and elegance.


    He says nothing.


    Not a word.


    Just stares at the images with that unreadable expression, asionally tilting his head or brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. The silence stretches so long that I start wondering if he¡¯s fallen asleep with his eyes open.


    Finally, he speaks.


    "This is... bold."


    Bold. Good? Bad? I can¡¯t tell.


    He looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. "You know this shoot could be a cover story. That there¡¯s pressure."


    I nod.


    "And you still pitched this?"


    I nod again, firmer this time. "Yes. I believe in it."


    A slow breath. Then, miraculously, a flicker of something that might be approval.


    "Good," he says, turning back to the mood board. "Let¡¯s see if you can execute it."


    And just like that, I¡¯m dismissed.


    I walk out of the office, my heart pounding in my throat and my legs shaky but moving. Downstairs, the assistant gives me a curious look.


    "How¡¯d it go?"


    I exhale for the first time in ten minutes.


    "I think," I say, "I survived."


    Sheughs. "Mr. Winters is a tough man, but don¡¯t worry, you look like someone who can handle him."


    I brighten. "You think so?"


    The assistant grins, tapping her tablet. "I know so. You didn¡¯t cry, you didn¡¯t stammer yourself into a ck hole, and he didn¡¯t throw your portfolio out the window. That¡¯s basically a standing ovation."


    Iugh and the knot in my chest loosens just a little. "Thanks," I say, slinging my portfolio back over my shoulder. "I needed that."


    She nods knowingly. "Everyone does after their first Marcus encounter."


    I raise an eyebrow. "That¡¯s..forting."


    "Don¡¯t worry," she says. "I am Tammy, by the way. Is this your first time in the Big Apple?"


    "Yeah," I admit, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder. "First time actually staying longer than ayover."


    Tammy smiles like she¡¯s heard this before. "Then you¡¯re in for a ride. New York doesn¡¯t believe in softndings."


    "Trust me, I noticed." I think back to the subway stench, the near-death experience at a crosswalk, and of course, Marcus Winters.


    She tucks her tablet under her arm. "Well, if you need a crash course in surviving the city and Marcus, I¡¯ve got tips. Step one: always have backup snacks. Step two: never show fear. He can smell fear."


    "I¡¯ll write that down," I say with a mock salute.


    Tammy grins. "Smart girl. Also, there¡¯s a bodega two blocks from here that sells the best overpriced coffee. Want me to show you?"


    I hesitate. I should probably go back to the hotel and obsess over the shoot, tweak lighting ns, second-guess every creative choice I¡¯ve ever made...


    But maybe I don¡¯t need to spiral just yet.


    "Sure," I say. "Lead the way."


    And just like that, I follow Tammy out into the city.

 Chapter 111: New Model

    <h4>Chapter 111: New Model</h4>


    Josh


    I am sitting on my hotel bed, myptop open. I quickly click the Zoom link to connect to Reba.


    Reba¡¯s face appears within seconds.


    "Well, well. If it isn¡¯t the knight in leather armor." She grins.


    I smile sheepishly. "Don¡¯t start," I warn her. Reba¡¯s been my friend since college, and she never misses a chance to give me shit. "Did you find out anything from Sarah yet? About where Hailey might be working?"


    "I did," Reba says, her face filling the screen. "And Sarah is suspicious as hell. Kept asking why I wanted to know about Hailey¡¯s whereabouts. I had to make up some story about sending her a congrattory gift basket."


    I run a hand through my hair. "And?"


    "And..." Reba drags out the word, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. "Luxe Magazine¡¯s studio. Some converted warehouse on Kent Avenue. Sarah doesn¡¯t know where she is staying yet."


    My heart rate picks up. "You¡¯re a lifesaver, Bec."


    "I know." She leans closer to the camera, her expression turning serious. "Now tell me what your n is, Josh? Show up at her work? Conveniently bump into her on the subway?"


    I pause, my mouth half-open, because honestly? I hadn¡¯t gotten that far.


    "I don¡¯t know," I admit.


    Reba sighs, folding her arms. "You do realize you are borderline stalking, right?"


    I wince. "I¡¯m not trying to ambush her. I just."


    "I am just yanking your chains, Joshy. I think it¡¯s romantic," Reba sighs. "I wish someone would chase me."


    Iugh, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. "You¡¯d deck anyone who tried, Bec."


    "Fair," she says with a smirk. "But still. It¡¯s sweet. Messy, questionable timing? Absolutely. But sweet."


    I snort. "Thanks, Bec."


    "Anytime, leather armor." She logs off with a wink, and I¡¯m left staring at my phone.


    Tomorrow, I need to figure out a way to run into her without scaring her.


    I spend the rest of the day walking around New York, trying to convince myself I¡¯m not aplete lunatic for flying across the country on impulse. The streets are packed with people who all seem to know exactly where they¡¯re going, while I wander aimlessly, searching for inspiration.


    As evening falls, I find myself in a small bar in Williamsburg, nursing a gin and tonic and scrolling through my phone. I pull up Kent Avenue on Google Maps, studying the location Reba gave me. Tomorrow morning, I¡¯ll head over there and... what? Wait outside like some lovesick teenager?


    That won¡¯t do.


    The bartender slides another drink my way. "You look like you¡¯re plotting somethingplicated," she says.


    Iugh, surprised by her observation. "That obvious, huh?"


    "You¡¯ve been staring at that phone for twenty minutes with the face of a man either nning a heist or trying to work up the courage to text someone."


    "Option two," I admit. "Sort of."


    She nods sagely. "Girl trouble?"


    "Is there any other kind?" I take a sip of my drink. "I flew here on a whim to see someone I barely know."


    The bartender whistles. "Bold move. She worth it?"


    I think about Hailey¡¯s determined sprint down the highway, the way she clutched that portfolio like it contained all her dreams. "Yeah," I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. "I think she might be."


    "Then don¡¯t overthink it." She wipes down the counter. "Just be honest. New York has enough game yers."


    I consider her advice as I finish my drink. Honesty. It sounds simple when she says it.


    ~-~


    Morninges too quickly. I shower, dress in my least wrinkled shirt, and head out. I stop for coffee, then make my way toward Kent Avenue.


    The warehouse is easy to spot¡ªall industrial chic with massive windows. I position myself across the street at a coffee shop with outdoor seating, feeling ridiculous. This is stalking, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯m literally stalking her.


    I¡¯m about to give up and leave when the doors open and a group of people exit the building. I enter the building quickly.


    I stride into the lobby, trying to project confidence I don¡¯t feel. The converted warehouse has that typical Brooklyn industrial-chic vibe¡ªexposed brick, polished concrete, and oversized light fixtures that probably cost more than my monthly rent.


    A sleek reception desk sits front and center, manned by a woman with a geometric haircut and chunky designer sses.


    She looks up as I approach, her expression professionally neutral. "Can I help you?"


    "Hi," I say, attempting a casual smile. "I¡¯m looking for Hailey Jameson? She works here as a photographer."


    The receptionist¡¯s perfectly sculpted eyebrows draw together slightly. "Hailey Jameson?" She taps at her keyboard, eyes scanning the screen. "I don¡¯t see anyone by that name in our system."


    My stomach sinks. "She just flew in from Pornd for a big spread in the September issue?" I feel like I¡¯m babbling now, the confidence draining from my voice with each word.


    "Sir, I¡¯m not familiar with anyone named Hailey working here." Her tone shifts from neutral to slightly suspicious. "Are you sure you have the right address?"


    "Kent Avenue, right? The Luxe Magazine studio?" I pull out my phone, double-checking Reba¡¯s information.


    "Yes, it is."


    "You there! FINALLY!" someone yells behind me.


    I turn to see a woman rushing toward me, clipboard in hand, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished concrete. She¡¯s dressed all in ck, with a Bluetooth earpiece and the harried look of someone runningte for something important.


    "Where have you been?" she demands, looking me up and down with critical efficiency. "You were supposed to be in makeup twenty minutes ago!"


    "I think there¡¯s been a misunderstanding¡ª" I start, but she cuts me off with an impatient wave.


    "No time. Marcus is already on the warpath. The other models are prepped and we need to start the first set." She grabs my arm, tugging me away from the reception desk. "I¡¯m Tammy, by the way. Wardrobe¡¯s this way."


    The receptionist gives me a puzzled look but says nothing as I¡¯m whisked away. I open my mouth to exin, but Tammy is already speaking into her headset.


    "Found him. Bringing him up now," she says, steering me toward an industrial elevator. "Honestly, the agency said you were reliable."


    My mind races. This woman thinks I¡¯m a model. For Luxe Magazine. Where Hailey is shooting.


    This could actually work.


    "Sorry about that," I say, deepening my voice slightly. "Traffic was a nightmare."


    Tammy gives me a side-eye as the elevator doors close. "Whatever. Good thing you showed up when you did."


    I nce down at my dark jeans and fitted button-up. It wasn¡¯t exactly model attire.


    The elevator opens directly into a massive studio space. Bright lights illuminate a set designed to look like an urban rooftop. Assistants scurry around adjusting equipment, while several impossibly attractive people in sleek clothing lounge on metal chairs.


    And there, in the center of it all, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, stands Hailey. She¡¯s bent over a tripod, adjusting her camera,pletely in her element.


    My heart does a ridiculous little flip.


    Tammy pushes me toward a corner where a woman with a makeup kit waits. "Quick touch-up, then straight to wardrobe. We¡¯re behind schedule."


    "But I¡ª"


    "No buts. Marcus is watching."


    I follow her gaze to a stern-faced man observing everything from a ss-walled office above. His piercing stare makes me straighten my posture instinctively.


    The makeup artist descends on me before I can protest further, dabbing powder on my face and styling my hair with expert efficiency. "Good bone structure," she mutters. "Turn left."


    Iply, my eyes never leaving Hailey. She hasn¡¯t noticed me yet, too focused on her work, directing an assistant to adjust a light.


    "Okay, you¡¯re good," the makeup artist announces, stepping back to admire her handiwork.


    Tammy rushes over, clipboard clutched to her chest, eyes wide with urgency. "What are you doing? You need to be on set in two minutes!" She nces at my button-up shirt and makes a noise of exasperation. "Take that off. Now. The concept is ¡¯urban warrior meets high fashion¡¯ ¨C you¡¯re supposed to be shirtless"


    "Shirtless?" I repeat, panic rising in my throat. This charade has gone too far, but I¡¯m in too deep to back out now.


    "Yes, shirtless! Did you even read the brief?" Tammy shakes her head and starts unbuttoning my shirt herself, her fingers moving with professional efficiency. "Marcus will have an aneurysm if we dy any longer."


    I nce over at Hailey, who still hasn¡¯t noticed me as she adjusts her camera settings. Part of me wants to confess everything, but another part¡ªthe reckless part that flew across the country on a whim is curious to see how this ys out.


    "Fine," I mutter, taking over from Tammy and finishing the job myself. I pull off my shirt, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Thank god I¡¯ve been keeping up with my workouts.


    Tammy¡¯s eyes widen slightly. "Well, at least you came prepared physically."


    "Perfect," Tammy says, stepping back to assess. "Now get over there. Hailey¡¯s waiting."


    My heart pounds as I walk toward the set, feeling like an imposter about to be exposed. Hailey¡¯s back is still to me as she speaks to one of the other models.


    "I want to capture that tension between vulnerability and strength," she¡¯s saying, gesturing with her hands. "Like you¡¯re powerful, but there¡¯s something raw underneath."


    "Like this?" a tall blonde man asks, striking a pose.


    "Close, but¡ª" Hailey turns and freezes mid-sentence as her eyesnd on me. Her mouth falls open, camera forgotten in her hands. "Josh?"


    The studio falls quiet. Everyone turns to look at us.


    "Hi, Hailey," I say, trying to sound casual despite standing half-naked in the middle of a high-fashion photoshoot.


    "What are you¡ªhow did you¡ª" She blinks rapidly, as if trying to make sure I¡¯m real. "You¡¯re in New York?"


    Before I can answer, Marcus¡¯s voice cuts through the silence. "Is there a problem, Ms. Jameson?"


    Hailey¡¯s eyes dart to the ss office, then back to me, panic written across her features. "No! No problem.

 Chapter 112: Hired

    <h4>Chapter 112: Hired</h4>


    Hailey


    I¡¯m frozen in ce, my camera hanging limp in my hands as Josh stands before me, shirtless and somehow part of my photoshoot. My career-defining, absolutely cannot go wrong photoshoot.


    "You know our model?" Marcus calls down from his ss perch, his voice carrying that dangerous edge I¡¯ve already learned to fear.


    "I¡ª" My voice catches. Every eye in the studio is on me. "We¡¯re acquaintances," I manage, shooting Josh a look that I hopemunicates both ¡¯what are you doing here?¡¯ and ¡¯please don¡¯t ruin this for me¡¯ simultaneously.


    Josh smiles that infuriating, charming smile. "We¡¯re old friends."


    Old friends? We¡¯ve met exactly three times.


    Marcus descends the stairs with deliberate slowness, each step echoing through the now-silent studio. He approaches, eyes moving between Josh and me like he¡¯s solving a particrly fascinating puzzle.


    "Interesting," he says finally. "And does this... friendship... affect your ability to direct him professionally, Ms. Jameson?"


    There¡¯s a challenge in his voice that makes my spine straighten. "Not at all," I say, finding my voice. "In fact, it might help. I know his angles."


    I don¡¯t know his angles. I barely know him. But something in me refuses to show weakness in front of Marcus.


    Marcus studies me for a long moment, then nods once. "Then, let¡¯s not waste any more time."


    I exhale slowly as he leaves me alone again.


    "What are you doing here?" I hiss at Josh when I¡¯m sure Marcus is out of earshot.


    Josh looks embarrassed. "Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?"


    "In New York? When you live in Pornd?" I adjust my camera strap, trying to appear professional while having what feels like an out-of-body experience.


    "I followed you," he admits quietly.


    "You what?"


    "After the airport. I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about you, so I got on the next flight."


    My heart does a stupid little flip that I immediately try to squash. This is not the time for romantic gestures. This is my career.


    "And you decided to crash my photoshoot by pretending to be a model?" I whisper.


    "That part wasn¡¯t nned," he says with a small grin. "And how do you know I am not a professional model? Thedy in ck said I¡¯ve got the right cheekbones for it."


    Iugh despite myself, a short burst I quickly disguise as a cough when I notice Tammy watching us.


    "Look," I say, keeping my voice low. "I can¡¯t deal with this right now. This shoot is everything to me."


    Josh¡¯s expression sobers immediately. "I know. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll go¡ª"


    "You can¡¯t leave now," I hiss, ncing at Marcus, who¡¯s observing us with narrowed eyes. "They think you¡¯re the model they hired. If you walk out, it reflects badly on me."


    Josh runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair¡ªcourtesy of the makeup team. "So what do you want me to do?"


    I take a deep breath. "Just... follow my directions. Try to look..." I wave my hand vaguely at his admittedly impressive torso, "...moody and fashion-y."


    "Moody and fashion-y," he repeats, his lips quirking. "I can do that."


    "Ms. Jameson?" Marcus calls. "We¡¯re waiting."


    "Right!" I straighten, in professional mode, engaging like a shield. "ces, everyone!"


    I position the other models, the actual professionals, then turn to Josh.


    "Stand by the concrete pir," I direct, slipping into the voice I use when I¡¯m behind the camera. "Lean against it, one shoulder touching. Look toward the window like you¡¯re waiting for someone who might nevere."


    Josh follows my instructions with surprising ease, his bodynguage transforming as he settles into the pose. The sharp afternoon light cuts across his face, highlighting those cheekbones Tammy mentioned.


    I raise my camera and look through the viewfinder.


    Oh.


    He actually looks... good. Really good. The kind of good that makes my finger hesitate on the shutter release.


    "That¡¯s it," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Now look down, like you¡¯re lost in thought."


    Click. Click. Click.


    I move around him, capturing different angles, finding my rhythm despite the surreal circumstances. As I shoot, I can¡¯t help but notice the way his muscles ripple under the lighting.


    Josh follows each instruction perfectly, his gaze intense when I ask for intensity, vulnerable when I need vulnerability. My eyes linger on his chiseled jawline and the way his shirt clings to his toned torso, a warm flush creeping over my cheeks.


    "Now interact with Alessandra," I direct, nodding toward the female model, trying to maintain my professionalism. "Like you¡¯re drawn to her but holding back." Josh approaches her with confidence despite his amateur status, and I feel a flutter in my stomach as I watch him move with such ease and charisma.


    Click. Click. Click.


    "Beautiful," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. Good god...I hope Josh doesn¡¯t notice me ogling at his body.


    The shoot flows better than I could have imagined.


    When we break two hourster, I¡¯m buzzing with creative energy. The images on my preview screen look incredible. Different from what I¡¯d nned, but somehow better.


    Marcus appears at my shoulder, his hawkish gaze fixed on my camera¡¯s disy. I tense, bracing for criticism, but he simply nods¡ªa barely perceptible movement that somehow feels monumental.


    "The chemistry works," he says cryptically before striding away.


    I exhale slowly, turning to find Josh watching me, a towel draped around his shoulders, water bottle in hand. He approaches cautiously, like he¡¯s afraid I might still be angry.


    "So... how¡¯d I do?" he asks, his voice low.


    I should be furious. This man followed me across the country, infiltrated my career-making photoshoot, and could have ruined everything. Instead, I feel something dangerously close to gratitude.


    And attraction.


    "You were..." I search for a professional-sounding word and fail. "Good. Really good, actually."


    He grins, and I notice a dimple I hadn¡¯t seen before. "Natural talent, I guess."


    "Don¡¯t push it," I warn, but I¡¯m fighting a smile. "We need to talk about this whole stalking situation."


    "Technically, I prefer ¡¯spontaneous cross-country pursuit,¡¯" he corrects, taking a sip of water. "Stalking sounds so... felonious."


    Augh escapes before I can stop it. "Josh, seriously. What were you thinking?"


    His yfulness fades, reced by something more earnest. "Honestly? I wasn¡¯t. For once in my life, I just... acted. Saw something I wanted and went for it."


    "Something you wanted," I repeat, my pulse quickening.


    "Someone," he amends quietly.


    I¡¯m saved from responding by Tammy¡¯s approach, clipboard clutched to her chest.


    "Marcus wants to see you," she tells me, her expression unreadable. "Both of you."


    My stomach drops. This is it...we have been caught. Josh¡¯s hand brushes mine briefly as we follow Tammy toward the ss office, and I feel a jolt of electricity.


    Get it together, Hailey!


    Marcus is standing at the window when we enter, his back to us, hands sped behind him. He turns slowly, his steel-gray eyesnding first on Josh, then on me.


    "Sit," hemands.


    We obey, sitting on the edge of two minimalist chairs facing his desk. I resist the urge to fidget with my camera strap.


    "I¡¯ve been in this business for thirty years," Marcus begins, his voice measured. "I¡¯ve seen every trick, every shortcut, every desperate attempt to stand out." He pauses, studying us. "But I¡¯ve never seen someone smuggle their boyfriend into a major shoot by passing him off as a professional model."


    I open my mouth to protest, but Marcus raises a hand and silences me.


    "The thing is," he continues, "it worked. The photos are..pelling."


    I feel heat rush to my face. "He¡¯s not my boyfriend," I stammer, though the words sound unconvincing even to my own ears.


    "Irrelevant," Marcus says with a dismissive wave. "What matters is the result." He taps his finger on a tablet, spinning it around to show us the images from today¡¯s shoot. "These have an authenticity that¡¯s rare." He looks at Josh. "You are hired."


    "Eh...what?" Josh murmurs.


    "Yes, hired," Marcus repeats, his expression impossible to read. "You have a natural presence in front of the camera. Raw, untrained, but effective." His eyes flick to me. "And you, Ms. Jameson, clearly know how to direct him."


    I blink rapidly, trying to process what¡¯s happening. "You are not... angry?"


    Marcus leans back in his chair, the ghost of a smile ying at the corners of his mouth. "I don¡¯t care about protocol, Ms. Jameson. I care about results. These photos..." He gestures to the tablet. "They tell a story. That¡¯s what sells magazines."


    Josh shifts beside me. "So you want me to keep pretending I¡¯m a professional model?"


    "No pretending necessary. You¡¯re on the payroll now." Marcus stands abruptly. "Both of you, be here tomorrow at seven. We¡¯re moving the night shoot forward."


    With that, he strides past us and out the door, leaving Josh and me staring at each other in stunned silence.


    "Did that just happen?" I whisper once the door closes behind him.


    Josh runs a hand through his hair, messing up the stylist¡¯s careful work. "I think I just got hired to be a model for Luxe Magazine."


    A bubble of hysteria rises in my throat, and before I can stop it, I¡¯mughing, a deep, uncontrobleugh that has me clutching the edge of the chair for support.


    "Um...Hailey. Are you okay?" Josh sounds worried.


    "This is insane," I manage between gasps. "You followed me across the country, crashed my shoot, and now you are part of it?"


    "When you put it that way, it sounds crazy," Josh admits.


    "It is crazy!" I exim. "I should be furious with you," I say softly.


    Josh¡¯s smile fades. "Are you?"


    I consider the question, searching my feelings. "I don¡¯t know what I am right now."

 Chapter 113: Living Situation

    <h4>Chapter 113: Living Situation</h4>


    Josh


    "Well..." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "Since it¡¯s happening, we might as well have fun together."


    Hailey¡¯s eyes turn wide in disbelief. "Wait...are you seriously considering staying here and taking the modeling job?"


    I run a hand through my hair, weighing my options. "I mean, why not? I can work my other job remotely. I have vacation time saved up, and the whole modeling thing sounds fun.


    Hailey does not look amused.


    "Josh, this is my career we¡¯re talking about. My big break. Not some romanticedy where we fall into each other¡¯s arms after a series of wacky misunderstandings," she says, shaking her head.


    "I know that," I say, more seriously. "And I wouldn¡¯t do anything to jeopardize this opportunity for you. If you want me gone, I¡¯m gone. One word from you, and I¡¯ll tell Marcus I had a family emergency."


    She studies my face, searching for something. The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility.


    Hailey sighs, leaning back in her chair. "The thing is... the photos are good. Really good. And Marcus liked them, which is apparently rarer than a unicorn sighting."


    I can¡¯t help but smile. "So what are you saying?"


    "I¡¯m saying..." She pauses, shaking her head like she can¡¯t believe what she¡¯s about to say. "Stay. Model. But this is professional, okay? No more... whatever this is." She waves vaguely between us.


    "Whatever this is," I repeat, fighting a grin. "Got it. Professional. I can do professional."


    Hailey narrows her eyes. "I mean it, Josh. My reputation is on the line."


    "I¡¯ll be the most professional model you¡¯ve ever worked with," I promise, holding up three fingers in a mock scout¡¯s honor. "Scout¡¯s honor."


    "Were you even a scout?" she asks skeptically.


    "Absolutely not. Got kicked out for putting a frog in the troop leader¡¯s sleeping bag." I smile at the memory. "But the sentiment stands."


    A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "You¡¯re impossible."


    "I prefer ¡¯spontaneous,¡¯" I correct her. "So, Ms. Photographer, what now?"


    Hailey nces at her watch and stands. "Now I have to review today¡¯s shots and prep for tomorrow¡¯s shoot. And you..." She points at me, "where are you staying?"


    I stand too, suddenly aware I¡¯m still shirtless. "Right. I need a ce. I could stay at the hotel but that will get expensive real quick. I also owe an exnation to my boss about why I¡¯m suddenly moonlighting as a model."


    "Your boss," Hailey repeats, eyes widening. "Your job! Josh, did you just abandon your actual career to follow me here?"


    I shrug. "I told you, I can work remotely. As long as I have myptop, everything¡¯s fine."


    Hailey shakes her head as if she thinks I am insane.


    I guess I am a little.


    "So, where will you be staying? Airbnb?" she asks.


    Before I can answer, the door swings open and the woman from earlier walks in. Tammy, I think. She looks between us with raised eyebrows.


    "Sorry to interrupt this... whatever this is," she says, gesturing between us, "but I couldn¡¯t help but overhear. You need a ce to stay?"


    I nod. "Yeah, just trying to figure out my options."


    Tammy taps her pen against the clipboard, her expression brightening. "I have a solution. Thepany has a house in the Vige that they keep for visiting talent. Hailey is due to move thereter tonight. There¡¯s a second bedroom that¡¯s just sitting empty."


    Hailey¡¯s eyes widen. "Wait, what? He can¡¯t just..."


    "I think it¡¯s the perfect solution," Tammy interrupts her.


    I nce at Hailey, trying to gauge her reaction. Her face is a fascinating mix of surprise and horror.


    "So... you¡¯re suggesting we live together?" she asks, her voice slightly higher than normal.


    Tammy shrugs. "It¡¯s practical. You¡¯re both working on the same project, you both need housing, and frankly, the budget folks will be thrilled to save on a hotel." She looks at me. "Unless you¡¯d prefer to find your own amodations?"


    "I¡ª" I start, but Hailey cuts me off.


    "But wouldn¡¯t it bepletely unprofessional?" she says, though her objection sounds weak even to my ears.


    Tammy smiles knowingly. "Professional is whatever works, sweetie. Marcus wants those shots, and you two clearly have some kind of chemistry that¡¯s tranting on camera." She checks her watch. "I need an answer. There¡¯s a car waiting downstairs to take you to the brownstone."


    Hailey and I exchange a long look. I¡¯m careful to keep my expression neutral¡ªthis has to be her call.


    "Fine," she finally says with a resigned sigh. "But separate bedrooms, and this is a work arrangement only."


    "Absolutely," I agree quickly. "Strictly professional."


    Tammy¡¯s smile widens. "Perfect. The car leaves in fifteen. Josh, wardrobe needs their pants back, so..." She gestures to my still-bare chest.


    As she exits, Hailey groans and drops her head into her hands. "This can¡¯t be happening."


    "Look on the bright side," I offer, reaching for my shirt. "At least you¡¯ll have someone to help you run lines."


    "Photographers don¡¯t have lines," she mutters, but I catch the hint of a smile she¡¯s trying to hide.


    "Details, details." I button my shirt, watching her collect her camera equipment. "For what it¡¯s worth, I promise to be a perfect gentleman. I¡¯ll even lock myself in the bedroom so you won¡¯t have to see my stupid face unnecessarily."


    Hailey gives me a look that¡¯s half-exasperation, half-amusement. "Your face isn¡¯t stupid."


    "Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, feeling a flutter of something warm in my chest. "High praise from the professional photographer."


    She rolls her eyes, but there¡¯s a hint of color in her cheeks as she turns away. "Don¡¯t let it go to your head. You¡¯ve already got an ego the size of Manhattan."


    "Wounded," I clutch my chest dramatically. "And here I thought we were having a moment."


    Hailey busies herself with her camera bag, but I can see the smile she¡¯s fighting. "The only moment we¡¯re having is a professional one. Remember?"


    "Right. Professional." I nod seriously, then reach over to help her with an equipment case that¡¯s slipping from her grasp. Our fingers brush, and for a split second, neither of us moves away.


    The door swings open again, breaking whatever spell had momentarily fallen over us. Tammy stands there, tapping her watch impatiently.


    "Car. Downstairs. Now," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You can continue whatever this is¡ª" she waves her hand between us, "¡ªat the brownstone."


    "There¡¯s nothing to continue," Hailey mutters, shouldering her bag and heading for the door. I follow, trying not to smile at how flustered she sounds.

 Chapter 114: Thai Food

    <h4>Chapter 114: Thai Food</h4>


    Hailey


    The brownstone is gorgeous. It has high ceilings and gleaming hardwood floors, with the kind of kitchen that appears in home design magazines.


    "This is where they put up talent?" Josh asks, running his hand along the marble countertop. "Maybe I should have been a model all along."


    I snort, setting my camera bag down with much more care than Josh showed his luggage. "Don¡¯t get used to it. This is temporary."


    "Like all good things," Josh says. "So, which bedroom do you want?"


    I hesitate, then point to a door down the hall. "That one has better light for morning shots. I¡¯d like to use it to review my work."


    "Done," Josh says, grabbing his bag and heading toward the other bedroom. "I¡¯ll take the dark cave, then."


    "It¡¯s not a cave," I call after him. "It just doesn¡¯t face east."


    I watch him disappear into the second bedroom, and for a moment, I stand frozen in the entryway, trying to process the surreal turn my life has taken in just twenty-four hours.


    Yesterday, I was flying to New York for my dream job. Today, I¡¯m sharing a luxury brownstone with a man who followed me across the country on a whim¡ªa man who¡¯s now somehow part of my shoot.


    With a deep breath, I wheel my suitcase toward the east-facing bedroom. The space is minimalist but elegant. A queen bed stood with crisp white linens, a desk by the window, and a small sitting area. I set my camera bag on the desk, then sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted.


    My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah: "How¡¯s it going? Crushing it, I bet!"


    I stare at the message, wondering how I could possibly exin what¡¯s happening. Hey, your childhood friend followed me to New York, crashed my photoshoot, got hired as a model, and now we¡¯re roommates. No big deal.


    Instead, I type: "It¡¯s going great! The creative director likes my work."


    There is no way I can have my brother find out about this.


    I set the phone down and began unpacking my equipment. The familiar ritual of checking lenses and arranging my workspace helps calm my racing thoughts. I need to focus on the job, not on Josh and his infuriating dimples.


    A knock at my door startles me.


    "Hey," Josh says, leaning against the doorframe. "I was thinking about ordering food. Any preferences?"


    "Whatever you want," I say, turning back to my camera. "I¡¯m not picky."


    "Everyone¡¯s picky about something," he counters, stepping into the room. "Come on, what¡¯s yourfort food after a long day?"


    I sigh, setting down my lens cloth. "Thai. Green curry, extra spicy."


    Josh grins. "See? Was that so hard? I¡¯ll find us the best Thai ce that delivers."


    As he turns to leave, I call after him, "This doesn¡¯t mean we are going to date, you know."


    He pauses, looking back with that crooked smile. "Of course not. This is strictly professional roommates ordering professional dinner after a professional day of work."


    Despite myself, Iugh. "You are ridiculous."


    "So I¡¯ve been told," he says, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment too long before he disappears down the hall.


    I return to my camera, but my focus is shot. The images from today¡¯s shoot fill the screen as I scroll through them.


    Josh leaning against the concrete pir, his expression intense, vulnerable, maic. The camera loves him, which is infuriating given that he¡¯s never modeled before today.


    I click to the next photo.


    Josh again. This time caught midugh between shots, sunlight streaking in behind him through the warehouse windows. His grin is crooked, easy. Natural.


    Too natural.


    I zoom in slightly, studying the way his eyes crinkle, the way the light hits the edge of his jaw. He doesn¡¯t just take a good picture, he inhabits it. Like he was always meant to be there. And worse, the chemistry between us practically hums off the screen.


    I groan, flopping back onto the bed. This is a problem. A very pretty, infuriating, unpredictable problem.


    Because Josh is not part of the n. The n was toe to New York, impress Marcus Winters, maybe cry alone in the bathroom once or twice, and leave with a full portfolio and zero emotionalplications.


    But then Josh had to go and show up. Uninvited. Charming. Supportive. Wearing that leather jacket and making that stupid, knowing smile.


    My phone buzzes again. I half-expect it to be Sarah again, or worse, Matthew. But it¡¯s neither.


    Josh: "FYI, the best Thai ce is also the spiciest. You¡¯ve been warned."


    Josh: "ETA 30 mins. I got extra rice so you don¡¯t die."


    I smile despite myself. I shouldn¡¯t be smiling.


    I nce back at the photos again. One in particr stops me: Josh, leaning forward slightly, eyes locked with the lens like he knows I¡¯m there. Like the picture isn¡¯t just for the camera¡ªit¡¯s for me.


    I m theptop shut.


    Nope. Not thinking about that right now. Tonight is green curry, photo backups, and maybe a hot shower.


    Yes, shower will do me good.


    By the time I stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped tight and hair damp against my back, I already feel a little more like myself. Clearer. Steadier. Focused.


    Or I was, until I open the bathroom door and find Josh standing in the hallway with two brown takeout bags in hand.


    He blinks. "Oh...sorry! I should¡¯ve waited till you said okay toe in."


    His eyes drop for just a second before darting back to my face, but it¡¯s enough. My cheeks re red.


    "It¡¯s fine," I mutter, tightening the towel knot and moving quickly past him toward my room.


    "You want to eat in the kitchen or your room?" he calls after me, doing a valiant job of sounding normal.


    "Kitchen," I say over my shoulder, not breaking stride. "Give me five."


    Ie back to the kitchen, changed into leggings and a loose sweatshirt. Josh is already unpacking the food containers,ying everything out on the table.


    "I didn¡¯t skimp," he says, gesturing proudly. "Curry, spring rolls, mango sticky rice. The works."


    "You trying to butter me up?" I ask, sliding into a seat.


    He grins. "Is it working?"


    Unfortunately, yes.


    We eat mostly in silence at first, the only sounds the asional clink of forks and satisfied hums of approval. Eventually, Josh breaks the quiet.


    "So... I looked over the schedule for tomorrow. You¡¯ve got your morning block with Marcus, then a set change in the afternoon?"


    I nod, chewing. "Yeah. New backdrop, lighting tweak, then a smaller, moodier setup for the solo shots."


    He hesitates. "Am I in those?"


    I nce up.


    "Actually, yes," I admit, setting down my fork. "Marcus specifically requested you for the ¡¯urban warrior¡¯ series. Apparently, your brooding stare sells magazines."


    Josh¡¯s face lights up with that boyish pride that makes my stomach do a little flip. "My brooding stare, huh?"


    "Don¡¯t let it go to your head," I warn, but it¡¯s toote. He¡¯s already sitting straighter, practicing what I assume is his idea of a smoldering look. It¡¯s ridiculous and yet somehow still works, which only irritates me more.


    "How¡¯s this?" he asks, narrowing his eyes dramatically.


    I snort, nearly choking on my curry. "That¡¯s your ¡¯I¡¯m constipated¡¯ face, not your brooding face."


    "Oh, so you¡¯ve been studying my faces?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.


    "As your photographer, it¡¯s my job," I counter, trying to sound professional despite the heat creeping up my neck.


    Josh leans forward, his expression suddenly serious. "Can I ask you something?"


    "Depends on what it is," I say cautiously.


    "Why photography? What made you choose it?"


    The question catches me off guard. Most people ask about equipment or techniques, not the why.


    "I..." I hesitate, setting down my fork. "When I was sixteen, my grandfather died. He left me his old Nikon. It was ancient,pletely manual, and I had no idea how to use it."


    Josh listens intently, his food forgotten.


    "That summer was hard. My parents were fighting, and Matthew was away at college. I would take these long walks with the camera, just to get out of the house." I smile at the memory. "One day, I took a picture of this old man feeding pigeons. When I developed it, there was this... moment captured. His smile, the way the light hit his face. It was like I¡¯d preserved something that would have otherwise disappeared forever."


    "That¡¯s beautiful," Josh says softly.


    I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "Anyway, I was hooked after that. I saved every penny for better equipment, took sses at themunity college. It just... became everything."


    "And now you¡¯re shooting for Luxe," Josh says with genuine admiration. "That¡¯s incredible, Hailey."


    "Well, I haven¡¯t technically done it yet," I remind him. "Tomorrow¡¯s the real test."


    "You¡¯ll nail it," he says with such conviction that I almost believe him.

 Chapter 115: You are Weird

    <h4>Chapter 115: You are Weird</h4>


    Josh


    I watch her face as she talks about photography, noticing how her eyes light up, how her hands move with excitement. It¡¯s like watching someone talk about their first love. The passion is so raw and real it makes my chest ache with a strange kind of envy. I¡¯ve never felt that way about anything.


    "What about you?" she asks suddenly, popping a spring roll into her mouth. "What¡¯s your story?"


    "Me?" I chuckle, recliningfortably in my chair as the soft creak of the wood echoes lightly. "Nothing too wild. Architecture caught my eye, so I decided to pursue it."


    "But you must love it, right?" she insists, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.


    I ponder her question, feeling the cool condensation from my water ss seeping into my palms as I roll it back and forth. "Yes," I reply, the word hanging in the air.


    Hailey examines me closely, her head tilted slightly to one side, like a curious bird. Her gaze is steady, searching. "Why did you reallye here, Josh? The truth," she asks, her voice a blend of curiosity and expectation.


    The question hangs between us, heavy with potential. I could brush it off, make another joke, keep things light. But something about the way she¡¯s looking at me.


    "I¡¯ve spent my whole life ying it safe," I admit. "Even when I seem spontaneous, it¡¯s calcted. I never take real risks, especially not with people." I meet her eyes. "But then I saw you running down that highway, so determined to chase your dream, and something just... clicked. I wanted to be part of that energy, that courage."


    "So I¡¯m just... an energy?" she asks, almost looking sad.


    "No," I say quietly. "You made me feel alive. Curious."


    Hailey remains silent at first, her gaze fixed intently on me, her lips slightly parted as though she¡¯s been interrupted mid-breath. Her eyes hold a mixture of curiosity and contemtion.


    Eventually, she shifts her focus down to her te, gently nudging a solitary grain of rice with the tip of her fork, almost as if it holds the answers she seeks.


    "You know," she murmurs softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "you are quite weird."


    I tilt my head yfully, a teasing glint in my eyes. "The good kind of weird or the restraining order kind of weird?" I inquire, a coy smile ying on my lips.


    Hailey¡¯sughter spills out unexpectedly, a melodic sound that sends a flutter through my chest, like the soft flutter of butterfly wings. "I¡¯m still deciding," she responds, her eyes twinkling with amusement as they meet mine.


    "Fair enough." I push my empty te away, leaning back in my chair. "For what it¡¯s worth, I know how crazy this all seems. Following you here, crashing your shoot... it¡¯s not exactly normal behavior."


    "No, it¡¯s not," she agrees, but there¡¯s no bite in her words. "Most people would call it stalking."


    "Most people would be right," I admit. "But I swear I didn¡¯te here toplicate things for you. I just..." I trail off, not entirely sure how to exin the impulse that drove me onto that ne.


    Hailey watches me, her expression softening slightly. "You just what?"


    "I just wanted to see you again."


    "You are not gettingid tonight." Her voice is barely audible.


    I chuckle at that.


    "That¡¯s...fair," I say. "But for the record, that¡¯s not why I came."


    She raises a skeptical eyebrow.


    "I mean it," I continue. "You think I flew across the country, crashed a fashion shoot, and agreed to be bossed around on camera just for a hookup?"


    Hailey tilts her head, folding her arms. "Honestly? I have no idea."


    "That¡¯s part of the charm," I say with a smirk.


    She tries to fight a smile and fails. "Should we tell Sarah and my brother that you are here? He will get even angrier if he finds out on his own."


    I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah...he might kill me this time. He was angry when I showed up as Sarah¡¯s childhood friend."


    Hailey snorts. "On second thought, we shouldn¡¯t tell them yet."


    I grin despite the impending doom. "I¡¯ve survived worse."


    She arches a brow. "Like what?"


    "High school theater," I say solemnly. "Once wore tights. On stage. In front of my crush. Nothing can hurt me now."


    That earns a properugh from her, light, genuine, and short enough to make me wish I could rey it.


    "Alright," she says, brushing a hair behind her ear. "We keep it a secret for now."


    "Secret mission it is," I say, tapping the side of my nose like some cartoon spy.


    Hailey rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers. She pushes back her chair and stands, grabbing the empty takeout containers.


    "Come on, help me clean up. If you¡¯re staying, you¡¯re pitching in."


    "Yes, ma¡¯am." I follow her to the sink, taking the containers she hands me.


    After we¡¯ve cleared the table and the leftovers are tucked in the fridge, Hailey wipes her hands on a dish towel and leans back against the counter. She then yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Okay. I¡¯m dead. Tomorrow¡¯s going to be insane."


    "Right. The solo shoot with the moody lighting, right?" I inquire.


    Her eyebrows rise. "You actually listened?"


    "Hey, I take my fake modeling job very seriously."


    She smirks, then turns toward the hallway. "Goodnight, Josh."


    "Night, Hailey."


    She disappears into her room. And I just stand there for a moment, in the stillness of her kitchen, wondering how the hell I¡¯m supposed to sleep when all I can think about is being close to her.


    I copse onto the bed, arms syed, eyes locked on the ceiling. I came here to be near her. Not for anything physical, not really. Just... presence. Her presence. The way she makes everything feel a little more vibrant and a little less scripted.


    But now that I¡¯m here, the nearness is maddening.


    I reach for the notebook in my bag and start to sketch.

 Chapter 116: Accident

    <h4>Chapter 116: ident</h4>


    Hailey


    I am awake, bright and early, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling above me. But then I remember where I am.


    Right. The brownstone. New York. The photoshoot is today.


    Josh.


    The memory ofst night floods back. Our conversation, the way his eyes held mine when he told me why he¡¯d followed me here. I push the thoughts away and swing my legs over the side of the bed. No time for that now. Today is about work.


    By the time I take a shower and leave my room, Josh is already in the kitchen, two travel mugs of coffee on the counter.


    "Morning," he says, sliding one toward me. "Made it strong. Figured we¡¯d need it."


    "Thanks." I take a grateful sip, surprised by how perfectly he¡¯s made it. "How did you know how I take my coffee?"


    He shrugs. "Watched you make it yesterday. I¡¯m observant like that."


    My heart does a silly little flip again.


    The car Luxe sent arrives exactly at 7:30, and the ride to the studio passes infortable silence. Josh scrolls through his phone while I mentally review the shot list for today. We¡¯re moving to a different part of the warehouse¡ªthe section with exposed brick and industrial piping that will serve as the backdrop for the "urban warrior" series.


    When we arrive, the studio is already buzzing with activity. Assistants rush around adjusting lights, makeup artists set up their stations, and racks of clothing line the walls. Marcus stands in the center of it all, barking orders with military precision.


    He spots us and gestures impatiently. "There you are. Jameson, I need to see your lighting n. The model needs to be in makeup. Now."


    Josh gives me a reassuring smile before being whisked away by a stylist. I join Marcus at the main set, pulling up the lighting diagram on my tablet.


    "I want to use natural light from the skylightsbined with a soft box here," I exin, pointing to the diagram. "It¡¯ll create shadows that emphasize the angles of the clothing while keeping the models¡¯ faces illuminated."


    Marcus studies the n, his expression unreadable. "Bold choice. The client might prefer something safer."


    I take a deep breath. "With respect, sir, they hired me for my vision. This lighting will make their clothes look more dramatic, more desirable."


    A flicker of approval crosses his face. "Fine. Set it up. But if it doesn¡¯t work, we switch to n B."


    I nod, relief washing over me. As I turn to direct the lighting crew, I catch sight of Josh emerging from makeup. My breath catches in my throat.


    They¡¯ve transformed him. His hair is styled in a carefully disheveled sweep, his jawline entuated with subtle contouring. He¡¯s wearing fitted ck pants and a deconstructed leather jacket that hangs open, revealing his bare chest underneath.


    Oh, god. Why does he have to be so hot?


    He catches me staring and I quickly tear my gaze away before. I don¡¯t need Marcus or someone thinking there is some kind of romance brewing between me and Josh.


    Focus, Hailey.


    The first shots go surprisingly well. Josh is awkward at first. He blinks too often and keeps shifting his weight like he¡¯s waiting for someone to yell "cut"¡ªbut he listens. Really listens. He takes direction like a pro, adjusts his posture when I tell him to elongate his neck, smolders when I remind him to look like he¡¯s thinking something dangerous.


    He¡¯s a quick study. Too quick.


    By mid-morning, he¡¯s strutting across the set like he¡¯s been modeling for years. The camera loves him. And so, apparently, does half the crew.


    I hear one of the makeup assistants whisper to her friend, "Who is that and why does he look like he walked out of a Calvin Klein fever dream?"


    I pretend not to hear it. I also pretend my stomach doesn¡¯t twist when Josh smirks in their direction, fully aware of the effect he¡¯s having on everyone in the room. Especially me.


    "Hailey," Marcus calls, breaking through my thoughts. "Come check these."


    I move to the monitor and study the shots. The lighting is working even better than I hoped¡ªthe intery of shadow and sunlight gives the clothes depth and mood, just like I envisioned.


    Marcus is quiet for a moment. Then he mutters, "Not bad."


    Which, from him, is basically a standing ovation.


    "Thanks," I say, trying to sound casual. But I feel the heat of pride rush to my cheeks.


    Josh walks over during a break, towel around his neck, hair damp with sweat. "So," he says, nudging my arm, "how am I doing?"


    "Don¡¯t let it go to your head," I reply, lips twitching. "You¡¯re passable."


    He leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear. "You¡¯ve been watching me like I¡¯m your thesis project."


    "You¡¯re my subject," I reply coolly, ignoring the flutter in my chest. "It¡¯s literally my job to stare at you."


    He leans back, amused. "And here I thought I was just eye candy."


    "Well," I say, pretending to scrutinize him. "You photograph well."


    "You say that like it surprises you."


    "It does," I admit. "A little."


    His grin falters for just a second. "You still think I¡¯m just ying around, huh?"


    "I think," I say carefully, "you¡¯re full of surprises. But let¡¯s see if you can survive the second set before I give you a gold star."


    He mock-salutes. "Challenge epted."


    The stylist calls him away, and I turn back to the monitor. But something¡¯s different now. A low hum under my skin that wasn¡¯t there before.


    Because somewhere between the coffee, the lighting setup, and that ridiculous leather jacket, I stopped pretending he was just a visitor in my life.


    He¡¯s here.


    And I¡¯m starting to wonder if I want him to stay.


    The second set is meant to be even edgier. It has a metal staircase, graffiti backdrop, dramatic shadows, and a wind machine cranked to its highest setting. Josh is positioned halfway up the stairs, one hand gripping the rail, the other tugging at the cor of a heavy coat draped over his shoulders. He looks like some post-apocalyptic rebel about to take over the world.


    Everything is perfect. Until it¡¯s not.


    One of the overhead lights flickers.


    "Cut the wind for a second," I call out, sensing something¡¯s off.


    But the words are barely out of my mouth when it happens.


    A crack, sharp and sudden, tears through the studio as one of the lighting rigs, massive, metal, and mounted high above the set detaches.


    Everything slows.


    I see it before anyone else.


    The rig is falling straight toward Josh.


    "Josh!" I scream, already moving.


    Chaos erupts. People shout, scramble, but it¡¯s toote for anyone to stop it.


    Except Josh doesn¡¯t freeze. He jumps. Not back down the stairs, but forward and off the set entirely. Hends hard and tumbling across the floor.


    The rig crashes down behind him with a deafening ng, shattering on impact and sending a burst of sparks flying like fireworks gone wrong.


    For a terrifying moment, there¡¯s only silence. Then¡ª


    "Josh!" I¡¯m at his side before I even realize I¡¯ve crossed the space, dropping to my knees. "Are you okay? Talk to me. Are you hurt?"


    He¡¯s lying on his back, winded and pale, blinking up at me. Then he coughs, grimaces, and mutters, "Remind me again why I didn¡¯t just text you?"


    Relief barrels through me so fast I feel dizzy.


    "You idiot," I whisper, gripping his hand like a lifeline. "You could¡¯ve died."


    "But I didn¡¯t," he says, voice hoarse, squeezing my fingers. "Are you okay?"


    "Don¡¯t ask me that," I snap, blinking back tears. "You were almost crushed."


    Behind us, people are running, Marcus is shouting into his headset for medics, and someone¡¯s pulling the plug on the power to stop the sparks.


    But all I can see is Josh.


    Alive. Breathing. Still here.


    "You are shaking," he says softly, reaching up to touch my arm.


    "Of course I¡¯m shaking, you moron," I whisper. "You scared the hell out of me."


    "I¡¯m sorry," he says, his voice serious now. "Didn¡¯t mean to."


    I look down at him. He is disheveled, scraped, and beautiful even now and realize I don¡¯t care who¡¯s watching. Don¡¯t care if Marcus yells or if the crew whispers.


    I lean in and press my lips gently to his.


    "That scared me," I murmur against his lips.

 Chapter 117: Danger

    <h4>Chapter 117: Danger</h4>


    Hailey


    Josh leans into the kiss, his hand cupping my cheek before I pull away. When we break apart, the worldes rushing back¡ªpeople moving equipment, voices shouting orders, the acrid smell of electrical burn.


    "I¡¯m fine, really," Josh insists as the medic finishes examining him. "Just some bruises."


    The medic nods. "Nothing broken, but you¡¯ll be sore tomorrow."


    I help Josh to his feet, steadying him when he winces. The studio has mostly returned to normal, though the damaged area is cordoned off with yellow tape.


    "Show¡¯s over, people," Marcus calls out. "Reset for the third location. We¡¯ll continue in thirty."


    I keep my arm around Josh¡¯s waist as we move to the side of the studio. "You need to rest," I tell him, still feeling the aftershocks of fear.


    "Honestly, I¡¯m okay," he says, though he doesn¡¯t pull away from my support. "Quick reflexes."


    "Quick reflexes," I repeat, shaking my head. "You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t break your neck."


    Josh¡¯s eyes soften. "So... that kiss."


    My cheeks flush. "Heat of the moment."


    "Right," he says, not looking convinced. "Purely professional concern."


    "Shut up," I mutter, but I¡¯m fighting a smile.


    The rest of the shoot passes without incident. Josh, despite his bruises, performs like nothing happened. I catch myself watching him more closely now, heart skipping whenever he winces slightly between takes.


    Byte afternoon, we¡¯ve wrapped the final setup. The images look incredible even better than I¡¯d dared hope. Marcus seems pleased, which apparently trantes to fewer scowls and asional grunts of approval.


    We¡¯re packing up when Tammy approaches, her expression unreadable. "Marcus wants to see you both in his office," she says. "Now."


    Josh and I exchange nces. "Did he say why?" I ask.


    Tammy shakes her head. "Just that it¡¯s important."


    My stomach knots. Did someone tell him about the kiss? Is he going to fire us both for unprofessional behavior?


    Josh must sense my panic because he squeezes my hand briefly. "It¡¯ll be fine," he whispers.


    We follow Tammy up to the ss office where Marcus sits behind his desk, reviewing images on arge monitor. He doesn¡¯t look up when we enter.


    "Sit," he says, gesturing to the chairs.


    We obey, and I notice Josh shifting ufortably, his bruises clearly making themselves known.


    Marcus finally turns to face us, his expression as inscrutable as ever. "Today was... eventful."


    I swallow hard. "Sir, about what happened¡ª"


    He raises a hand, cutting me off. "The equipment failure was not your fault. But..." he pauses dramatically before continuing. It sees that the light that fell has been tampered with."


    My blood runs cold.


    Tampered with?


    Josh straightens in his chair. "Are you saying someone did it on purpose?"


    Marcus nods slowly, his eyes locked on the two of us. "The rig wasn¡¯t just loose. One of the main supports was cut¡ªcleanly. We confirmed it when the techs examined it just now. Someone wanted that light to fall."


    The air in the room shifts. Heavy. Dangerous.


    Josh leans forward, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Do you have any idea who did it?"


    "We¡¯re reviewing security footage," Marcus replies. "But ess to that rig was limited. Only a few crew members had clearance to adjust it. Until we know more, we¡¯re treating this as sabotage."


    I feel a chill seep into my bones. "Why would someone do that?"


    Marcus turns his calcting gaze on Josh. "Maybe because of you."


    Josh stiffens beside me. "Me? Why the hell would anyone target me?"


    Marcus doesn¡¯t blink. "You show up out of nowhere, crash a set, and suddenly end up in front of the camera. It doesn¡¯t take much to stir up resentment. Models arepetitive. Staff even more so. Someone might have decided you were... disposable."


    "That¡¯s insane," I whisper. "Josh barely knows anyone here."


    "Exactly," Marcus says, steepling his fingers. "He¡¯s a wildcard. Which makes people nervous. And sometimes nervous people do stupid, dangerous things."


    Josh runs a hand through his hair, frustration written across his face. "So what now? You think I should leave?"


    "On the contrary," Marcus replies coolly. "The shots from today were brilliant. The client¡¯s already calling for early proofs. Josh, you¡¯ve got presence. Raw talent. And now... a near-death experience to stir the press."


    Josh and I exchange a stunned look.


    "You¡¯re not serious," I say, heart pounding.


    Marcus offers a thin smile. "Don¡¯t look so horrified. I won¡¯t market the ident. But if it gets people talking, all the better. This industry thrives on whispers."


    Josh looks like he might punch something. "So I¡¯m supposed to just stay here and smile for the camera like nothing happened?"


    Marcus shrugs. "Unless you¡¯d rather go back to wherever you came from."


    I nce at Josh, whose eyes are hard with unspoken thoughts. But underneath it, I see the truth: he¡¯s rattled. So am I. And yet, neither of us moves.


    I clear my throat which is suddenly bone dry. "I think you should go back home, Josh," I say.


    Josh looks at me. "You want me to leave?"


    "Yes. Someone tried to kill you and for what...jealousy? It isn¡¯t worth the risk so just...leave," I say.


    Josh stares at me, disbelief etched across his face. "I am not going to run away with my tail tucked in."


    I flinch at the intensity in his tone, but he¡¯s not done.


    "You think I¡¯m some reckless idiot, Hailey? That I don¡¯t understand what just happened?" He steps closer, lowering his voice even more. "Someone tried to kill me. I get it. But running? Leaving you? That¡¯s not who I am."


    I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "But..."


    "I am staying and I dare that person to try again," he says.


    Marcus raises an eyebrow, impressed or amused. It¡¯s hard to tell. "Brave," he says dryly. "Or stupid."


    Josh doesn¡¯t flinch. "Take your pick."


    I stand there, torn between admiration and sheer terror. "You¡¯re going to get yourself hurt."


    He turns to me then, eyes softening just a little. "I won¡¯t let anyone hurt me. And I sure as hell won¡¯t let anyone hurt you."


    My heart stutters at that. "Josh..."


    But before I can say more, Marcus rises from his desk, breaking the moment. "Fine. You¡¯re staying. But from this point on, I¡¯m increasing security. No one touches equipment without clearance. And Hailey..." He fixes me with a level stare. "I hope this is not going to interfere with the quality of your work."


    "It won¡¯t," I say dryly.


    "Dismissed," Marcus says, already turning back to his monitor.


    Josh and I walk out in silence, the ss door clicking shut behind us. Down the hall, the set is mostly cleared, just a few techs and assistants lingering, unaware of how close we came to tragedy.


    Josh slides a nce at me. "You¡¯re mad."


    I stop walking. "A little"


    He steps in front of me. "I will be fine."


    "So you say," I bark.


    His lips curl into a small smile. "How about you take me out on a date after work to make up for what happened today?" he asks slyly.


    I blink. "A date? After someone tried to tten you with a stage light?"


    Josh grins. "What better way to celebrate not dying?"


    I shake my head, torn between exasperation andughter. "You are unbelievable."


    He shrugs, a yful glint in his eye. "You kissed me earlier. Seems only fair I buy you dinner now."


    "That was CPR for your ego," I shoot back, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching upward.


    Josh steps closer, his voice softer now. "You¡¯re scared. I get it. But so am I. So let¡¯s just...not pretend this didn¡¯t change something between us."


    I look up at him, seeing past the cocky smile to the nerves he¡¯s masking beneath. The tension from earlier still coils in my gut, but something else has taken root too, something warmer, sharper.


    I sigh. "Fine. One dinner. But if you almost die again, I¡¯m billing you for emotional damages."


    Joshughs. "Deal."


    He offers me his hand. And despite everything, the fear, the danger, the uncertainty, I take it.

 Chapter 118: Don’t Tell

    <h4>Chapter 118: Don¡¯t Tell</h4>


    Reba


    "Josh has been acting weirdtely," Sarah says.


    I freeze in my tracks. "What do you mean?" I ask.


    "I asked him how things were going and if he coulde over to catch up, but he says he is out of town," Sarah says.


    "So what? What¡¯s so weird about that? Josh always goes out of town," I say.


    Sarah narrows her eyes at me. "The weird part is that he¡¯s being vague about where he is. And when I texted him a photo of that new coffee shop he¡¯s been wanting to try, he responded at 3 AM. It was like noon here."


    I busy myself arranging the throw pillows on Sarah¡¯s couch, avoiding her gaze. "Maybe he¡¯s on the East Coast for work? You know how busy he gets with those architectural projects."


    "Reba." Sarah¡¯s voice has that tone¡ªthe one that says she knows I¡¯m hiding something. "You¡¯re a terrible liar. Your left eye twitches."


    My hand flies to my eye instinctively. "It does not!"


    "See? You¡¯re doing it now." She crosses her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Spill it. What do you know?"


    I weigh my options. Josh would kill me if I told Sarah he followed her sister-inw across the country on some romantic whim. But Sarah¡¯s been my friend since college, and keeping secrets from her feels wrong.


    "I promised I wouldn¡¯t say anything," I hedge.


    Sarah¡¯s eyes widen. "Oh my god. He¡¯s in trouble, isn¡¯t he? Is he in rehab? Prison? Did he join a cult?"


    I can¡¯t help butugh. "No! Nothing like that. He¡¯s just... somewhere."


    "Reba," Sarah says, her voice deadly serious now.


    "Fine!" I throw my hands up in surrender. "He¡¯s in New York!"


    Sarah¡¯s brow furrows. "New York? What¡¯s in New York?"


    I bite my lip, mentally apologizing to Josh. "Hailey is in New York."


    Sarah stares at me for a long moment, then her jaw drops. "No. No way." She starts pacing the kitchen. "Josh followed my sister-inw to New York? Are you kidding me?"


    "It¡¯s not as creepy as it sounds," I say quickly. "He helped her make her flight when she was stuck in traffic. They had a moment or something. He was all weird and swoony about it."


    "Swoony?" Sarah repeats incredulously. "Josh Daniels doesn¡¯t do swoony."


    "Apparently he does now." I sink onto a barstool. "He flew there on impulse. Didn¡¯t even book a hotel first."


    Sarah¡¯s expression shifts from shock to something more calcting. "That¡¯s... actually kind of romantic."


    "Right?" I say, relieved she¡¯s not freaking out. "In a slightly unhinged way."


    Sarah pulls out her phone. "I¡¯m calling him."


    "No!" I lunge for her phone. "He¡¯ll know I told you!"


    "Too bad." She deftly sidesteps me. "Josh and Hailey? This is too good. Matthew is going to lose his mind."


    My eyes widen in horror. "You can¡¯t tell Matthew!"


    Sarah pauses, finger hovering over the call button. "Why not?"


    "Because he hates him! And Josh is... well, he¡¯s actually working with Hailey now. Modeling."


    "Modeling?" Sarah¡¯s voice rises an octave. "Josh is a model?"


    "It¡¯splicated," I say weakly. "But Matthew would definitely freak out if he knew his sister was working with¡ªpossibly dating¡ªhis old nemesis."


    Sarah considers this, then slowly puts her phone down. "You¡¯re right. Matthew still gets twitchy whenever Josh¡¯s namees up." A mischievous smile spreads across her face. "But I¡¯m definitely calling Hailey."


    "Sarah, no¡ª"


    But she¡¯s already dialing, putting the phone on speaker and cing it on the counter between us. It rings once, twice, three times.


    "Hello?" Hailey¡¯s voice sounds distracted.


    "Hey, sis!" Sarah chirps. "Just checking in on the big fashion shoot! How¡¯s New York treating you?"


    There¡¯s a pause, then the sound of a door closing. "It¡¯s good! Really good. The creative director likes my work, and the shoot is going well."


    "That¡¯s fantastic!" Sarah¡¯s voice is honey-sweet. "Meeting lots of interesting people?"


    Another pause. "Um, yeah. The models are all professionals. Very talented."


    Sarah¡¯s eyes meet mine, twinkling with mischief. "All the models? Anyone stand out?"


    Hailey¡¯s voice catches slightly. "What? No, they¡¯re all... equally talented."


    "Mmm-hmm." Sarah¡¯s tone drips with skepticism. "So you haven¡¯t run into anyone... unexpected? Someone from Pornd, maybe?"


    The line goes silent for so long I wonder if the call dropped. Then Hailey whispers, "He told you?"


    "Not exactly," Sarah says, shooting me a triumphant look. "Let¡¯s just say a little bird mentioned Josh flew east for some spontaneous modeling."


    "Reba," Hailey groans. "Of course."


    I wince, mouthing ¡¯sorry¡¯ to the phone.


    "So," Sarah continues, leaning closer to the speaker. "Spill. Everything. Now."


    "There¡¯s nothing to spill," Hailey insists, but her voicecks conviction. "He showed up, helped me out of a jam, and somehow ended up in front of the camera. It¡¯s purely professional."


    "Professional?" Sarah repeats incredulously. "Josh followed you across the country on a whim, and you expect me to believe this is just a work thing?"


    "It¡¯splicated," Hailey mutters.


    "Complicated is my middle name," Sarah replies cheerfully. "Are you sleeping with him?"


    "Sarah!" Hailey and I exim simultaneously.


    "What? It¡¯s a valid question. Josh doesn¡¯t exactly have a history of tonic rtionships."


    "We¡¯re not sleeping together," Hailey says firmly. "We¡¯re just... I don¡¯t know what we are."


    Sarah¡¯s expression softens. "Do you like him?"


    The silence that follows is answer enough.


    "Oh, honey," Sarah says. "This is either going to be the best thing ever or aplete disaster."


    "I know," Hailey sighs. "And someone tried to hurt him today."


    Sarah straightens. "What? What do you mean ¡¯hurt him¡¯?"


    "A lighting rig fell. It nearly crushed him. The studio thinks it was sabotage."


    My hand flies to my mouth. "Oh my god. Is he okay?"


    "He¡¯s fine. Just bruised." Hailey¡¯s voice drops lower. "But I¡¯m worried. What if someone tries again? The creative director thinks someone¡¯s jealous of him."


    Sarah¡¯s yful demeanor vanishes. "You need toe home. Both of you."


    "We can¡¯t," Hailey says. "The shoot¡¯s not finished, and I¡¯m not walking away from this opportunity. Josh refuses to leave too."


    "Stubborn idiot," Sarah mutters.


    "Pretty much," Hailey agrees, but there¡¯s fondness in her voice.


    "Listen to me," Sarah says firmly. "Be careful. Stay together. And Hailey? If anything feels off¡ªanything at all¡ªyou call the police. Promise me."


    "I promise," Hailey says, her voice quiet but resolute. "We¡¯re being careful."


    Sarah sighs, drumming her fingers against the counter. "I should tell Matthew."


    "No!" Hailey¡¯s response is immediate. "Please, Sarah. He¡¯ll overreact and make everything worse."


    "He¡¯s your brother. He deserves to know you might be in danger."


    "I¡¯m not in danger," Hailey insists. "Josh was the target, not me. And we have security now. Marcus¡ªthe creative director¡ªdoubled it after the ident."


    Sarah leans closer to the phone. "Just promise you¡¯ll check in daily, okay? Morning and night."


    "Fine," Hailey agrees. "But Sarah, please keep Matthew out of this. Just until the shoot wraps. Three more days, that¡¯s all I¡¯m asking."


    Sarah hesitates, then relents. "Three days. But if anything else happens¡ªanything¡ªI¡¯m putting Matthew on the next flight to JFK."


    "Deal," Hailey says. "I should go. We have a... thing tonight."


    "A thing?" Sarah¡¯s eyebrows shoot up. "Like a date thing?"


    "Goodbye, Sarah," Hailey says firmly, though I catch the smile in her voice before the line goes dead.


    Sarah stares at the phone, her expression torn between amusement and concern. "My sister-inw and Josh Daniels," she muses. "I did not see thating."


    "I think it¡¯s sweet," I say. "In a ¡¯might-get-murdered-by-a-jealous-model¡¯ kind of way."


    Sarah snorts. "Matthew¡¯s going to have a coronary."


    I sink deeper into the barstool. "Yeah, well...I think Josh is actually very into her so Matthew will have to get over it."


    "And their babies will be gorgeous," Sara says, nodding in agreement.


    I nod, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. "I hope they¡¯ll be okay. Josh may act tough, but he¡¯s not exactly equipped to handle someone trying to kill him."


    "Josh is smarter than he lets on," Sarah says, her voice softening with fondness. "And Hailey¡¯s no pushover either. They¡¯ll watch out for each other."


    I¡¯m about to respond when Sarah¡¯s phone buzzes with a text. She nces down and her eyes widen slightly.


    "It¡¯s Matthew," she says, her voice suddenly tight. "He wants to know if I¡¯ve heard from Haileytely. Says she¡¯s been weirdly distant."


    "What are you going to tell him?"


    Sarah types quickly, then sets her phone aside. "That she¡¯s busy with her big break and probably exhausted. Which is true."


    "And the Josh part?"


    "Not my secret to tell," she says firmly.


    I see the realization dawn on Sarah¡¯s face as she stares at her phone. "Matthew¡¯s not an idiot," she murmurs. "He¡¯s going to figure it out eventually."


    "Yeah, but hopefully by then they¡¯ll be back in Pornd and Josh will have time to prepare his funeral arrangements," I joke, though my stomach knots with genuine concern.


    Sarahughs, but it¡¯s strained. "You know, I always thought Josh and Hailey might hit it off. They¡¯re both so stubborn and passionate. I just never imagined it happening like this."


    "Josh impulsively following her across the country and nearly getting murdered by a falling light fixture wasn¡¯t on your matchmaking bingo card?"


    "Shockingly, no." Sarah picks up her phone again, scrolling absently. "God, I wish I could be a fly on the wall for their date tonight."


    I grin, feeling a flutter of excitement despite my worry. "Twenty bucks says he takes her somewhere ridiculously romantic and she pretends not to be impressed."


    "Fifty says she kisses him first," Sarah counters. Her phone buzzes with a text. I nce down to see Josh¡¯s name on the screen.


    "Speak of the devil," she murmurs, opening the message.

 Chapter 119: Date Night

    <h4>Chapter 119: Date Night</h4>


    Hailey


    I am getting ready for my date with Josh, if it even is a date.


    Maybe it¡¯s just a friend thing, two people at loose ends in an overwhelming city, grabbing dinner together. Is that what he meant?


    My heart races at the thought. Was he expecting something more? Was I?


    I pull a ck dress from my suitcase and drape it over the chair, staring at it as if it might provide answers. Casual or dressy, casual or dressy. Why is it so hard to decide?


    I want to look nice, undeniably nice, but not like I¡¯ve tried too hard, not like I¡¯ve been nning this since he showed up in New York. My heart pounds with uncertainty, and I wonder again what he meant.


    I turn my attention back to the dress, now looking woefully formal, then nce at the clock in a panic. I wonder what he is doing in his room?


    Time ticks away, and an hourter, I finally settle on a yellow sundress that is the perfectbination of elegance and casual. I smooth it over my hips, spin in the mirror, and feel a flutter of hope.


    Is this the right choice?


    Just as I¡¯m putting the finishing touches of makeup, I hear a soft knock. I freeze, lipstick poised in mid-air. My heart pounds as I open the bedroom door.


    Josh stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking... devastatingly handsome.


    He is dressed in a dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans that somehow look designer-level cool without trying too hard. His hair is still damp from a shower, curling just slightly at the ends, and he smells faintly like soap and something woodsy and clean.


    His eyes sweep over me, lingering for a beat longer than necessary, and then he smiles, slow and crooked. "You look..."


    I raise an eyebrow. "If you say ¡¯yellow,¡¯ I will m this door."


    He chuckles. "I was going to say beautiful. But now I¡¯m tempted."


    I try not to blush, and fail. "You clean up okay yourself."


    "Only okay?" He pretends to be wounded, cing a hand over his heart. "I ironed my shirt for you."


    "Liar."


    "Okay, I thought about ironing it," he admits. "Then, I decided wrinkles add character."


    I shake my head,ughing softly. There¡¯s an ease between us that wasn¡¯t there earlier. Maybe we¡¯re both trying to forget how close today came to tragedy. Or maybe we¡¯re just trying to grab a piece of something normal while we can.


    "Ready?" he asks, offering me his arm.


    I hesitate just long enough for him to notice, and his smile falters slightly. "We don¡¯t have to go out, Hailey. We can order in. Or just¡ªsit and talk. Whatever you want."


    His voice is softer now. Sincere.


    "No," I say, slipping my hand through his arm. "Let¡¯s go."


    The city air is cooler than expected as we step outside, the sky blushing with thest hints of sunset. Josh hails a cab with an ease that makes me think maybe he¡¯s spent more time in New York than he lets on. We don¡¯t say much on the ride over, both of us caught in some strange in-between¡ªthe rush of something that feels new and terrifying, yet oddly inevitable.


    When we arrive at the restaurant tucked away on a quiet street in SoHo, I nce at him in surprise. "How did you find this ce?"


    He shrugs. "Asked the concierge. I wanted somewhere quiet. But elegant."


    Inside, the lighting is low, the tables lit with soft amber candles. There¡¯s music ying, low and jazzy, the kind that makes everything feel a little cinematic.


    We¡¯re seated near the back, a cozy corner where we¡¯re half-hidden from the rest of the room. Josh watches me across the table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his water ss.


    "This is nice," I say, trying to ignore how aware I am of every little movement he makes.


    He nods. "Yeah. It is."


    The waiteres and goes, and soon we¡¯re left with our meals and a bottle of wine neither of us really needed but somehow felt right. It¡¯s only after a few sips that Josh finally speaks again.


    "I¡¯m d you didn¡¯t tell me to leave."


    I pause with my fork mid-air. "I tried."


    He smirks. "Yeah. But you didn¡¯t mean it."


    I open my mouth to argue¡ªand stop. "No. I didn¡¯t."


    He leans forward slightly. "I came here on a whim, Hailey. I didn¡¯t expect to end up on camera."


    I giggle. "A lot of people would kill to be on your position." I wince as I remember Josh almost getting squashed by a light. "Oh shit...I didn¡¯t mean..."


    Joshughs softly, the sound low and reassuring. "Don¡¯t worry. I get it. ¡¯Kill¡¯ is a figure of speech... unless it¡¯s the jealous blond with the cheekbones from hell."


    I let out a shaky breath, half augh. "His name is Yakov. And yeah, he didn¡¯t seem thrilled about you getting attention."


    Josh raises an eyebrow. "You noticed that too, huh?"


    I nod, ying with the stem of my wine ss. "It was kind of hard to miss. He red at you like you personally offended his bone structure."


    Josh chuckles. "Well, to be fair, I am taller."


    I smile, but there¡¯s an anxious twist in my chest. "Do you really think someone meant for that light to fall?"


    His face sobers. "I don¡¯t know. But it didn¡¯t feel like an ident. And the rigging guy¡ªMilo?¡ªhe looked rattled. Like he knew something but didn¡¯t want to say."


    The yful ease between us wavers, reced by the undercurrent of danger that¡¯s been lurking since Josh showed up in New York.


    "You should¡¯ve gone home after it happened," I whisper, more to myself than to him.


    "I should¡¯ve," he agrees. "But I didn¡¯t want to."


    I meet his eyes and see it there¡ªunflinching and honest. Whatever this is between us, it¡¯s real to him too. I don¡¯t know what to do with that, but it makes me feel a little less alone.


    "I need a minute," I say, rising from the table. "Just going to freshen up."


    Josh nods, his eyes lingering on mine a moment too long. "I¡¯ll be here."


    I navigate through the dimly lit restaurant toward the restrooms at the back, my mind still processing everything. The ident, the sabotage usations, and now this dinner that feels dangerously close to something more than friendship.


    As I approach the narrow hallway where the restrooms are located, I hear something that makes me slow my steps. A rhythmic thumping against the wall, followed by a muffled moan.


    I freeze, my hand halfway to the women¡¯s restroom door.


    Another moan, distinctly female, followed by a deeper, masculine groan. "Yes... right there..."


    My cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. Someone is definitely having sex in the bathroom.


    I stand awkwardly in the hallway, unsure what to do. Turn around? Wait? The sounds grow more intense, less restrained.


    "Oh god... harder... please..."


    Oh god...


    This is ridiculous. I nce back toward our table where Josh sits, checking his phone,pletely unaware of my predicament. I can¡¯t just stand here listening to strangers¡¯ intimate moments.


    But I really do need to go to the bathroom!


    I knock tentatively.


    After a minute or two, the door swings open.


    My mouth drops open as I stare into Marcus¡¯s intense eyes.


    His steel-gray hair is mussed, his usually impable shirt wrinkled and hastily buttoned. Behind him, a woman I vaguely recognize as one of the makeup artists from the shoot peeks over his shoulder, her lipstick smeared.


    "Ms. Jameson," Marcus says, his voice perfectly even despite his disheveled appearance. "What an unexpected coincidence."


    I stand frozen, mortified, as the makeup artist slips past us both and hurries down the hallway without making eye contact.


    "I¡ªI was just¡ª" I stammer, gesturing vaguely toward the restroom.


    Marcus straightens his cor with a practiced motion. "Yes, well. The facilities are now avable." His expression remainspletely neutral, as if we¡¯ve merely bumped into each other at a coffee shop.


    "Thank you," I manage, my voice barely audible.


    As I step past him into the restroom, he leans slightly closer. "I trust this encounter will remain between us, Ms. Jameson?"


    I nod quickly, unable to form words.


    "Excellent," he says. "Oh, and your lighting n for tomorrow¡¯s shoot? Make it more dramatic. The client wants edge." With that, he turns and walks away as if nothing unusual has happened.


    I lock myself in the bathroom stall, pressing my hands against my burning cheeks. Did that really just happen? Did I seriously catch Marcus Winters¡ªthe Marcus Winters having a bathroom quickie in a SoHo restaurant?


    After sshing cold water on my face, I take several deep breaths before returning to our table. Josh looks up as I approach, his expression immediately concerned.


    "You okay? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost."


    "Worse," I whisper, sliding into my seat. "Marcus."


    Josh¡¯s eyebrows shoot up. "Here? Now?"


    I lean forward, lowering my voice. "In the bathroom. With one of the makeup artists."


    "No way." Josh¡¯s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. "Seriously?"


    I nod, still shell-shocked. "They were... you know." I make a vague gesture with my hands.


    Josh nearly chokes on his wine. "Holy shit. What did he say?"


    "He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then gave me notes on tomorrow¡¯s lighting."


    Josh bursts outughing, drawing nces from nearby tables. "That¡¯s amazing. The man is a legend."


    "It¡¯s not funny," I hiss, though I can feelughter bubbling up inside me too. "I can never look him in the eye again."


    "Sure you can," Josh says, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Just don¡¯t picture him with his pants down."


    "Josh!" I smack his arm, but I¡¯mughing now too, the tension of the day finally breaking. "He told me not to tell anyone, so you better keep your mouth shut!"


    Josh smirks. "My lips are sealed."

 Chapter 120: Meant for You

    <h4>Chapter 120: Meant for You</h4>


    Hailey


    The next morning, I step off the elevator with my heart hammering against my ribs. Josh follows close behind, his hand asionally brushing mine as we make our way through the studio.


    And there, in the center of the studio, stands Marcus.


    He is impably dressed in a charcoal suit, not a hair out of ce, studying a lighting diagram withser focus. When he spots us, he merely nods, professional and distant.


    "Jameson. We need to discuss the backdrop for the third setup." His voice is crisp, his gaze direct¡ªnot a hint of recognition or awkwardness. "I¡¯m thinking exposed brick instead of the white sweep."


    I clear my throat. "Good morning, Marcus. Yes, exposed brick could work well with the contrast we¡¯re going for."


    He nods curtly. "And I want to try that dramatic lighting you mentioned yesterday. The client is pushing for something edgier."


    I blink rapidly. Is he really doing this? Acting as if I didn¡¯t catch him half-dressed in a restaurant bathroom twelve hours ago?


    "Of course," I manage. "I¡¯ll adjust the setup."


    "Good." He turns to Josh, assessing him with clinical detachment. "The stylist wants you in wardrobe immediately. We¡¯re starting with the leather jacket series."


    Josh shoots me a quick nce, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yes, sir."


    As Marcus walks away, barking orders at a nearby assistant, Josh leans close to my ear. "Unbelievable," he whispers. "Man¡¯s got nerves of steel."


    "Shh!" I nudge him, fighting a smile. "He¡¯ll hear you."


    "I don¡¯t think he¡¯d acknowledge it even if he did," Josh says with a grin before heading toward wardrobe.


    The day goes on. Marcus directs with his usual precision, offering terse corrections and rare approvals. Not once does he acknowledge our encounter, not even when the makeup artist fromst night applies Josh¡¯s foundation with trembling hands.


    By midday, I¡¯ve almost convinced myself I imagined the whole thing.


    "This angle isn¡¯t working," Marcus announces, studying the preview screen over my shoulder. His breath smells of mint and coffee, and I fight the urge to step away. "We need more tension. More... vulnerability."


    I adjust my camera settings, hyperaware of his proximity. "What if we lower the key light and have Josh look directly at the camera? Break the fourth wall?"


    Marcus considers this, then nods. "Do it."


    As I reposition the lights, Tammy appears at my side, clipboard in hand. "How¡¯s it going?" she asks, her voice low.


    "Fine," I say, perhaps too quickly. "Just some lighting adjustments."


    She gives me a knowing look. "Marcus seems to be in a good mood."


    I nod. "I guess so."


    "It seems that he likes your work. You have a great future ahead," she says.


    I smile, filled with pride. "Thank you, Tammy."


    Everything was going as normal but then, something else happens.


    Just as I¡¯m adjusting the final light and Josh is moving into position, the set stylist rushes over, lugging a sleek chrome motorcycle across the floor. It¡¯s a prop for the "leather jacket series," ast-minute client request. The tires squeak as she positions it on a glossy tform, checking angles with a practiced eye.


    "Careful," I murmur, watching her wedge a wooden block under the kickstand. It looks... unstable. But before I can say anything else, Marcus is at my side.


    "Camera at waist height," he instructs. "I want the jacket catching the light¡ªhere." He gestures with sharp precision.


    I nod, turning to frame the shot. Josh steps up to the tform, one booted foot beside the motorcycle, his hand grazing the handlebar.


    Then, in a blink¡ª


    The motorcycle slips.


    The kickstand gives out, and the heavy machine crashes sideways, dragging Josh down with it. A sickening crack echoes as metal meets tile. Josh grunts, trapped underneath.


    "Josh!" I shout, bolting forward.


    He winces, trying to push the bike off, but it¡¯s too heavy. Assistants scramble, and Marcus reaches him first, helping to lift the weight off Josh¡¯s leg.


    Someone¡¯s yelling for the medic again. The same guy asst time.


    Josh sits up, his jaw tight, his jeans torn at the knee, blood already soaking through the fabric. "It¡¯s fine," he breathes. "Just cut me. I¡¯m fine."


    But when I see the gash on his leg, my stomach knots. It¡¯s not deep¡ªbut it¡¯s raw and angry, and I can already see bruising spreading like storm clouds.


    Marcus is silent for a long second, then turns sharply to the stylist. "Who approved that bike? Who checked the tform?!"


    "I¡ªI blocked the wheel," she stammers. "It must¡¯ve slipped."


    "No," I say quietly, eyes scanning the floor. The tform is glossy, but there¡¯s a faint smear¡ªoil?


    Josh follows my gaze, then meets my eyes. "That wasn¡¯t there before."


    Tammy appears behind me, whispering, "You okay?"


    I nod stiffly. "Yeah. But this is the second ident."


    Her smile fades.


    Josh¡¯s leg is being cleaned and bandaged now, his boot removed, his face pale but steady. He waves off concern with a half-smile, but his eyes are sharp and alert now. Watching everything.


    Marcus crouches beside him. "We¡¯ll get to the bottom of this."


    But Josh looks past him. Past all of us.


    Right at me.


    And I know we¡¯re both thinking the same thing.


    This wasn¡¯t just bad luck.


    After the chaos settles, the studio feels too quiet.


    I stand frozen by my camera, my fingers still wrapped around the grip like it¡¯s the only thing keeping me grounded. Across the room, Josh sits on the edge of a crate, one pant leg rolled up while the medic wraps his injury. Blood-soaked gauze lies discarded nearby. The deep gash on his leg wasn¡¯t life-threatening, but it was bad enough to make my stomach flip.


    I should have said something about that motorcycle. The second I saw the block under the kickstand, I knew it wasn¡¯t stable. But I was too focused on Marcus. Too distracted by his calm, unnervingly professional demeanor¡ªlike the bathroom incidentst night had been a shared hallucination.


    "This wasn¡¯t an ident," I whisper under my breath.


    Tammy nces at me, eyebrows raised.


    "Oil," I say, nodding subtly toward the tform. "There was oil under the back tire."


    Her lips part, but she doesn¡¯t say anything. Just looks away, troubled.


    Marcus is already across the room, interrogating the stylist. His voice is clipped and cold. She keeps shaking her head, flustered and defensive, but not once does she look remorseful and just... confused. And afraid.


    I turn back toward Josh. He¡¯s looking at the floor, his jaw set tight. The corner of his mouth twitches like he¡¯s trying to hold something back¡ªpain, frustration, or maybe just the realization that someone might want to hurt him.


    This is the second ident in two days.


    And Josh knows it too. I can see it in the way he scans the room, how his eyes linger on people¡¯s hands and feet, how he tracks their movements. A model doesn¡¯t get that paranoid unless he¡¯s used to being watched. Or threatened.


    When the medic finishes, Josh stands. Slowly. He winces but waves off the hovering assistant with a calm "I¡¯m fine." His calm feels forced. Dangerous, even.


    " Take today off," Marcus says, stepping in.


    Josh meets his eyes. "If this is someone trying to rattle me, I¡¯m not giving them that power."


    Marcus studies him for a beat. Then nods. "Use the stool. Keep your weight off that leg."


    He turns to the crew. "Check the props. All of them. I want this ce swept."


    Everyone moves fast, a few casting worried nces in Josh¡¯s direction. I finally exhale, then move toward him with a bottle of water and a racing heart.


    "Here," I say, handing it to him.


    He takes it, our fingers brushing. I see it then¡ªthe sharpness in his eyes. He¡¯s not scared. He¡¯s analyzing. Calcting. Just like me.


    "I¡¯m not paranoid," he murmurs.


    "I know," I reply, voice barely audible. "I saw it too."


    A beat passes between us.


    "We should be more careful," I say.


    Josh nods slowly. "Yeah. Starting now."


    I know that look. The set may have returned to normal, but something has shifted. No more pretending this is a coincidence. Someone is ying a dangerous game.


    And I have a terrible feeling they are not done yet.


    ~-~


    Later that night, I¡¯m curled up on the floor of my bedroom,ptop open in front of me, my back resting against the edge of my bed. A soft indie ylist hums from the speaker on my dresser, but I barely hear it. The photos from today¡¯s shoot sh across my screen one by one, but they all blur together¡ªuntil I stop at that frame.


    The one taken just seconds before the crash.


    I zoom in.


    There it is again. A shimmer. Barely noticeable unless you¡¯re looking for it. The faint slick of something on the floor just beneath the motorcycle¡¯s rear wheel. Oil. I know it is.


    I swallow hard, my pulse thudding in my throat. My fingers tremble slightly as I scroll back and forth, reying the moment in my mind¡ªthe way the tform gleamed, the odd squeak of the tires, the instant the kickstand gave way. I should have said something sooner. Should have trusted my gut.


    A soft knock at my door jolts me. I pause the music, eyes darting to the clock. Nearly 11 p.m.


    The door creaks open.


    Josh steps inside, his dark hoodie slightly rumpled, his bandaged leg visible beneath a pair of nnel pajama shorts. He¡¯s carrying two mugs, steam curling into the air.


    "I brought hot chocte," he says gently. "Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be sleeping either."


    I blink. "Hot chocte?"


    He grins and walks over, handing me a mug, and settles beside me on the floor without waiting for an invitation. His leg stretches out awkwardly, but he doesn¡¯tin.


    I stare down at the mug. It smells like cinnamon and cocoa. "Thanks," I murmur.


    Josh takes a sip of his and looks toward theptop screen. "Still obsessing?"


    "Yes," I admit. "Look." I angle the screen toward him, rewinding to the exact moment again.


    He leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. "There," he says softly, pointing. "That glint."


    I nod. "It¡¯s oil. It wasn¡¯t there when the stylist first rolled the bike in. I checked the earlier shots. It appears just before the crash."


    He exhales through his nose, rubbing his jaw. "So someone added it."


    "Looks that way," I say. "Deliberate. Calcted. They waited until we weren¡¯t watching."


    Josh goes quiet, eyes scanning the screen. "Do you think it was meant for me? Or just to mess with the shoot?"


    I look at him. "It was meant for you."


    His gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips, just for a second.


    And then¡ªhe kisses me.

 Chapter 121: Second Encounter

    <h4>Chapter 121: Second Encounter</h4>


    Hailey


    His lips are warm and steady, tasting faintly of cinnamon and cocoa. For a heartbeat, I freeze...caught between surprise and the rush of something deeper, something I¡¯ve been trying not to name. But then my fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring me, and I kiss him back.


    It¡¯s not frantic or desperate. It¡¯s slow, careful, like we¡¯re both trying to understand what this is¡ªwhat we are bing.


    When we finally pull apart, Josh leans his forehead against mine, eyes closed. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I¡¯ve been wanting to do that all day."


    I let out a breath that trembles at the edges. "Really?"


    "Yes."


    "We¡¯re in this together now, aren¡¯t we?" I murmur.


    Josh opens his eyes, steady and clear. "Yeah. We are."


    I lean back slightly, watching the way the soft glow from the screen outlines his jaw. "Who would want to hurt you, Josh?"


    His smile fades. "I don¡¯t know. But I¡¯m going to find out."


    I nod slowly. "We are going to find out."


    He nces down at his leg and winces. "First, maybe I survive this week without being crushed."


    I can¡¯t help the smallugh that escapes. It¡¯s shaky, but it¡¯s real. "Deal."


    Josh shifts closer, his arm resting behind me, casual but protective. "I don¡¯t want you caught in the middle of this, Hailey."


    "You didn¡¯t pull me in," I say quietly. "This is my job and I¡¯m not the one in danger."


    Josh tilts his head, studying me like he¡¯s trying to see past the words, into the space where fear and resolve collide.


    "You may not be the target," he says softly, "but you¡¯re close enough to get hurt. That matters to me."


    We stay silent for a bit.


    I reach for myptop, closing it gently. "Then we will just have to stay one step ahead."


    He nods, but his hand finds mine again, fingers threading through mine like he needs the contact as much as I do. "Starting tomorrow. No more ignoring the weird stuff. No more brushing things off."


    "Agreed."


    Outside, a car passes, headlights sweeping through the curtains like a ghost. Inside, we sit still, cocooned in a quiet that feels like the calm before another storm.


    "Get some rest," Josh murmurs, squeezing my hand before rising. "We will figure this out."


    "Okay," I say, though I know sleep won¡¯te easy.


    At the door, he pauses. Looks back. "Hailey?"


    "Yeah?"


    His smile is soft but certain. "I¡¯m really d I came to see you."


    And then he¡¯s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.


    And I¡¯m left in the dark with the warmth of his kiss still lingering, and a gut-deep certainty that something ising.


    ~-~


    The next morning, the studio is quiet and dark when I arrive. Josh stayed home to rest his leg, he said. We didn¡¯t need him for a shoot anyway.


    The elevator hums as it carries me up, my camera bag slung over my shoulder. I¡¯m early, earlier than usual. I wanted time to review yesterday¡¯s equipment with Marcus.


    The studio floor is empty, lit only by the ambient glow from the street-facing windows. I walk through it quietly, boots tapping against polished concrete, heart ticking a little faster than I like.


    I pause outside Marcus¡¯s office. The door is half-closed, the light on.


    I wasn¡¯t nning to go in¡ªnot really¡ªbut something makes me reach for the handle. Maybe it¡¯s curiosity. He is here pretty early.


    I push the door open.


    And freeze.


    Marcus is there, shirt unbuttoned, pants halfway down. A blonde model I vaguely recognize is perched on the edge of his desk, her legs wrapped around him, her head thrown back in a moan she tries to stifle.


    I stand frozen for half a second, then step back, my pulse mming.


    Marcus notices me.


    His gaze snaps toward the door. For a moment, he goespletely still. The model gasps, grabbing at his shirt as she realizes they are not alone.


    "Hailey," Marcus says, voice low and nonchnt. "You are here early?"


    I stare at him. At her. At the disheveled mess of what was supposed to be his carefully controlled image. "I¡ªI didn¡¯t know you were upied," I say, every syble burning in my mouth.


    He doesn¡¯t look ashamed. Not even remotely flustered. He straightens slightly, brushing the model off him like she¡¯s an afterthought. "Shut the door behind you."


    But I don¡¯t move.


    "Did you hear me? I will talk to you after I¡¯m done interviewing Tatiana," he says curtly.


    Interviewing?


    Tatiana, the model is red-faced and scrambling to fasten the sp on her bra. She avoids my eyespletely, grabbing her coat from the back of a chair. Her lipstick is smudged, and her expression is a mixture of embarrassment.


    "I...I will wait in the break room. Carry on," I stammer and rush away as I m the door shut and run away.


    OH...MY...GOD!


    The second I reach the break room, I lean against the counter, trying to catch my breath. My heart is pounding so loud it feels like it might crack my ribs.


    I rub my face with both hands. I wasn¡¯t prepared for that. But then again, I caught him doing that in a restaurant bathroom before so why am I even surprised?


    "Interviewing" her? He is nuts.


    I sink into one of the break room chairs, staring at the floor. My skin feels like it¡¯s buzzing, my mind racing.


    "Hailey?"


    I look up and see Tammy.


    Tammy wrinkles her forehead. "What¡¯s wrong? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost."


    I groan. "Worse. I saw Marcus Winters with his pants down, a blonde¡¯s legs wrapped around him."


    Tammy smirked. "Oh...that."


    Tammy plops down across from me like I just told her the weather forecast. She opens her thermos, takes a sip, and shrugs. "Honestly, I¡¯m surprised it took you this long to catch him in the act."


    I blink at her. "Wait...you knew?"


    She lifts a brow. "Everyone knows. At least, everyone who¡¯s worked here more than a month. That desk has probably seen more action than a Vegas hotel bed."


    I press a hand to my mouth, equal parts horrified and nauseated. "Eww! And no one says anything?"


    Tammy¡¯s smile widens. "Everyone knows Marcus Winters is a slut and does not try to hide it."


    I snort. "Wow, just wow. So the blonde in the office...you are telling me that there are others like her that just throw themselves at him willingly?" I ask, remembering the make up artist in the bathroom.


    Tammyughs. "Wee to Studio Days of Our Lives. Starring Marcus Winters as the charmingly shameless heartbreaker."


    "Seriously?" I lean back, trying to process all of it. "And no one says anything?"


    "Management¡¯s motto is: ¡¯If it¡¯s not breaking equipment or contracts, we don¡¯t want to know,¡¯" Tammy says with a grin. "Marcus brings in big clients. So he basically gets to be a walking HR vition."


    I stare at her. "I feel like I need a bleach shower and a therapy session."


    Tammy pulls something from her bag and slides it across the table. It¡¯s a spare studio keycard.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    She leans in slightly. "If you really want to snoop, you¡¯ll need that. Just... don¡¯t trip any rms. Or identally walk in on another... ¡¯interview.¡¯"


    Iugh, despite myself. "Note to self: knock hard next time."


    Tammy gives me a wink. "That¡¯s the spirit."


    I lean back in my chair, still processing. "This ce is insane."


    Tammy leans forward, eyes twinkling. "Okay but... be honest. Did you see him shirtless?"


    I squint at her. "Tammy."


    She raises both hands,ughing. "What? I¡¯m asking for science!"


    I roll my eyes. "Yes. Unfortunately. And now it¡¯s burned into my memory forever."


    Tammy grins. "Hot, right?"


    I groan. "Don¡¯t tell me you¡ª"


    "God, no!" she says quickly. "I like my drama on TV, not in myp."


    We both dissolve into giggles.


    "Ahem."


    I jolt and whip my head toward the door.


    Marcus stands there, fully dressed now, thank God¡ªwith his usual smug expression stered across his face like nothing happened. Except for the fact that his hair is slightly tousled and his shirt buttons are mismatched. Subtle. Real subtle.


    He raises an eyebrow. "Having fun gossiping about me?"


    Tammy smiles sweetly. "Oh, always."


    I sit up straighter, trying to look professional, even though my cheeks are still flushed. "Sorry for... interrupting earlier."


    Marcus smirks, strolling in like he owns the air. "Next time, knock. Or wait until the official office hours start."


    I bite my tongue before a snarky reply escapes.


    "Meet me in my office in five minutes, Hailey. We have much to discuss," he says and leaves without saying another word.


    I look at Tammy helplessly. "I rather not talk to him about his sex life, Tammy."


    Tammy giggles. "Oh, Hailey. You will survive this. I believe in you."


    I¡¯m not too sure about that but I have no choice but to follow Marcus.

 Chapter 122: Get a Grip

    <h4>Chapter 122: Get a Grip</h4>


    Hailey


    I sigh like I¡¯m marching to the guillotine and drag myself out of the chair. My legs feel oddly heavy, like my body knows this is going to be a conversation I¡¯ll need a shower after.


    "Wish me luck," I mutter.


    Tammy raises her coffee thermos like a toast. "Go get ¡¯em, tiger."


    I knock this time, for the record.


    Marcus¡¯s voice floats through the door, smooth and clipped. "Come in."


    I push it open and step inside. He¡¯s behind his desk now, thankfully seated and fully clothed. The blonde is long gone, and his hair is slicked back into its usual sleek perfection.


    "Close the door," he says.


    I do, resisting the urge to wedge it open with a chair just in case I need a quick escape.


    Marcus gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."


    I do, reluctantly. My eyes flick to the desk. He¡¯s moved a folder over the edge, almost like he¡¯s trying to sanitize the memory of what just happened on it.


    Heces his fingers together and regards me coolly. "I imagine you¡¯re feeling a little...shocked."


    "Understatement," I chime in.


    His lips twitch upward. "Right. But I¡¯m not going to apologize for being who I am, Hailey."


    "I am not asking you to," I quickly say. "Your personal misadventures are none of my business."


    His lips quirk up again. "My...misadventures?"


    He leans back in his chair like we are old friends sharing a joke instead of a wildly inappropriate workce encounter. "I like that. Sounds almost poetic."


    I arch an eyebrow. "I was going to go with gross and unsanitary, but I¡¯m trying to be polite."


    Marcus chuckles, low and unapologetic. "You seem scandalized. Have you never wondered what it would be like to sprawl on a office desk and be fucked senselessly?"


    I stiffen, my spine going rigid like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water down my back. Whatever thread of professionalism I¡¯ve been clinging to snaps in an instant.


    "Excuse me?" I say, my voice sharp enough to cut ss.


    Marcus smirks, leaning back like he just asked me about the weather. "Rx. It¡¯s just a question."


    "No," I snap. "It¡¯s not. It¡¯s gross, inappropriate, and exactly the kind of thing HR would love to hear about."


    He waves a hand like he¡¯s brushing away a speck of dust. "HR won¡¯t touch me. And we both know you are not going to them. Perhaps you¡¯d like a piece of me too."


    I narrow my eyes. "Don¡¯t mistake my silence for tolerance. There¡¯s a line, Marcus. You didn¡¯t just cross it¡ªyou pole vaulted over it."


    His smirk falters, just a beat, before it settles into something cooler. "You¡¯re not as fragile as you act, Hailey."


    "And you¡¯re not as irresistible as you think," I argue. "You are not even my type."


    That shuts him up. For a moment, the tension between us thickens, taut and electric. Then, without another word, Marcus leans forward and opens a folder sitting on the desk. One I hadn¡¯t noticed before.


    Inside are photos.


    Of me.


    Of Josh.


    Even of Tammy.


    I lean in slowly, all my sarcasm dissolving as I flip through them. My heart pounds louder with each image.


    "These... these were taken here," I say, my voice low, disbelieving.


    Marcus nods grimly. "Last night. After hours. Someone¡¯s watching us."


    My stomach turns. The shots are grainy but close...too close. I remember the moment Josh and I were talking near the supply shelves, Iughing at something he said. They¡¯re not long-distance surveince shots. They¡¯re from inside.


    "They¡¯re too close," I whisper. "Whoever took these was in the building."


    "Exactly." His voice is quieter now, more serious than I¡¯ve ever heard it. "This isn¡¯t just some creep with a zoom lens. They¡¯re already inside."


    I rub my arms, a chill crawling over me. Suddenly, I feel exposed like there¡¯s a camera pointed at me right now.


    "Well," I mutter, forcing the words out, "maybe you should stop being a creep, then. Because we clearly have bigger problems."


    He gives me a tight nod. "Truce?"


    I eye him warily. "Temporary. And conditional."


    "Fair enough."


    Silence settles again, but it¡¯s different now. Sharper. Heavier.


    Marcus looks at me, and the usual smugness is still there. "So, what is your type, Hailey Jameson?"


    I narrow my eyes, resisting the heat rising in my face. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s from embarrassment, irritation, or the sheer audacity of this man.


    "That¡¯s none of your business," I say tly.


    He tilts his head, the smugness curling back into his features like a cat returning to cream. "That¡¯s not a no."


    "It¡¯s a hell no," I shoot back. "In case that wasn¡¯t clear."


    His chuckle is low, maddeningly amused. "You¡¯re interesting, Hailey. I can¡¯t decide if I want to fire you or promote you."


    "Why not both?" I deadpan.


    Marcus grins, but then his gaze flicks back down to the photos, and the mood shifts again. "Joking aside, we need to figure out who did this. These weren¡¯t just random shots¡ªthey were targeted. Intentional."


    I nod slowly, unwillingly aligning with him. "Why Josh, though?"


    Marcus shrugs. "As I said before, modeling industry is cutthroat. Someone does not like Josh¡¯s entry and they want to make sure he is not part of this very important shoot."


    "So, what¡¯s the n?" I ask, my voice lower now.


    Marcus leans forward, folding his hands again. "We do nothing yet. We don¡¯t let them know we¡¯re onto them. I¡¯ll review the building¡¯s security feed. You keep an eye on Josh. See if he¡¯s acting off. And if anyone else notices anything strange, subtle or not, I want to know."


    "And if we find the person behind this?" I ask.


    A shadow crosses his face. "Then I deal with them."


    His tone sends a ripple down my spine. It¡¯s not angry. It¡¯s calm. And that¡¯s what makes it dangerous.


    I nod slowly, then stand. "I will go back to my shoot."


    "Wait," he calls out before I am out of the door.


    I turn back, hand still on the doorknob. "What?"


    Marcus holds my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Be careful who you trust, Hailey. Even the people closest to you."


    A chill runs through me. "What¡¯s that supposed to mean?"


    He just gives me a thin smile. "It means exactly what I said. Now go make me some beautiful photographs."


    I leave his office with my mind racing. The photos. The warning.


    The rest of the day passes in a blur of shots, outfit changes, and lighting adjustments. I throw myself into the work, directing the models with a focus that borders on intensity. If anyone notices my shift in mood, they don¡¯t mention it.


    By the time we wrap, the sun has long since set. The studio empties quickly, and everyone is eager to start their evening.


    I wonder if Josh is having a good day by himself in our apartment.


    My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I¡¯m packing my equipment. I nce at the screen and my stomach drops. Matthew¡¯s name shes with his goofy profile picture¡ªhim holding his newborn son with that proud dad grin.


    "Hey, big brother," I answer, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers. "What¡¯s up?"


    "Finally!" Matthew¡¯s voice booms through the speaker. "I¡¯ve been trying to reach you for days. Are you avoiding me or something?"


    I wince, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue gathering my things. "Of course not. Just been crazy busy with the shoot. You know, dream job and all that."


    "Yeah, well, your nephew is starting to forget what his aunt looks like," he says, his tone softening. "Sarah¡¯s been showing him your pictures, but it¡¯s not the same."


    Guilt twists in my chest. "I miss him too. How is the little peanut?"


    "Growing like a weed. Started trying to roll over yesterday." The pride in his voice makes me smile despite my anxiety. "But that¡¯s not why I called. Mom¡¯s birthday dinner is next weekend, remember? You promised you¡¯d be back for it."


    I freeze. Mom¡¯s birthday. With everything happening in New York, I¡¯dpletely forgotten.


    "Right, of course," I say, frantically calcting days in my head. The shoot wraps in two days, which should give me plenty of time to fly back. "I¡¯ll be there."


    "Good. She¡¯d kill us both if you missed it." There¡¯s a pause, then his voice shifts. "So... how¡¯s the big fancy magazine treating you? Sarah says you¡¯re working with some hotshot models."


    My eyes dart around the studio, suddenly paranoid someone might overhear. "Yeah, it¡¯s been... interesting. The creative director is intense, but he likes my work."


    "Good," he says.


    "Listen," Matthew continues, his voice taking on that protective big brother tone I know all too well. "Don¡¯t let these fashion types push you around. You¡¯re just as talented as any of them."


    I smile despite myself. "Thanks, Matt."


    "And if any of those male models get handsy, you tell me. I¡¯ll fly out there and¡ª"


    "No one¡¯s getting handsy," I interrupt quickly, my cheeks flushing at the thought of Josh. And Marcus¡¯s behavior. "Everyone¡¯s very professional."


    There¡¯s a pause on the line, and I can practically hear Matthew¡¯s suspicion brewing. "You sound weird. Is something going on?"


    "Nothing¡¯s going on," I say, my voice pitching slightly higher than normal. "Just tired. Long days."


    "Hm," Matthew grunts, unconvinced. "Sarah¡¯s been acting strange too whenever I ask about you. You two aren¡¯t keeping secrets, are you?"


    My stomach clenches. "Of course not. What would we have to hide?"


    "I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s what worries me."


    I force augh. "You¡¯re being paranoid. Everything¡¯s fine."


    "If you say so," he says, still sounding doubtful. "Anyway, I should go. Benjamin is waking up from his nap. But Hailey?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Be careful out there, okay? New York can be rough."


    If only he knew. "I will. Love you, big brother."


    "Love you too, squirt."


    I hang up and exhale slowly, guilt gnawing at me. I hate lying to Matthew, but telling him about Josh would onlyplicate things. Especially now, with someone actively trying to sabotage the shoot.


    As I finish packing my equipment, the studio feels eerily quiet. Most of the lights are off, save for the security fixtures casting long shadows across the floor. I nce around, suddenly aware of how alone I am.


    Marcus¡¯s warning echoes in my mind: Be careful who you trust.


    I sling my camera bag over my shoulder and head for the exit, walking faster than necessary. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit and silent except for the soft tap of my boots against the concrete floor.


    A sound behind me, the soft click of a door. It makes me freeze.


    "Hello?" I call out, my voice sounding smaller than I¡¯d like.


    No answer.


    I turn slowly, scanning the shadowy corridor. Nothing seems out of ce, but the prickling sensation on the back of my neck intensifies.


    "Is someone there?" I try again, gripping my camera bag tighter.


    Still nothing.


    Get a grip, Hailey. You¡¯re just spooked from those photos.

 Chapter 123: Female Wrath

    <h4>Chapter 123: Female Wrath</h4>


    Marcus


    Hailey Jameson intrigues me.


    Not in the way most women do, of course. I¡¯ve had plenty of those. The kind that look at me with wide eyes, hoping to catch my attention, dreaming of covers and center spreads.


    Disposable ambitions, all of them.


    But Hailey is different. There¡¯s a rawness to her work that can¡¯t be taught. A perspective that cuts through the glossy artifice most photographers hide behind. She sees things¡ªreally sees them.


    I lean back in my chair, reviewing the security footage fromst night. The camera sweeps across the empty studio, shadows stretching like fingers across the concrete floor. Nothing seems unusual. Yet someone was here, taking those photos, watching us all.


    I pause the tape, focusing on a flicker of movement near the equipment room. There, a shadow moving where it shouldn¡¯t be. I rewind, slow it down. The figure is careful, staying just out of the camera¡¯s full view.


    Amateur. If you¡¯re going to break in somewhere, at least learn the blind spots first.


    I snap a screenshot and zoom in, but the resolution blurs. All I can make out is a tall figure in dark clothing. Could be anyone¡ªstaff, cleaning crew, one of the models.


    Or someone else entirely.


    My phone buzzes with a message from Vivian.


    "Client loves the preliminary shots. Especially the ones with the new male model. Who is he and where did you find him?"


    I smirk. Josh Daniels. The wild card who showed up out of nowhere and somehow fit perfectly into our narrative. The chemistry between him and Hailey is undeniable¡ªcrackling through every frame. It¡¯s rare to capture that kind of authentic tension.


    Which makes the sabotage attempts all the more interesting.


    Someone wants him gone badly enough to risk everything. But who? And why?


    I scroll through the staff list, mentally crossing off names. Most of these people have worked with me for years. They know better than to mess with my shoots.


    Unless it¡¯s not about the shoot at all. Unless it¡¯s something more personal.


    The door opens without a knock, and I look up to see Tammy standing there, tablet in hand.


    "You wanted the background checks?" she asks, her expression carefully neutral.


    I nod. "All of them."


    Her lips press into a thin line, but she nods. "Will there be anything else?"


    "Yes. I want the security team doubled tonight. And I want eyes on Josh Daniels and Hailey Jameson at all times."


    Tammy raises an eyebrow. "You think they are both in danger?"


    I consider this. "I think someone¡¯s ying a dangerous game. And I don¡¯t like games I¡¯m not controlling."


    Tammy nods, though there¡¯s a flicker of something in her eyes¡ªconcern, maybe. Or doubt. I can¡¯t me her. It¡¯s not every day I go full paranoia and start issuing surveince orders on my own staff.


    Still, I didn¡¯t get this far by being na?ve.


    "They won¡¯t like it," she says carefully. "Hailey, especially."


    "She doesn¡¯t need to like it," I reply, cool and firm.


    "Understood," Tammy says and turns.


    "One more question," I ask, making her turn to me again. "What¡¯s going on between Josh and Hailey?"


    Tammy raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"


    "What is the nature of their rtionship? Is he her boyfriend?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.


    Tammy groans. "Come on, Marcus. Don¡¯t tell me you are considering Hailey as your next target."


    I grin and lie back on my chair. "Why not?"


    "Because she¡¯s not like your other bimbos," she says simply.


    I tilt my head, amused. "Different in what way?"


    "She is sharp. Grounded. She¡¯s here to work, not to y your games." Tammy crosses her arms. "She¡¯ll make you bleed."


    I chuckle under my breath. The idea of bleeding for a woman is ludicrous to me. I¡¯ve just always made sure Ie out of these... get-togethers unharmed. Nothing fatal. Nothing permanent.


    But Hailey?


    Hailey has the kind of edge that cuts before you even realize you¡¯re bleeding. It¡¯s in the way she looks at you...


    I¡¯ve built a reputation out of being untouchable, unshakeable. The puppeteer behind every lens, every smirk, every calcted move. I don¡¯t get involved. I orchestrate. Imand.


    But something about Hailey disrupts the rhythm. And I don¡¯t like being disrupted.


    I stand, restless now, and pace toward the window.


    A knock at the door.


    I don¡¯t answer. It opens anyway.


    As soon as the door flies open, the scent of expensive perfume floats in. Floral. Too sweet.


    "Marcus, you bastard!"es the voice, high-pitched and angry.


    I turn slowly, already bracing myself.


    Standing in the doorway, stilettos nted like weapons, is Lena Vale.


    Once the face of our fall campaign, Lena had the kind of beauty that sparked scandals and the kind of ego that lit them on fire. She¡¯s dressed like she walked out of a fashion week finale, tight leather, oversized sunsses, and a venomous pout.


    "Lena," I say, voice t. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"


    "Don¡¯t act coy with me, Marcus. You know why I am here," she hisses.


    "Actually, I don¡¯t," I say.


    "WHY DID YOU GHOST ME?" she cries.


    I let out a short breath of amusement, though there¡¯s no humor in it. "Ghost you? Really, Lena? You make it sound like we were dating."


    Her jaw clenches. "We were something."


    "No," I say, moving behind my desk and sitting, calm and slow. "We were convenient. For a time. Then you stopped being useful, and I stopped pretending."


    The stingnds exactly where I intended it to. Her eyes narrow to slits, fury vibrating through every inch of her.


    "You¡¯re such a cold bastard," she spits. "I gave you everything, Marcus. My face. My body. My name. I made your campaign unforgettable!"


    I lean back in my chair. "You posed. The photographer made it unforgettable. And you got what you wanted out of it. Money, fame, career. Not sure why you are acting like I used you."


    Her nostrils re, and for a moment I wonder if she¡¯ll throw something. Her purse, maybe, or one of those spiked heels. Instead, she takes a slow step closer, teeth bared in a smile that doesn¡¯t reach her eyes.


    "You think you¡¯re so clever, don¡¯t you?" she says, voice dropping into a cold purr. "So untouchable. But even kings bleed when they get sloppy."


    I arch an eyebrow, unmoved. "Is that a threat, Lena? Because if it is, it¡¯s a weak one."


    Her facial expression softens. "I am not trying to threaten you, Marcus. I simply want us to start over. I think we would make a power couple."


    I stare at her, momentarily caught off guard by the shift. One second, she¡¯s fire and ws ready to burn it all down, and the next, she¡¯s purring proposals like we are characters in a glossy magazine spread.


    "I told you this before, Lena. I don¡¯t date and I don¡¯t n on dating or having any kind of rtionships. Now if you will excuse me, I have another meeting in a few minutes," I say, offering her my most charming smile.


    Her eyes re with fury. "I¡¯m not finished with you!"


    "You¡¯re wasting my time," I say, cutting her off.


    She lets out an explosiveugh, a bitter, hollow sound. "You¡¯re pathetic. You think you¡¯re so clever, but all you¡¯re doing is digging your own grave. You¡¯ll see. I¡¯m done with you."


    Lena grabs her oversized sunsses off the desk and ms them onto her face with exaggerated force. "Have fun pretending you¡¯re still in control, Marcus. But mark my words, you¡¯re not. I¡¯ll be the oneughing when your empire crumbles."


    She turns on her heel and storms out, the door mming so hard it rattles the walls.


    I stare at the door, still and unblinking. Not the first time I had to face a female¡¯s wrath and won¡¯t be thest.

 Chapter 124: Unexpected Visit

    <h4>Chapter 124: Unexpected Visit</h4>


    Matthew


    I hadn¡¯t told her I wasing to New York. And I made Sarah promise not to say anything to her.


    Ever since I spoke to Haileyst week, a small part of me has nagged at my brain. Hailey sounded nervous and I started to wonder why.


    As her older brother, I had always been super protective over her and she is having trouble at her new job, I can¡¯t just leave her alone to deal with it!


    Hailey might be brilliant, capable, and stubborn as hell, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact that she is my baby sister. And when something feels off, I show up.


    So I did even though I know Hailey won¡¯t love this...unexpected visit.


    I booked the flight andnded this morning. Didn¡¯t even check into the hotel beforeing straight here. I figured I¡¯d take her out to lunch, check in, and see what kind of circus this Marcus Winters character was really running.


    I walk toward the reception desk, my heart beating nervously.


    The receptionist nces up from herputer, her eyes momentarily hidden behind the gleam of her sses as a polished smile spreads smoothly across her face. "Wee to Luxe Magazine. Do you have an appointment?" she inquires, her voice a practiced melody of professionalism.


    "Not exactly," I reply, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, trying to keep my nerves in check. "I¡¯m here to see Hailey Jameson."


    Her eyes flicker with a hint of curiosity as she blinks, then her fingers dance swiftly over the keyboard, the soft tter filling the brief silence. "And your name?" she asks, her tone both polite and probing.


    "Matthew Jameson. I¡¯m her brother," I state, hoping the familial connection will ease the way forward.


    Her eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but she covers it quickly with another smile. "One moment."


    She picks up the phone and dials, murmuring something into the receiver. I nce around while I wait. Tall ceilings, sleek marble floors, and modern art hanging on the walls. Everything about this ce screams money and ego.


    The receptionist looks up. "I couldn¡¯t reach her. She must be in the middle of a shoot. Do you mind waiting?"


    "Not at all," I say, settling into one of the sleek, ufortable chairs in the corner of the lobby. Typical corporate decor¡ªfancy, sterile, and just warm enough to pretend it¡¯s inviting.


    But even as I sit, my foot taps restlessly against the polished floor.


    I couldn¡¯t shake it. Hailey¡¯s voicest week. The tightness in it, the pause before she answered my questions, how quickly she brushed me off when I asked about her coworkers. Something was wrong.


    I had looked up Marcus Winters. The guy¡¯s reputation preceded him. The industry adored him¡ªbrilliant, ruthless, enigmatic. But the word ruthless came up too many times for my liking. And Hailey? She doesn¡¯t need ruthless. She needs space to grow, not pressure to break.


    My thoughts are interrupted when someone clears their throat next to me.


    I look up to find a tall figure standing over me, his silver hair immactely styled, his suit crisp and expensive.


    "Mr. Jameson," he says, extending a hand. "Marcus Winters. I understand you¡¯re Hailey¡¯s brother."


    I stand, shaking his hand firmly. His grip is strong and calcted, and everything about him is measured for maximum effect.


    "That¡¯s right," I say, sizing him up. "I was hoping to surprise her."


    His lips curve into something approximating a smile, though it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. "A surprise indeed. She¡¯s quite...dedicated to her work."


    "Hailey¡¯s always been that way," I say carefully. "Once she focuses on something, everything else fades into the background."


    Marcus nods, studying me with unnerving intensity. "She has extraordinary talent. Raw, but promising. With the right guidance, she could go far in this industry."


    "She doesn¡¯t need guidance," I say, more sharply than intended. "She needs opportunity."


    His eyebrow arches slightly. "Interesting distinction. You¡¯re protective of her."


    "Wouldn¡¯t you be?" I counter.


    Marcus chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth. "I have no siblings, Mr. Jameson. But I understand familial concern." He gestures toward the elevators. "Come. I¡¯ll take you to her. She¡¯s finishing a shoot on the fifth floor."


    I follow him, acutely aware of how everyone we pass straightens when they see him, their expressions shifting from rxed to alert in an instant. The power he wields is palpable, and it makes me uneasy.


    "I understand Hailey¡¯s been doing well," I say as we step into the elevator.


    Marcus presses the button for the fifth floor. "She¡¯s exceeded expectations. Her eye forposition is... unusual. Refreshing, even." He gives me a sidelong nce.


    The elevator doors open, revealing a vast studio space. Bright lights illuminate a set designed to look like a gritty urban alley. Models in avant-garde clothing pose while assistants scurry about adjusting equipment.


    And there, in the center of it all, is Hailey. She¡¯s crouched low, camera in hand, directing a tall male model with animated gestures. Her red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she¡¯s wearing ck jeans and a loose shirt.


    Pride fills my chest as I see my sister look so professional and poised.


    I hang back for a moment, watching her work. There¡¯s a confidence in her movements that wasn¡¯t there when she first picked up a camera years ago. She¡¯s transformed from my little sister who asked me to review her photos to a professionalmanding an entire shoot.


    "Turn slightly to your left," she calls to the model. "And chin down a bit. Perfect."


    The model, tall, dark-haired, with the kind of jawline that belongs on billboards adjusts his stance with practiced ease. There¡¯s something oddly familiar about him, the way he moves, the set of his shoulders...


    I step closer, narrowing my eyes.


    No. It can¡¯t be.


    "Josh?" I roar.


    Hailey and the model both freeze. Then, slowly, they turn toward me.


    My sister¡¯s face drains of color. "Matthew? What are you doing here?"


    But I barely hear her. I¡¯m too busy staring at Josh Daniels, Sarah¡¯s childhood friend, standing there half-dressed in designer clothes, looking like he belongs on a magazine cover.


    "You¡¯ve got to be kidding me," I say, my voice dangerously low.

 Chapter 125: Caught

    <h4>Chapter 125: Caught</h4>


    Josh


    I recover before Hailey. "Matthew! Long time no see, buddy."


    "Don¡¯t call me buddy," he snaps, turning to Hailey. "What is he doing here?"


    Hailey steps between us, her expression a mix of panic and determination. "Matthew, this isn¡¯t the ce¡ª"


    "Answer the question," he demands. "Why is Josh Daniels modeling for your shoot?"


    The studio has gone quiet. Everyone is watching us now, including Marcus, whose calcting eyes flick between the three of us with undisguised interest.


    "It¡¯splicated," Hailey says, her voice strained. "But he¡¯s part of the shoot now."


    "Part of the¡ª" Matthew stops, the pieces clicking together. "This is why you¡¯ve been acting strange. This is what you and Sarah were hiding."


    "Matthew, please," Hailey hisses, ncing around at the now silent studio. "Not here."


    Marcus steps forward, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps you should take this discussion somewhere more private." He gestures toward an empty conference room down the hall. "Feel free to use that space. Ms. Jameson, we¡¯ll resume in fifteen minutes."


    I watch as Hailey¡¯s shoulders slump in defeat. She nods once, then leads the way toward the conference room, Matthew following close behind. I trail after them, my stomach tight with dread.


    The door barely closes before Matthew rounds on me. "What the hell, Josh?"


    "I didn¡¯t do anything wrong," I protest. "Okay, technically I followed her here, but it wasn¡¯t as creepy as it sounds."


    "Oh really?" Matthew crosses his arms. "Enlighten me."


    Hailey sighs, dropping into a chair. "Josh helped me make my flight when I was stuck in traffic. Then he... showed up here."


    "And somehow ended up half-naked in front of your camera?" Matthew¡¯s voice rises. "Come on, Hails. You expect me to believe this is all innocent?"


    "It¡¯s not innocent," I say before I can stop myself. Hailey¡¯s eyes widen in rm, and I quickly add, "I mean, the modeling part was an ident, but I dide here because I wanted to see Hailey again."


    Matthew¡¯s jaw tightens. "Of course you did. Because you can¡¯t help yourself, can you? Always chasing after whatever catches your eye, never thinking about consequences."


    "That¡¯s not fair," Hailey interjects. "Josh has been nothing but helpful. He¡¯s actually good at this."


    Matthew scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "Good at what? Inserting himself where he doesn¡¯t belong? That¡¯s always been his specialty."


    I step forward, my patience wearing thin. "Look, I get that you¡¯re protective of your sister, but she¡¯s a grown woman who can make her own decisions."


    "And what exactly are your intentions with my sister?" Matthew demands, his voice dropping dangerously low.


    Hailey throws her hands up. "I¡¯m right here! Stop talking about me like I¡¯m not in the room."


    "Fine," Matthew says, turning to her. "Then you exin. What¡¯s going on between you two?"


    Hailey hesitates, her eyes darting to mine briefly before returning to her brother. "Nothing is ¡¯going on.¡¯ Josh is modeling for my shoot. We¡¯re colleagues."


    "Colleagues," Matthew repeats skeptically. "Is that why you¡¯ve been hiding this from me? Because you¡¯re just colleagues?"


    The tension in the room is suffocating. I can see Hailey struggling, caught between her brother¡¯s interrogation and whatever is growing between us.


    "We¡¯re... friends," she says finally. "And yes, I didn¡¯t tell you because I knew you¡¯d overreact. Like you¡¯re doing right now."


    Matthew¡¯s expression softens slightly. "Hailey, I¡¯m just worried about you. This is your big break, and I don¡¯t want anything or anyone to mess it up for you."


    "I can take care of myself," she insists. "And for the record, Josh has been nothing but supportive."


    A knock at the door interrupts us. Tammy pokes her head in, looking apologetic. "Sorry to interrupt, but Marcus is asking for you both. The light is perfect right now, and he doesn¡¯t want to lose it."


    Hailey nods, visibly relieved by the interruption. "Tell him we¡¯ll be right there."


    As Tammy leaves, Matthew sighs heavily. "This conversation isn¡¯t over."


    "Yes, it is," Hailey says firmly. "At least for now. I have a job to do."


    She turns to leave, but Matthew catches her arm gently. "I am going to get myself a hotel room and tonight, we are sitting down for dinner. All three of us."


    Hailey groans. "Fine."


    I follow her, but not before turning to Matthew and offering him a sheepish grin.


    Matthew eyes me warily, clearly not ready to forgive me just yet, but he nods curtly before turning his attention back to Hailey. She walks out of the conference room, and I follow behind, a step or two behind her, trying to figure out how to navigate this mess without stepping on any more toes.


    As we step back into the studio, the tension is palpable. The crew is still watching, but I can see their curiosity mixed with some difort. They are waiting for us to get back to work, but I know this situation isn¡¯t going to die down so easily.


    Marcus is standing near the backdrop, his arms crossed, eyes flicking between the two of us as if he¡¯s trying to gauge whether we¡¯ll be able to continue. "Everything alright?" he asks, his tone calm, but there¡¯s an edge there, like he¡¯s aware that something¡¯s shifted.


    Hailey nces at me, then back at Marcus, and sighs. "Yeah, we are good. Just a little... family drama." She gives me a pointed look, and I nod, trying to show her that I¡¯m not about to make things worse.


    Marcus doesn¡¯t push it further. "Alright. Well, let¡¯s make sure we¡¯re all set up for the next shot." He looks at me for a moment, then nods toward the photographer¡¯s assistant. "Get him ready again. We¡¯re rolling in five."


    As the assistant leads me toward the changing area, I can feel Hailey¡¯s eyes on me, the weight of the moment hanging between us. I want to say something, anything to break the tension, but I don¡¯t. I can tell she¡¯s still processing everything that just happened.


    The assistant hands me a new outfit. This time, a sleek, dark jacket and some tailored pants. I quickly change, trying to focus on the task at hand. When I step back into the studio, Hailey is busy adjusting the lighting, her brow furrowed as she calls instructions to the rest of the crew.


    As I walk back onto the set, the mood shifts. Hailey¡¯s professional demeanor takes over. She¡¯s calm and collected now, focused on the work. I try my best to do the same, blocking out the memory of the confrontation with Matthew.


    But as I stand there, under the bright lights, I can¡¯t help but wonder: What¡¯s going to happen next? I know Matthew won¡¯t let things go. He¡¯s protective, and this...whatever it is between Hailey and me, it¡¯s bound to stir up more trouble.


    I nce at her, and for a moment, our eyes meet across the room. She¡¯s trying to hide it, but I can see the exhaustion in her expression. She¡¯s carrying the weight of all of this on her shoulders, and it¡¯s clear that she doesn¡¯t want me to be a part of the drama¡ªbut here I am, whether she likes it or not.


    The next few hours blur together. Shots, adjustments, more shots, more tense silences. Every time I catch Hailey¡¯s eye, I can feel the distance between us grow a little bit more. She¡¯s trying to keep it professional, but I can sense the cracks beneath the surface.


    Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Marcus calls for a break. The crew disperses, and Hailey turns to me, her face unreadable.


    "I think that¡¯s enough for today," she says quietly, her voice carrying a hint of finality. "Great Job."


    I nod.


    As the crew starts packing up, I step closer to Hailey, trying to bridge the gap. "What do you think he will say at the dinner tonight?"


    Hailey groans. "Oh, god. I am not looking forward to it."


    "Well," I say, trying to lighten the mood, "at least you won¡¯t have to deal with it alone."


    She shoots me a tired smile. "Yeah, lucky me. I just hope you are good at defending yourself if Matthew decides to tackle you to the ground during dinner."


    "I¡¯ll bring a fork for self-defense," I joke.


    Hailey¡¯s fingers brush against mine briefly, a touch so light I almost think I imagined it. "This isn¡¯t how I wanted things to go," she admits quietly.


    "Me neither," I say. "But hey, at least your brother didn¡¯t actually try to murder me. Yet."


    "The night is young," she mutters, ncing toward the door where Matthew had disappeared.


    As we gather our things, I notice Marcus watching us from across the studio, his expression calcting. There¡¯s something in his gaze that makes me uneasy¡ªlike he¡¯s cataloging our every interaction for future reference.


    "Your brother seems... protective," hements when we pass him on our way out.


    Hailey sighs. "That¡¯s one word for it."


    "Family can beplicated," Marcus says smoothly. "Especially when they think they know what¡¯s best for us." He nces between us, and I get the distinct feeling he¡¯s enjoying this drama. "I look forward to seeing how this ys out."


    "It¡¯s not a reality show, Marcus," Hailey snaps.


    He just smiles. "Everything is content, Ms. Jameson. Remember that."


    Outside the studio, the evening air feels refreshingly cool after the hot lights. Hailey checks her phone, scrolling through messages.


    "Matthew¡¯s booked a table at Lucien for eight," she says, sounding resigned.


    "Fancy," I observe. "Is he trying to impress us or intimidate us?"


    "Both, probably." She runs a hand through her hair, looking suddenly exhausted. "I need to shower and change before dinner. You should too."


    I nod, fighting the urge to reach for her hand.


    At the brownstone, we move around each other carefully, like dancers avoiding collision. I hear the shower running in her bathroom as I change into fresh clothes, my mind racing with all the things I want to say to her.


    When she emerges from her room, she takes my breath away. She¡¯s wearing a simple ck dress that hugs her curves in all the right ces, her hair loose around her shoulders. There¡¯s something vulnerable in her eyes that makes my chest ache.


    "You look beautiful," I say softly.


    A hint of color rises in her cheeks. "Thanks."


    The taxi ride to the restaurant is quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we arrive, Matthew is already there, nursing a ss of bourbon at the bar. His expression darkens when he sees us enter together.


    "Right on time," he says, setting his ss down. "Our table¡¯s ready."


    We follow him to a corner booth, secluded and private. The perfect spot to quietly murder me.

 Chapter 126: Living Together

    <h4>Chapter 126: Living Together</h4>


    Hailey


    I sink into the booth, my stomach twisting in knots. The tension between me, Josh, and Matthew is suffocating, and I can feel it pressing in from every side. I try to focus on the menu in front of me, anything to distract myself from the electric charge in the air.


    Matthew sits across from me, his eyes sharp as ever, his brow furrowed in that way he does when he¡¯s about to interrogate someone. Josh slides into the seat beside me, and I can almost feel him holding back a sigh. It¡¯s clear he¡¯s not thrilled to be here, and honestly, I¡¯m not either. But what choice do we have?


    Matthew is staring at Josh now, his expression unreadable. "So," he starts, his voice cold, "how long has this been going on?"


    "Nothing is going on, Matthew," I say quickly, my tone firm, but not as convincing as I¡¯d like. I catch Josh¡¯s eye, but he¡¯s not meeting my gaze. He is looking straight ahead, a little too tense, and I¡¯m starting to worry that he¡¯s regretting all of this.


    Matthew does not look convinced. He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I¡¯m talking about the fact that you two are alone together, all the time. And where exactly are you staying, Josh?" he asks.


    I gulp and look at Josh as if to see if he is thinking about lying too.


    Josh clears his throat. "Actually, we¡¯re staying at thepany brownstone. Together."


    I watch my brother¡¯s face transition through a rainbow of emotions, finally settling on a dangerous shade of red.


    "You...WHAT?" Matthew cries.


    "Shhh...we are in public," I hiss.


    Matthew¡¯s voice is deadly quiet. "You are staying together? As in, under the same roof?"


    "Different bedrooms," I add quickly. "It¡¯s a work arrangement. The magazine provides it for visiting talent."


    Matthew leans back, eyes darting between us. "So let me get this straight. You¡¯re living together, working together, and ording to you two, there¡¯s absolutely nothing going on?"


    The waiter chooses that precise moment to appear. "Ready to order?"


    "Give us a minute," Matthew says without looking at him.


    When we¡¯re alone again, Josh shifts beside me. "Look, Matthew, I get why you¡¯re upset¡ª"


    "Do you?" Matthew cuts in. "Because from where I¡¯m sitting, it looks like you followed my sister across the country, inserted yourself into her career-making opportunity, and are now sharing living space with her."


    "It wasn¡¯t nned," I insist. "Josh helped me when I was stranded, and then the whole modeling thing just... happened."


    "Things don¡¯t just happen, Hailey." Matthew¡¯s voice softens slightly. "Not like this."


    "Sometimes they do," Josh says quietly. "Sometimes you meet someone, and it changes everything."


    My heart skips at his words, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. Matthew notices, of course, he does, and his expression hardens again.


    "So there is something going on," he says, looking directly at me.


    I open my mouth to deny it, but the words won¡¯te. Because there is something, isn¡¯t there? Something unnamed and fragile growing between Josh and me. Something I¡¯ve been too afraid to examine too closely.


    "I care about your sister," Josh says when I don¡¯t answer. "I know that¡¯s probably thest thing you want to hear from me, but it¡¯s the truth."


    Matthew¡¯s jaw clenches. "And what happens when this shoot is over? When you go back to Pornd and your real job? What then, Josh?"


    Josh hesitates, and I feel my stomach drop. It¡¯s a question I¡¯ve been avoiding myself.


    "We are not exactly dating, though," I quickly interrupt.


    Matthew scoffs, leaning back in the booth. "You¡¯re not dating, but you¡¯re living together. I don¡¯t approve."


    I re at him. "I am an adult. I don¡¯t need your approval."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes darken, his lips pressing into a tight line. "You¡¯re right," he says slowly. "You are an adult. But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to sit here and watch you walk straight into something that could hurt you."


    Josh shifts beside me, his arm brushing mine. I feel the tension in him, like a coil pulled too tight. "I¡¯m not trying to hurt her," he says, his voice low but steady. "That¡¯s thest thing I¡¯d ever want. Come on, Matthew. You know me. Have I ever done anything to hurt you or Sarah? Be honest."


    "N...no...but..." Matthew stammers.


    "Haven¡¯t I been a great uncle to Benjamin?" Josh presses.


    "Yes..." Matthew says hesitantly.


    "Then that settles it. I am a great friend and a great uncle. So I will also be an excellent brother inw," Josh deres.


    Matthew blinks, stunned into silence. His mouth opens slightly, but no soundes out. His expression is somewhere between baffled and horrified as if Josh had just proposed marriage in the middle of a hostage negotiation.


    "Josh!" I hiss, elbowing him hard in the ribs.


    He winces, but grins through it. "What? I¡¯m just getting ahead of the curve."


    Matthew¡¯s eyes narrow. "Brother-inw?" he repeats, voice sharp. "You are joking, right?"


    Josh shrugs, that infuriating confidence surfacing now that he has cracked the tension. "I¡¯m just saying, if things were to go that way... I don¡¯t think it¡¯s such a crazy idea."


    I bury my face in my hands. "Oh my God."


    Matthew leans across the table, his voice a quiet warning. "This isn¡¯t a game, Josh. This is my sister. Her life. Her future. If you¡¯re not serious¡ª"


    "I am serious," Josh interrupts, suddenly losing the joking edge in his tone. "I might mess around sometimes, but not about this. Not about her."


    That pulls me upright again. I nce at him, his jaw set, his eyes unwavering. And despite the chaos of this conversation, the tight ball of dread in my stomach eases just a little.


    Matthew notices too. He studies Josh with that protective, big-brother scrutiny that has terrified boys since middle school. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.


    "You better mean every word," he says atst. "Because if you break her heart, I¡¯m not just your ex-roommate. I¡¯m still your friend. And I¡¯ll stille for you."


    Josh nods. "Understood."


    "Excuse me! I didn¡¯t even agree to date you, let alone marry you!" I interrupt.


    Josh grins. "Right. Of course. I just meant hypothetically. If someday, maybe¡ª"


    Matthew smirks. "If you are going to live under the same roof as her, you better n on marrying her too."


    I cross my arms and give them both a look. "This entire conversation is ridiculous. Can we please eat like normal people now? Or at least pretend to be?"


    The waiter returns. "Um... ready to order?"


    "Yes," I say, grabbing the menu with renewed purpose. "I¡¯ll have the grilled chicken sd. No croutons."


    Josh gestures vaguely. "Same, but with croutons. And extra dressing."


    Matthew orders something far more expensive than he needs, shooting Josh a smug nce as he hands the menu over. "Reparations," he says simply.


    The waiter scurries off, and we¡¯re left in an awkward, heavy silence.


    Josh clears his throat. "Hailey... I wasn¡¯t trying to pressure you. I know we haven¡¯t...defined anything. I just..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I like you. A lot. And I think maybe you like me too. But if I¡¯m reading this wrong¡ª"


    "You are not," I say softly, cutting him off. "You¡¯re not reading it wrong. I just... wasn¡¯t ready to say it out loud. Especially not with my brother breathing fire across the table."


    Matthew raises a brow. "I¡¯m right here, you know."


    Josh chuckles under his breath, and I feel his hand brush mine under the table¡ªnot grabbing, just a gentle touch.


    And for once, I don¡¯t pull away.

 Chapter 127: When it Rains

    <h4>Chapter 127: When it Rains</h4>


    Hailey


    "Well, that went better than I thought," Josh says as we get into the taxi.


    I shake my head. "I can¡¯t believe you basically told him that we n to marry someday. What the hell, Josh?"


    He shrugs. "It doesn¡¯t seem like a crazy idea to me."


    I stare at him, stunned. The cab pulls away from the curb, the city blurring past the windows, but all I can focus on is the warm, stubborn certainty in his voice.


    "Josh," I say slowly, "we haven¡¯t even had a real date. We¡¯re not even officially a thing."


    He turns to me, resting his elbow on the edge of the seat, his gaze steady. "We have gone on a date."


    "Okay, one date. You think I am ready to marry you after one date?" I ask.


    "A man can dream," he says, smirking.


    God...


    I cross my arms, ring out the window to hide the way my lips threaten to twitch. He¡¯s smirking like this is all some big joke, but I can see the truth behind his eyes¡ªhe means it.


    Maybe not in a "drop everything and run to Vegas" kind of way, but in the deeper, scarier way that sneaks under your skin and refuses to leave.


    "You know you can¡¯t just say stuff like that to my brother, right?" I mutter.


    Josh leans back,pletely rxed now, like he didn¡¯t just light a grenade and lob it into the middle of my family dynamic. "I panicked."


    "That was not panic," I shoot back. "That was confidence with a death wish."


    He chuckles. "I figured if I leaned into it hard enough, he¡¯d either ept it or implode. Honestly, I¡¯m not sure which happened."


    I finally nce over, and he¡¯s watching me like he always does¡ªwith way too much focus, like I¡¯m the only thing that matters. And maybe that¡¯s why it¡¯s hard to stay mad.


    I sigh. "You are lucky you¡¯re cute."


    Josh grins. "So you do think I¡¯m cute."


    I groan and cover my face. "This is why I didn¡¯t want you in my life."


    "Ouch," he says with a hand on his heart, but there¡¯s no sting to it. "And yet, here I am. In your life. In your cab. Possibly in your future wedding photos."


    I swat his arm. "Shut up."


    But even as I say it, I¡¯m smiling. He knows it too. I feel his fingers brush mine on the seat between us, tentative, like he¡¯s testing the water.


    I let them stay.


    Just for now.


    I hear a tap against the taxi window, soft at first, then heavier.


    "Oh, wow, it¡¯s raining!" Josh exims.


    I nce out the window as the raindrops begin to race each other down the ss, distorting the lights of the city into smudges of gold and red. The rain turns the whole world into a watercolor painting¡ªblurry, messy, strangely beautiful.


    Josh leans closer to the window like a little kid, grinning. "I love when it rains here. It makes everything feel...new. Like something important is about to happen."


    I tilt my head. "That¡¯s oddly poetic for someone who just dered himself my future husband in a diner booth."


    He chuckles. "Even a diner can be romantic when you are with the right person."


    I shake my head, but I can¡¯t stop the smile spreading across my face.


    "You know," he says, softer now, "I meant it."


    I turn to him, heart suddenly thudding. "Meant what?"


    "All of it. I know I was being an idiot about the brother-inw line, but I wasn¡¯t joking about caring about you. I just...I don¡¯t want to scare you off."


    His voice is low, sincere in a way that immediately strips away all my defenses. The cab moves again, but time feels slower now, suspended in the quiet space between us.


    "You haven¡¯t scared me off," I say, almost a whisper.


    He watches me for a second longer. "Good. Because I¡¯d really like to take you on that second date."


    "In the middle of a thunderstorm?" I ask.


    He grins. "You afraid of a little rain?"


    I nce out the window again, then back at him. "Nope," I say.


    "Well, I don¡¯t mean to have a second date right now. It needs to be nned carefully," he says seriously.


    nned carefully?" I echo, raising an eyebrow. "You don¡¯t seem like the type to n anything carefully."


    Josh lifts a finger like he¡¯s about to make a very important point. "I am now since I realized you are not just anyone. This second date needs to be memorable. Iconic. The kind of thing you¡¯ll think about ten years from now and go, ¡¯Wow, he really pulled that off.¡¯"


    I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are already warm. "That¡¯s a lot of pressure for one date."


    He shrugs. "You¡¯re worth the pressure."


    For a moment, I forget to breathe. The cab bumps over a pothole, pulling me back to the moment, but his words linger like the low hum of thunder in the distance.


    "Okay then, Mr. Iconic," I say, forcing a smirk to keep the flutter in my chest under control. "You better bring your A-game."


    Josh leans back like he¡¯s already won something. "Oh, I will. You won¡¯t even know what hit you."


    We both nce out the window as the cab pulls up in front of the brownstone. The rain has picked up, a steady curtain now sweeping the sidewalk.


    "Guess we run for it?" I say, eyeing the downpour.


    Josh grins and shrugs out of his jacket. "Or we make it cinematic."


    He opens the door and holds his jacket up like a makeshift umbre. I groan but slide out after him, squealing as my shoes hit a puddle. He pulls me close, wrapping the jacket over both our heads, his other arm curling around my shoulders.


    We¡¯reughing, dodging puddles,pletely drenched within seconds, but I can¡¯t bring myself to care. Hisugh is warm in my ear. His hand finds mine again. And when we reach the front door, rain dripping from our hair and noses, he doesn¡¯t let go.


    The door closes behind us with a soft click, shutting out the storm. Water drips from our clothes onto the hardwood floor, forming small puddles at our feet.


    Josh¡¯s eyes lock with mine, darkening with an intensity that makes my breath catch. In one fluid motion, he takes my face in his hands and backs me against the wall, his body pressing into mine. His lips find mine with a hunger that dissolves every hesitation I¡¯ve been clinging to.


    I gasp against his mouth, my fingers tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer. His kiss is deeper this time, more desperate. Like he¡¯s been waiting forever for this moment.


    I melt into him. His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of heat through my damp clothes, and I find myself arching toward him, wanting more.


    "We should probably get out of these wet clothes," he says against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.


    I freeze for a moment, reality intruding. "Josh... I¡ª"


    He pulls back immediately, his eyes searching mine. "Too fast?"


    The concern in his voice makes my heart squeeze. "No," I whisper and reach for the buttons of his shirt.

 Chapter 128: High Stake Romance

    <h4>Chapter 128: High Stake Romance</h4>


    Hailey


    His shirt falls to the floor with a wet p, and I trace my fingers along his chest, marveling at the warmth of his skin despite the rain. Josh¡¯s hands find the hem of my blouse, tugging it upward as his eyes seek permission. I nod, lifting my arms as he pulls it over my head.


    "You¡¯re beautiful," he whispers, his voice husky with desire.


    I silence him with another kiss, my fingers working at his belt. We stumble backward, sheddingyers as we go¡ªhis jeans, my skirt, leaving a trail of wet clothes across the floor. My back hits the wall again, and Josh lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist. I cradle his face in my hands, breathing hard.


    "My room," I murmur against his lips. "Now."


    I slide down, taking his hand and pulling him toward my bedroom with newfound certainty.


    The door closes behind us, and I push him toward the bed, watching as he falls back against the mattress. His eyes never leave mine as I reach behind to unhook my bra.


    "Are you sure?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbows.


    "I¡¯ve never been more sure of anything," I say, crawling over him.


    Josh¡¯s hands settle on my hips, warm and steady. "I need you to know something," he says, suddenly serious. "This isn¡¯t just..."


    I press my finger to his lips. "I know."


    His lips find mine again, gentle at first, then hungrier. We move together, exploring, discovering. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as if he¡¯s been imagining this moment for as long as I have.


    "Josh," I breathe as his lips trace a path down my neck.


    Outside, the storm rages on, rainshing against the windows.


    "Hailey," he whispers against my skin, his voice like velvet. "You¡¯re all I¡¯ve thought about since I first saw you."


    Lightning shes, illuminating his face above me for a heartbeat¡ªhis eyes dark with desire, his lips parted. I pull him closer, desperate to feel more of him. His weight settles between my thighs, perfect and right, as if our bodies were made to fit together this way.


    His fingers tangle in my hair as he kisses me deeper, longer, until I¡¯m dizzy with want. Every touch ignites something new, something I¡¯ve been keeping locked away for too long. I arch into him, gasping as his hand slides down my stomach, tracing patterns that make me shiver.


    "I¡¯ve wanted this," I confess against his ear, my nails dragging lightly down his back. "I¡¯ve wanted you."


    Josh groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "Since when?" he asks, his breath hot against my neck.


    "Since you showed up in that ridiculous leather jacket," I admit, smiling against his lips.


    Heughs softly, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. "Well, now I¡¯m definitely keeping it forever."


    I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Less talking," I murmur, guiding his hand where I need it most.


    His fingers find me, and I gasp, head falling back against the pillow. Josh watches me with reverent focus, as if to memorize my reaction, every sound I make. His touch is both tender and insistent, drawing pleasure from me like he¡¯s unlocking a secret only he knows thebination to.


    "You¡¯re so beautiful like this," he whispers, his voice thick with awe.


    I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his cock, and it¡¯s his turn to groan. The sound sends a thrill through me¡ªknowing I can affect him just as deeply as he affects me.


    "I need you," I breathe, guiding him. "Now."


    Our eyes lock as he enters me slowly, both of us holding our breath at the exquisite sensation. For a moment, we¡¯re perfectly still, savoring the connection. Then he begins to move, and reality dissolves into pure sensation.


    Thunder crashes outside, mirroring the storm building inside me.


    "Hailey," he groans as he slowly thrusts in and out of me. "God, you feel amazing."


    I pull him down for a kiss that¡¯s all heat and hunger, my fingers threading through his hair. The tension coils tighter, higher, until I¡¯m trembling beneath him, teetering on the precipice.


    "Let go," he whispers against my lips. "Come for me."


    I close my eyes, letting myself fall. The tension crests inside me, and I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as the world shatters and reforms around me.


    Josh is right there, murmuring my name, holding me through it like a lifeline. When he follows momentster, it¡¯s with a breathless groan against my neck, his body trembling against mine.


    For a long time, we just lie there, tangled and breathless, our heartbeats slowly syncing again.


    The storm quiets.


    He brushes a damp strand of hair from my forehead and kisses it. "Matthew will definitely kill me now," he murmurs.


    I let out a breathlessugh, my face still buried against his chest. "Yeah, well... at least you¡¯ll die happy. I hope."


    Josh groans dramatically. "Worth it. Ten out of ten. Would die again."


    I lift my head, arching a brow at him. "That better not have been a review of the sex."


    His eyes gleam with mischief. "No, that was a review of you."


    I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m smiling too much to be convincing. "Charmer."


    He tilts his head, fingerszily tracing patterns on my bare back. "I am still taking you to our iconic second date."


    I snuggle closer, resting my chin on his chest and looking up at him. "You¡¯re really not letting that go, are you?"


    "Absolutely not," Josh says,pletely unapologetic. "It¡¯s going to be epic. I¡¯m thinking rooftop lights, string quartet, maybe a horse."


    "A horse?" Iugh. "What, are you going to joust for me too?"


    He grins. "If that¡¯s what it takes to impress you."


    "Josh," I say, shaking my head, "you already impressed me. I am in bed with you for Christ¡¯s sake."


    He grins. "I know. But still."


    He brushes his fingers through my hair, slower now, like he¡¯s savoring this moment, me curled against him, the storm outside fading into a whisper.


    "I just want to keep showing you," Josh says, voice softer now. "That this isn¡¯t just some one-time thing."


    I tracezy circles on his chest, letting that sink in. "You¡¯re kind of ridiculous, you know that?"


    "Mm, you say that like it¡¯s a bad thing."


    "It¡¯s not," I admit. "It¡¯s actually kind of... perfect."


    Josh shifts slightly so he can look down at me, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. "So, tell me something. Now that we¡¯ve, you know, crossed the ¡¯stormy night of passion¡¯ threshold..."


    I groan yfully. "Don¡¯t ever call it that again."


    Heughs. "Okay, okay. But seriously...what happens now?"


    I blink, surprised by how quickly the question roots itself inside me. What does happen now?


    "Well," I say slowly, "now you take me on that over-the-top second date. And we keep figuring this out."


    Josh¡¯s smile is slow, warm, and real. "Good. Because I¡¯ve already googled rooftop restaurants."


    "Of course you have."


    "I have to," he says with mock seriousness. "This is high-stakes romance now."

 Chapter 129: Paris

    <h4>Chapter 129: Paris</h4>


    Hailey


    The harsh re of studio lights feels especially blinding this morning. I adjust my camera settings, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the memory ofst night with Josh. My body still tingles from his touch.


    "Lighting needs to be more dramatic for this shot," I call out to the crew. "Can we get the key light angled down another fifteen degrees?"


    An assistant scurries to adjust the rig while I review the test shots on my monitor. The final day of shooting has everyone on edge¡ªwe¡¯re behind schedule after yesterday¡¯s interruptions, and Marcus is prowling the perimeter like a restless predator.


    "Ms. Jameson." His voice cuts through the bustle. "A word?"


    I follow him to the corner of the studio, conscious of eyes tracking our movement.


    "Your brother¡¯s appearance yesterday was... disruptive," Marcus says, keeping his voice low. "I trust there won¡¯t be any more family drama today?"


    "No," I assure him. "Matthew¡¯s flying back this afternoon."


    Marcus nods, his gaze drifting to where Josh is being prepped by the styling team. "And your... rtionship with our unexpected model?"


    Heat rises to my cheeks. "Won¡¯t affect my work."


    "See that it doesn¡¯t." He pauses, studying me.


    Before I can respond, the studio doors swing open. Tammy rushes in, her face flushed with excitement.


    "Marcus! The editor from Vogue just called. They want preliminary shots from this series for their industry spotlight!"


    A murmur ripples through the studio. Marcus¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change, but I catch the slight straightening of his shoulders¡ªthe closest hees to showing pleasure.


    "Send them the third sequence," he instructs Tammy. "Only the approved selects."


    I return to my position, a surge of pride mingling with nerves. Vogue. This couldunch my career into the stratosphere.


    Josh emerges from styling, his eyes immediately finding mine across the room. He smiles¡ªthat private, knowing smile that makes my stomach flip. I force myself to look away, to maintain professionalism, but I can feel his gaze lingering.


    "ces, everyone!" I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.


    The models take their positions on the industrial set we¡¯ve constructed¡ªa fantasy of urban grit and luxury. Josh stands at the center, the focal point of theposition, exactly where he wasn¡¯t supposed to be when I nned this shoot weeks ago.


    Yet somehow, it feels right.


    I lift my camera, framing the shot. "Josh, chin down slightly. Eyes to camera."


    He adjusts, and through my viewfinder, I see the transformation¡ªthe way he channels something raw and maic when the lens is on him.


    Click. Click. Click.


    "Beautiful," I murmur, mostly to myself.


    I lose myself in the work, in the pure creative flow that makes me forget everything else¡ªeven the man whose touch still burns on my skin.


    "That¡¯s the one," Marcus murmurs, appearing suddenly at my shoulder as I review thetest sequence. "Send that to retouch immediately."


    I nod, marking the image. Through the viewfinder, Josh has transformedpletely¡ªno longer the yful, impulsive man who followed me across the country, but something elemental andpelling. The camera revealsyers in him I¡¯m still discovering.


    When we break for lunch, I escape to the rooftop, needing a moment alone. The city stretches before me, a concrete jungle bathed in midday sun. I take deep breaths of the polluted air, trying to clear my head.


    "Hiding from me?"


    I turn to find Josh standing by the door, two coffee cups in hand. He¡¯s still in wardrobe¡ªtight ck jeans and an unbuttoned shirt that reveals too much chest for my concentration.


    "From everyone," I admit, epting the coffee he offers.


    He leans against the railing beside me, our shoulders almost touching. "Quite a morning. I heard someone mention Vogue?"


    "Yeah." I can¡¯t suppress my smile. "They want preliminary shots."


    "Look at you," he says, nudging my shoulder. "About to be famous."


    "Hardly." But warmth blooms in my chest at his pride.


    We stand infortable silence, sipping our coffee. The question hangs between us, unasked but impossible to ignore: what happens after today? When the shoot ends and reality returns?


    "Aboutst night¡ª" he begins.


    "We should get back," I interrupt, suddenly afraid of what he might say. "Final sequence starts in ten minutes."


    His face falls slightly, but he nods. "Lead the way, Ms. Photographer."


    When we return to the studio, something feels off. The crew moves with unusual tension, whispers passing between them like electric currents.


    "What¡¯s going on?" I ask Tammy, who¡¯s hovering near my equipment.


    She leans in, lowering her voice. "Security found something in the changing room. A note."


    My stomach drops. "What kind of note?"


    "Threatening. Directed at Josh." Her eyes dart to where he stands, oblivious, chatting with one of the lighting techs. "Marcus is furious¡ªhe¡¯s questioning everyone who had ess to the buildingst night."


    Before I can respond, the studio doors burst open. Two security guards enter, nking a pale, trembling figure¡ªYakov, the model who¡¯s been shooting daggers at Josh since day one.


    Marcus follows, his face a mask of cold fury. "Get him out," hemands, and the guards drag Yakov toward the exit.


    "You can¡¯t do this!" Yakov protests, his ent thicker with emotion. "I did nothing wrong!"


    The studio falls silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. Josh steps forward, confusion etched across his face.


    "What¡¯s happening?" he asks, looking between Marcus and the struggling model.


    Marcus¡¯s jaw tightens. "Security found evidence in Mr. Petrov¡¯s locker. The sabotaged lighting equipment. Photos. And a rather explicit threat concerning your continued participation in this shoot."


    My blood runs cold. I move to Josh¡¯s side instinctively, my hand finding his arm.


    "You¡¯re lying!" Yakov shouts, struggling against the security guards. His eyes lock on Josh, zing with hatred. "Youe from nowhere, steal my position, my spotlight! You are nothing! A fake!"


    Josh stands his ground, surprisingly calm. "I never meant to take anything from you."


    "Enough," Marcus cuts in. "Get him out. And call the police."


    As they drag Yakov toward the exit, he twists in their grip, his face contorted with rage. "This isn¡¯t over! You think you¡¯ve won? You haven¡¯t seen thest of me!"


    The doors m behind them, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. I can feel Josh¡¯s pulse racing beneath my fingers, still gripping his arm.


    "Well," Marcus says, addressing the frozen crew, "that was dramatic. But we have a shoot to finish. ces, everyone."


    Nobody moves for a beat, then slowly, like a machine reluctantly grinding back to life, the studio resumes its activity. Whispers ripple through the crew, but Marcus¡¯s steely gaze quells any open discussion.


    Josh turns to me, his voice low. "You okay?"


    I almostugh at the absurdity. "Shouldn¡¯t I be asking you that? He was threatening you, not me."


    "Yeah, but..." His fingers brush mine discreetly. "You look shaken."


    I am. The thought of someone actively trying to hurt Josh¡ªto hurt us¡ªmakes me feel sick. But there¡¯s no time to process it now, not with Marcus watching and a deadline looming.


    "I¡¯m fine," I say, squeezing his hand once before releasing it. "Let¡¯s just finish this."


    The final sequence is our most ambitious¡ªa series of shots capturing movement and emotion against the stark industrial backdrop. Despite everything, Josh performs wlessly, channeling an intensity that takes my breath away. Through my lens, I capture something raw and honest¡ªthe vulnerability beneath his confidence, the warmth behind his eyes when they meet mine.


    It¡¯s nearly sunset when Marcus finally calls a wrap. The tension that¡¯s been gripping the studio for days dissipates in a wave of exhausted relief. Crew members pat each other¡¯s backs, exchanging congrattions. Even Marcus looks satisfied, which might be a first.


    "Gather around, everyone," Marcus calls, hismanding voice silencing the post-wrap celebration. The crew forms a loose circle, faces flushed with aplishment and relief.


    I stand next to Josh, our shoulders barely touching as Marcus steps into the center of the group.


    "This shoot exceeded my expectations," Marcus announces, scanning the crowd with his piercing gaze. "So much so that Luxe has approved my proposal for an expansion of the series."


    Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Extension? The shoot wasplete¡ªwe¡¯d covered everything in the original brief.


    "The September issue will feature what we¡¯ve created here," Marcus continues, "but for the winter collection, we¡¯re taking this concept international." He pauses, clearly savoring the moment. "We leave for Paris in three weeks."


    The studio erupts in excited chatter. Paris. The fashion capital of the world.


    "Ms. Jameson will continue as lead photographer," Marcus adds, nodding in my direction. "And our breakout star¡ª" his eyes find Josh, "¡ªhas been requested specifically by the client."


    My heart pounds against my ribs. Paris. With Josh. This can¡¯t be real.


    "Details will be in your emails by morning," Marcus concludes. "Congrattions, everyone."


    As the crowd disperses, Josh turns to me, his eyes wide with disbelief.


    "Paris?" he whispers. "Did that just happen?"


    I shake my head, equally stunned. "I think it did."


    "Hailey!" Tammy rushes over, clutching her tablet. "Marcus wants the preliminary selects tonight. And he needs you both to sign the Paris contracts before you leave."


    "Contracts?" Josh repeats.


    "Six-week assignment," Tammy confirms. "Luxe is covering amodations. You¡¯ll be staying in the Marais district."


    As Tammy hurries away, Josh and I stare at each other, the implications sinking in.


    "Six weeks in Paris," I murmur. "That¡¯s..."


    "A long time," Josh finishes. "A good long time."


    His fingers find mine, squeezing gently. The gesture feels both like a question and an answer.


    "What about your job?" I ask, suddenly remembering his life back in Pornd. "Can you even take that much time off?"


    Josh¡¯s expression shifts, growing more serious. "I¡¯ll figure it out. This is... this is important." His eyes hold mine, and I know he¡¯s not just talking about the modeling opportunity.


    Marcus approaches, breaking our moment. "Ms. Jameson, a word about the Paris logistics?"


    I nod, reluctantly releasing Josh¡¯s hand. As I follow Marcus toward his office, I nce back to see Josh watching me, a small smile ying at his lips.


    Paris. With Josh. Whatever this is between us, it¡¯s not ending with the wrap of this shoot.

 Chapter 130: Tense

    <h4>Chapter 130: Tense</h4>


    Hailey


    Marcus closes the door behind us, and for a moment, just studies me.


    "You handled today well," he says finally, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Better than some seasoned professionals would¡¯ve."


    "Thank you," I say, caught off guard by the rare praise.


    "Don¡¯t let it go to your head." A wry smile flickers at the edge of his mouth. "Paris is going to be ten times harder. More pressure, higher stakes, tighter deadlines. The client is demanding and used to getting what they want."


    "I can handle it," I reply, more confidently than I feel.


    "I believe you can. That¡¯s why I pushed for you." Marcus straightens, his tone shifting.


    "Thank you," I say.


    Marcus nods, then walks around his desk and begins gathering a few documents. The pause stretches, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.


    "There¡¯s one more thing," he says, not looking up. "About Josh."


    My breath catches.


    He continues, voice even. "The client specifically asked for him after seeing the test shots. They think he¡¯s the ¡¯face¡¯ they¡¯ve been missing. Which means... he¡¯s not just your model anymore. He¡¯s the centerpiece."


    I nod slowly, absorbing the implication.


    "If something happens. If he walks, or if there¡¯s more drama, this entire expansion could fall apart."


    "I understand."


    Marcus finally looks up, his gaze sharp. "Make sure he understands too. You brought him in. If this works, you both rise. If it doesn¡¯t..."


    "We fall," I finish quietly.


    He softens, just a fraction. "I¡¯m rooting for you, Hailey. You¡¯ve got the eye. But vision only gets you halfway there. The rest is discipline."


    "I won¡¯t let you down."


    He hands me a slim folder. "Flight details. It¡¯s real now."


    As I leave the office, the weight of it all settles on my shoulders¡ªnot fear, exactly, but the sense that everything is shifting beneath my feet. Josh and I had started as something impulsive, passionate, uncertain. But now?


    Now the world was watching.


    ~-~


    Josh is waiting by the exit, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets. The golden light of sunset streaks across his face, catching the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He straightens when he sees me, that familiar half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth.


    "Everything okay?" he asks, nodding toward the folder in my hands.


    I hesitate, then hand it to him. "Flight details. We leave in ten days."


    He flips it open, brows lifting slightly. "Business ss? Look at us."


    I smile faintly but don¡¯tugh. Not this time.


    "Marcus talked to me," I say. "About you."


    Josh tilts his head. "Let me guess¡ªhe told you to keep me in line?"


    "Something like that." I pause. "He said you¡¯re the centerpiece of the Paris campaign. The client asked for you specifically."


    Josh¡¯s expression shifts¡ªpart pride, part surprise. "Seriously?"


    "Yeah. You impressed them."


    His smile fades into something quieter. "And now the pressure¡¯s on."


    I nod. "For both of us."


    He studies me for a moment, the teasing gone from his eyes. "Are you worried I¡¯ll screw this up?"


    "No." The answeres out sharper than I expect. "But if things go wrong, it won¡¯t just be your name on the line. I fought for you, Josh. This is my shot too."


    He steps closer, gently taking the folder from my hands and tucking it under his arm. "I¡¯m not going anywhere, Hailey."


    I look up at him, searching for any hint of hesitation. There isn¡¯t any. Just him¡ªsolid, present, unexpectedly steady.


    "I need you to take this seriously," I say quietly. "This isn¡¯t just a fling anymore."


    "I know," he murmurs. Then, softer: "But that doesn¡¯t mean it has to stop being real."


    He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering.


    "We¡¯re in this together," he says. "Whatever this bes."


    And for the first time today, I let myself believe that maybe... just maybe... we¡¯re ready for whates next.


    Paris is calling.


    Josh shifts his weight, ncing down at the folder under his arm like it suddenly weighs fifty pounds. "So," he says, dragging the word out a bit, "does this mean I¡¯m officially your professional responsibility now?"


    I raise an eyebrow. "In Paris, you¡¯ll technically be under my direction. So... yes."


    He grins. "Interesting choice of words, considering I was under your directionst night too."


    Heat floods my cheeks. "Josh."


    "I¡¯m just saying," he says, hands raised in mock innocence, "you seemed pretty confident giving instructions."


    "Oh my god."


    "And I followed every one," he adds with a wink. "wlessly, I might add. Like a true professional."


    I press my hand to my face, torn betweenughing and dying of embarrassment. "You¡¯re impossible."


    He leans in closer, his voice low. "If I recall correctly, you didn¡¯t seem to mind."


    I swat at his shoulder, trying to hide my smile. "Focus, Casanova. We have a lot riding on this trip."


    He straightens up, still grinning but with a flicker of sincerity returning to his eyes. "I know. I¡¯ll be good. Promise."


    "You better be," I mutter, turning to walk away.


    Behind me, I hear him say, just loud enough for me to catch: "You say that now, but wait until we get to Paris..."


    I shake my head, cheeks burning, heart thudding with anxiety, excitement, and something dangerously close to hope.


    ~-~


    Three Days Later ¨C Paris


    The cab ride from Charles de Gaulle is a blur of gray skies, old stone buildings, and honking scooters. ??


    "Marais," the driver says, pulling up to a narrow cobblestone street. "Voil¨¤."


    I push open the door and immediately regret not wearing a jacket. It¡¯s colder than I expected for Paris inte spring, the kind of damp chill that seeps straight into your bones. Josh grabs both suitcases and leads the way inside the building Marcus¡¯s assistant secured for us.


    The apartment is sleek and modern, tucked into a centuries-old shell. White walls, high ceilings, industrial fixtures. There are two bedrooms¡ªthank god¡ªand a kitchen I doubt we¡¯ll have time to use. I drop my bag and stretch, trying to unkink my spine.


    Josh tosses his duffel onto the couch and turns toward me, looking far too good for someone who hasn¡¯t slept in 14 hours.


    "So," he says. "Room assignments?"


    I give him a look. "Don¡¯t even think about it."


    He holds up his hands. "Just trying to keep things simple. You know, like the simple joy of a shared bed. Efficient. Environmentally friendly."


    "You¡¯re insufferable."


    "But charming."


    "Debatable."


    He smirks. "That didn¡¯t seem debatable three nights ago."


    I blush. "That night was..."


    Josh winces. "Don¡¯t say it was a mistake."


    "I was going to say a surprise," I counter, crossing my arms. "But now I¡¯m wondering."


    He exhales, half-relieved, half-sheepish. "Okay. Surprise I can live with. Mistake would¡¯ve crushed my already fragile ego."


    "Fragile?" Iugh. "Please. Your ego could survive a nuclear st."


    "That¡¯s because I¡¯ve got excellent emotional instion." He grins, then adds with a more serious note, "But for the record, I don¡¯t regret it."


    I don¡¯t say anything right away.


    I finally say, "Neither do I."


    Josh nods once, slowly, then gestures toward one of the bedrooms. "Okay, then. I¡¯ll take the one on the left, before my excellent self-control ispromised any further."


    I smirk. "Don¡¯t tter yourself."


    He winks. "Toote."


    He disappears into his room with his duffel, and I¡¯m left standing in the quiet apartment with the buzz of Paris just beyond the windows and the memory of that night looping far too clearly in my mind.


    My phone buzzes so I look down. A text from Tammy.


    Tammy: We are taking it easy tonight. Take a nice nap and be ready for the shoot tomorrow.


    From behind his door, I hear the soft creak of a suitcase unzipping, followed by a muffled curse that makes me smile. I¡¯m supposed to be focusing on lighting angles, mood boards, client preferences¡ªnot on the fact that I¡¯ve seen that man shirtless in more than just a professional setting.


    I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me and stand, pacing toward the window.


    Joshes out a few minutester in sweatpants and a in ck t-shirt, hair slightly damp, probably from sshing water on his face. He freezes when he sees me by the window.


    "You okay?" he asks.


    I nod, not turning. "Yeah. Just... processing."


    "Want me to shut up and give you space?"


    "Actually," I say, ncing at him over my shoulder, "I think if you left me alone with my thoughts right now, I¡¯d start rearranging the shoot schedule in alphabetical order."


    Heughs softly, padding over. "So what¡¯s the n then? Power nap? Wine and people-watching? Existential crisis over room-service crepes?"


    I give him a look. "All tempting options."


    Josh leans against the window beside me. "We¡¯re here, Hailey. You made it happen. Just... breathe for a sec, okay?"


    I do. Inhale. Exhale. The pressure doesn¡¯t disappear, but it settles¡ªjust a little.


    Then he adds, with a teasing glint, "Plus, if you short-circuit from overthinking tonight, who¡¯s going to yell at me on set tomorrow?"


    "Oh don¡¯t worry," I say, grinning. "I¡¯ll have enough energy left to boss you around."


    His eyes flick to mine, warm and knowing. "Can¡¯t wait" he says and I feel his hand sliding over my waist.


    I gasp softly as he lifts me effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at all and sets me gently on the wide window ledge.


    The ss is cool against my back and his body warm against mine.


    "Josh..." I breathe.


    He rests his hands lightly on either side of me, caging me in. His head tilts, watching me.


    "You are tense," he says quietly. "Let me relieve some of the tension for you."

 Chapter 131: Surviving Paris

    <h4>Chapter 131: Surviving Paris</h4>


    Josh


    I can feel her heart racing as I press her against the window.


    Her breath hitches as I trail my fingers up her thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath my touch.


    "Josh," she whispers, her eyes darkening with desire.


    I smirk, my hand slipping beneath her shirt to cup her breast, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. "Let me, Hailey," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. I feel her heat radiating from her body and I know she won¡¯t try to stop me.


    With a swift motion, I unbuttoned her jeans, the sound of the zipper echoing in the silent room. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down her legs.


    I kneel before her, my hands on her hips. I smile to myself as I feel her anticipation. Her body is trembling under my touch, and I fucking love it.


    "Josh...you don¡¯t have to..." she starts, but I cut her off. I swing her legs over my shoulders, my face between her legs. My tongue flicks out to taste her. She gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly, her fingers digging into my skin.


    I can feel her body responding to me, her hips arching slightly, trying to get closer to me. I hold her hips firmly, controlling her movements as I explore her with my tongue. I circle her clit slowly, then flick it quickly, changing my rhythm, keeping her guessing.


    Her whispers turn into soft moans, and she¡¯s begging me not to stop. "Don¡¯t stop, Josh. Please don¡¯t stop," she pleads, and I¡¯m fucking thrilled that I have this effect on her.


    I continue to tease and taste, enjoying the power I have over her pleasure. Her legs begin to tremble, and I can feel her body tensing as she gets closer to her climax. I grip her hips tighter, holding her against my mouth as she rides out her orgasm, her cries of pleasure filling the room, echoing around us.


    I look up at her, a satisfied smirk on my face, as she looks down at me, her chest heaving, a flush spread across her cheeks, her eyes zed over with pleasure.


    "How about you take a nap and we go get some crepes after?" I say casually.


    She blinks. "Um...yeah, okay," she murmurs.


    ~-~


    The little caf¨¦ is tucked away on a quiet corner of the street, a cozy ce with warm lighting and the scent of sugar and cinnamon floating through the air.


    Hailey sits across from me in a booth by the window, a soft blush still lingering on her cheeks. She¡¯s wearing a simple hoodie now, her legs curled under her as she flips through the menu.


    I watch her in silence, sipping my coffee, enjoying the way she bites her lip when she¡¯s thinking. "You¡¯re really considering the Nute-stuffed crepe?" I ask with a grin.


    She shoots me a look, but it¡¯s yful. "Excuse me, after the week we had, I think I deserve Nute. And strawberries. And maybe a scoop of vani ice cream."


    I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. "You can have the whole menu if you want. I¡¯ll even let you lick the te."


    She snorts into her water, trying not tough. "Thanks."


    "Maybe we will take some back to the apartment so I can lick it off your body," I say, straight faced.


    She gives me a horrified look. "Josh!"


    "Or do you prefer me licking it off your pussy?" I grin as I watch her go a deeper shade of red.


    "We are in public," she hisses.


    I raise my coffee cup and take a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. "So? It¡¯s not like I said it loud enough for the old couple behind you to hear."


    Her eyes widen, and she nces over her shoulder quickly, then res at me. "You are such an asshole."


    I shrug, unapologetic. "Maybe. But I¡¯m your asshole."


    That earns me a begrudging smile, and she shakes her head, cheeks still flushed. "You have no filter."


    "And you love that about me."


    She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch like she¡¯s trying not tough. "I love that you know how to make everything weird."


    "Sexy," I correct. "I make everything sexy."


    She gives me a look, then raises her eyebrows as the waiter returns with our tes. He slides the crepes in front of us¡ªhers oozing with Nute and strawberries, mine with eggs, spinach, and cheese¡ªand gives a polite smile before leaving us alone again.


    I wait until he¡¯s gone before leaning in again. "Tell me the truth¡ªdo you want me to use the spoon or my fingers?"


    She stares at me, torn between mortification andughter. "You are not turning my crepe into forey."


    "Toote." I casually drag my fork through the melted chocte on her te, scoop a bit, and raise it to my mouth, making a show of licking it slow. "Mmm. Tastes even better when I imagine it on your skin."


    She stares at me, then abruptly grabs her fork and stabs a strawberry like it personally offended her. "I swear to god, you¡¯re going to get us banned from this caf¨¦."


    "I¡¯ll wear it as a badge of honor."


    She mutters something under her breath and takes a big bite of her crepe. I watch her chew, enjoying the way her jaw tightens to hide the smirk creeping across her face.


    After a few moments of quiet, she looks up at me. "Matthew was right about you. You are trouble."


    I grin. "Maybe it¡¯s your job to keep me in line."


    "Yeah," she says softly, "I guess it is."


    I lean back. "So what¡¯s on the agenda tomorrow?" I ask, changing the subject.


    She swallows, dabs at the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and gives me a look that¡¯s half professional, half something else entirely. "Call time is eight. Hair and makeup at the studio by seven-thirty. We¡¯ll shoot the streetwear line in the morning¡ªrooftop terrace, skyline backdrop. Then location change around noon. Afternoon is couture, near the Seine."


    I whistle low. "Ambitious."


    She nods, already flipping mental pages in her nner. "Marcus wants drama. Editorial, notmercial. I need you focused."


    I raise a brow. "You doubting me already?"


    "I¡¯m reminding you," she says, eyes sharp. "This campaign could make or break everything. For both of us."


    "I know." I hold her gaze for a beat. "And I¡¯m in it. All the way."


    That earns me a small nod, a flicker of something in her eyes¡ªrelief, maybe. Trust.


    But then I smirk. "Still doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t flirt with you between takes."


    She sighs. "Just try not to make the stylist blush."


    "No promises," I say, raising my coffee cup in a mock toast. "To crepes, couture, and controlled chaos."


    She clinks her mug against mine, the edges of her mouth curving just slightly.


    "To surviving Paris," she says.

 Chapter 132: Dumbfounded

    <h4>Chapter 132: Dumbfounded</h4>


    Hailey


    I put on the nicest dress I could find.


    Tonight, we are going out to a club to celebrate. All the models and crews from the studio will be there, even Marcus, so I need to look my best.


    I smooth the fabric down over my hips and turn sideways in the mirror, eyeing the low back and the way the satin catches the light.


    It¡¯s bold for me¡ªsleek, dark green, just enough shimmer to catch attention without screaming for it. Josh hasn¡¯t seen it yet. Part of me wants to surprise him. The other part wants to remind him exactly who¡¯s in charge.


    I slip on heels and touch up my lipstick, heart pounding louder than I¡¯d like to admit.


    This isn¡¯t a date.


    It¡¯s just... celebrating. With everyone. Together.


    Still.


    I grab my clutch, give myself onest look in the mirror, and head for the living room where Josh is waiting.


    Josh is sprawled on the couch, thumbing through his phone, a ss of whiskey resting on the coffee table beside him. He¡¯s dressed in ck¡ªbutton-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark jeans, boots. Effortless. Hot. Infuriatingly casual.


    He doesn¡¯t look up right away, but when he does, his eyes find me¡ªand stay there.


    The silence stretches.


    He sits up slowly, jaw tightening just a bit. "Holy shit."


    I lift an eyebrow, pretending to check my nails. "That good?"


    He lets out a low whistle, standing. "That dangerous."


    I fight the flush rising to my cheeks as he steps closer, eyes drinking in every inch of me. "You trying to kill someone tonight? Because I swear, Hailey..."


    "What?" I ask innocently. "It¡¯s just a dress."


    He lets out a slow breath, his hand brushing my waist, barely touching. "No, it¡¯s the dress. Like... if I see Marcus staring too long, I might punch even him."


    "Don¡¯t be dramatic." I giggle.


    "I¡¯m not." His eyes meet mine. "You look unreal."


    I smile, the nerves settling into something warmer¡ªsomething steadier. "You clean up pretty well yourself."


    He smirks. "I tried. Didn¡¯t know I was stepping out with a goddess, though. Might¡¯ve worn a tie."


    I reach up, straightening the cor of his shirt. "You¡¯re perfect."


    He kisses me then¡ªsoft and brief. A promise more than a possession. "Let¡¯s go turn some heads."


    I nod. "Studio sent a shuttle so we can all arrive there safely.


    Josh grabs his jacket and holds the door open for me. "Fancy. A shuttle, huh? What kind of magazine cult did you join?"


    "The glittery kind," I say, stepping past him with a smirk. "They feed us champagne and insecurities."


    He chuckles, locking the door behind us as we head down the stairs.


    The shuttle waits at the curb, a sleek ck van with tinted windows and bass thudding faintly through the doors. Inside, I can already hear the familiar voices¡ªAri¡¯sugh, someone shouting over music, and probably Dominic narrating something no one asked him to.


    Josh opens the van door for me like it¡¯s second nature, his hand at the small of my back as I climb in. The conversation inside dips for a beat when the others catch sight of us.


    "Damn, Hailey," Ari says, fanning herself with exaggerated ir. "If I looked like that in green, I¡¯d marry myself."


    "You¡¯d marry yourself anyway," Dominic snorts.


    "Is no one going toment on how good I look?" Josh teases.


    Dominic points at him with his drink. "Nah, man, you look like you could ruin a marriage and talk your way out of it. I respect that."


    Josh smirks and drops into the seat beside me, stretching his arm along the backrest so it¡¯s just barely grazing my shoulders. "So, we¡¯re in agreement¡ªI¡¯m the hottest one here."


    "You¡¯re definitely the cockiest," I mutter under my breath, though I¡¯m smiling.


    He leans in closer, lips brushing just behind my ear. "Keep feeding my ego. I might behave tonight."


    I turn my head slightly, meeting his eyes. "I don¡¯t want you to behave."


    The grin that spreads across his face is wicked. Dangerous.


    The ride rolls on with music and drinks and too muchughter. Everyone¡¯s buzzed by the time we pull up in front of the club, the line stretching around the block. The lights sh like paparazzi, and the thud of bass rattles the van¡¯s windows.


    But the bouncer knows us¡ªknows the magazine, the crew, the event¡ªso we¡¯re waved in like VIPs.


    Inside, the club is a riot of color and movement. shing lights. Low fog rolling over the dance floor. The music is loud enough to feel in my chest.


    Josh holds my hand as we cut through the crowd, never once letting go. We find our reserved booth in the back¡ªplush seating, bottle service already waiting, menus glowing in neon light. The team cheers and toasts and clinks sses.


    And then I spot him¡ªtall, sharp suit, nked by a few stylists, I see his eyesnd on me.


    Marcus.


    His eyes narrow.


    Josh notices it too. I feel him go still beside me, his hand flexing where it rests on my thigh.


    "You wanna dance?" I ask quickly, turning to Josh. "Now?"


    His eyes are still on Marcus. "Yeah," he says, standing and offering his hand.


    We step onto the floor. The music swells, the beat vibrating through my heels. Josh pulls me close¡ªcloser than polite. One hand on my hip, the other pressed between my shoulder des, holding me tight as we move together.


    I feel heat spread through me. Not just from the dancing. From him.


    From the way his mouth brushes my ear as he says, "Why is he always so intense?"


    I smile, tilting my head back, letting my body press flush against his. "No idea. He is also a pervert."


    Joshughs. "Ah yes. You caught him with two differentdies now. I wonder who will be his victim tonight."


    Josh¡¯s voice is low but teasing, curling like smoke against my skin. I roll my eyes and nudge him with my hip.


    "Hopefully someone who doesn¡¯t have a soul," I say. "Makes it easier when he inevitably wrecks it."


    He chuckles again, pulling me even closer as the beat drops. We move in sync, every sway and stepced with heat. I can feel his breath on my neck, the press of his chest against mine. It¡¯s too easy to get lost in him¡ªtoo easy to forget that we¡¯re not alone.


    But Marcus doesn¡¯t let me forget.


    When I nce over Josh¡¯s shoulder, I see him at the edge of the dance floor, watching us with a look that could cut ss. He¡¯s not smiling.


    He¡¯s storming toward us.


    Josh notices a secondter. "Iing," he murmurs, but he doesn¡¯t let go. Doesn¡¯t flinch.


    Marcus stops just a foot away, jaw tight, gaze locked on me. "Hailey."


    I blink, schooling my expression into something neutral. "Marcus."


    He flicks a nce at Josh, then back at me. "Can I steal you for a second?"


    Josh raises his eyebrow but steps aside. "I¡¯ll go find something to drink meanwhile," he says and looks at me. His eyes has a question in them, as if they are asking if I will be okay.


    I nod my approval.


    Marcus turns to face me, his jaw tight, hands in his pockets. "How about a dance?"


    I nod quietly.


    Marcus steps forward, offering his hand with that same practiced charm I used to fall for. I take it¡ªhesitant, cautious. His palm is warm, fingers curling loosely around mine as he leads me back onto the dance floor.


    The crowd sways and shifts, lights shing over sequins and skin. The music has slowed just enough to demand closeness, but not enough to feel romantic.


    We move together, barely touching, a careful buffer of space between us. Still, the tension is there¡ªtight as wire.


    "You look great," Marcus says, voice low. "Perhaps you can also be in front of the camera and not behind."


    I chuckle. "I don¡¯t think so. Modeling isn¡¯t my thing."


    Marcus gives a small smile, but it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. "Shame. You¡¯d steal the whole campaign."


    I offer a polite nod, trying to keep it civil. "Thanks."


    He shifts a little closer¡ªjust enough that the buffer between us starts to shrink. "So, this thing with Josh... is it serious?"


    I don¡¯t answer right away. Instead, I meet his eyes head-on, steady and unflinching. "Why do you care?"


    "Perhaps..." He leans closer to my face. "Perhaps I¡¯m also interested in pursuing you."


    I blink. "What? I didn¡¯t know you liked to joke like that, Marcus. You are always so serious."


    "I am very serious, Ms Jameson. I find you extremely attractive and would like to pursue you. No more than sex of course," He says casually.


    What? What the actual hell?


    He can¡¯t be serious!


    I just stare at him,pletely dumbfounded.

 Chapter 133: Proposition

    <h4>Chapter 133: Proposition</h4>


    Marcus


    The expression on Hailey¡¯s face is utterly priceless, a mix of shock and amusement. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and her lips part as if caught between augh and a gasp.


    "Excuse me?" she exims, her voice a blend of incredulousughter and astonishment. "Did you really just say that to me?"


    I respond with a slight, nonchnt shrug, my lips curling into a faint, unapologetic smile. "I thought you¡¯d appreciate the honesty," I say, my tone casual and unbothered.


    Her eyes narrow, theughter vanishing like a blown-out candle. "Honesty? Marcus, that wasn¡¯t honesty, that was arrogance."


    I tilt my head slightly, studying her face, the way her jaw tightens and her hands ball into fists at her sides. "I wasn¡¯t trying to offend you. I just figured we are adults. And I like to go straight to business."


    Her lips part, stunned. "Straight to business?" she echoes, her voice cutting sharper now. "Marcus, I am not a business deal. You don¡¯t just stroll in, toss a proposition at me like I¡¯m some contract you¡¯re closing, and expect a thank-you."


    I shrug again, more defensive this time. "I¡¯m being upfront. You¡¯re beautiful and smart. I like you. What¡¯s wrong with putting that on the table?"


    "What¡¯s wrong," she says, stepping in closer, eyes zing, "is pretending that casual disrespect is confidence. You didn¡¯tpliment me, Marcus. You reduced me. You turned me into some... some essory you want to try on for a night and then toss aside."


    "That¡¯s not fair," I mutter.


    "No, what¡¯s not fair is you thinking you can say that to me and still walk away with your pride intact."


    I fall silent.


    Her voice drops, steady and cold now. "Here¡¯s a truth for you, Marcus. I¡¯m not impressed by power. Or suits. Or whatever curated version of charm you think women fall for. I¡¯m impressed by integrity. Respect. Actual interest¡ªnot lust in a nice wrapper."


    The crowd shifts around us, oblivious to the tension. But in this little pocket of space, it¡¯s suffocating.


    She leans in slightly. "You are very creative, intelligent," she says, almost like a confession. "But now? Now I just see you for what you are. Just some sleazy scumbag."


    I can¡¯t help it. I flinch at the nickname.


    She steps back, chin high. "Excuse me. I have someone waiting for me. Someone who sees me as more than a checklist."


    And just like that, she turns and walks off¡ªhead high, hips swaying, like she never once entertained the idea of me.


    I grin slowly. So this one¡¯s going to be challenging, huh?


    She wants control. Respect. To be seen. I get it.


    But she also wants the tension¡ªthe push and pull. And that...that I can work with.


    I adjust my cor, letting my gaze drift toward the bar where Josh stands with a drink in his hand, still scanning the dance floor. He sees her approaching and straightens immediately, his eyes softening as she slips into his arms like she belongs there.


    It should bother me more than it does.


    I take a slow sip of the drink some assistant handed me earlier, letting the burn steady my thoughts. Let them think they¡¯ve won this round. Let them getfortable.


    Hailey¡¯s fire just made this personal.


    And I don¡¯t lose when things get personal.


    Let the games begin.


    A light touch on my arm snaps me out of my thoughts.


    "Rough night?" a honeyed voice purrs beside me.


    I nce sideways. It¡¯s Brielle, one of the newer models from the Paris shoot. Legs for days, a dress stitched from silver light, and a smile that suggests she knows exactly how good she looks.


    She tilts her head, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. "I saw that little scene on the dance floor. She really chewed you out."


    I give her a slow, measured smirk. "Did she? I hadn¡¯t noticed."


    Brielleughs, soft and teasing. "Come on, Marcus. You¡¯re not used to rejection, are you?"


    I arch an eyebrow. "Not particrly. But I¡¯m a quick learner."


    "Mm." She steps closer, her shoulder brushing mine. "Well, if you¡¯re looking for a distraction... I happen to be an expert in that department."


    Her hand trails lightly down my arm. She¡¯s gorgeous. Fun. Bold. Exactly the kind of woman most men would fall over themselves for. And under any other circumstances, I might¡¯ve indulged¡ªmight¡¯ve pulled her into a corner booth and let the night take us somewhere forgettable.


    But I¡¯m not looking for a distraction.


    I¡¯m looking at Hailey, still.


    She¡¯s tucked beside Josh now,ughing at something he said, her hand resting on his chest like it belongs there. Her smile is genuine. Rxed. Unaware of the game that just began.


    I turn back to Brielle, offering her my best disarming grin. "Tempting offer," I say, voice like velvet. "But I¡¯ve already got my sights set on something a little more... challenging."


    Brielle follows my gaze, then scoffs with a pout. "Her? Please. You can do better."


    I chuckle low under my breath, eyes never leaving Hailey. "No, sweetheart. I can¡¯t."


    Because she¡¯s the first woman in years who¡¯s looked me dead in the eye... and walked away.


    And I¡¯m not done with her yet.


    Not even close.


    Brielle lets out a sharp, breathyugh. "Well, suit yourself," she says, stepping back with a toss of her hair. "But don¡¯te crawling back when she cuts you down again. That girl¡¯s not ying games."


    I sip my drink again, eyes trained on Hailey. "Neither am I."


    Brielle rolls her eyes and disappears into the crowd, already turning her attention to some pro athlete near the DJ booth. I barely notice. Because Hailey just nced over her shoulder.


    For half a second, her eyes flicker to mine. Then she turns back to Josh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it¡¯s nothing.


    But it was not nothing.


    It was a warning. Or maybe a test. Either way, I¡¯m not walking away.


    I finish thest of my drink and set the ss down. The music shifts¡ªsomething slower, richer. Josh leads her onto the dance floor, and she lets him. Sheughs at something again, but this time it doesn¡¯t reach her eyes.


    She¡¯s distracted. Unsettled.

 Chapter 134: One Time Thing

    <h4>Chapter 134: One Time Thing</h4>


    Hailey


    I can feel Marcus¡¯s gaze burning into my back as Josh pulls me closer on the dance floor. The music throbs around us, but all I can think about is Marcus¡¯s proposition, his audacity, the way he looked at me like I was just another conquest.


    "You okay?" Josh asks, his voice low in my ear. "You seem anxious."


    I force a smile. "I¡¯m fine."


    Josh nces over my shoulder, his jaw tightening. "What did he say to you?"


    "Nothing worth repeating." I press closer to Josh, trying to lose myself in his warmth, in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm.


    Josh studies my face for a moment, then nods, though I can tell he¡¯s not convinced. His hand slides to the small of my back, protective, possessive in a way that should bother me but doesn¡¯t.


    "Want to get out of here?" he suggests. "We could grab ate dinner somewhere quieter."


    The thought is tempting¡ªescaping the pulsing lights, the watchful eyes, Marcus¡¯s calcted stare. But running feels like letting him win.


    "Not yet," I say, lifting my chin. "I want to dance with you. I want to celebrate. We earned this."


    Josh¡¯s smile softens. "We did, didn¡¯t we?"


    "Damn right." I loop my arms around his neck, letting the music guide us. "Your first modeling gig, my big break with Luxe. Nothing can take that away."


    "And don¡¯t forget there isn¡¯t anyone trying to kill me at the moment," Josh reminds me and Iugh.


    "Thank god for that," I say.


    As we move together, I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Josh has that effect on me¡ªgrounding me when everything else feels chaotic. His hands on my waist are steady, his eyes never leaving mine.


    "You know," he says after a while, "I never expected any of this when I followed you to New York."


    I raise an eyebrow. "You mean the modeling career? Or the psycho model trying to kill you?"


    Heughs, spinning me gently. "Both. But I was thinking more about this." He pulls me back in, closer than before. "About us."


    My heart skips. "Is there an us?"


    "I¡¯d like there to be." His voice is soft but certain. "Wouldn¡¯t you?"


    I smile up at him. "I think I do."


    Josh¡¯s grin is immediate, boyish and bright, like he¡¯s been holding his breath waiting for that answer. He leans down, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to my temple.


    "I am d," he murmurs.


    I rest my cheek against his chest, letting the music sway us. For the first time tonight, Marcus slips out of focus.


    And maybe that¡¯s what I need right now.


    Josh threads our fingers together and gives my hand a small squeeze. "So how about that dinner?"


    I nod. "Let¡¯s go before the universe decides to throw something else at us."


    We weave through the crowd,ughter and music chasing our heels. The moment we step out into the night, the cool air rushes around us, crisp and full of promise. Josh hails a cab, and I slide into the backseat beside him, our thighs pressed close.


    As we pull away from the building, I nce once over my shoulder.


    Marcus¡¯s eyes meet mine through his wine ss.


    He raises his ss in a mock toast, that damn smirk still etched on his face. He doesn¡¯t look angry. He doesn¡¯t even look surprised.


    He looks... intrigued.


    I look away.


    Josh rests a hand on my knee, his touch light. "You sure you¡¯re okay?"


    "I am," I say.


    And for now, I really am.


    But deep down, something in me knows this isn¡¯t over.


    Just what I need in life. More drama.


    ~-~


    The next morning arrives with merciless sunshine and a knot in my stomach. I dress in ck jeans and a loose sweater.


    The studio is quiet when I arrive, most of the crew gone now that shooting has wrapped. I find Marcus in the editing bay, hunched over a monitor, his silver hair catching the blue light of the screen.


    "You¡¯re early," he says without looking up.


    I hover in the doorway. "Better thante."


    He gestures to the chair beside him, still focused on the images. "Sit. I need your input on the final selects."


    I hesitate before taking the seat, making sure to leave ample space between us. The chair feels too close, the room too small.


    "These turned out beautifully," Marcus says, scrolling through the shots. "Your eye forposition is... exceptional."


    "Thanks," I reply, my voice clipped. I point to one of the images. "I like this one for the opener."


    Marcus nods, his shoulder brushing mine as he leans forward. I tense, shifting away slightly.


    "Jumpy today?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.


    "Just focused," I counter, keeping my eyes on the screen.


    He turns in his chair, studying me. "Aboutst night¡ª"


    "I¡¯d rather not discuss it," I interrupt, my cheeks burning despite my resolve.


    Marcus¡¯s lips quirk into that infuriating half-smile. "I was just going to say you look lovely when angry. It brings out the fire in your eyes."


    I feel my jaw tighten. "That¡¯s inappropriate."


    "Is it?" He leans back,pletely at ease. "I¡¯m simply observing what makes you a good photographer. Passion. Intensity."


    "Can we please just focus on the work?" I gesture toward the monitor, desperate to redirect.


    Marcus holds my gaze a moment longer before nodding. "Of course."


    We spend the next hour reviewing images. When his hand identally brushes mine as we both reach for the mouse, I practically leap out of my chair.


    "I need coffee," I announce, standing abruptly. "Do you want some?"


    "I¡¯d love some," he says, his voice dropping lower. "ck, like my soul."


    I roll my eyes despite myself. "Dramatic."


    "You have no idea," he replies, and I rush out of the room.


    He really is infuriating.


    At the break room, I take a moment to breathe.


    I pour two coffees, his exactly how he asked for it.


    Why does he get under my skin like this?


    Why does every word feel like a challenge, every nce like a dare?


    I walk back slower than necessary, mentally building walls I hope will hold this time. But the moment I step into the editing bay again, Marcus is already standing, arms folded, watching the door like he knew I¡¯d hesitate.


    "Here you go," I say tly, holding out his coffee.


    He takes it with a grin, his fingers brushing mine for a beat too long. "Thank you."


    Marcus sips his coffee and shifts closer again, just barely, just enough that I feel it.


    "You know," he says, voice quieter now, "you surprise me."


    "How ttering," I say dryly.


    "I mean it. Most women I pursue do not turn me down so swiftly," he says.


    "I guess I am not most women," I say, meeting his gaze.


    He holds it, eyes glinting. "Maybe that¡¯s why I can¡¯t stop thinking about you."


    I inhale sharply.


    "You don¡¯t get to say things like that," I whisper.


    "Why not? I mean them." He leans forward, close enough I can smell his cologne¡ªearthy, clean, expensive. "What if I tell you I am not seeing you as a one-time thing?"


    I stand abruptly, pulse pounding. "This isn¡¯t happening, Marcus. I am with Josh."


    Marcus stays where he is, unflinching, his eyes never leaving mine. "Are you? Or are you just trying to convince yourself you are?"


    My fists clench at my sides. "Don¡¯t twist this."


    "I¡¯m not." He sets his coffee down slowly, deliberately. "I see the way you look at him. But I also see the way you look at me."


    My heart is hammering now, loud and angry in my chest. "You think you can manipte everyone with charm and money and pretty words, but I¡¯m not for sale, Marcus."


    "I see," he says.


    My phone buzzes in my pocket. I snatch it like a lifeline.


    It¡¯s a text from Josh.


    Lunchter? Miss your face.


    I exhale shakily and type back quickly: Absolutely. Can¡¯t wait. Then I slide the phone away and meet Marcus¡¯s stare.


    "Let¡¯s get back to work, Marcus," I say, steadying my voice.


    For once, he doesn¡¯t smirk.

 Chapter 135: Rival

    <h4>Chapter 135: Rival</h4>


    Josh


    I stir my iced coffee absently, my eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds.


    She¡¯ste. Only by ten minutes, but still.


    I don¡¯t want to be that guy. The clingy one. The insecure one. But something about the way Marcus was looking at herst night lodged itself under my skin like a splinter. I can¡¯t shake it.


    The bell above the caf¨¦ door chimes, and relief floods me as Hailey steps in, cheeks slightly flushed from the wind, her hair tousled in that effortlessly gorgeous way that always makes me forget how to breathe.


    I stand to greet her, and she gives me a soft smile before sliding into the seat across from me.


    "Sorry I¡¯mte," she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I lost track of time at the studio."


    "With Marcus?" The question slips out before I can stop it.


    She freezes for a fraction of a second. Barely. But I see it.


    Her expression smooths over. "We were reviewing edits."


    I nod, forcing a smile. "Right. Of course."


    She reaches across the table, resting her hand over mine. "Josh. What¡¯s wrong?"


    "I just don¡¯t trust him," I admit.


    "Marcus?" she asks. "And neither do I."


    I look at her with surprise. "Really? Why?"


    Hailey hesitates, her fingers tightening slightly around mine. "Because he pushes boundaries on purpose. Treats everything like a game."


    I swallow hard, watching her closely. "Has he crossed a line with you?"


    She meets my gaze again, and for a second, I see the flicker of conflict behind her eyes. "He has tried. But I didn¡¯t let him."


    I exhale slowly. Relief. Anger. A tangled mess of both.


    "What did he try to do, Hailey?" I ask.


    Hailey pulls her hand back, folding it in herp. Her gaze drifts to the window. "He made a move on me, proposed that I sleep with him like those other girls at the studio."


    "HE WHAT?" I say loudly, not caring that we are in public.


    Heads turn. The barista behind the counter pauses mid-pour. I clench my fists and force myself to breathe.


    Hailey flinches, her voice low and urgent. "Josh, please. Keep your voice down."


    But I can¡¯t. Not right away. Not when the image of that smug bastard leaning toward her, whispering that filth like it was normal, like it was inevitable, is now burned into my brain.


    "He actually said that to you?" I say again, quieter this time, but no less furious.


    Hailey nods, her expression unreadable. "I told him no. I made it clear. I even walked out on him."


    "Jesus, Hailey..." I rake a hand through my hair, my leg bouncing under the table with barely contained rage. "He is a predator."


    "He is arrogant," she says calmly, though her fingers twist around her napkin. "And used to getting what he wants I guess. That¡¯s a dangerousbination."


    My voice is tight. "And you are still going to work with him?"


    "I don¡¯t have a choice, Josh," she says. "This is my break. My chance. And I¡¯m not giving it up because my boss is a slut."


    I lean in. "You do have a choice. No job, no portfolio, nothing is worth being around a guy who treats you like that."


    She looks at me, her mouth opening like she wants to argue¡ªbut then she stops. Swallows.


    "I just didn¡¯t want to make this your problem," she whispers.


    "It is my problem, Hailey," I say, softer now. "Because I like you a lot."


    We sit in silence for a long moment. Then I speak again. "I¡¯m going to talk to him."


    Her eyes snap to mine, rmed. "Josh¡ªno. Please don¡¯t."


    "I¡¯m not looking to make a scene," I say. "I just want him to understand that he doesn¡¯t get to talk to you like that. Or touch you. Or proposition you."


    Hailey reaches across the table again, gripping my wrist. "I can handle Marcus."


    "I don¡¯t want you to handle him alone," I insist.


    "It¡¯s not just my career in line. Your modeling..." Hailey starts but I interrupt her.


    "Fuck modeling. This whole thing was an ident anyway. I will just go back to my old job and forget about Marcus. So should you," I say.


    Hailey shakes her head. "You don¡¯t get it, Josh. This was an ident for you, but it wasn¡¯t for me. This is a career opportunity for me. I can¡¯t blow it no matter what," she argues.


    I lean back in my chair, the fight draining out of me for a moment as I take her in¡ªchin high, eyes burning, hands trembling slightly. God, she¡¯s strong. Stronger than me in ways I didn¡¯t even realize until now.


    I get it. I really do. She¡¯s worked her ass off for this.


    Still, I hate that she has to grit her teeth and endure it because some creep has power over her future.


    "Okay," I say quietly. "Okay. I won¡¯t go after him. Not unless you tell me to."


    Her eyes soften. "Thank you."


    "But, Hailey, if he touches you, if he corners you, if he so much as looks at you the wrong way again, I need to know. Promise me," I say.


    She hesitates, then nods. "I promise."


    I nod back, but it still feels like a war I can¡¯t fight. Like I¡¯m stuck on the sidelines while she walks straight into the fire.


    "You¡¯re not alone in this," I say. "Not ever."


    She squeezes my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I know. And I really appreciate you being so...protective."


    I give her a faint smile, but there¡¯s a storm building in my chest that no amount of hand holding can calm.


    "And I don¡¯t want you to quit modeling. Not when you look so damn good in those leather jackets," she teases me.


    "Oh yeah?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "So that¡¯s what¡¯s keeping me around? The jackets?"


    Her eyes twinkle with amusement. "Not just that. Looking at your body when you are shirtless is also a treat," she says as she gives me a flirty smile.


    I gasp. "Hailey Jameson! Don¡¯t let your brother hear how you have been thirsting over his old rival!"


    Sheughs, the sound light and genuine, and it melts some of the tension still coiled tight in my chest.


    "Oh please," she says, rolling her eyes. "You were never his rival." She suddenly stops smiling and looks at me like she is unsure about something. "I mean, you were not, right? You and Sarah never..."


    I blink, caught off guard. "Sarah?" I echo, straightening a little in my seat. "You think I...?"


    She shrugs, but it¡¯s too casual to be real. "I mean, you two were always around each other back then. So I¡¯ve heard."


    I lean in, resting my forearms on the table. "Hailey, Sarah and I never dated. Not once. We were friends. Best friends in a way siblings would be."


    Hailey¡¯s eyes search mine like she¡¯s trying to catch a lie before it can slip past her.


    "Best friends," she repeats softly. "So nothing ever happened between you two?"


    I shake my head. "Not even close."

 Chapter 136: Promises

    <h4>Chapter 136: Promises</h4>


    Hailey


    Thest two days in Paris blur together in a flurry of final edits and portfolio reviews. Josh and I spent our final night walking through the streets, making ns for when we return back to New York. It feels surreal that this adventure is ending¡ªthat soon we¡¯ll be back in NY.


    "Flight 1422 to JFK is now boarding at Gate 37B."


    I hoist my carry-on higher on my shoulder and scan my boarding pass at the gate. The flight attendant smiles brightly.


    "Ms. Jameson, you¡¯ve been upgraded to first ss. Enjoy your flight."


    "What?" I blink in surprise. "I didn¡¯t request an upgrade."


    "Compliments of Luxe Magazine," she says, handing me a new boarding pass. "Seat 2A."


    Josh raises an eyebrow. "What about me?"


    The attendant checks her tablet. "I¡¯m sorry, sir. You¡¯re still in business ss, seat 23C."


    Josh and I exchange nces. "That¡¯s weird," I mutter.


    I give Josh an apologetic look. I would¡¯ve preferred to sit next to him.


    "It¡¯s fine," he says, squeezing my hand. Enjoy the free champagne. I¡¯ll see you in New York."


    I make my way down the jet bridge, a nagging feeling growing in my stomach. Something about this doesn¡¯t feel right.


    When I reach first ss, I spot my window seat and begin stowing my bag in the overheadpartment. Then I hear it¡ªthat smooth, infuriatingly confident voice.


    "Ah, Ms. Jameson. What a pleasant surprise."


    I freeze, my back still to the aisle, and close my eyes briefly. Of course. Of course this is happening.


    I turn slowly to find Marcus sliding into the seat next to mine, already looking perfectly at home in the plush leather chair.


    "This is not a coincidence," I say tly.


    Marcus smiles, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "I thought we could use the time to discuss your future with Luxe."


    "My future?" I drop into my seat, not bothering to hide my annoyance. "You could have scheduled a meeting. Or called. Or emailed."


    "Where¡¯s the fun in that?" He signals the flight attendant. "Champagne for both of us, please."


    "Just water for me," I counter.


    The flight attendant nods and moves away as I pull out my phone, frantically texting Josh: SOS. Marcus arranged to sit next to me in first ss. Kill me now.


    Josh¡¯s replyes secondster: Want me to cause a scene? I can fake a medical emergency.


    I can¡¯t help but giggle at that.


    "What¡¯s so funny?" Marcus asks, looking amused.


    I turn my phone facedown, the smile slipping from my lips as I meet Marcus¡¯s gaze. "Nothing you¡¯d appreciate."


    He chuckles, clearly unbothered. "Still sharp, I see. That¡¯s one of the reasons I pushed for Luxe to offer you a permanent role, you know. Talent is one thing. Backbone? That¡¯s rare."


    I arch a brow. "You think manipting a seating arrangement is the way to win me over?"


    "I think a little face time never hurts." He swirls the champagne flute the flight attendant sets in front of him. "You¡¯re about to be one of the most sought-after names in fashion. Editorial shoots, brand campaigns, maybe even a cover. But opportunities like that require more than just a good portfolio."


    I fold my arms. "They require sleeping with the creative director?"


    His expression tightens, just for a second. Then he leans back andughs softly. "Touch¨¦. Look, Hailey. I crossed a line. I admit that. But I¡¯m still the best shot you have at turning this into something huge. We work well together¡ªwhen we¡¯re not arguing."


    I stare at him, stunned by the gall of his charm offensive. He really thinks this is going to work.


    Before I can fire back, my phone buzzes again.


    Josh: Just say the word. I¡¯lle up there in full meltdown mode.


    I smother a smile and quickly type:


    Me: He¡¯s trying to y nice. I think I¡¯ll forget what he said. But I¡¯ve got this.


    Then I turn back to Marcus, my voice level but firm. "You don¡¯t get to use this flight to rewrite history, Marcus. What you did was unprofessional and gross. I¡¯m here because I worked for it. Not because you handed it to me."


    He lifts his hands in mock surrender. "Noted. But I think you¡¯ll find the industry has bigger sharks than me."


    "Maybe," I say. "But I¡¯m learning how to swim with them. And unlike you, I don¡¯t need to corner people on flights to get what I want."


    Marcus raises his ss in mock toast. "To ambition, then."


    I don¡¯t clink mine against his. I don¡¯t even look at him again. I put in my earbuds, pull up a ylist, and lean toward the window.


    Let him talk. Let him try.


    I let the music drown him out.


    Marcus may have orchestrated this little stunt thinking he could charm or pressure me into submission, but he¡¯s mistaken. I¡¯m not the same girl who walked into Luxe months ago wide-eyed and hopeful, desperate to prove myself.


    I¡¯m still angry.


    For the rest of the flight, I stay quiet. I answer him in clipped sybles when I absolutely have to, but mostly I keep to myself.


    At some point mid-flight, my eyelids grow heavy.


    When I stir awake, the first thing I notice is warmth against my cheek.


    The second thing I notice is the rise and fall of Marcus¡¯s breathing beneath me.


    My eyes snap open.


    I¡¯m leaning against his shoulder.


    God. No.


    I jolt upright with a sharp inhale, pulling away like I¡¯ve been burned. My earbuds tangle in my hair as I sit up straight, mortified.


    Marcus nces at me, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, well. If I knew you¡¯d end up snuggling me mid-flight, I wouldn¡¯t have ordered champagne¡ªI¡¯d have gone straight for a pillow."


    "Don¡¯t tter yourself," I mutter, brushing at my hair and adjusting my seat. "It was an ident."


    "Sure," he says, clearly enjoying himself far too much.


    I roll my eyes.


    Marcus leans slightly toward me, still wearing that maddening smirk. "Admit it, part of you likes the attention."


    I turn my head sharply, leveling him with a re. "You couldn¡¯t be any more wrong."


    He chuckles, unfazed, and sips his champagne.


    I stare straight ahead, jaw clenched, refusing to give him any more of a reaction. If Marcus thinks this little stunt is going to go under my skin, he clearly does not realize who he¡¯s dealing with.


    And I¡¯m not falling for his smooth lines or industry promises.

 Chapter 137: Something Real

    <h4>Chapter 137: Something Real</h4>


    Hailey


    Josh is already waiting by the carousel, his brown curls slightly messy, coffee in hand, a lopsided grin on his face. The second he sees me, his eyes scan mine, as if checking that I¡¯m okay.


    "I take it you survived the Marcus Ambush of 38,000 feet?"


    "Barely," I groan, pulling my carry-on behind me. "He monologued. He pontificated. He called me sharp. Like I¡¯m a cheese."


    Josh snorts. "A fine-aged Gouda?"


    I smirk. "At least. Maybe a brie. Something with bite."


    We fall into step, waiting for the belt to spit out our bags.


    "He also offered me permanent position," I say.


    "Really?" Josh asks.


    I sigh. "Senior editor. Full creative control. Said Luxe needs me."


    Josh whistles. "Wow. That¡¯s big."


    "It is big," I admit. "But if I take it... it¡¯s going to be on my terms."


    He nudges me again. "Now that¡¯s the Hailey I know."


    My suitcase finally rolls past and I yank it off the belt, wheels thudding.


    Josh gestures toward the exit. "Ready to go home?"


    I nce at the revolving door. At the skyline beyond it. At everything I thought I was running toward and everything I thought I¡¯d left behind.


    Then I square my shoulders.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    ~-~


    The next day, I walk through reception with my head held high, heels clicking against polished floors.


    The front desk assistant, L, looks up from her screen. "Hailey! Wee back!"


    "Thanks," I say with a small smile, trying not to look like I¡¯m bracing for impact.


    I go to my little work area and nearly gasp out loud when I see the disy in front of me.


    A huge bouquet of flowers was taking up most of my desk. They are not just any flowers. They¡¯re loud, ostentatious, and absolutely impossible to ignore. White orchids, deep red roses, and a handful of peonies so pink they might be blushing from their own audacity.


    A small cream-colored card sticks out from the arrangement.


    "Let¡¯s build something brilliant. Together."


    ¡ªM


    I stare at it for a full five seconds before I let out a sigh so deep it practically detes me.


    Of course he would.


    Josh materializes beside me, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. His eyes flick from the flowers to my face. "Please tell me these are from your mom."


    "Nope." I pluck the card from the bouquet and hand it to him.


    He reads it, then makes a face. "Ugh. Of course they are. That man has the subtlety of a Chanel logo on a neck tattoo."


    I snort, finally sitting down at my desk. "He really doesn¡¯t get it. Grand gestures won¡¯t make me want to sleep with him."


    Josh¡¯s eyes turn dark. "Please just let me talk to him once."


    I nce over at Josh, his jaw tight, knuckles whitening slightly around his coffee cup. He¡¯s not joking. Not this time.


    "Josh..." I say gently, cing a hand on his arm. "I appreciate the knight-in-shining-designer-sneakers energy, but this? It¡¯s not your fight."


    His eyes meet mine, still stormy. "Are you sure about that? What kind of man would I be if I didn¡¯t protect my lover?"


    I giggle. "Your lover?" I raise my eyebrows.


    He grins. "Yes, my lover."


    His face turns serious again. "He is making you ufortable," he says quietly. "I¡¯ve kept my mouth shut because I thought you needed time. But I¡¯m done watching. If you want me to back off, say it. But don¡¯t tell me this isn¡¯t my fight when I wake up thinking about you and go to sleep wondering if you¡¯re okay."


    I don¡¯t think. I just move.


    One second, Josh is standing there, all earnest eyes and clenched jaw, and the next, I¡¯m leaning in, closing the distance, brushing my lips against his in a kiss.


    He freezes for a breath. Just one.


    Then his free hand finds my waist as he kisses me back. It¡¯s soft at first, then deeper.


    When I pull back, my heart is thudding like I¡¯ve run ten blocks in heels. Josh looks dazed. And a little smug.


    "I¡¯ll never get tired of this," he murmurs.


    Iugh breathlessly. "Good, because neither will I."


    ~-~


    The flowers wasn¡¯t the only stunt Marcus pulled today.


    By noon, he corners me in the break room.


    "Hope you like the flowers, Hailey," he says smoothly, leaning against the counter like it was a photo shoot and not just a glorified kitchte.


    I reach for the coffee machine without looking at him. "What was it for?"


    I stiffen as I feel his presence behind me.


    He is close. A little too close.


    "To congratte you on your new position, of course," he says, his voice low.


    "So you are still offering me the job even though I refused your advances?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.


    "Of course. I¡¯m not as sleazy as you think of me," he says.


    Marcus smiles like he¡¯s trying to wear sincerity, but it doesn¡¯t fit right. Like a tailored suit with the wrong buttons.


    "Besides," he adds, "you didn¡¯t really refuse. Not entirely."


    I turn to face him fully, coffee forgotten. "You can¡¯t be serious. I definitely refused."


    He lifts his hands as if in surrender, but there¡¯s that glint in his eye again¡ªthe one that says he still thinks he¡¯s in control. "You didn¡¯t say no to the job."


    I cross my arms. "That doesn¡¯t mean I said yes to you."


    Marcus chuckles softly, as if I¡¯m being adorable rather than setting a boundary. "Come on, Hailey. You and I both know we would make a great couple."


    I scoff. "A couple? Don¡¯t tell me you will give up your yboy life for the likes of me!"


    Marcus¡¯s smirk falters, just for a second. "What makes you think I won¡¯t?"


    "Because you are Marcus Winters. I¡¯ve done some research on you and..."


    "And?" He cuts me off. "You found out I go through women more than I go through designer clothes?"


    "That¡¯s exactly right," I say. "Am I wrong?"


    He shrugs. "You aren¡¯t."


    Marcus leans in slightly, voice smooth as ever. "But maybe I¡¯m ready for something different. Something real."


    I tilt my head, giving him a dry, measured look. "And I¡¯m supposed to believe I¡¯m the woman who inspires you to change your entire personality?"


    He chuckles, and this time, there¡¯s something smug underneath it. "Why not? You¡¯re smart, bold, impossible to ignore... Maybe I¡¯m done ying games."


    "Well, that¡¯s great," I say, voice sharine-sweet. "You can start by not cornering women in break rooms and pretending it¡¯s romantic."


    His expression sours, just a touch. "I¡¯m trying here, Hailey. Most women would¡¯ve said yes already."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Then maybe you should go find most women. Because I¡¯m not them. I¡¯m not ttered by the attention, Marcus. I¡¯m annoyed by it. And frankly? I¡¯m disappointed."


    That strikes a chord. His jaw tenses. "Disappointed?"


    "Yes," I say, stepping forward. "You had a chance to offer me something based on my work. On my ideas. But instead, you used the job as a backdrop for your ego trip. So, let me be very clear¡ª"


    I lean in, mirroring his earlier move.


    "I am not your next ¡¯challenge.¡¯ I am not your project. And I don¡¯t care how many flowers you send or speeches you give¡ªI¡¯m not interested."


    Silence hangs between us for a beat.


    Then I grab my coffee, sh him a tight smile, and turn to walk out.


    "Oh," I look at him again, "and if you really want to do something ¡¯real¡¯? Start by respecting when a woman says no."


    I storm out without looking back.

 Chapter 138: Delicious

    <h4>Chapter 138: Delicious</h4>


    Marcus


    She¡¯s gone before I can say another word, heels clicking against the tile.


    I don¡¯t move, still feeling mesmerized.


    That was supposed to go differently. Charm her, disarm her, give her the flowers, slide the job offer in there like it was no big deal. Maybe let the tension simmer just enough that she¡¯d start to wonder what if?


    But instead, Hailey stood there like a me I couldn¡¯t hold, zing with something I don¡¯t know how to name.


    Conviction. Disgust. rity.


    It bruised my ego a bit, not gonna lie.


    "Disappointed," I mutter to myself.


    She said she was disappointed in me. Like I¡¯m some schoolboy who brought the wrong pencil to ss. Like I¡¯m not Marcus Winters¡ªmedia mogul, branding genius, the man who built Luxe from the ground up.


    But that¡¯s the thing, isn¡¯t it? She didn¡¯t look at me like I was a god.


    She looked at me like I was a letdown.


    And somehow, that turns me on even more.


    "Not your next challenge," she had said.


    I chuckle under my breath, the sound bitter and amused all at once.


    I lean back against the counter, staring at the spot where she stood, still half-expecting the air to crackle with her heat. My jaw ticks as I roll her words around in my mind.


    Such sharp tongue.


    "You should leave her alone, Marcus."


    Tammy¡¯s voice brings me back to reality.


    I look at her and smile. "Should I?"


    "She is a good one. Her skills in photography is unmatched. If she quits because of your..."


    "She won¡¯t quit," I say curtly, sharper than I mean to. "She¡¯s not the type to run."


    Tammy raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest. She¡¯s not impressed. Then again, she rarely is when ites to me. Which is probably why she¡¯ssted this long.


    "You can¡¯t be this sure of yourself," she says slowly.


    "Hmm," I hum.


    "Seriously, Marcus. Why her? You can literally have anyone you want. So just leave her be. Besides, she is interested in Josh," Tammy says.


    I push off the counter, the easy smirk falling from my face. "Josh," I say. "...is a golden retriever. Hailey needs a wolf."


    Tammy rolls her eyes. "Give me a break."


    "I have nothing against him. He has a natural talent to be a model. Camera loves him. But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll just give up Hailey to him. Sure, she likes him but since when did something like that stopped me from getting what I want?" I ask.


    Tammy lets out a low breath, shaking her head. "You¡¯re unbelievable."


    "No," I say, calm and measured. "I¡¯m focused."


    She res at me, unimpressed. "This isn¡¯t a campaign you can out-strategize, Marcus. It¡¯s a person. A woman with boundaries. With feelings."


    "I know," I say, holding her gaze. "That¡¯s why I¡¯m not going to bulldoze my way through this like I usually do."


    "Oh? That so?" she crosses her arms tighter. "Because five minutes ago you were practically gloating over how nothing¡¯s ever stopped you before."


    I run a hand through my hair, frustration wing at the edges. "Because nothing has. And nothing will."


    She blinks. "You are not going to listen to reason, are you?"


    "I want her," I say.


    Tammy sighs. "Whatever, Boss. Just try not to hurt anyone."


    I watch Tammy leave then make a phone call.


    I pull out my phone, thumb hovering for a second before I hit the contact.


    It rings once.


    Twice.


    Then a voice answers, smooth and clipped. "Yes, Mr. Winters?"


    "Get me everything you can on Joshua Daniels," I say, walking slowly toward the windows of the break room, watching the city buzz below. "Education, family, career¡ªwhere he lives, what he eats for breakfast."


    There¡¯s a pause on the other end. "Understood. Discreetly?"


    I smile, dark and quiet. "Of course."


    The line clicks off, and I slide the phone back into my pocket.


    I need to know what I¡¯m up against.


    Because if Hailey thinks golden retrievers are safer than wolves, then I need to show her what kind of wolf I really am.


    One who doesn¡¯t just want her.


    One who¡¯s willing to earn her.


    And make no mistake¡ªI will.


    -~-


    The next day, I get more intel on Josh.


    Initial report on Joshua Daniels: NYU graduate, architectural engineer, parents filthy rich, no siblings, no known scandals. Eats a spinach and egg white wrap four days a week. More toe.


    Perfect on paper. Safe. Predictable.


    Boring.


    I toss the phone on my desk, the soft thud not nearly satisfying enough.


    I need to find some kind of dirt on the guy. Something that would turn Hailey off about him.


    Because right now, he looks like a damn Hallmark card¡ªclean cut, polite, the kind of guy your parents hope you bring home. And that makes him dangerous. Not because he¡¯s a threat to me, but because he¡¯s safe for her.


    My phone buzzes again. New message.


    Update: Joshua Daniels¡ªtwo speeding tickets in thest year. Both dismissed. Also: previously dated a woman named Riley Meeks for two years. She moved to LA after their breakup. More digging underway.


    I exhale slowly, tapping the message open.


    Speeding tickets? Weak.


    But the ex...


    Riley Meeks.


    I pull up her name on myptop. Instagram. Public profile. Blonde, fond of filter-heavy sunsets and avocado toast. Cute, in a curated kind of way.


    Her bio says she is a social media influencer.


    I scoff. Everyone is an influencer these days.


    But her posts from five years ago tell me everything I need to know.


    Couple selfies with Josh. Beach days. Matching Halloween costumes. And then¡ªnothing.


    Wiped clean.


    Interesting. Bad breakup perhaps?


    I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled, thoughts racing.


    There¡¯s a story there. A wound. And wounds mean leverage¡ªif I can find the angle.


    I call the number.


    "Get me Riley Meeks¡¯s phone number. Actually, no. Call her yourself and tell her an opportunity hase knocking on her door," I say.


    The voice on the other end responds without hesitation. "Understood. I¡¯ll reach out within the hour."


    I end the call and close my eyes, trying to imagine the look on Josh¡¯s face when he sees his ex girlfriend prancing around my studio.


    Oh it¡¯ll be delicious.

 Chapter 139: Oblivious

    <h4>Chapter 139: Oblivious</h4>


    Josh


    I lean against the studio window, still drying my hair with a towel. I had just finished my workout, in addition to preparing mentally for the next photoshoot.


    I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Hailey standing there with a coffee in each hand.


    "Got you a coffee," she says, taking a long sip from her cup.


    "An angel falling from heaven," I mutter.


    Hailey rolls her eyes. "Right...are you ready for today¡¯s shoot?"


    I grin, reaching for the coffee. "With you behind the camera? Always."


    She smirks, brushing a damp strand of hair away from my forehead. "You¡¯re such a kiss-ass."


    "Only for you," I say, taking a sip. It¡¯s just the way I like it. She remembered. Of course she did.


    Hailey walks over to the lightboard, flipping through the setup notes for the shoot. She looks focused, sharp, andpletely in her element.


    "I was thinking," she starts, not looking up, "we try something different today."


    "Oh?" I lean against the edge of the table, watching her. "Different how?"


    She nces up, eyes glinting with something I can¡¯t quite read. "Candid. Less posed, more motion. I want to capture something real."


    I nod slowly. "You want raw."


    "Exactly," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Think you can handle that, pretty boy?"


    Iugh, setting my coffee down. "I think I can manage. Just don¡¯t fall in love with me when I start looking too raw and vulnerable."


    Her eyes flick over me. "Toote," she murmurs, almost to herself.


    My heart skips a beat, but before I can say anything, she¡¯s already walking toward the door. "The car will be here in ten minutes," she says before disappearing.


    I stare at the empty doorway for a beat, her words echoing in my head. Toote.


    She said it so casually, like it slipped out. Like she didn¡¯t even realize itnded like a grenade in my chest.


    I run a hand through my still-damp hair, trying to settle the storm rising in me. Does she mean it? Or was it just banter?


    The studio feels suddenly too quiet.


    I nce at the time¡ªeight minutes now until the car arrives. I throw on a hoodie and grab my duffel, still thinking about that look in her eyes. It wasn¡¯t teasing. It was soft. Like maybe she meant it. Like maybe she feels this too.


    I head down to the curb where the car¡¯s already waiting. Hailey is there, leaning against the back door, her camera bag slung over one shoulder, sunsses on despite the cloudy sky.


    When she sees me, her lips curl into a smile.


    "You ready to be your most vulnerable self in front of strangers?" she asks.


    "Always," I reply, climbing in beside her. "As long as you¡¯re behind the lens."


    She smiles and slides into the car.


    Hailey gazes out the window, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the strap of her camera bag. I watch her for a moment longer than I should.


    She¡¯s so beautiful.


    "You okay?" she asks, catching me staring.


    I blink, then nod. "Yeah. Just thinking."


    Her lips twitch. "Dangerous."


    I chuckle. "You have no idea."


    She tilts her head, resting her cheek against the cool ss. "I do, actually."


    Her voice is soft again, and something tightens in my chest. I almost ask her...what did you mean earlier? Toote for what?¡ªbut I don¡¯t. Not yet. Because this isn¡¯t the moment. Not with the driver up front and a full shoot ahead of us.


    I follow her into the studio.


    "Ah, Hailey and Josh. You made it just in time," Marcus deres, looking a bit too cheerful.


    I feel my muscles tense at the sight of Marcus. After what Hailey told me about his inappropriate proposition at the club, every instinct I have screams to keep him away from her.


    "Marcus," I say curtly, stepping slightly closer to Hailey.


    He notices, of course. His eyes flick between us with that calcting look I¡¯vee to despise. "I have a surprise for you both today. A special guest who¡¯ll be joining our shoot."


    Hailey frowns. "A guest? That wasn¡¯t in the brief."


    "Last-minute addition," Marcus says smoothly. "Someone I think will add an interesting dynamic to the session."


    Before either of us can respond, the studio doors swing open. A woman walks in¡ªblonde, perfectly styled, wearing a dress that probably costs more than most people¡¯s rent. She¡¯s beautiful in that polished, Instagram-ready way that feels almost artificial.


    My blood turns to ice.


    "Riley?" I breathe.


    Riley Meeks turns toward my voice, her face lighting up with a smile that doesn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. "Josh! Oh my god, hi!"


    Hailey¡¯s head whips toward me, confusion written across her features. "You know her?"


    "Riley¡¯s an influencer from LA," Marcus interjects before I can answer. "She¡¯ll be modeling alongside Josh today. Creating some... chemistry for the campaign."


    The way he says "chemistry" makes my skin crawl. This is deliberate. Calcted. He¡¯s ying games, and somehow Riley is his pawn.


    "Josh and I have history," Riley says, sauntering over with that practiced runway walk. "Don¡¯t we, babe?"


    The pet name hits like a p. Hailey¡¯s face goes carefully nk¡ªthe expression she wears when she¡¯s trying not to show how much something affects her.


    "Riley," I say tightly. "What are you doing here?"


    Sheughs, light and airy. "Marcus reached out to me. Said he had the perfect opportunity for me. When I heard you were involved..." She shrugs, letting the implication hang.


    I catch Marcus watching our exchange with barely concealed satisfaction. This bastard orchestrated this entire thing.


    "Well," Hailey says, her voice professionally neutral, "I guess we should get started then."


    She turns away, busying herself with her equipment, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. The way her movements are just a little too sharp, a little too controlled.


    Riley moves closer to me, her handnding on my arm. "It¡¯s so good to see you, Josh. You look amazing. Modeling suits you."


    "Riley¡ª"


    "I¡¯ve missed you," she continues, her voice dropping to that intimate tone I remember too well. "Maybe we can catch up after the shoot? For old time¡¯s sake?"


    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hailey¡¯s jaw tighten. She¡¯s pretending not to listen, but I know she heard everything.


    "That¡¯s great," I say tly.


    I nce toward Hailey. She¡¯s behind the camera now, adjusting her lens, checking the light, doing everything but looking at me. Or Riley. Her posture is still stiff, her fingers moving faster than usual, as if staying busy might stop her from walking out the door.


    "Josh,e over here," Hailey calls, her voice cool and clipped.


    I move to her.


    "Who is she?" Hailey hisses.


    I nce at Riley, still posing like this is her runwayeback, and then back at Hailey. Her eyes are locked on mine now, no longer hiding the hurt behind the camera.


    "She¡¯s..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "We dated. A while ago. Briefly."


    "Briefly?" Hailey echoes, her mouth a hard line. "She called you babe."


    "That ended a long time ago," I say, keeping my voice low. "We haven¡¯t talked in years. She ghosted me after saying she needed to be single tounch her social media career. And now she¡¯s suddenly here. This isn¡¯t a coincidence, Hailey. This is Marcus trying to stir shit."


    Her jaw clenches. "Well, congrattions. It¡¯s working."


    I take a step closer, lowering my voice further. "Don¡¯t do that. Don¡¯t shut down on me."


    She doesn¡¯t say anything, but her eyes flicker. I see the storm building behind them.


    "I¡¯m not with her," I say, firm now. "And I don¡¯t want to be."


    "Marcas is such a douche," she mumbles.


    I can¡¯t help but smile at thatment. "Yeah," I mutter.


    Hailey¡¯s eyes flick past me toward Riley, then back. "And what about her? You think she¡¯s just along for the ride?"


    I shake my head. "I don¡¯t think she knows that Marcus is using her. She hasn¡¯t always been...um...sharpest tool in the shed."


    "Josh! That¡¯s not very nice," Hailey retorts, but her lips curl into a small smile.


    I shrug, the corner of my mouth lifting. "I¡¯m just being honest. Riley¡¯s always had this... selective awareness thing going on. She¡¯s more focused on how things look than how they are."


    Hailey rolls her eyes, but some of the tension melts from her shoulders. "Still. She looks very excited to see you."


    "She is a pawn in Marcus¡¯s game of seduction. Too bad he is not going to win," I dere.


    "I am not a prize," Hailey snaps.


    "No, but you are precious," I say as I lean down to kiss her forehead.


    Hailey blushes. "Let¡¯s just get through this shoot," she says and hurries off.


    I nce over at Riley, who¡¯s now chatting with the makeup artist, clearly enjoying the attention, oblivious.


    This should be fun.

 Chapter 140: She is Not Good

    <h4>Chapter 140: She is Not Good</h4>


    Hailey


    I turn my back on Josh and focus on adjusting the lens, but my hands won¡¯t stop trembling. I try to hide it behind precision and posture, but inside, I¡¯m burning with jealousy.


    Riley Meeks.


    Of course, she is beautiful. Of course, she is flirty. And of course, she has a history with Josh. A part of me wants to scream, throw my camera across the studio, and walk right out the door. But I don¡¯t. I can¡¯t. Because I¡¯m a professional.


    But I¡¯m also human.


    I nce up and catch a glimpse of Rileyughing at something the makeup artist said. She¡¯s perfect. Or rather, she knows how to look perfect. Every movement, every smile, every flick of her blonde hair is deliberate.


    Ugh!


    I clench my jaw and lift the camera, snapping a test shot of the empty backdrop. I shouldn¡¯t care. I shouldn¡¯t care. But the way Josh looked at me earlier, the softness in his eyes when he leaned in and kissed my forehead, it undid something in me. Something that had been carefully guarded for far too long.


    "Hailey," Marcus says behind me, making me jump. "We are ready when you are."


    I nod without looking at him. "ces, everyone."


    Josh steps onto the set, already posing instinctively. Riley slinks in beside him, pressing a little too close, smiling a little too brightly. I lift the camera, trying to pretend I don¡¯t see her hand slip onto his chest.


    Josh doesn¡¯t flinch. He doesn¡¯t smile. His eyes find mine over the top of the camera.


    And he looks bored.


    That shouldn¡¯t make me feel better. But it does.


    "Good," I say coolly. "Let¡¯s start with something simple. Josh, shift your weight a little to the left. Riley, turn slightly toward him. Less... clingy."


    Riley tilts her head and pouts, clearly aiming for sultry, but the effect is more Instagram selfie than high-fashion elegance. She throws her shoulder back dramatically, hand resting awkwardly on her hip like she¡¯s about to sell a skincare line, not model for a luxury brand.


    I narrow my eyes behind the camera lens. Her angles are all wrong. Too exaggerated. Too performative. She doesn¡¯t understand light or lines or how to shape her body to the frame. And worse¡ªshe doesn¡¯t care to learn.


    Josh, to his credit, keeps it together. He adjusts like a pro, subtly correcting his stance to bnce her poor posture, but it¡¯s obvious he¡¯s doing all the work.


    "Riley," I say, keeping my tone polite but firm. "Try rxing your shoulders. Let your expression soften. This isn¡¯t an audition for reality TV."


    She blinks, then giggles. "Oh, sorry. This is my first time doing this kind of shoot."


    Clearly.


    I step out from behind the camera and walk closer, gesturing toward her. "Your pose feels forced. Try moving with Josh instead of against him. Let the moment happen instead of trying to manufacture it."


    She looks at me like I just spoke in code. "Uh-huh..."


    I sigh quietly and nce at Josh. His lips twitch with a trace of amusement. He¡¯s enjoying this...just a little.


    "Watch Josh," I tell her. "He knows what he¡¯s doing."


    She turns toward him, her hands fluttering like she¡¯s not sure what to do with them. "Like this?"


    Josh gently shifts her arm. "Here, rx. Just...breathe, Riley."


    She gives a breathyugh. "You always knew how to calm me down."


    Behind the camera, I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something.


    I lift the lens and start snapping again, but it¡¯s useless. She doesn¡¯t get it. Every frame is stiff, awkward, and unusable. She¡¯s trying to outshine Josh when the goal is to match him. And she can¡¯t.


    "Okay," I call out, lowering the camera. "Let¡¯s take five."


    Riley immediately flounces off toward the mirror, probably to refresh her lipstick or check her angles. Josh walks over to me, already reading the frustration on my face.


    "She¡¯s not working, is she?" he asks quietly.


    "No," I admit, not even pretending to sugarcoat it. "She¡¯s not. She¡¯s got a great face, sure. But fashion modeling? It¡¯s a skill. She doesn¡¯t have it."


    He chuckles. "You¡¯re brutal."


    "I¡¯m honest."


    His smile fades slightly, and he leans closer. "You okay?"


    I nce at Riley¡¯s reflection across the room, then back at him. "I will be. Once she¡¯s gone."


    Josh touches my arm gently, just for a second. "She¡¯s already gone, Hailey. She just doesn¡¯t know it yet."


    And just like that, my heart does that annoying stutter thing again.


    Damn it.


    "I am going to have a chat with Marcus," I say.


    I turn on my heel and head toward Marcus, who¡¯s too busy looking pleased with himself to notice meing. That smug little smirk fades the second he registers my expression.


    "Marcus," I say coolly. "We need to talk."


    He lifts both brows. "Sure, Hailey. What¡¯s on your mind?"


    I lower my voice but make sure my tone stays sharp. "What is with you hiring Riley at thest minute? We both know she is not cut out for this. Did you even interview her?"


    "She brings traction," he argues, shrugging like it¡¯s no big deal. "Her face is everywhere right now. We¡¯re trying to go viral."


    "This isn¡¯t a TikTok trend, Marcus. It¡¯s a campaign."


    He chuckles. "You¡¯re being dramatic."


    "No," I say, crossing my arms. "I¡¯m being professional. Something you might want to try sometime."


    His jaw ticks.


    "And let¡¯s be real," I continue. "She¡¯s not good. Josh is carrying every shot, and it¡¯s painfully obvious. If you were trying to create tension or spark jealousy, mission aplished. But you¡¯ve also just made a mess of a campaign we¡¯ve been nning for weeks."


    Marcus looks like he¡¯s about to say something snide, but then his gaze flicks over my shoulder. I don¡¯t even need to turn around to know Josh is watching.


    Marcus clears his throat, straightening slightly. "Are you telling me you are jealous of Riley?" he asks, lowering his voice. "Don¡¯t let your feelings for Josh interfere with your judgment."


    I stare at him, stunned for a second. Then I take a single step forward, close enough that he can¡¯t mistake the edge in my voice. "My judgment is the only reason this shoot isn¡¯t aplete disaster right now. You want to talk personal feelings? Fine. But let¡¯s not pretend you booked Riley for her talent."


    His eyes flicker, but he doesn¡¯t deny it.


    "Exactly," I say. "You are trying to y some childish game. Trying to use Riley to drive a wedge between Josh and me."


    Marcus clears his throat. "Your job isn¡¯t to psychoanalyze me, Ms. Jameson. Your job is to take good pictures, so do that."


    This stupid, infuriating man...


    I take a deep breath, biting down on the surge of fury threatening to boil over. My hands are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms, but my voice, when I finally speak, stays calm. Ice cold.


    "You¡¯re right," I say smoothly. "It¡¯s not my job to psychoanalyze you."


    Marcus gives a smug little nod like he¡¯s won something.


    "It¡¯s also not my job to clean up your mess," I continue. "But I¡¯ve been doing that all day, haven¡¯t I? While you y producer with a hashtag in one hand and zero direction in the other."


    His smugness falters.


    I nce briefly toward Riley, who¡¯s still checking her reflection like she¡¯s the star of her own music video. Then back to Marcus.


    "She¡¯s not cut out for this, and you know it. You brought her in to stir the pot, hoping it would shake something loose."


    Marcus opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks like he wants to argue, but he can¡¯t. Not really. Because everything I¡¯m saying is true.


    "You¡¯re skating on thin ice," Marcus finally mutters.


    I turn to walk away.


    "Hot when you¡¯re mad," Josh murmurs when I am close to him.

 Chapter 141: Dreamy Eyed

    <h4>Chapter 141: Dreamy Eyed</h4>


    Josh


    I close the studio door behind me and exhale, tugging a hand through my hair.


    God, Hailey was brilliant back there. Fierce. Unapologetic. Watching her go toe-to-toe with Marcus was like watching a storm roll in. Impossible to ignore and absolutely maic.


    I drop into the worn chair in the corner of the break room, prop my phone on the table, and tap to open the video call. Reba¡¯s face appears within seconds.


    "You look like you¡¯ve got a bee in your bo," she chirps instead of saying hello, inching closer to her webcam like a detective in a noir film. "Did something bonkers happen?"


    "Riley happened," I grumble, giving my jaw a frustrated rub like it¡¯s a magicmp about to grant me patience.


    Reba¡¯s eyebrows knit together in a tapestry of confusion. "Riley?"


    "My ex-girlfriend Riley, Becky. You know, the one who¡¯s all ¡¯I can¡¯t have a boyfriend because my fans need to believe they have a shot.¡¯ That Riley."


    "Oh, right. What about her?" Reba perks up, eyes gleaming with curiosity.


    "She showed up on set this morning. Apparently, Marcus hired her to be a model."


    Reba¡¯s eyes widen. "Are you kidding me?"


    "Wish I was," I say.


    "Well, she did dream of bing a supermodel. Is she any good?" Reba asks.


    "She¡¯s all over the ce. Posing like she¡¯s selling teeth-whitening kits instead of high fashion. Hailey¡¯s trying to salvage the shoot, but it¡¯s a mess." I groan.


    Reba scoffs. "Hrious. Why did Marcus Winters hire her?"


    "I think to mess with me," I reply.


    Reba raises an eyebrow, leaning in closer to the webcam. "Mess with you? Why would Marcus care enough to do that?"


    I shrug, slouching back in the chair. "Honestly? I think it¡¯s less about me and more about Hailey. He¡¯s got the hots for her. Maybe he thought bringing Riley in would...I don¡¯t know, ruin our rtionship or something?"


    Reba¡¯s lips curl into a smirk. "Oh, he wanted drama. And from what you¡¯re telling me, he got it."


    "Hailey handled it, though," I say, and I can¡¯t stop the pride from creeping into my voice. "She shut him down. Called him out on it."


    Reba¡¯s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. "So things are heating up between you, huh?"


    "Yeah," I mutter, letting the thought linger. "She¡¯s incredible."


    Reba tilts her head, giving me a knowing look. "Uh-oh. Someone¡¯s smitten."


    I shoot her a warning re. "Don¡¯t start."


    "What? I¡¯m just observing. You¡¯ve got that dopey, ¡¯I can¡¯t stop thinking about her¡¯ look. It¡¯s adorable, really."


    I groan. "Becky, I¡¯ve got enough going on without you turning this into some rom subplot."


    Reba leans back in her chair, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But, seriously, Josh. What¡¯s the deal with Riley? Does she think she¡¯s going to win you back or something?"


    "God, I hope not," I say, grimacing. "She¡¯s been acting like we¡¯re old friends catching up, but it¡¯s so fake. The way sheughs at everything, the way she keeps touching my arm, it¡¯s all for show. She just wants clout."


    "Hmm...damn, you are having so much fun over there while I am bored to tears. Maybe I shoulde over there too," she says, brightening up.


    Iugh under my breath, the first real one I¡¯ve had all day. "Trust me, you don¡¯t want to step into this circus. Unless you¡¯ve got a whip and a lion-taming outfit."


    Reba grins. "Tempting. I do have that sparkly gold jumpsuit from Halloween..."


    "You mean the one that gave you a rash for a week?"


    "Details," she says with a wave. "But seriously, you okay? You sound stressed."


    I rub my eyes. "I¡¯m exhausted. Between Hailey trying to keep the shoot from falling apart and Riley treating it like an influencer content day, I¡¯m ready to crawl under the lighting rig and disappear."


    Reba¡¯s smile softens. "Hey. You¡¯re doing good. You always do good."


    "Thanks."


    I turn around as I hear footsteps. Hailey walks in, furrowing her brows. "Who are you talking to?" she asks.


    I gesture toward the phone with a sheepish smile. "Reba," I say. "She called to check in. Apparently, my misery¡¯s her favorite form of entertainment."


    Hailey walks over, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "Hi Reba."


    Reba lights up when she sees Hailey. "The Hailey! The legend, the storm in heels."


    Hailey raises an eyebrow, amused. "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been called a storm in heels before, but... thanks?"


    "She means that as the highestpliment," I cut in, rubbing the back of my neck. "Becky¡¯s got a ir for drama."


    Reba winks. "I just appreciate a woman who doesn¡¯t take crap from anyone. You should¡¯ve seen how proud this one looked while talking about you." She nods toward me. "All dreamy-eyed and lovesick."


    Hailey smirks, shooting me a sideways nce. "Dreamy-eyed, huh?"


    I sigh. "I¡¯m gonna regret this call for the rest of my life."


    "No, no," Reba says, waving a hand. "You¡¯re going to thank meter when I get to give the ¡¯I knew it before they did¡¯ speech at your wedding."


    Haileyughs, a sound that instantly lightens the air in the room. "Don¡¯t encourage her."


    "Oh, I¡¯m way past encouragement," Reba replies. "I¡¯m mentally writing my maid-of-honor speech. Spoiler alert¡ªit¡¯s hrious."


    I cover my face with my hands. "Okay, I¡¯m hanging up now."


    Reba grins wide. "Love you, too, Josh. And Hailey? You rock. Keep calling out douchebags in skinny jeans."


    Hailey chuckles. "Will do."


    I tap to end the call, shaking my head as the screen goes ck. "She¡¯s ridiculous."


    "She¡¯s awesome," Hailey says, settling into the chair beside me. "Also... dreamy-eyed?"


    I nce at her, her eyes yful but questioning.


    I shrug, unable to fight the smile tugging at my mouth. "What can I say? You¡¯re kind of hard not to fall for."


    The teasing drops from her face, reced by something softer. Something real.


    She nudges her knee against mine. "Good. Because I think I already fell."


    My heart skips. Just a beat. Maybe two.


    The room suddenly feels smaller, quieter like the world paused just long enough for her words to echo a little louder.


    I blink, trying to make sure I didn¡¯t imagine it. "You... you did?"


    Hailey gives a tiny shrug, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Yeah. I think it happened somewhere between your terrible ylist and the way you always notice when I need a break."


    I huff augh, warmth spreading through my chest like sunlight after a long winter. "My ylist is not terrible."


    "It¡¯s an emotional rollercoaster," she counters, smirking. "I went from The Cure to Taylor Swift to a sea shanty in ten minutes."


    "That shanty ps, and you know it."


    She giggles, and I could bottle that sound and live off it. Then her expression shifts again¡ªopen, unguarded. "But seriously... this thing with us. It¡¯s not just fun for me. It feels... right."


    I nod, the words sticking in my throat because same. God, same.


    I reach over and take her hand, her fingers cool and steady against mine. "Then let¡¯s not let anyone...Riley, Marcus, whoever mess it up."


    Her grip tightens.


    "Deal," she says softly.

 Chapter 142: Fire Her

    <h4>Chapter 142: Fire Her</h4>


    Hailey


    Two dayster, I am back in the studio, trying to do another photoshoot with Riley. And unfortunately, that includes trying to get Riley to stop posing like she¡¯s taking selfies at a music festival.


    She¡¯s standing in front of the camera, pouting dramatically with one hand on her hip and the other in her hair, like she¡¯s about to promote a hair vitamin.


    "Riley," I call, gently but firm, "we¡¯re going for elegance, not... whatever that is."


    She blinks at me, then tilts her head, still holding the pose. "Oh. I thought this was giving, like, luxury beachwear meets influencer chic?"


    "It¡¯s giving... confusion," I mutter under my breath.


    I step forward, showing her the stance I want. Chin slightly tilted, shoulders rxed, eyes focused¡ªnot vacant. "Try it like this. Think power. Think quiet confidence. Less... duck lips, more depth."


    She mimics me half-heartedly, then throws a wink at me. "Like this?"


    I close my eyes for half a second and breathe.


    Patience.


    She¡¯s not a model. She¡¯s just pretending to be one today. And somehow, she¡¯s been handed a photoshoot she didn¡¯t earn.


    "Okay," I say slowly, keeping my tone light, "let¡¯s reset."


    She fluffs her hair again and sighs. "You know, Hailey, maybe I just have a different vibe. I¡¯ve got 2.1 million followers. I know what works for me."


    "And that¡¯s great," I reply, managing a smile. "But here, you¡¯re selling their vision. Not yours."


    She pauses at that. For a moment, I think I see something flicker behind her eyes. Anger maybe.


    "Marcus said I am doing great," she says finally, dropping her arms.


    Of course, he did.


    I keep my expression neutral, though inside, I¡¯m screaming.


    "Marcus isn¡¯t the one behind the lens," I say calmly. "And he¡¯s not the one who has to deliver the final shots to the client."


    She crosses her arms, looking away like a teenager being scolded. "Well, maybe the client wants something new. Something fresh."


    I walk toward the camera, pick up the tablet where the proofs are disyed, and turn it so she can see.


    "They don¡¯t," I say gently. "They want this." I swipe to a previous image¡ªone of our professional models, striking a clean, confident pose with a look that sells the brand. "Not this." I swipe to one of Riley¡¯s shots. She¡¯s mid-pout, leaning too far forward, fingers awkward and face too posed.


    Riley detes just a little.


    "I¡¯m not trying to be mean," I add, softening my tone. "But this isn¡¯t just about looking pretty. It¡¯s about telling a story without saying a word."


    She looks at me like she has swallowed something sour.


    I sigh. "Let¡¯s take a break."


    Riley doesn¡¯t argue. She steps offset without a word, heels clicking too loudly against the floor, frustration radiating from her in waves. I watch her disappear into the makeup area before rubbing my temples with both hands.


    God, I need a minute.


    Or rather, I need to talk to Marcus again.


    I walk to his office, feeling determined. He has to listen to me and get rid of Riley. This isn¡¯t working and he knows it.


    I walk into his office without knocking. "Marcus. We need to talk," I dere.


    Marcus looks up from his desk, leaning back in his leather chair with thatzy smirk he always wears like it¡¯s a tailored suit. Heces his fingers behind his head and raises a brow, utterly unbothered.


    "Well, if it isn¡¯t the queen of the studio herself," he drawls. "What can I do for you, Hailey?"


    I don¡¯t sit. I don¡¯t smile. I just cross my arms and nt my feet like I¡¯m anchoring myself to the floor.


    "We need to talk about Riley."


    His eyes flicker with interest, maybe even amusement. "She¡¯s giving you a hard time?"


    "She¡¯s giving the entire team a hard time," I snap. "She¡¯s unprofessional, she doesn¡¯t follow directions, and she has no idea what she¡¯s doing."


    Marcus shrugs. "She¡¯s new."


    "She¡¯s not new," I say sharply. "She¡¯s unqualified. She¡¯s not here to work. She¡¯s here to parade around and get more followers. And you know that."


    Marcus taps a pen against his desk, slow and deliberate. "What do you want me to do?"


    "Fire her," I say firmly. "Tell her you made a mistake."


    He leans forward, cing his elbows on the desk, his voice dropping just a little. "I don¡¯t make mistakes."


    There it is. The wall. The power y.


    I narrow my eyes. "Why? Why are you so determined to keep her in this shoot when it¡¯s clearly not working?"


    Marcus¡¯s lips twist in a smirk again, but there¡¯s steel behind it this time. "Because sometimes chaos is good for creativity. Shakes things up. Challenges people. And maybe... it gets you to show what you¡¯re really made of."


    My stomach tightens. "This isn¡¯t about creativity," I say coldly. "You are trying to get a rise out of me because you can¡¯t handle the fact that I am choosing Josh over you. You knew Riley was his ex-girlfriend, didn¡¯t you?"


    Marcus doesn¡¯t flinch.


    His expression remains maddeningly calm, and that ever-present smirk is stretching just a little wider as I¡¯ve walked right into his trap.


    "Smart girl," he says smoothly, as if we¡¯re talking about the weather. "Why I like you."


    "Cut the sweet talk, Marcus," I say, my voice low and sharp. "You need to fire Riley."


    He leans back again, hands behind his head, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "I won¡¯t do that. Unless you agree to make a deal with me."


    I stiffen. "A deal?"


    Marcus nods slowly, the smirk never leaving his face. "You want Riley gone? Fine. But you¡¯ll owe me."


    I cross my arms tighter, instinct screaming at me that whatever he¡¯s about to propose, I won¡¯t like it. "What kind of deal?"


    He stands, circling the desk with the confidence of someone used to pulling strings and watching people dance.


    "I¡¯ll pull Riley from the shoot," he says. "But in return, you go out on dates with me."


    My jaw clenches. "You can¡¯t be serious."


    Marcus stops just in front of me, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne, see the smug glint in his eyes. "Dead serious," he says, voice low. "One dinner. Maybe two. Casual. Friendly. Call it... creative coboration."


    I step back, disgust rising in my throat. "You¡¯re ckmailing me."


    He lifts his hands like he¡¯s innocent. "No, no. Just offering a professional exchange. You get what you want, Riley out. I get... what I want."


    "And what is that exactly?" I ask, heat in my voice. "To sleep with me?"


    He shrugs. "If it happens, it¡¯ll happen."


    I try to keep my anger under control. "I am not going out with you," I say through gritted teeth."


    "Then she stays. Now go and take some great pictures," Marcus says lightly.


    I stare at him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. Not from embarrassment but pure, livid rage.


    "You¡¯re disgusting," I say quietly, my voice shaking with control. "Do you even hear yourself?"


    Marcus simply smiles, unbothered. "It¡¯s just business, Hailey. Compromise. You scratch my back¡ª"


    "I¡¯d rather set myself on fire."


    I turn sharply, my boots echoing against the floor as I storm out of his office.

 Chapter 143: Who is That?

    <h4>Chapter 143: Who is That?</h4> Hailey


    I step back into the studio, still feeling the echo of Josh¡¯s hand in mine, his words swirling in my chest like confetti in slow motion.


    The chaos is still here, waiting. Makeup touch-ups are being barked across the set, lighting techs adjusting angles, and Riley... well, Riley is seated on the edge of the backdrop, tapping furiously on her phone, flipping her hair.


    I inhale through my nose. You¡¯ve got this, Hailey. You¡¯re not letting this ship sink.


    I walk straight up to her. "Riley," I say, calm but firm.


    She nces up at me, phone still in hand. "Oh hey. Just giving my followers a little BTS. They love fashion shoots."


    I give her a tight smile. "They¡¯re going to love this next set even more. You ready?"


    She frowns, looking around. "Uh, are we still doing the garden goddess thing? Because, no offense, but this outfit¡¯s kind of... earthy."


    "It¡¯s called couture," I reply smoothly. "And yes, we¡¯re doing the garden goddess thing¡ªexcept this time, you¡¯re not selling face cream to the inte. You¡¯re telling a story."


    Riley blinks. "A story?"


    "Yes," I say, circling her like I¡¯m fine-tuning a sculpture. "You¡¯re not posing. You¡¯re feeling. You¡¯re a statueing to life. Mysterious. Timeless. Like you¡¯ve just stepped out of a painting and haven¡¯t decided if you want to go back in."


    She stares at me like I¡¯ve grown a second head. "So... like... I¡¯m confused, but hot?"


    I bite the inside of my cheek to keep fromughing. "Exactly."


    Riley slowly rises, slipping her phone into the robe pocket and stepping onto the set. "Okay. Confused, but hot. Got it."


    I nod to the photographer, who lifts the camera. The lights re.


    "Rx your jaw," I say, voice low and even. "Drop the shoulders. Yes¡ªjust like that. Now tilt your chin. There."


    Something shifts. I see it. The angle of her neck, the narrowing of her eyes¡ªless ¡¯influencer at brunch,¡¯ more ¡¯nymph about to disappear into the forest mist.¡¯


    The camera clicks rapidly.


    "Beautiful," the photographer mutters. "That¡¯s it. Keep going. Now reach toward the vines¡ªslowly... yes, there."


    It works. She works. For the first time all day, Riley isn¡¯t ying a part for her followers. She¡¯s embodying something else entirely, something she doesn¡¯t even realize she¡¯s doing.


    I step back, arms crossed, heart pounding¡ªnot with stress this time, but something like satisfaction.


    Josh catches my eye from the corner, watching silently from the sidelines, his lips tugged into a soft, knowing smile. He gives me a little nod.


    We¡¯re okay, it says. You¡¯ve got this.


    I smile back.


    Because yeah... I do.


    And for the first time all day, I believe it.


    "Bravo." Marcus¡¯s deep voice startles me.


    I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, slow-pping like he¡¯s just watched a Broadway performance instead of, you know, the shoot he tried to sabotage.


    His smirk is just as smug as always, but there¡¯s something sharper in his eyes¡ªcuriosity maybe, or irritation that his little stunt didn¡¯t implode the day.


    "I knew you had it in you, Hailey," he says, sauntering forward. "Turning chaos into couture. I¡¯m impressed."


    I cross my arms. "Yeah, thanks."


    "I mean it," he says, tilting his head. "You took a hot mess and turned it into something... haunting. Riley actually looked like she belonged in that scene. I wasn¡¯t expecting that."


    I raise an eyebrow. "No, you were expecting me to fail."


    He lifts a shoulder in azy shrug. "Of course not. I hired you because you were the best."


    I take a step toward him, lowering my voice so the rest of the crew can¡¯t hear. "Let me be very clear, Marcus. I¡¯m not interested in your little mind games. Whatever this was...bringing in my boyfriend¡¯s ex, trying to rattle me¡ªit didn¡¯t work. We¡¯re stronger than that."


    "Boyfriend?" Marcus echoes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he just stumbled on a juicy secret. "That official now?"


    I don¡¯t flinch. I hold his gaze like it¡¯s a staring contest and I¡¯ve already won. "Yes. Not that it¡¯s any of your business."


    His eyes flick briefly toward Josh across the studio, then back to me. "Interesting choice."


    "No," I correct sharply, "it¡¯s the right choice."


    Marcus chuckles under his breath, the kind ofugh that¡¯s more disbelief than amusement. "You know, I was starting to think you might actually enjoy the tension I bring to the table."


    I stare at him tly. But before I can say anything else, one of the crew member interrupts me. "Hailey, you have a visitor."


    I blink. "A visitor?"


    The crew member nods, already stepping aside. "She¡¯s waiting by the front entrance."


    Marcus raises an eyebrow but wisely doesn¡¯t follow as I walk toward the edge of the set. I pass the backdrop, the soft murmurs of the crew, the photographer still reviewing shots with Riley, and make my way through the studio doors, pulse quickening with curiosity.


    And then I see her.


    "Reba?" I stop short, stunned.


    She¡¯s standing there with a wide grin, arms crossed casually, as if this were just a casual drop-in and not a surprise bomb in the middle of my chaos.


    "Hey!" she chirps, bouncing forward with a bounce in her step. "Surprise!"


    I hug her before my brain can catch up. "What are you doing here?"


    She pulls back and wiggles her brows. "Well, I figured you and Josh could use a cheerleader. And maybe a bottle of champagne. Or two."


    Iugh, the tension in my shoulders melting instantly. "That¡¯s amazing! I¡¯m sure Josh missed you. He will be thrilled that you are here to visit."


    "Or be horrified. You never know with our Joshua," she says, linking her arm with mine and ncing behind me toward the studio. "So...this is where you work? So fancy."


    I smile. "Yes. Do you want me to give you a tour?"


    "Hell yeah!" Reba chirped.


    I lead her inside the studio.


    The moment we step back in, the energy hits Reba like a gust of wind. Her eyes widen as she takes everything in¡ªthe towering light rigs, the hum of whispered direction, the chaos stitched with mour.


    "Okay, this is so not the sad little break room you used to cry in back at yourst job," she says under her breath, smirking.


    Iugh. "Nope. Definitely an upgrade."


    As we weave through the set, she whistles low at Riley, who¡¯s now perched in a tangle of vines like some couture forest queen, fully in character.


    "Oh dear god," Reba says and looks disgusted.


    I can¡¯t help butugh. "What? Don¡¯t tell me you don¡¯t like her."


    Reba frowns. "No, I don¡¯t and I don¡¯t understand how Josh ever liked her in the first ce let alone dating her. He must¡¯ve been smoking some hard drugs to not see how ridiculous she is."


    I giggle. "She is not that bad when she listens to my directions."


    Reba¡¯s eyesnd on Marcus, who¡¯s currently deep in conversation with a stylist near the monitors, his sleeves rolled, arms crossed, looking every bit like he owns the world¡ªor at least this studio.


    Her lips part into a slow, sly grin.


    "Okay, wait," she says, dragging me to a stop by the elbow. "Who. Is. That?"


    I follow her gaze. "Marcus."


    She raises a brow. "That¡¯s Marcus?"


    I nod, already bracing for impact. "Yes. My boss."


    Reba doesn¡¯t blink. "Okay, but why does he look like he just stepped off the set of a mafia drama called Daddy Issues: The Tailored Edition?"


    I choke on augh. "Please don¡¯t call him that. He already thinks he¡¯s God¡¯s gift to women. He does not need that energy reinforced."


    Reba squints. "He¡¯s giving serious ¡¯CEO who leaves emotional damage and $2,000 tips¡¯ vibes."


    "I know," I groan. "And he knows it too. Which makes it so much worse."


    Reba hums, still staring. "Well you better introduce me to him then."

 Chapter 144: Arrogant and Beautiful

    <h4>Chapter 144: Arrogant and Beautiful</h4>


    Hailey


    I groan at Reba¡¯s eagerness. "You¡¯re not serious."


    Reba grins like a cat who just found a very fancy, very breakable vase. "Oh, I¡¯m dead serious."


    "You¡¯re going to flirt with Marcus?" I exim.


    "Flirt?" She gasps in mock offense. "Hailey, please. I just want to see what his problem is. Josh filled me in on the whole...him trying to get inside your pants thing."


    My jaw drops. "He what?"


    Reba shrugs, utterly unapologetic. "Don¡¯t look at me like that. He was worried. And, let¡¯s be honest, slightly grossed out. Your boss trying to seduce his girlfriend? That¡¯s peak soap opera drama."


    I nce nervously toward Marcus, who¡¯s still across the room,pletely unaware that he¡¯s be the topic of sibling gossip. "God. I knew Josh was annoyed, but I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d go full confession mode."


    "Oh, he didn¡¯t just confess," Reba says, leaning in conspiratorially. "He ranted."


    I bury my face in my hands. "I¡¯m going to die."


    "You¡¯re not," she says sweetly, patting my shoulder. "But Marcus might."


    I lower my hands. "So you¡¯re here to... what? Casually interrogate him?"


    Reba smirks. "I prefer the term recon mission. Get they of thend. Figure out what his angle is. And if he is ying games with you, I¡¯ll be the unexpected plot twist that ruins his whole season arc."


    I blink. "You are actually terrifying."


    "I know," she beams. "Nowe on. I¡¯m not going to hex him or anything. I¡¯m just going to...talk to him a little."


    "Maybe you can distract him away from me a little," I murmur.


    Reba winks. "That¡¯s the spirit. Let¡¯s get this party started."


    I groan again, dragging my feet as she practically skips across the studio floor. Marcus is mid-conversation with the stylist, gesturing toward a rack of dresses, his tone smooth and bossy as usual.


    When he notices us approaching, he straightens a little, eyes flicking to me, then to Reba. His brow lifts.


    Reba speaks before I get the chance. "Reba. Josh¡¯s best friend. I figured we should meet."


    Marcus takes her hand, still not smiling. "Marcus Winters."


    Reba tilts her head as she shakes his hand, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You know," she says slowly, "I imagined you taller."


    Marcus raises an eyebrow, clearly not used to being caught off guard. "You imagined me?"


    "Well, when someone is the subject of a very animated rant from my best friend, I tend to paint a mental picture," she says brightly, releasing his hand. "Usually with devil horns."


    "Charming," Marcus says dryly, folding his arms. "And here I thought I had a fan club."


    "Oh, I¡¯m not a fan," Reba replies, all sweetness and teeth. "I¡¯m an observer. And right now, I¡¯m observing a man who doesn¡¯t quite understand what line not to cross when ites to someone else¡¯s girlfriend."


    "Reba," I warn gently under my breath, but she holds up a finger.


    "Nope," she says without looking at me. "Let me have this."


    Marcus¡¯s jaw tightens slightly, but his voice stays calm, measured. "If Josh has a problem, he¡¯s wee to talk to me directly."


    Reba shrugs. "He would. But unlike you, he¡¯s a real gentleman."


    Marcus¡¯s eyes darken just a shade.


    "Is that so?" he replies coolly. "And here I thought this was a professional environment, not a yground for personal grudges."


    Reba leans in, her tone light but razor-sharp. "Oh, it is professional. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. You see, professionals don¡¯t flirt with their employees or try to manipte their rtionships to get ahead. So if that¡¯s not what you were doing, then you have nothing to worry about, right?"


    Marcus doesn¡¯t respond immediately. He just stares at her, expression unreadable. The silence stretches long enough for me to start praying someone pulls a fire rm.


    Eventually, he says, "What I do or don¡¯t with my employee is none of your business."


    Reba¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t falter. If anything, it widens, slow and deliberate¡ªlike a shark scenting blood in the water.


    "Well, see, that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong," she says, her voice sweet as honey. "Because when it affects the people I care about, it bes my business. Especially when the person involved is my best friend. And especially when that person already has a boyfriend who, by the way, could wipe the floor with you in about three seconds t."


    Marcus¡¯s gaze flicks to me, then back to her. "So what exactly are you using me of? Being interested in Hailey? Or trying to use her?"


    Reba¡¯s expression hardens for a fraction of a second. "I¡¯m using you of being a man who¡¯s too used to getting what he wants. And thinking no one notices the way he looks at women like they¡¯re part of the office furniture."


    A beat of silence passes between them like a standoff at high noon.


    Marcus chuckles, low and sharp. "You think you¡¯ve got me all figured out, huh?"


    Reba shrugs. "I don¡¯t need to figure you out. I just need you to back off."


    Marcus straightens, smooths his jacket like brushing off the exchange entirely, and says, "Well. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I have a shoot to manage."


    He turns and walks off, and only when he¡¯s far enough away do I finally breathe again.


    I look at her. "I can¡¯t believe you just did that."


    Reba sighs and pats my hand. "I know. It¡¯s exhausting being this iconic."


    We bothugh. "Hope I didn¡¯t just get you fired, though," she says.


    I shake my head. "No. Marcus wants me here. Josh too, believe it or not."


    "Hmm...he is weird. But insanely hot. You think I can get inside his pants?" she says nonchntly.


    I choke on air. "Reba!"


    She grins at me,pletely unbothered. "What? I¡¯m just saying, if the man¡¯s going to act like a predator, he should know what it feels like to be the prey."


    "You are unhinged," I whisper, ncing around like the walls might have ears.


    Reba waves a hand. "Maybe. Where the hell is Josh?"


    I stifle augh, shaking my head. "Probably in the dressing room, getting ready for the next shoot. Come on, let¡¯s go surprise him."


    Reba perks up instantly. "Ooh, ambush. My favorite lovenguage."


    I give her a look as we weave through garment racks and lighting rigs. "Please don¡¯t traumatize him. He already has to deal with Marcus."


    "Exactly. He deserves a reward," she says, practically bouncing on her heels.


    We reach the dressing room hallway, and I pause at the door Josh usually uses between sets. I knock twice before pushing it open.


    Josh is standing at the mirror, adjusting his cor and looking slightly stressed, like someone who knows he¡¯s about to model a winter coat under summer lights. His eyes lift to the mirror, then to us.


    His shoulders immediately sag. "Reba?"


    "I am here," Reba says cheerfully, slipping past me and plopping herself onto the little couch in the corner like she owns the ce. "Hi, Josh."


    He looks at her with confusion. "What are you doing here? When did you get here?"


    "I am here for the emergency Marcus seduction mission," she replies.


    Josh freezes mid-button. "I¡¯m sorry, the what?"


    "The emergency Marcus seduction mission," Reba repeats as if it exins everything.


    Josh stares at her. Then at me. "What is she talking about?"


    I shrug. "She is going to seduce Marcus to keep him off my trail."


    Josh blinks. Twice. Then his hands fall from his cor like his brain has decided to power down for a reboot.


    "You are not," he saysmely.


    Reba waves a dismissive hand. "I am. Just rx, will you? I¡¯m just going to mess with his head a little. Make him think twice about pursuing your girlfriend."


    Josh runs both hands through his hair, leaving it disheveled. "This is insane. You can¡¯t just¡ªReba, the man is dangerous. He¡¯s not some college frat boy you can manipte with batting eyshes."


    "Exactly why it¡¯ll work," Reba says smugly. "He won¡¯t see iting."


    I sink into the chair beside the mirror, watching this trainwreck unfold. "You can¡¯t possibly be attracted to that arrogant bastard, Becky."


    "Arrogant and beautiful bastard," Reba corrects me.

 Chapter 145: Seduce Him

    <h4>Chapter 145: Seduce Him</h4>


    Reba


    I sink back into the plush couch, stretching my arms wide along the top of the cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. Josh narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at me as if he¡¯s trying to summon the perfect words to make me see reason. But here¡¯s the spoiler: no such words exist.


    "Reba, Marcus is too old for you," he says, his voice tinged with exasperation.


    I roll my eyes, a small scoff escaping my lips. "No, he is not," I retort, dismissing his concerns with a wave of my hand.


    Josh leans forward, his gaze unwavering. "He has gray hair," he argues, emphasizing each word. "He¡¯s just some creepy old guy hitting on a young girl like Hailey." His words hang in the air, heavy with disapproval.


    "Actually, he is only 38," Hailey interjects.


    Josh shoots her a horrified look. "Only 38? Don¡¯t tell me you find him attractive too."


    I interject before Hailey can confirm or deny. "You are acting like he¡¯s got a walker and a life alert button. He¡¯s not a senior citizen, Josh. He¡¯s just... weathered. Like a very expensive leather bag."


    Josh res at me. "That bag is trying to unzip my girlfriend."


    "Okay, ew," Hailey mutters, face scrunching in mild horror.


    I lift a brow, unbothered. "Let¡¯s not pretend Marcus is not attractive. He¡¯s got that whole ¡¯power suit and brooding stare¡¯ thing going for him. It¡¯s very Wall Street viin with a tragic backstory. Women eat that up."


    Josh ps a hand over his face. "Please stop talking."


    "Fine," I say, waving him off. "But I¡¯m just saying, the man being 38 doesn¡¯t automatically make him a creep. It¡¯s the intent that makes him a creep. And if he is being predatory? That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. To poke the bear and see if it bites."


    "I don¡¯t like this n," Josh grumbles.


    Hailey nudges him gently. "I don¡¯t love it either, but... it¡¯s Reba. You know she¡¯s going to do it no matter what we say."


    "Thank you," I say, smug.


    Josh res at me again. "If he so much as touches you the wrong way¡ª"


    "I will make sure he touches me the right away," I cut in.


    "I think I am gonna be sick," Josh breathes.


    I grin wickedly. "What? I¡¯m just saying I know how to handle myself."


    Josh drops into the chair beside Hailey, looking like someone just canceled his favorite video game. "You say that like it¡¯sforting, but somehow I feel worse."


    I reach over and pat his shoulder, mock-sympathetic. "Rx, lover boy. Mama is here to protect you two. Just give me until this weekend to make Mr. Broody fall for me."


    Hailey stares at me like I just dered I was running for president. "Fall for you? Reba, I thought this was a recon mission, not Mission: Make Marcus Swoon."


    Josh¡¯s eyes narrow. "Yeah, what exactly is the goal here? I thought you were just going to mess with him¡ªnot start a rtionship."


    I shrug, entirely unashamed. "What better way to derail a predator than making him think he¡¯s being hunted?"


    Josh groans and lets his head fall back against the chair. "This is deranged."


    "Effective," I correct him. "And let¡¯s be real, it¡¯ll throw him off his game. If Marcus starts thinking I¡¯m into him, he¡¯ll be too busy trying to figure me out to y his creepy games with Hailey."


    Hailey gives me a skeptical look. "And what if he actually does fall for you?"


    I smirk. "Then I start picking out my wedding colors. Hailey, you are invited to be one of my bridesmaids. Maid of honor title goes to Sarah, of course."


    Hailey giggles. "I am honored."


    Josh looks genuinely rmed now. "You are not marrying Marcus Winters. What is happening right now?"


    I swing my legs off the couch. "Look, I have not been in a dating game in a long time, and Marcus is hot. So why not? It¡¯ll get him to back off from Hailey. It¡¯ll be killing two birds with one stone."


    Josh looks like he¡¯s aged ten years in thest ten minutes. "But..."


    Hailey raises a hand. "It¡¯s okay, Josh. Maybe Reba¡¯s right."


    Josh turns to her in disbelief. "What?!"


    Hailey shrugs, folding her legs beneath her. "Look, Marcus is a total man slut no doubt about it, but Reba is young and single. She should have fun, so why not with him?"


    Josh rubs his temples. "Because he¡¯s Marcus freaking Winters, Hailey! The guy has resting murder face and probably a secretir with trapdoors and a chair that spins."


    "That just makes him more intriguing," I say.


    "You know what else is intriguing?" Josh snaps. "Normal guys. Nice guys."


    I grin. "Okay, Dad."


    Josh lets out a strangled noise of frustration. "So you want to be his next... what? Trophy? A line in his little ck book?"


    I grin. "I want to be the page that rips out the rest of the book."


    Hailey lets out a low whistle. "Wow, Reba. That was poetic."


    Josh flops back dramatically, arms syed like he¡¯s given up on life. "I give up. Do what you want. I still think it¡¯s weird as fuck."


    Hailey lets out a softugh and curls up closer to Josh. "She¡¯ll be fine. Honestly, I think Marcus is the one who should be worried."


    Josh finally smiles. "Yeah. You are probably right. But I swear if I have to pick you up from a viin¡¯s penthouse or bail you out of some twisted fifty-shades situation¡ª"


    "I¡¯ll at least make sure I look hot in the mugshot," I cut in cheerfully. "And I promise, no handcuffs unless I¡¯m in control of them."


    "Reba!" Hailey chokes, thenughs.


    I just stand, stretch like a cat, and saunter toward the door. "Hailey, why don¡¯t you be a dear and point me in the direction of his office?"


    Hailey blinks. "Wait, now?"


    "Why not?" I say, tossing a wink over my shoulder. "No time like the present to make questionable life choices."


    Josh lifts the pillow just enough to re. "You¡¯re gonna end up with a tattoo of his initials on your lower back, aren¡¯t you?"


    "I was thinking forearm," I reply sweetly. "More visible. More powerful."


    Hailey giggles, already resigned. "Alright, fine. His office is on the top floor."


    "Perfect," I say, already turning the doorknob. "Wish me luck, kids."


    Josh gives onest groan as I swing the door open. "I will say a prayer for him instead."

 Chapter 146: Not His Type

    <h4>Chapter 146: Not His Type</h4>


    Marcus


    The door to my office ms open, startling me from the stack of proofs I¡¯ve been reviewing. A woman stands in the doorway. I recognize Josh and Hailey¡¯s friend, who had annoyed me earlier.


    What the fuck is she doing in my office?


    Before I can react, she steps inside and deliberately closes the door behind her with a soft click.


    "Can I help you?" I ask, setting down my pen and leaning back in my chair.


    Reba strolls toward my desk with the confident swagger of someone who¡¯s never been told no.


    "Actually," she says, perching herself on the edge of my desk without invitation, "I think we can help each other."


    I raise an eyebrow, studying her.


    She¡¯s a small thing, barely reaching my chin even in those ridiculous heels.


    Her dark hair cascades in messy waves around a heart-shaped face that¡¯s pretty in that obvious, uplicated way, the kind that doesn¡¯t particrly interest me. My gaze involuntarily drops to her chest, which seems almostically disproportionate to her petite frame.


    The tight sweater she¡¯s wearing does nothing to disguise breasts that are frankly toorge and heavy for my taste. I¡¯ve always preferred women with more subtle curves and athletic builds, like Hailey¡¯s photographer¡¯s frame, all lean muscle and purpose.


    I force my eyes back to her face, annoyed at myself for even noticing. She¡¯s attractive, objectively speaking, but so aggressively not my type that it almost amuses me.


    "I¡¯m waiting," I say coolly, making no effort to hide my impatience. "What exactly do you think we can help each other with?"


    Reba smiles, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. "I know what you¡¯re doing with Hailey."


    "Do you now?" I keep my expression neutral, though something sharp and defensive stirs in my chest.


    "Mmhmm." She slides a fraction closer on the desk, invading my space with casual confidence. "And I think you¡¯re going about it all wrong."


    I lean back, putting distance between us. "Enlighten me."


    "You¡¯re too direct. Too... obvious." She gestures vaguely. "Women like Hailey don¡¯t respond to that. They need subtlety. Mystery."


    I almostugh. "And you¡¯re an expert on what women like Hailey want?"


    "I¡¯m an expert on what she doesn¡¯t want," Reba counters, crossing her legs. "And right now, that¡¯s you."


    The bluntness catches me off guard, though I¡¯m careful not to show it. "What makes you think I care what Hailey wants or doesn¡¯t want?"


    Reba¡¯s eyes narrow slightly. "Because you keep trying. And men like you don¡¯t try unless they¡¯re invested."


    I study her for a moment, this small, brash woman with her toorge breasts and too-confident smile.


    There¡¯s something almost refreshing about her directness, even if her appearance does nothing for me.


    "Why are you here, Reba? Really?"


    She hops off my desk, smoothing her skirt. "I¡¯m offering you a deal."


    "A deal," I repeat, skeptical.


    "Yes. You back off from Hailey, and I¡¯ll help you save face. Make it look like you lost interest, not like you were rejected. Preserve that precious ego of yours."


    I can¡¯t help it¡ªIugh, the sound sharp and genuine. "That¡¯s your offer? To help me ¡¯save face¡¯?"


    "Would you prefer I tell everyone how pathetically you¡¯ve been chasing after a woman who¡¯s clearly taken?" she asks sweetly.


    Myughter dies in my throat.


    I rise slowly from my chair, letting the silence stretch between us. Reba watches me carefully, her smug little smirk flickering just slightly.


    "You came into my office," I say, voice low and measured. "Closed the door. Sat on my desk. And now you¡¯re threatening me?"


    Reba doesn¡¯t flinch. If anything, her chin lifts a notch higher. "It¡¯s not a threat, Marcus. It¡¯s a favor. You strike me as a man who doesn¡¯t like to lose. I¡¯m simply giving you a way to bow out gracefully."


    I step closer, enough that I see the way her fingers tighten subtly against the fabric of her skirt. She¡¯s bluffing. Or maybe not bluffing, but certainly overestimating her position here.


    Who does she think she is?


    "And what exactly do you get out of this generous offer, Reba?"


    Her tongue darts out to wet her lips¡ªa nervous habit, I¡¯d guess, though she¡¯s trying to y it off as seductive. "You."


    "Me." I¡¯m close enough now to smell her perfume¡ªsomething fruity and young that screams department store rather than boutique. "You want...me?"


    I stare at her for a moment, a slow chuckle building in my throat. The sheer audacity is almost admirable.


    "That¡¯s quite the proposition," I say, walking around her in a slow circle. "You, Josh¡¯s best friend, suddenly want me? The man you just used of predatory behavior?"


    Reba holds my gaze, unflinching. "I never said I had good taste in men."


    "No, you certainly didn¡¯t." I stop directly in front of her. "Let me make sure I understand. You are offering yourself as what...a constion prize? A distraction to keep me away from Hailey?"


    "I¡¯m offering a mutually beneficial arrangement," she says, crossing her arms. "You get someone who actually wants your attention, and Hailey gets to do her job without her boss making things awkward."


    I lean against my desk, studying her with new interest. Not because I find her attractive¡ªthough she¡¯s pretty enough in that obvious way, but because her boldness is unexpected.


    "And Josh? What does he think of this little scheme?"


    "Josh doesn¡¯t control what I do." She is smiling.


    "Ah," I say, smiling too. "He has no idea you¡¯re here."


    "He knows exactly where I am," she counters. "I am a big girl. I don¡¯t need his permission to decide who I will and won¡¯t sleep with."


    I can¡¯t believe this girl.


    "Sorry, but you are not type," I say bluntly.


    Reba¡¯s smile falters for just a fraction of a second before hardening into something sharper. "Excuse me?"


    I shrug, moving back to my chair with deliberate casualness. "You asked for honesty. I¡¯m giving it to you. You¡¯re not my type."


    "Really?" Her voice drops, taking on a dangerous edge.


    "And what exactly is your type, Marcus? Because from where I¡¯m standing, it looks like unavable women who want nothing to do with you."


    The barb hits its mark, but I don¡¯t let it show. Instead, I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled. "Clever. But still not my type."


    Reba steps closer to my desk, palms t against the surface as she leans forward. "You know what I think? I think you¡¯re lying. I think you¡¯re so used to women throwing themselves at you that you don¡¯t know how to handle someone calling your bluff."


    "Is that what you think you¡¯re doing? Calling my bluff?"


    "I think you¡¯re scared," she says, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Scared that if you admit you¡¯re attracted to me, it means you¡¯re not as hung up on Hailey as you pretend to be."


    I study her face, the flush in her cheeks, the way her breathing has quickened slightly. She¡¯s either an excellent actress or she actually believes what she¡¯s saying.


    "You¡¯re fishing," I say finally. "Trying to figure out if I¡¯m genuinely interested in Hailey or if it¡¯s just the chase I enjoy."


    Reba straightens, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "So which is it?"


    I stand again, this time moving around the desk until I¡¯m close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. She doesn¡¯t back away, though I notice her hands clench slightly at her sides.


    "You want to know what I think, Reba?" I reach out, letting my fingers ghost along her jawline. She shivers despite herself. "I think you came in here with a n to seduce me away from Hailey. But now you¡¯re realizing you might be in over your head."


    Her breath catches, but her voice remains steady. "You¡¯re avoiding the question."


    "No," I say, dropping my hand. "I¡¯m answering it. Hailey interests me because she¡¯s brilliant, talented, and refuses to be impressed by anything I have to offer. You..." I let my gaze travel over her deliberately. "You¡¯re trying too hard."


    The wordsnd like a p. Reba¡¯s face flushes deeper, but instead of backing down, she steps even closer.


    "Maybe," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe I¡¯m exactly what you need."


    Before I can respond, she rises up on her toes and presses her lips to mine.


    The kiss is aggressive and desperate, with all teeth and tongue and misced confidence. For a moment, I¡¯m too surprised to react.


    For a brief moment, I give in to the kiss, my hands finding her waist as I pull her closer. Her breasts press against my chest, soft and plump.


    I am lost in the damned kiss before I regain my sense to break away, firmly setting her at arm¡¯s length.


    "That¡¯s enough," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.


    Reba stares up at me, a smirk teasing her lips.


    "A momentarypse in judgment," I say, straightening my tie. "One I don¡¯t intend to repeat."


    She lets out a throaty life. "I think your cock disagrees with the fact that I am not your type."


    I follow her gaze downward and curse silently. The betrayal of my body is undeniable, straining against my tailored cks. Reba¡¯s eyes gleam with triumph, her earlier rejection forgotten.


    "Not your type, huh?" she purrs, stepping closer again.


    I back away, putting the desk between us. "Physical reactions are involuntary. It means nothing."


    "Really?" She raises an eyebrow. "Because it seems to mean something pretty specific from where I¡¯m standing."


    I adjust my jacket, trying to regainposure. "This conversation is over, Reba. Whatever game you¡¯re ying stops now."


    Sheughs, the sound rich and knowing. "It¡¯s not a game if we both win, Marcus."


    "Get out," I say, my voice low but firm. "Now."


    Reba¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t falter as she backs toward the door. "Fine. But we both know I¡¯ll be back. And next time..." her eyes flick downward once more, "you might not be so quick to send me away."


    The door closes behind her with a soft click. I sink into my chair, running a hand through my hair.


    What in god¡¯s name just happened?

 Chapter 147: Chemistry

    <h4>Chapter 147: Chemistry</h4>


    Hailey


    I adjust the lens on her camera and nce at the studio lights being set up. This is ourst photoshoot together. After today, I will be moving on to my next project.


    Josh stands nearby, fixing his cor in the mirror. He catches my eye and smiles.


    "You ready for this?" I ask, walking over to him.


    Josh nods. "Yeah. Feels weird, though. Last one."


    "I know." I pause, then ask, "So... have you thought about sticking with modeling? Doing it permanently?"


    Josh looks thoughtful for a moment. "I¡¯m not sure yet," he admits. "It¡¯s been fun, but I still have a whole other career."


    I smile softly. "Fair enough. Whatever you choose, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be great at it."


    He chuckles. "Maybe. But I will miss being photographed by you."


    I grin mischievously. "Oh? Well, just because you may not model for Luxe, doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t photograph you for...uh...other reasons."


    Josh raises an eyebrow. "Other reasons, huh?" he says, a yful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Are you saying I get a private shoot now?"


    Iugh, tilting my head. "Maybe. Depends on how well you behave during this one."


    He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Guess I better bring my A-game then."


    "ces everyone!" Marcus calls out, pping his hands. "Let¡¯s make this final shoot count."


    The crew scatters into position. I busy myself with camera settings.


    As Josh takes his position against the backdrop, I find my center. Through my viewfinder, the world narrows to light and shadow, angles and expressions. This is what I¡¯m good at. This is where I belong.


    "Beautiful," I murmur as Josh tilts his chin exactly how I need him to. "Now look past the camera like you¡¯re seeing something unexpected."


    He does, and it¡¯s perfect¡ªvulnerability and strength captured in a single frame.


    For the next hour, we work seamlessly together, the chemistry between us tranting into something magical on camera. I barely notice when Marcus approaches until he¡¯s standing right beside me.


    "Impressive work," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "You¡¯ve exceeded expectations, Hailey."


    "Thank you," I reply, not looking away from my viewfinder.


    "I¡¯d like to discuss your future at Luxe when we wrap," he continues. "I think you¡¯re ready for more... responsibility."


    Now I do look at him, searching his face for any hint of his usual game. But his expression is professional, almost distant.


    "I¡¯d like that," I say cautiously.


    He nods once, then moves away to speak with the lighting director. I exhale slowly.


    Reba appears at my elbow, practically vibrating with excitement.


    "Hey!" she chirps.


    "Hey," I say, smiling. "I see you are back. nning to harass Marcus some more?"


    "You know I am," she says straight away.


    "If only there were someone here to distract Riley, too," I say, looking around. I don¡¯t see her anywhere. Is she really going toe inte again?


    Reba makes a face like she swallowed a whole lemon. "She is still here?"


    "Yup. This first set is without her, but in the second one, she is to be with Josh," I say, frowning, too.


    Reba¡¯s face darkens. "Oh, hell no. That maniptive little¡ª"


    "Not so loud," I warn, though I¡¯m not exactly thrilled about Riley¡¯s presence either.


    "Maybe she is not interested in Josh anymore," Reba says thoughtfully. "That girl has always been full of herself. She is just hyped for this for clout."


    "Maybe," I say quietly. "But she was definitely flirting with him the other day."


    "That witch," Reba hissed.


    As if summoned by her words, the studio doors swing open. Riley Meeks walks in like she¡¯s on a runway. "Sorry, I amte," she coos.


    Marcus looks irritated. "Punctuality is important in this studio," he says sharply.


    Riley shrugs off her coat, not the least bit apologetic. "Traffic," she says breezily, handing hertte to a poor assistant who clearly didn¡¯t sign up to be her personal barista.


    I exchange a look with Reba, who silently mouths, Unbelievable.


    Marcus grunts. "Fine. Wardrobe and makeup, now. We start the second set in fifteen."


    Riley tosses her hair and struts toward the dressing room, but not before sending a wink in Josh¡¯s direction. I don¡¯t miss it. Unfortunately, neither does Reba.


    "Oh, she did not just do that," she mutters.


    Josh, to his credit, doesn¡¯t react, at least, not obviously. He scratches the back of his neck and nces toward me. For a brief second, our eyes meet. There¡¯s something there. Something quiet. Something that makes my heart stutter.


    After twenty minutes or so, Riley is back in the room, now in full m. She saunters up to Josh, cing a hand lightly on his arm.


    "Ready, partner?" she asks, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.


    Josh steps slightly to the side. "Yeah. Let¡¯s just keep it professional, alright?"


    It¡¯s subtle, but it¡¯s there. The polite pushback.


    I bite back a smile and lift my camera again as Marcus gives the go-ahead to start. Reba squeezes my shoulder as she passes by, murmuring, "You¡¯ve got this."


    The lights re to life once more, and I zone in. Riley poses like she always does¡ªshy, calcted, a little too aware of where the camera is. But Josh? Josh is as natural as he can be.


    And yet, when I ask them to move closer, to pose as if they¡¯re a couple midughter, something shifts in him. He looks past Riley...right at me.


    Click.


    It¡¯s not the perfect shot Marcus asked for.


    But it¡¯s the one I¡¯ll keep.


    I lower my camera for a split second to adjust the lens, already nning the next set of angles in my head. Josh and Riley are positioned close together¡ªcloser than I asked for, but still within the frame. Riley¡¯s hand rests lightly on Josh¡¯s chest, her expression soft and flirty.


    "Let¡¯s try that again," I say. "Josh, maybe lean in a little, like you¡¯re listening to something she just whispered."


    He does exactly that, and the moment feels genuine until Riley suddenly tilts her chin up and kisses him.


    Right there.


    Right in front of me.


    It¡¯s brief, but unmistakable. Her lips press against his like it¡¯s part of the scene, but I know it¡¯s not. I didn¡¯t call for it. No one did. She improvised¡ªand I hate her for it.


    I feel the heat rise in my chest so fast it makes my fingers tremble around the camera. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out Marcus¡¯s surprised, "Whoa¡ªokay, hold on!"


    Josh quickly steps back, his expression stunned and visibly ufortable. "Riley, what was that?"


    She blinks, all innocent smiles. "I thought it added to the chemistry. You said to make it look natural, right?" Her eyes flick briefly toward me, and I swear there¡¯s a smirk buried in that polished facade.


    I clench my jaw. "We¡¯re here to take photos, not film a soap opera," I say coolly, but my voice is tight. Too tight.


    Josh looks at me. "Hailey¡ª"


    "Reset," I interrupt, unable to look at him. "Ten minutes. Everyone take five."


    I lower my camera and step away from the set, ignoring Reba¡¯s wide-eyed nce as she follows me.


    "You okay?" she whispers.


    "No," I mutter. "That wasn¡¯t part of the shoot. She did that on purpose."


    "Obviously. She¡¯s always been desperate for attention, but this? That was calcted."


    I nod, my jaw still tense as I take a deep breath. I should be professional. I have to be professional.


    But seeing her kiss him. Seeing him let her...


    It¡¯s not something I can just shrug off.


    "Do you think he wanted that?" I ask quietly, surprising even myself.


    Reba blinks. "Are you kidding? Did you not see his face? He looked like she just sneezed on him."


    I huff a bitterugh, but it doesn¡¯t make me feel any better. Across the room, Riley is already gushing to Marcus about "improvisation" and "natural chemistry," while Josh stands a few feet away, rubbing the back of his neck like he wants to disappear.


    I don¡¯t me him.


    I lift my camera again, not to shoot but to hide my face. If anyone asks, I¡¯m reviewing frames.


    But really, I¡¯m just trying not to feel everything I am feeling.


    Anger.

 Chapter 148: A Ho-

    <h4>Chapter 148: A Ho-</h4>


    Josh


    I rub the back of my neck, trying to ground myself. The heat of Riley¡¯s lips is long gone, but the difort still lingers, coiling tight in my chest. That wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever.


    I nce toward Hailey, who¡¯s turned away, camera shielding her like armor. She¡¯s not looking at me. That¡¯s what stings the most.


    "Josh," Marcus calls out, beckoning me toward the monitors, but I shake my head.


    "Give me a sec," I mutter.


    I walk off the set, past Riley, who looks far too pleased with herself, and toward the far end of the studio where the lighting is dimmer and no one¡¯s watching too closely. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I¡¯m angry. Not just at Riley, but at myself. For freezing. For not stopping it fast enough. For how Hailey looked at me afterward...like she wasn¡¯t sure what she saw anymore.


    I let out a breath and sat on the edge of a prop bench, elbows on my knees. What the hell was that? I will have to talk with Riley about this. Ever since she came here, she had been trying to flirt with me despite knowing I was into Hailey.


    I look back toward the set. Hailey¡¯s still pretending to review shots. Reba¡¯s hovering beside her like a guard dog, arms crossed, mouth tight. Riley¡¯s flipping her hair and sipping whatever iced nonsense she likes to drink.


    I push to my feet.


    "Hailey," I say after I walk to her. "Can we talk?"


    She lowers the camera slowly. Her expression is unreadable, guarded in a way I¡¯ve never seen before. That hits harder than anything else.


    "About what?" she asks, her voice t.


    "About what just happened."


    Reba mutters something under her breath and walks off, probably to avoid witnessing the trainwreck.


    Hailey sighs and sets her camera down on a table beside her. "Go on, then."


    "She kissed me. I didn¡¯t know she was going to do that," I say quickly, firmly. "It wasn¡¯t in the n. It wasn¡¯t in the script. I didn¡¯t want it."


    "I know," she says.


    I step closer, trying to meet her eyes. "I didn¡¯t kiss her back."


    "I know," she repeats, softer this time. But she still won¡¯t look at me.


    "I didn¡¯t want her to touch me. Hell, I told her to keep it professional."


    Finally, she looks up, and I see it¡ªunderneath the calm surface, the flicker of hurt.


    "I believe you, Josh," she says. "It¡¯s not about that. It¡¯s about how I felt watching it."


    Her wordsnd heavy between us.


    I nod slowly, guilt pressing against my ribs. "I get it. And I hate that it happened. I hate that she put you in that position."


    There¡¯s a long silence. I want to reach for her, but I don¡¯t. Not here. Not yet.


    "I like you a lot," she says atst, voice quieter. "A lot more than I expected to."


    I feel something loosen inside my chest. "Me too."


    "I just..." She trails off, then shakes her head. "Let¡¯s just finish this shoot. We can talk after."


    I nod, even though every part of me wants to keep the conversation going. I want to fix this now, to erase that kiss and everything it stirred up. But I know we are here to work.


    "Okay," I say gently. "After the shoot."


    She gives a small nod and picks up her camera again, her fingers steady even though I can see the tightness in her jaw. She¡¯s putting the wall back up, one careful brick at a time.


    I step back and turn away, jaw clenched, only to find Riley staring at us from across the room. Her smile is smug, like she knows exactly what she did and she¡¯s proud of it.


    That does it.


    I march over to her, catching her just as she¡¯s pretending to scroll through her phone.


    "We need to talk," I say, voice low but sharp.


    Riley blinks innocently. "About what?"


    "You know exactly what," I snap. "You crossed a line."


    "Oh,e on, Josh. It was just a kiss," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was giving the camera what it wanted."


    "No. You were trying to get a reaction from Hailey or from me, I don¡¯t know. But it was unprofessional, and it was out of line."


    Her expression shifts and hardens. "You¡¯re overreacting."


    "No, Riley. I¡¯m not. You don¡¯t get to do that just because you¡¯re used to getting your way." I take a breath, lowering my voice again. "Don¡¯t try anything like that again. This shoot is already tense enough."


    For a moment, she says nothing. Then she shrugs, cool as ever. "Fine. Whatever you say."


    But I can tell she¡¯s not sorry. She never was.


    I walk away, needing distance, needing air. Needing Hailey. But I have to wait. I have to be patient.


    Back on set, Marcus is barking instructions again, trying to refocus the team. Hailey is already in ce, camera up, professional mask back on like nothing ever happened.


    When I step back under the lights next to Riley, I do everything I can to create space between us, physically and emotionally. I keep my expressions neutral, my bodynguage distant. If Marcus notices, he doesn¡¯t say anything.


    Hailey¡¯s voice is calm as she directs us. "Josh, just angle your shoulders a little left. Good. Riley, don¡¯t lean in too much."


    When Marcus finally calls for a break, I walk off-set and grab a bottle of water.


    I twist the cap off and drink deeply, grateful for the cold against my throat. Reba appears at my side like she¡¯s been summoned by my misery.


    "That was... ufortable to watch," she says, wincing.


    I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Tell me about it."


    "Hailey¡¯s doing her best impression of someone who¡¯s totally fine, but I know her. She¡¯s hurt."


    "I know," I say, guilt gnawing at my insides. "I tried to talk to her, but¡ª"


    "Not here," Reba interrupts, nodding toward the crew. "Too many eyes."


    She¡¯s right. The studio feels like a fishbowl, everyone watching, waiting for the next bit of drama. I catch Riley ncing our way, her lips curved in that same self-satisfied smirk.


    "What¡¯s her deal anyway?" Reba asks, following my gaze.


    "She is Marcus¡¯s pawn, that¡¯s it," I mutter.


    Reba¡¯s eyebrows shoot up. "Of course."


    Before I can say more, Marcus calls for everyone to return to the set. I straighten my shoulders, steeling myself for another round.


    "Just get through this," Reba whispers, squeezing my arm. "Then take Hailey somewhere quiet and fix it."


    I nod, grateful for her blunt encouragement.


    The second half of the shoot feels endless. Riley keeps "identally" brushing against me, her fingertips lingering on my arm, my shoulder, anywhere she can reach. Each time, I shift away, but I can feel Hailey¡¯s eyes through the lens, catching every movement.


    Finally, Marcus calls thest shot.


    "That¡¯s a wrap, everyone," he announces, pping his hands. "Excellent work."


    The tension in the room dissolves as crew members begin breaking down equipment. Hailey lowers her camera, her shoulders sagging slightly with what might be relief or exhaustion or probably both.


    I make my way toward her, but Riley intercepts me.


    "We should celebrate," she says, trailing her fingers down my arm. "For old times¡¯ sake."


    I step back, removing her hand. "No thanks, Riley."


    Her smile falters. "Don¡¯t be like that. We used to be so good together, remember?"


    "I remember," I say tly. "And I also remember why it ended."


    Her eyes narrow, the mask slipping for the first time. "You think she¡¯s better for you?"


    "It¡¯s not about who¡¯s ¡¯better,¡¯" I answer, voice low. "It¡¯s about who matters to me. And that¡¯s not you."


    She scoffs, flipping her hair like she¡¯s brushing off the rejection. "Whatever. You¡¯lle around."


    "No, I won¡¯t," I say, stepping past her.


    She doesn¡¯t follow.


    I find Hailey by the lighting crates, coiling up a cord.


    "Hey," I say softly. "You ready to get out of here?"


    She looks up at me, eyes tired. She doesn¡¯t speak right away, but after a beat, she nods.


    "Yeah. I am."


    We walk in silence down the back corridor, away from the noise and the buzz of the studio being dismantled.


    "I meant what I said earlier," I begin. "That kiss... it wasn¡¯t mutual. It wasn¡¯t wanted."


    Hailey looks at me for a long moment. "I know."


    I search her face. "Then why does it still feel like you¡¯re mad at me?"


    She exhales, folding her arms over her chest. "Because I am mad. Not at you, exactly. I¡¯m mad that she is such a...such a...." She trails off, shaking her head. "Never mind."


    "No," I say, stepping closer. "Say it. Please."


    She hesitates, then lifts her gaze. "A hoe!" she exims.


    I burst outughing.


    Hailey blinks at me, then covers her face, half-groaning, halfughing. "Oh my god, I can¡¯t believe I said that."


    "No, no," I say, still grinning. "You absolutely needed to say that. Honestly, I needed to hear it."


    She peeks at me through her fingers, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It¡¯s just... she knows exactly what she¡¯s doing. And the way she kept looking at me, like she was winning..."


    "She wasn¡¯t," I cut in, serious now. "She didn¡¯t win anything."


    Hailey sighs and lets her arms drop. "I know. But it still sucked."


    "I know it did. And I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯ve reacted faster. I should¡¯ve pushed her away the second she got too close."


    "Josh," she says gently, "You did what you could. It¡¯s not your fault she doesn¡¯t respect boundaries."


    I nod slowly. "Still, I hate that it hurt you."


    Her eyes soften. "I am okay."


    We stand in silence for a moment. Then I can¡¯t help myself. I grab the back of her head and press my lips on hers.

 Chapter 149: Broom Closet

    <h4>Chapter 149: Broom Closet</h4>


    Josh


    The kiss explodes between us, weeks of tension igniting like a match to gasoline. My hands find her waist as her fingers twist in my hair, pulling me closer. The hallway suddenly feels too exposed, too public.


    I break away just long enough to spot a utility door a few feet down. Without thinking, I sweep her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She gasps against my mouth, surprised but not protesting as I carry her toward the door.


    "Josh, what are you¡ª"


    I silence her with another kiss, fumbling behind me for the doorknob. It gives way, and we stumble into darkness¡ªa cramped janitor¡¯s closet filled with the scent of cleaning supplies and dust.


    I kick the door shut behind us, setting Hailey down but keeping her pressed against me. In the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door, I can just make out her face¡ªflushed, eyes wide, lips parted.


    "I¡¯ve wanted to do this all day," I whisper, my voice rough with need.


    Sheughs softly, breathlessly. "In a broom closet?"


    "Anywhere," I correct her, my hands sliding up her back. "As long as it¡¯s with you."


    Herughter fades as she pulls me down for another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier. I press her against the wall, careful not to knock over the mops and buckets surrounding us. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I support her weight easily, losing myself in the taste of her.


    "I want you," she breathes against my ear. "Right here."


    The words send heat surging through me. "Are you sure?"


    In response, she tugs at my shirt, her fingers working the buttons with surprising dexterity given our tight quarters. I help her, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.


    "Someone coulde in," I warn, even as my hands find the hem of her blouse.


    "Then we better be quick," she says with a wicked smile I can feel more than see in the darkness.


    I lift her higher, her back against the wall, and kiss a path down her neck. She arches into me, her hands everywhere¡ªmy shoulders, my chest, my hair. Each touch feels like fire, burning away the memory of Riley¡¯s unwanted kiss, recing it with something real, something ours.


    A mop tters to the floor beside us, and we freeze, then dissolve into muffledughter.


    "Maybe this wasn¡¯t my best idea," I admit, steadying her.


    "It¡¯s perfect," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.


    I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the moment. My hand slips under her blouse, tracing the warm skin of her waist, her ribs, higher still.


    A sudden knock on the door jolts us apart.


    "upied!" I call out.


    Hailey¡¯s face is bright red and she looks like she wants to melt into the floor.


    "Sorry!"es a muffled voice from the other side of the door. Footsteps retreat down the hallway.


    We stand frozen for a moment, hearts pounding, before dissolving into silentughter. Hailey buries her face against my chest, her shoulders shaking.


    "Oh my god," she whispers. "We almost got caught."


    "Almost," I agree, stroking her hair. "But we didn¡¯t."


    She pulls back to look at me, eyes sparkling with mischief and embarrassment. "We should probably get out of here before someone else needs actual cleaning supplies."


    I shake my head. "Oh no. I can¡¯t wait that long."


    I capture her lips again, my hands finding her thighs, lifting her back against the wall. She gasps into my mouth as I press against her, hard and ready.


    "I need you," I whisper against her neck, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips.


    "Then take me," she breathes, her fingers fumbling with my belt.


    I help her, shifting just enough to free myself while she works her jeans down her hips. The closet is too dark to see much, but I can feel everything¡ªthe heat of her skin, the trembling in her thighs as I lift her higher.


    She wraps her legs around my waist, and I enter her in one smooth thrust. We both gasp, freezing for a moment at the sensation.


    "Oh god," she whispers, her nails digging into my shoulders.


    I start to move, slow at first, then faster as her breathing quickens. The wall creaks slightly with each thrust, and somewhere in the back of my mind I worry about the noise, but I can¡¯t stop. Won¡¯t stop.


    Her head falls back against the wall, exposing her throat. I kiss the delicate skin there, tasting salt and sweetness as she tightens around me.


    "Josh," she moans, the sound sending electricity down my spine.


    I capture the sound with my mouth, kissing her deeply as I drive into her harder, faster. The closet fills with the sound of our breathing, harsh and desperate.


    Shees apart in my arms, her body tensing, then shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over her. I follow momentster, burying my face in her neck to muffle my groan.


    For several heartbeats, we stay like that, wrapped around each other, breathing hard, bodies still joined.


    "Well," she finally whispers, a hint ofughter in her voice, "that was one way to end a photoshoot."


    I chuckle against her skin, carefully lowering her until her feet touch the ground. "Sorry about the location. Next time, I promise it¡¯ll be somewhere with actual space. And light."


    "I don¡¯t know," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice as she adjusts her clothing. "There¡¯s something to be said for spontaneity."


    I find my shirt on the floor, shaking it out before putting it back on. "Spontaneity in a janitor¡¯s closet. Very morous."


    "Hey, I¡¯m notining." She reaches up to fix my cor, her touch lingering. "But maybe next time we could try a bed? Or at least somewhere without mops?"


    Iugh, pulling her close for one more kiss. "Deal."


    She sighs against my lips, then pulls back. "We should probably get out of here before someone calls security."


    "Right." I reach for the door handle, then pause. "Then again, Marcus owns this studio and I am sure he has done the deed everywhere. I mean, you caught the man in odd ces twice now."


    Hailey winces. "Ugh, don¡¯t remind me. I am still trying to erase that memory."


    I crack the door open and peek into the hallway. Empty. Thank God. I nce back at Hailey, who¡¯s smoothing her blouse and trying to look like she didn¡¯t just have closet sex five minutes ago.


    "Coast is clear," I say, stepping out and offering her my hand like we¡¯re sneaking out of a crime scene. She rolls her eyes but takes it, and we tiptoe down the hall like a couple of teenagers who broke curfew.


    As soon as we round the corner and step into the open area of the studio, it hits us how normal everything looks¡ªcrew members packing up lights, chatting about weekend ns, someone arguing with the coffee machine. The absurd contrast makes me grin.


    Hailey nudges me with her elbow. "You¡¯re way too proud of yourself right now."


    "I just fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of janitor-closet passion," I whisper back. "Give me a moment."


    Sheughs, cheeks flushed but eyes bright. "You¡¯re ridiculous."


    "And yet, you climbed me like a tree," I tease.


    Her face turns red instantly. "You¡¯re never letting me live that down, are you?"


    "Not a chance."


    We make our way toward the back exit, trying to keep a low profile. But of course, Reba spots us.


    She squints. "Hey. Where did you two disappear to?"


    Hailey immediately goes into panic mode, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and mumbling something about camera batteries.


    I, on the other hand, shrug. "Oh, just... hashing out creative differences."


    Reba stares at us for a second, then snorts. "Right. Next time, maybe pick a ce that doesn¡¯t smell like bleach and despair."


    Hailey groans into her hands.


    Reba just shakes her head, smirking. "You two are ridiculous. But cute. I am already nning your wedding in my head."


    Hailey makes a choking sound and I just smile.


    "Ah, I was looking for you."


    We all turn at the same time and find Marcus standing right there. All serious and imposing.


    "Marcus," I say.


    His gaze flicks between me and Hailey, narrowing slightly. She stiffens beside me.


    "Party at my house tonight," Marcus says, keeping his eyes on Hailey. "To celebrate the end of the project. I expect you both to be there."


    "Wouldn¡¯t miss it," I say carefully.


    "Good." He looks at Hailey again, who manages a polite smile even though I can feel the tension in her fingers as she clutches my hand. "Dress nice," he adds.


    Reba clears her throat.


    Marcus¡¯s head snaps toward her and I see a flicker of irritation in his eyes. Come to think of it, Reba never told me what exactly happened between him and her at his office.


    "What about me?" she says cheerfully.


    "You..." he pauses dramatically. "Do not work at the Luxe magazine. Therefore, not invited."


    Reba¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t falter. "That¡¯s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing your mansion."


    "We are not going if Reba isn¡¯t invited," Hailey interjects.


    Marcus studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Fine. She cane too."


    "How generous," Reba says, batting her eyshes dramatically. "I¡¯ll be sure to dress appropriately."


    Marcus¡¯s jaw tightens slightly before he turns back to us. "Eight o¡¯clock. Don¡¯t bete." He walks away without another word, his expensive shoes clicking against the polished floor.


    As soon as he¡¯s out of earshot, Reba lets out a low whistle. "Well, this should be interesting."


    "What exactly happened between you two?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.


    Reba grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let¡¯s just say I may have kissed him in his office."


    "You what?" Hailey and I exim in unison.


    "Rx," Reba says, waving her hand dismissively. "It was all part of my master n."


    Hailey stares at her, mouth agape. "You really are going to seduce Marcus Winters?"


    "He kissed me back," Reba says with a smug smile. "Then he tried to act all high and mighty, saying I wasn¡¯t his type. But his body definitely disagreed."


    I make a gagging sound. "I did not need that mental image."


    "Sorry," Reba says, not looking sorry at all. "The point is, I¡¯ve got him off-bnce. He doesn¡¯t know what to make of me."


    "That makes two of us," I mutter.


    Reba links her arm through Hailey¡¯s. "Come on, let¡¯s go shopping. If we are going to a party at Marcus Winters¡¯ mansion, we need to look fabulous."


    Hailey nces at me, a question in her eyes. I nod, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Go ahead. I need to grab my things anyway."


    "Meet you at home?" she asks.


    "Home," I repeat, loving the way the word sounds. "Yeah, I¡¯ll see you there."


    Reba practically drags Hailey toward the exit, already chattering about dresses and shoes. I watch them go, a smile tugging at my lips despite the unease settling in my stomach.


    A party at Marcus¡¯s house. What could possibly go wrong?

 Chapter 150: Opportunity

    <h4>Chapter 150: Opportunity</h4>


    Hailey


    "Stop fidgeting," Reba whispers as she sees me smoothing the front of my dress again. "You look incredible."


    Josh squeezes my hand. "She¡¯s right. You do."


    His eyes haven¡¯t left me since I emerged from the bedroom earlier, and the heat in his gaze makes me forget about the dress¡¯s revealing neckline. He looks devastatingly handsome in his designer shirt, which was gifted by the designer himself. A reward for a sessful photoshoot.


    The door swings open before we can ring the bell, revealing a uniformed staff member who nods politely. "Wee to Mr. Winters¡¯ residence. Please,e in."


    Of course, this man has uniformed staff members.


    The foyer alone is bigger than my entire apartment, with soaring ceilings, modern art instations, and a chandelier that probably costs more than my yearly sry. Music drifts from deeper within the house, along with the buzz of conversation and asionalughter.


    "Subtle," Josh mutters, eyeing a massive sculpture that looks suspiciously like naked bodies intertwined.


    "Oh, I like that," Reba says, tilting her head to examine it. "Very... expressive."


    I roll my eyes. "Let¡¯s just find some drinks."


    We follow the sound of music through a series of rooms, each more opulent than thest. The party is in full swing, with models, photographers, and industry executives mingling in elegant groups. I recognize most of the faces from Luxe, though there are plenty I don¡¯t know.


    "Hailey!" Tammy spots me and waves, making her way over. "You look gorgeous! And Josh¡ªwow, very handsome."


    "Thanks," I say, epting her air kisses. "This ce is..."


    "Ridiculous?" she supplies with a knowing smile. "That¡¯s Marcus for you. Subtlety isn¡¯t in his vocabry."


    As if summoned by his name, Marcus appears at the edge of the room. He¡¯s wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his silver hair styled immactely. Several people immediately gravitate toward him, but his eyes scan the crowd until they find me.


    He excuses himself and makes his way over, moving with the confidence of a man who knows exactly how much power he wields.


    "Hailey," he says, taking my hand and brushing his lips across my knuckles. "I¡¯m d you could make it."


    I withdraw my hand as quickly as politeness allows. "Thanks for inviting us."


    His gaze shifts to Josh, and they exchange the briefest of nods before Marcus turns to Reba. Something flickers in his eyes. Annoyance or interest, I can¡¯t quite tell.


    "Reba," he says, voice cooling several degrees.


    Reba grins, doing a little twirl in her red dress. "What do you think? Too much?"


    The dress is stunning and daring, with a plunging back and a slit that reveals a generous portion of her thigh. It¡¯s the kind of dress designed to turn heads, and it¡¯s doing exactly that.


    Marcus¡¯s jaw tightens. "It¡¯s... memorable."


    "Just like me," she quips, winking at him.


    I stifle augh at Marcus¡¯s barely concealed irritation. Whatever happened between them in his office has clearly left its mark.


    "Drinks are that way," Marcus says, gesturing toward a bar staffed with mixologists in matching vests. "Help yourselves. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I need to greet some other guests."


    As he walks away, Reba lets out a dramatic sigh. "He wants me so bad."


    "You¡¯re delusional," Joshughs, shaking his head.


    "Am I though?" She raises an eyebrow. "Did you see how he looked at me? Like he couldn¡¯t decide whether to throw me out or throw me down."


    "Reba!" I giggle, ncing around to make sure no one overheard.


    She just shrugs, unashamed. "Come on, let¡¯s get those drinks."


    The bar is crowded, but people part for us¡ªor rather, for Josh, who still draws stares wherever he goes. The bartender grins when he sees us.


    "What can I get for the stars of the hour?"


    "Champagne for me," I say.


    "Whiskey, neat," Josh adds.


    "Something strong and pink," Reba deres, "with an inappropriate name."


    The bartenderughs. "I¡¯ve got just the thing."


    Drinks in hand, we drift through the party, stopping asionally to chat with colleagues. I find myself rxing despite the opulent surroundings, enjoying the warmth of Josh¡¯s hand at the small of my back and the way his eyes keep finding mine across conversations.


    "Hailey Jameson!" a voice calls out, and I turn to see Diane Lowell, the fashion editor from Vogue, approaching with a ss of champagne. "I¡¯ve been hoping to meet you."


    My heart skips a beat. "Ms. Lowell, it¡¯s an honor."


    "Please, call me Diane," she says, waving away the formality. "I saw the preliminary shots from your shoot. Exceptional work."


    "Thank you," I manage, trying not to sound as starstruck as I feel.


    "Who¡¯s your handsomepanion?" she asks, eyeing Josh with professional interest.


    "Josh Daniels," he says, extending his hand. "I had the privilege of modeling for Hailey¡¯s shoot."


    "Yes, I remember your face," Diane says, shaking his hand.


    Diane¡¯s eyes linger on Josh a beat longer than is strictly professional, but her smile remains sharp and approving. "Well, the camera certainly remembers you too. You¡¯ve got the kind of presence that¡¯s hard to ignore." She shifts her gaze back to me. "You know, Hailey, it¡¯s rare to see a new photographer capture chemistry so effortlessly. Your work has a certain... rawness. Vulnerability."


    "Thank you," I say, my voice a little breathless. "That means a loting from you."


    "I have a feeling it¡¯s just the beginning for you," she adds, tipping her ss toward mine. "We¡¯ll talk soon. Keep an eye on your inbox."


    She glides away, leaving me blinking after her.


    "Oh my god," I whisper. "Did that just happen?"


    Josh leans close, brushing his lips against my temple. "You¡¯re a star, Hailey. Everyone¡¯s just starting to realize it."


    Reba lets out a low whistle. "Girl. Vogue. If you¡¯re not freaking out, I will do it for you."


    Iugh, giddy and slightly dizzy. From the champagne or thepliment or maybe just the nearness of Josh. "Okay. Now I need another drink."


    We head back toward the bar, only to be approached by Marcus again, this time with two people in tow, a tall man with graying hair and a striking woman in a dark green dress that hugs her figure like liquid silk.


    "Hailey," Marcus says smoothly, "I¡¯d like to introduce you to Thomas Bergman, creative director at L¡¯Attente, and his partner, Elise Monroe."


    Elise extends her hand first. "We¡¯ve been hearing your name a lottely."


    "I hope all good things," I reply, shaking her hand.


    Elise looks at Josh. "And you. We should talk."


    "Ehh...me?" Josh looks unsure.


    "In fact, I have a proposal for you," Elise continues, her eyes assessing Josh with heated gaze. "We¡¯reunching a new men¡¯s fragrance line next month, and our original model just backed out. Creative differences." She waves her hand dismissively. "I¡¯ve been scrambling to find a recement, and then I saw your work in the Luxe preview."


    Josh blinks, caught off guard. "You want me to model for L¡¯Attente?"


    "Not just model," Thomas interjects, his voice deep and ented. "Be the face of Enigma. Exclusive contract, global campaign. Print, digital, runway in Paris and Mn."


    I feel Josh stiffen beside me, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around mine.


    "That¡¯s... quite an offer," he says carefully.


    Elise smiles, all business and sharp edges. "Thepensation would reflect themitment, of course. We¡¯re prepared to offer seven figures for a two-year exclusivity deal."


    Reba chokes on her pink cocktail. I pat her back automatically, my mind racing to process what¡¯s happening.


    "I...uh...I¡¯m not sure," Josh says. "I mean, I am not sure if I want to do this model thing permanently."


    Elise arches a perfectly sculpted brow. "Offers like this don¡¯te around twice especially not with this kind of exposure."


    Josh shifts ufortably, his jaw tightening. "I appreciate it. I really do. But I didn¡¯t exactly n on this being my career. Modeling started as a side gig. Something fun."


    "And yet here you are," Elise says, her gaze flicking between him and me. "Paired with an emerging photographer whose eye is quickly bing one of the most talked about in the industry."


    I open my mouth to say something, but Elise cuts in smoothly, her voice silk and steel. "We don¡¯t need an answer tonight. But we¡¯ll be sending over the contract and concept boards. Just promise me you¡¯ll look at them."


    Josh nods, measured. "Sure."


    "Good." Elise¡¯s smile turns razor sharp. "Because if you don¡¯t take this opportunity... someone else will. And they¡¯ll take it all the way."


    With that, she and Thomas drift away, their designer silhouettes disappearing into the morous tide of guests.


    Reba exhales loudly the moment they¡¯re out of earshot. "Holy. Shit."


    "I know," I whisper, still stunned.


    Josh runs a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. "I wasn¡¯t expecting that."


    I nce at him, uncertain. "Do you want to do it?"


    He¡¯s quiet for a beat, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of my hand. "I don¡¯t know."


    Reba watches us, sipping her drink with wide, curious eyes like she¡¯s front row at a drama she didn¡¯t know she needed. But for once, she stays quiet.


    Josh sighs, the sound soft but heavy. "It¡¯s tempting, sure. The money, the travel, the exposure..." His gaze lifts to mine. "But I didn¡¯t sign up for any of this. Not really. I liked working with you because it felt real. Creative. Fun."


    My heart twists. "This doesn¡¯t have to change anything between us."


    "Doesn¡¯t it?" he asks gently. "You heard them. Paris. Mn. Global campaigns. Two years of my face stered everywhere. I¡¯d be spending more time in airports and studios than with you. And I don¡¯t want to lose... this. Us."


    My fingers tighten around his. "But I don¡¯t want you to miss out on things because of me."


    He searches my face like he¡¯s memorizing it. "You¡¯d really be okay with me doing it?"


    "If it¡¯s what you want," I say honestly. "I won¡¯t let it scare me away. I know who you are, Josh. This campaign won¡¯t change that."


    Reba finally speaks, her voice unusually subdued. "She¡¯s right, you know. You¡¯d kill it out there."


    Josh lets out a breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. I¡¯ll look at the contract. But I¡¯m not saying yes. Not unless it feels right. For me. For us."


    A warmth spreads through my chest¡ªequal parts relief and pride.


    Somewhere across the room, Marcus catches my eye again. There¡¯s a glint there, like he¡¯s watching a game unfold and already knows the next ten moves.


    I squeeze Josh¡¯s hand and lift my chin.


    I wonder if Marcus introduced those people to Josh on purpose. If Josh epts the offer, he will be away from me while I work with Marcus at Luxe.


    But is he really that twisted?

 Chapter 151: Lead the Way

    <h4>Chapter 151: Lead the Way</h4>


    Marcus


    I look at Hailey from across the room. The suspicion in her eyes is delicious. I know she is smart enough to wonder if I orchestrated Elise and Thomas¡¯s offer to Josh. But she can¡¯t use me outright. It¡¯s fascinating to watch her think, to see her mind working behind those expressive eyes.


    Thomas raises his ss to me from across the room, a silent acknowledgment of a favor returned. I nod back, keeping my expression neutral.


    Of course, I arranged the meeting. Thomas owed me after I connected him with the Chinese textile manufacturer that saved his spring collectionst year. One phone call was all it took.


    But the offer is legitimate. Josh does have the look L¡¯Attente wants, and Elise isn¡¯t the type to waste her time on mediocrity. If he epts, he¡¯ll be whisked away to Mn within weeks, leaving Hailey here, in my orbit, without her golden retriever bodyguard.


    I take a sip of my scotch, enjoying the slow burn down my throat as I survey my kingdom.


    The party is going perfectly. The right people, the right conversations, the right atmosphere of exclusivity and indulgence. Even the lighting is wless, casting everyone in the most ttering glow money can buy.


    "You look pleased with yourself," a voice purrs beside me.


    I turn to find Reba, that irritating little firecracker, watching me with knowing eyes. Her red dress is admittedly stunning, if obvious. The kind of dress a woman wears when she wants every man in the room to imagine taking it off.


    Not me, though.


    "I¡¯m always pleased with myself," I reply, not bothering to temper my arrogance. "It¡¯s one of my more charming qualities."


    Sheughs, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Is that what you call it? Charming?"


    I allow myself a small smile. "What would you call it?"


    "Compensating," she says sweetly.


    Despite myself, I chuckle. The girl has nerve, I¡¯ll give her that.


    "Tell me," I say, turning to face her fully, "what exactly is your role in all this? Professional third wheel? Bodyguard? Or just a bored little girl looking for excitement?"


    Reba¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t disappear. "Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm when things don¡¯t go your way."


    "Is that what you think you¡¯re doing? Making me squirm?" I take another sip of my drink, amused. "You overestimate your importance."


    "And you," she counters, leaning in slightly, "underestimate mine."


    Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of genuine curiosity. She¡¯s not as simple as I first thought.


    There¡¯s a sharpness to her that I didn¡¯t notice before, hiding beneath the flirtatious facade. Something almost...


    "You arranged that offer for Josh, didn¡¯t you?" she asks, voice dropping lower.


    I raise an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"


    "Because you¡¯re the type of man who controls every variable in the room." She sips her drink, eyes never leaving mine. "Including who gets which opportunities."


    "The modeling world is small," I say dismissively. "Connections are made all the time."


    Rebaughs softly. "Right. And I¡¯m sure you had nothing to do with dangling a contract that would take Josh halfway around the world."


    "If Josh is truly talented, he deserves the opportunity," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "And if Hailey is asmitted to him as she ims, a little distance shouldn¡¯t matter."


    "Unless that distance creates space for someone else to move in," Reba counters.


    I smile thinly. "You have quite the imagination."


    "And you have quite the reputation." She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Something floral and young. "But I will tell you right now, you are wasting your time. What Hailey and Josh have is something special."


    I study her for a moment, genuinely intrigued by her boldness. "You are a romantic, are you?"


    "Yes," Reba says simply.


    Something ufortable stirs in my chest. I dismiss it with another sip of scotch.


    "Josh makes her happy," she continues. "So if you think shipping him off to Mn will clear your path, you¡¯re not as clever as you think."


    Iugh, the sound sharp and dismissive. "You think I¡¯m threatened by Josh? A boy who stumbled into modeling by ident?"


    "I think you¡¯re threatened by the fact that he got what you couldn¡¯t." Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. "Her heart."


    Before I can respond, she leans in, her lips brushing my ear. "And just so you know, I wasn¡¯t lying about being interested in you. But watching you lose? That might be even more satisfying."


    She pulls back with a wink and saunters away.


    I watch her go, an unfamiliar tension in my jaw. The girl is more perceptive than I gave her credit for.


    But she is wrong. I won¡¯t lose to Josh.


    I drain my ss and signal for another. Across the room, I spot Haileyughing at something Josh said, her hand resting casually on his chest. The intimacy of the gesture sends a re of irritation through me.


    I straighten my jacket as I see Elise walking toward me.


    "Elise," I say smoothly as she approaches, her tinum heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor.


    She raises an eyebrow, lips already tugged into that sly, knowing smile of hers. "He didn¡¯t say yes right away. Think he will change his mind?"


    "Hard to tell," I murmur, tipping my ss toward her in a mock toast.


    She leans against the edge of the table beside me, sipping her Martini.


    "He needs to say yes to your offer. He will be a fool not to. But let¡¯s give him a little...push."


    Her lips curl. "You want me to seduce him?"


    "I want you to distract him," I say coolly. "Flirt a little. Show him what the European fashion scene is really about. Pull his attention where it needs to be."


    She gives a soft, wickedugh. "You want him dazzled enough to leave Hailey behind without thinking twice."


    "Exactly," I say. "And you¡¯re very good at dazzling, Elise."


    She swirls her ss, amused.


    I lean in slightly, my voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial. "I mean, what¡¯s the harm? It won¡¯t be the first time you took a model to bed."


    Her gaze flicks to Josh again. "He is pretty. But it seems that he is with your photographer. I generally don¡¯t take something that belongs to someone else."


    I smile, slow and deliberate. "Don¡¯t think of it as taking. Think of it as borrowing."


    Eliseughs, a low, elegant sound that blends seamlessly with the hum of conversation around us. "You really are a piece of work, Marcus."


    "Thank you," I say, raising my ss. "I try."


    She studies me over the rim of her drink, her expression unreadable for a moment. "You¡¯re awfully invested in this, you know."


    "I like to win," I say simply.


    "At what cost?"


    "That depends on the prize."


    Her eyes narrow slightly, but I can see the gleam of intrigue in them. Elise loves a game almost as much as I do. And this one? This one is just heating up.


    With a final, teasing smirk, she sets her ss down and turns toward the crowd. "I¡¯ll talk to him. No promises, Marcus."


    "Got it," I murmur as she walks away.


    I watch her weave through the guests, her movement purposeful and poised. She approaches Josh with an easy smile, touching his arm lightly as she speaks. Hailey turns toward them, herughter dimming into a tight, uncertain smile. Good. Let the cracks start to show.


    I sip my drink, feeling the familiar thrill of control settle back into my bones. Reba may think she sees through me, may think I¡¯m scrambling for Hailey¡¯s affection out of desperation or jealousy.


    But that¡¯s where she¡¯s wrong.


    This isn¡¯t just about Hailey. This is about proving I can take whatever I want because I can. Because I always do.


    Josh might have stumbled into the spotlight, but he¡¯s not built to survive in it. Mn will eat him alive. Elise will make sure of that. And when he falls apart?


    I¡¯ll be right here.


    Waiting.


    The golden retriever gone, the pedestal cracked, and Hailey looking for someone who understands how the world really works.


    Someone like me.


    I¡¯m still watching Elise¡¯s calcted approach when she suddenly turns and catches my eye across the room. I make my way over.


    "Marcus," she purrs when I reach them, her hand still resting on Josh¡¯s arm. "I was just telling Josh and Hailey about the amenities at the Mn penthouse."


    Josh shifts ufortably, his eyes darting to Hailey, who¡¯s maintaining an admirably neutral expression despite the obvious tension.


    "Speaking of amenities," Elise continues, her gaze sliding over me with practiced appreciation, "I noticed your spectacr hot tub on the terrace. I¡¯d love to try it out."


    Her meaning couldn¡¯t be clearer if she¡¯d stripped naked right there in the middle of my living room. Josh¡¯s eyebrows shoot up, and Hailey¡¯s ss freezes halfway to her lips.


    "Of course," I reply smoothly. "It¡¯s heated year-round. The view of the city is... iparable."


    "I bet it is," Elise says, her voice dropping to a silky murmur. "Perhaps we could all enjoy it?"


    Josh clears his throat. "I, uh, didn¡¯t exactlye prepared for swimming."


    "That¡¯s not a problem," I interject. "I keep extra suits for guests. All sizes."


    Hailey¡¯s eyes narrow slightly.


    "What do you say?" Elise asks, addressing Josh directly, her fingers trailing down his arm. "The night is young, and I¡¯d love to continue our conversation about Mn."


    "I¡¯m not sure¡ª" Josh begins, but Hailey interrupts.


    "Actually," she says, "that sounds fun. I could use a break from these heels anyway."


    I can¡¯t help the smile that tugs at my lips.


    "Perfect," Elise deres, pping her hands together.


    Reba materializes at Hailey¡¯s side, a fresh drink in hand and mischief in her eyes. "Did someone say hot tub?"


    "We¡¯re taking this party outside," Elise exins, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she looks at Reba. "Care to join?"


    "Wouldn¡¯t miss it," Reba replies sweetly, linking her arm through mine. "Lead the way, Marcus."

 Chapter 152: How Romantic

    <h4>Chapter 152: How Romantic</h4>


    Hailey


    I follow the group toward the terrace, my smile tight, my steps steady, even though my insides are twisting. Elise¡¯s fingers on Josh¡¯s arm didn¡¯t go unnoticed, not by me, not by Reba, and certainly not by Marcus, who looks like he¡¯s savoring every second of this mess.


    He did this on purpose, didn¡¯t he? He sent Elise after Josh.


    Josh leans toward me as we walk, his voice low. "Is it just me, or is this whole night starting to feel like a setup?"


    "It¡¯s not just you," I murmur, keeping my voice light.


    "Good. Thought maybe I was being paranoid."


    "You are a little," I say with a faint smile, "but that doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re wrong."


    He chuckles under his breath, and I feel his hand brush against mine. Elise turns to nce over her shoulder. So I arch an eyebrow at her and slide my hand into Josh¡¯s.


    Let her see.


    Let Marcus see.


    Reba gives my hand a gentle squeeze as she passes by, her lips quirking with silent encouragement.


    Elise is already pulling off her earrings, like she¡¯s on a runway instead of a rooftop.


    "There are towels in the cab," Marcus says. "And suits."


    Josh gives Marcus a skeptical nce but says nothing, his fingers tightening briefly around mine. I give him a nudge. "Go ahead. I want to see which ridiculous pattern you end up with."


    He smirks and leans in to whisper, "If there¡¯s a mingo one, I¡¯m wearing it just to mess with him."


    "Please do," I whisper back, biting down a smile.


    "Why do you have so many extra suits, Marcus? Are you in the habit of hosting a lot of orgies?" Reba asks casually.


    I nearly choke on air.


    Marcus, of course, doesn¡¯t miss a beat. He tilts his head toward Reba with that insufferable smirk. "Only tasteful ones."


    Reba bats hershes. "Ah, so just the emotionally repressed kind."


    That earns a snort from Josh as he disappears inside to change. Marcus¡¯s jaw tightens, but the smile on his face doesn¡¯t slip. He¡¯s too practiced for that. I wonder how many masks he keeps in rotation.


    Reba grabs my hand. "Let¡¯s go change."


    I let Reba pull me along, grateful for the momentary escape from Marcus¡¯s gaze.


    Inside, the guest bathroom is sleek, marble, and ridiculous like the rest of his ce. Reba rifles through a drawer and pulls out two swimsuits still in stic wrap. She tosses me a ck one-piece with gold ents.


    "This screams ¡¯don¡¯t touch me unless you¡¯re ready to die,¡¯" she says with a wink. "Perfect."


    I peel off my dress and slip into the suit. Luckily it fits perfectly.


    Reba is in a crimson bikini that leaves little to the imagination. "If we¡¯re going to be pawns in Marcus¡¯s twisted little poolside chess match, we might as well be hot pawns," she deres, fluffing her hair.


    "You are ridiculous."


    "I am effective." She nces at me, her expression softening. "You okay?"


    I nod. "Just... annoyed."


    "With Marcus?"


    "With all of it. The maniption. The power ys. The fact that he actually thinks this might work."


    Reba rolls her eyes. "He needs it to work. That¡¯s what makes it so sad. Marcus wants Hailey because he can¡¯t have her. Not because he loves her. It¡¯s just¡ª"


    "A game," I finish.


    She shrugs. "But Josh? He¡¯s not ying. And that¡¯s what scares Marcus the most."


    I don¡¯t reply. I just grab a towel and open the door.


    The cool night air hits my skin as we step back out onto the terrace. The hot tub glows under ambient lighting, steam curling into the dark sky.


    Elise is already draped along the edge, the picture of effortless seduction, her legs stretched out, her champagne ss tiltedzily in her hand.


    Josh appears from around the corner just as we rejoin the group.


    I blink.


    There they are...mingos. Bright pink and smugly ridiculous, strutting across his swim trunks.


    Reba lets out a delighted cackle. "You did not."


    "Oh, he did," I say, biting my lip to hold backughter.


    Josh gives us a theatrical bow. "Marcus has surprisingly festive taste in emergency swimwear."


    Marcus doesn¡¯t respond. He just sips from his drink, his gaze flicking from Josh¡¯s shorts to my face, then quickly away.


    Good.


    Reba climbs into the water first, all long limbs and unapologetic confidence. She ims a seat with a flourish, sighing as the heat envelops her.


    "God, that¡¯s nice," she murmurs.


    Josh steps in next, water sloshing around his knees as he slides beside me. I hesitate for a second, aware of all the eyes on us, including Marcus¡¯s but then I let it go. I step down into the water and settle next to Josh, his arm immediately draping around my shoulders.


    Elise watches us quietly, her expression cool.


    "How long are you in town, Elise?" I ask, keeping my tone pleasant.


    She tilts her head. "Oh, just a few more days. I¡¯ve got a shoot in Barcelona next week. But I¡¯m hoping to get Josh¡¯s answer before then."


    Josh gives a faint smile, but I feel the tension ripple through his body.


    "He¡¯d be crazy to say no. The Mn contract would change everything for him," Marcus offers.


    Reba lifts her sszily. "Some things aren¡¯t meant to be changed."


    "Some things aren¡¯t meant to be wasted, either," Marcus replies smoothly.


    I turn my head just slightly, resting it against Josh¡¯s shoulder.


    I¡¯m d, so d that he is here with me.


    Josh runs his fingers along my arm in a slow, grounding motion. "I¡¯m not in a rush to leave," he says evenly, directing his words more to Marcus than anyone else. "And if I do, it won¡¯t be because someone handed me a golden ticket."


    Elise shifts in the water, swirling the bubbles with her fingers. "No one¡¯s saying you don¡¯t deserve the opportunity, Josh. But sometimes, the best chances don¡¯t wait."


    "You are right," I say calmly. "Whatever Josh decides, he has my full support."


    Marcus makes some kind of rude noise and gs a server toe near the hot tub.


    The server approaches, carrying a silver tray of fresh drinks¡ªmore champagne, some sort of designer cocktail with a sprig of rosemary, and something dark and brooding that matches Marcus¡¯s entire personality. He grabs thetter without looking at anyone.


    "Support is great," he says coolly, "but support doesn¡¯t pay the bills. Or build legacies."


    "You forget, I¡¯m not a full time model, Marcus. I have a job. I only modeled because of Hailey," Josh says with a tight jaw.


    Marcus takes a slow sip from his ss, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly. "Ah yes. How very romantic."

 Chapter 153: Truth or Dare

    <h4>Chapter 153: Truth or Dare</h4>


    Hailey


    I level my gaze at Marcus, but I don¡¯t rise to the bait. That¡¯s what he wants.


    Josh¡¯s fingers press lightly into my shoulder, grounding me, and I know he¡¯s trying just as hard not to react.


    Elise chooses that moment to stretch, her hand brushing against Josh¡¯s knee like it¡¯s an ident. His jaw tightens. My blood simmers.


    "Elise, I appreciate the offer. Really. But Mn¡¯s not in my ns right now," Josh says.


    The entire hot tub goes still. Even the bubbles seem to pause.


    Elise recovers first, offering a tight smile. "Well. That¡¯s disappointing."


    "I¡¯m sure someone else will be thrilled to take the spot," Josh says gently but firmly. "Someone who actually wants it."


    Elise¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t falter, but her eyes sh with something sharper¡ªchallenge, maybe, or annoyance. She slides a little closer to Josh, the movement smooth, deliberate.


    "You know," she says, voice dripping with silk, "most people would kill for a shot like this. Mn, the shows, the exposure..." Her fingers trail through the water, dangerously close to his leg again. "And let¡¯s be honest, you¡¯d look very good under those lights."


    Josh shifts slightly, his arm tightening around me. "I¡¯m ttered," he says carefully. "But I didn¡¯t start modeling to end up in Europe surrounded by strangers. That was never the dream."


    Elise leans in, her voice dropping. "Maybe you don¡¯t know what your dream could be until you see it up close."


    "I know what it isn¡¯t," he replies, not unkindly, but firmly.


    Her smile sharpens, and she casts a nce my way like she¡¯s looking for cracks in the ss. "You¡¯re very loyal. It¡¯s admirable." Her tone says naive.


    "Or maybe he just knows what matters," I say, my voice quiet but edged. "And who."


    Her gaze meets mine, a flicker of something cold passing through it.


    Reba chooses that moment to clear her throat dramatically. "I don¡¯t know about you all, but I didn¡¯te out here for a job interview in a hot tub. Can we go back to drinking and pretending to like each other, or is that too much to ask?"


    Elise lets out a lowugh and finally, finally shifts back toward her corner of the tub. "Fine. We¡¯ll keep it light."


    But her eyes linger on Josh, and I know this isn¡¯t over.


    "How about we y a game?" Marcus says, his eyes are glinting under the dim light.


    Josh lets out a quiet sigh beside me, almost too soft to catch, and I know exactly what he¡¯s thinking: Here we go again.


    Reba raises an eyebrow, swirling her ss. "Is this the part where you suggest strip poker and pretend it¡¯s spontaneous?"


    Marcus chuckles, the sound slow and deliberate. "Tempting, but no. Something simpler. More revealing, though... in other ways."


    Elise perks up, clearly intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"


    Marcus¡¯s gaze moves slowly around the tub, resting on each of us just long enough to stir difort. "Let¡¯s y Truth or Dare. No passes. No lies. Just good, honest fun."


    "Ah," Reba says tly. "The ssic drunk campfire game, but with more cleavage and passive-aggression. Perfect."


    I nce at Josh. He gives a subtle shrug and a wry smile. "I¡¯m in."


    "I¡¯m game," Elise says, her tone low and suggestive. "This should be... enlightening."


    Marcus¡¯s eyesnd on mest. "Hailey?"


    I hold his gaze, refusing to be cowed by the smug twist of his mouth. "Fine. Let¡¯s get this over with."


    Reba grins. "I¡¯ll start," she says, sitting up straighter. "Truth or dare, Marcus?"


    He raises his ss. "Truth."


    She doesn¡¯t hesitate. "What¡¯s the one thing you¡¯ve wanted that you couldn¡¯t have?"


    A beat of silence stretches, thick with tension. Marcus¡¯s eyes flick toward me just for a second before he smooths it over with azy smirk.


    "I haven¡¯t encountered it yet," he says smoothly.


    Reba snorts. "Cute dodge. Not an answer."


    "It¡¯s the only one you¡¯re getting," he replies.


    "Already breaking the rules," Josh mutters under his breath.


    Marcus smiles wider, like he¡¯s exactly where he wants to be. "My turn then. Hailey, truth or dare?"


    I don¡¯t blink. "Truth."


    His voice is soft, but pointed. "Do you really think what you and Josh have willst once the real world pushes in?"


    Josh stiffens beside me.


    I take a breath, slow and steady. "Yes," I say clearly. "Because it already has."


    Marcus¡¯s smile falters for just a second, and that¡¯s enough for me.


    Reba ps once, satisfied. "Boom. Your move, Hailey."


    I look around the tub, thennd on Elise. "Truth or dare?"


    Elise arches a brow. "Dare."


    I smile. Sweet and sharp. "Move to the other side of the tub. And stay there."


    A ripple ofughter echoes through the group¡ªeven Josh chuckles under his breath.


    Elise¡¯s lips twitch, like she wants to protest, but she doesn¡¯t. Instead, she slides gracefully to the far edge of the hot tub, reclining like a queen dethroned.


    I lean into Josh a little more, my heart pounding but steady.


    Let Marcus y his games.


    I¡¯m not backing down.


    Josh shifts beside me, the barest trace of a smirk on his lips. He looks straight at Reba, mischief dancing in his eyes.


    "Alright, Reba," he says, drawing out her name, "truth or dare?"


    Reba lifts an eyebrow. She swirls thest bit of champagne in her ss. "Dare."


    Josh¡¯s grin widens. "Sit on Marcus¡¯sp. And stay there for... let¡¯s say, five full minutes."


    Reba blinks, then lets out a bark ofughter. "Don¡¯t threaten me with a good time."


    I look at Josh in surprise. I didn¡¯t think he approved of Reba pursuing Marcus before, but maybe he is on board now.


    Josh just shrugs, his grin crooked. "You keep saying you want to shake things up. Thought I¡¯d help."


    Reba arches a brow at him, then slowly turns to Marcus, who lounges in the water like he owns the moonlight. "Well, Marcus?" she says.


    Marcus sets his drink down with exaggerated calm. "Do what you have to."


    "Perfect," Reba says, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. The water cascades down her crimson bikini, and she makes a show of stretching, just enough to make Marcus¡¯s eyes flicker. Then she strides over, water swirling around her thighs.


    Josh leans toward me, voice low. "Think this will go well or blow up in my face?"


    I murmur back, "Fifty-fifty. But at least it¡¯s entertaining."


    Reba turns, gives us both a wicked grin, and plops down on Marcus¡¯sp with a little ssh. "There. Timer starts now."


    Marcus doesn¡¯t flinch. His arms remain on the edges of the tub, but his smirk deepens, like he¡¯s enjoying the moment more than he should. "Comfortable?" he asks, voicezy.


    "Oh, immensely," Reba says with exaggerated sweetness. "Like sitting on a throne of pretension."


    The group stiflesughter. Even Elise snorts.


    Marcus tilts his head. "You wound me."


    "Not yet," Reba mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.


    I bite my lip to keep fromughing.


    Reba settles in, draping her arms across Marcus¡¯s shoulders like she owns him, and then immediately starts fiddling with his perfectly styled hair. "Do you use mousse or is this just pure, unadulterated ego?" she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.


    He smirks but doesn¡¯t move, though I¡¯d bet he¡¯s debating whether to drown her or marry her.


    Reba turns in hisp, presenting her profile theatrically to the group. "Elise, truth or dare?"


    Elise narrows her eyes, sizing up our tiny rebel. "Truth."


    Reba grins. "Have you ever slept with somebody purely for career advancement?"


    A hush falls. Even Marcus¡¯s eyebrow arches in appreciation.


    Elise doesn¡¯t break, just lifts her ss and tips it toward the four of us. "Obviously," she says, so matter-of-factly I almost choke. "More than once. To the victor go the spoils, no?"


    Josh shrugs like he had expected that answer all along.


    Elise gestures magnanimously. "Your turn, Marcus. Since I¡¯m already exiled to the edge of the tub, might as well be interesting."


    Marcus¡¯s eyes gleam as he considers. He throws a nce at Reba perched in hisp, then looks past her to where Josh and I sit entwined. "Josh: truth or dare?"


    Josh doesn¡¯t hesitate. "Dare."


    Marcus¡¯s smirk widens, wicked and slow. "Alright, model boy," he says, "I dare you to kiss someone in this tub... someone who¡¯s not Hailey."


    The air sharpens like the snap of a live wire.


    My spine straightens before I even realize I¡¯ve moved. A hush falls over the group again, charged and heavy. Reba stiffens slightly on Marcus¡¯sp. Elise straightens, suddenly alert.


    Josh doesn¡¯t flinch.


    He looks right at Marcus, a slow, incredulous smile creeping across his face like he¡¯s watching a toddler try to win at chess.


    "Trying to stir the pot?" he asks casually. "I thought this game was supposed to be fun."


    "It is," Marcus replies smoothly. "I¡¯m having a st."


    Reba mutters, "You¡¯re such a troll," under her breath, but she¡¯s clearly watching Josh like everyone else.


    Josh¡¯s fingers find mine under the water again, holding tight. "Then I guess I forfeit," he says simply.


    Elise immediately scoffs. "So much for no passes."


    "No," Josh says, looking at her calmly. "A forfeit isn¡¯t a pass. It¡¯s a choice." He turns back to Marcus. "And some dares just aren¡¯t worth taking."


    Marcus raises his brows, clearly amused. "You sure you want to take the hit to your pride?"


    "Yeah," Josh says, tilting his head, his voice dipping lower. "Because I¡¯m not stupid enough to kiss someone else just to impress you."


    Josh turns to me, his voice dropping into something only I can hear. "I already know who I¡¯d pick every time. No game¡¯s changing that."


    I smile and squeeze his hand beneath the water.

 Chapter 154: Hot Tub Adventure

    <h4>Chapter 154: Hot Tub Adventure</h4>


    Marcus


    Reba is perched on myp like I¡¯m the damn Santa us. Her damp hair drips slow rivulets down my chest, and her skin is glowing in the dim light.


    The red bikini is impossible to ignore. It clings wetly to every curve, and when she crosses her legs over my knee, I feel a jolt...electric and unwee.


    I y it cool, but there¡¯s no denying the pressure point tightening in my chest. The girl is crazy. Her nail polish is chipped, herughter too loud, and her scent...sweet, unruly curls into my senses, refusing to be shaken off.


    She keeps up the runningmentary, alternating digs at my masculinity and the excessive whiteness of my teeth. I half-listen, adjusting my arm as if to give her more space, but she leans in against my body.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hailey. She is tucked under Josh¡¯s arm.


    Goddammit...me trying to throw Elise at Josh isn¡¯t working.


    I meant to humiliate Reba, to make her squirm and regret the dare. Instead, she¡¯s turned it into a campaign of delight. Her leg presses insistently into my thigh, her elbow jabs unapologetically into my ribs as she gestures dramatically and critiques the party snacks. Her body is heat and motion, unwittingly or maybe all too knowingly provoking a response I don¡¯t want to admit.


    I press my palm to the concrete lip of the hot tub, grounding myself in the sting of heat, the condensation on my ss, anything but the fact that beneath the surface, my pulse is racing way too fast for someone who prides himself on control.


    "Hey," Reba says suddenly, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear, "you are not even listening, are you?"


    I arch an eyebrow. "Are you saying anything worth listening to?"


    A lesser woman might recoil. Reba just smirks. "Pretty sure you¡¯re just distracted by my boobs," she whispers. "And my ass."


    My mouth twitches. "Am I? Or are you just an emty vain vessel?"


    Sheughs, flipping her hair back. The motion brushes her breasts lightly against my forearm. Calcted. Effective.


    "Oof! What an insult! But you are so predictable," she murmurs, leaning even closer. The halter of her bikini dangles just enough to reveal the edge of a tiny tattoo¡ªa jagged, angry heart.


    "I¡¯m not into you, so your ass pressing against me doesn¡¯t do anything," I say, though my voicees out rougher than I intend.


    "Oh, really? Then why is your dick so hard right now? I can feel it almost poking a hole against my skin," she whispers.


    Jesus Christ...


    "Doesn¡¯t mean anything," I croak out.


    She nips my shoulder, the motion both bold and mocking. "You are cute when you lie, Marcus."


    I shift, trying to create space between her and my hardening cock, and catch Hailey¡¯s gaze flick over, pinpoint and analytic. Even from a distance, I see the way the corner of her mouth lifts. She knows. Everyone knows. Even Josh, who at this instant seems positively giddy with the reversal.


    Reba turns in myp and drops her head to my ear. "You wanna see if I can make youe in front of them?"


    The possibility¡ªher mouth hot against my skin, the slippery heat of her thighs bracing around mine paints an image so vivid I almost jerk her against me right there. I hold myposure, but my fingernails dig crescents into the concrete.


    "You¡¯re insane," I murmur.


    "I know," she says. "But it¡¯s fun."


    "You know I can kick you off myp any time," I remind her.


    She shrugs, the faintest roll of her shoulders tickling my chin. "But if you do, everyone will know you lost."


    She¡¯s right. More than that, I think she just likes the fight. She¡¯s not Hailey, not in the ways that matter, but the energy catches me off guard. I like her. Not long-term. Not even tomorrow. But right now.


    "Three more minutes," I say through clenched teeth, "then you¡¯re done."


    She sighs dramatically. "Too bad."


    She leans back, exposing her neck, and I find my gaze drawn to the pulse there. Against my better judgment, I trace it with my thumb. She shudders.


    "Whose turn is it again?" Hailey asks.


    Reba hums as if nothing scandalous just passed between us, but I can still feel the echo of her whisper burning a hole in my skull. My hand drops from her throat like I¡¯ve been caught. Maybe I have.


    "Josh¡¯s," I say hoarsely, hoping no one notices the strain in my voice.


    Josh shrugs. "It¡¯s gettingte. I think I am going to call it a night." He looks at Hailey. "What do you think?"


    Hailey leans into Josh with a soft, knowing smile. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Let¡¯s get out of here."


    They start to climb out. Josh doesn¡¯t say another word to me, but he doesn¡¯t need to. The smirk tugging at his mouth, the way he wraps a towel around Hailey¡¯s shoulders like she¡¯s precious cargo, that¡¯s the message.


    I¡¯m not the one in control anymore.


    Hailey looks at Reba. "Are youing, Ba?"


    Reba shifts on myp, causing my hard cock to rub against that plump ass again.


    I curse inwardly.


    "I think I will stay a bit. Don¡¯t worry about me. I can get a cab to my hotel," Reba says.


    Hailey smirks. "Alright," she says.


    Josh¡¯s hand settles at the small of her back as they disappear into the house.


    Elise starts to stand up.


    "Don¡¯t tell me you are leaving too," I say, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.


    Elise pauses mid-motion, her eyes flicking to mine.


    "I¡¯ve got an early flight to catch," she says. "Cio darling."


    Reba shifts again, intentionally or not, and I clench my jaw to keep from reacting.


    "Ciao," I mutter.


    The door slides shut behind Elise with a quiet finality. And now it¡¯s just me, Reba, and the silence, thick with tension.


    Ding Ding!


    "Five minutes, time¡¯s up. I guess I better go." She makes a move to rise, pressing her palms to the hard ceramic edge and shifting her hips off myp.


    My hand mps her thigh instantly, fingers digging in over wet skin, not too hard, but nothing like a gentleman¡¯s protest. She doesn¡¯t flinch. She just twists, hair dark and dripping over one shoulder, eyes wide with a mock innocence that only makes things worse.


    "Where do you think you are going?" My voice is low and husky. I pull her back with a brutal sort of grace, not letting go until she¡¯s flush again against my chest. "You yed your dare. Now y the punishment."


    Reba leans in, her face bare inches from mine and whispers, "You want to punish me, Marcus? I haven¡¯t done anything wrong."


    My free hand is fast, sliding up her back. I palm her nape hard, almost rough and draw her head back, exposing the line of her throat to the night sky.


    Sheughs throatily. I press my mouth on her wet skin. She tastes of champagne and salt, skin hot even in the cooling air.


    She moans softly, the sound vibrating against my lips. My hand should let go, should push her off myp and walk away, but instead, it circles her waist, dragging her impossibly closer.


    I hear the faint echo of party sounds inside, but outside on the patio it is only the burble of the spa and the rasp of our breathing. She shifts again, throwing one thigh over both of mine.


    "You taste like trouble," I murmur into the hollow beneath her ear.


    "And you taste like regret," she fires back, herughter low and triumphant.


    I pull her hair tighter and she gasps, baring her neck, letting the moment drag out, pushing for more. She grinds her ass back against me, slow and deliberate, until I¡¯m so hard it hurts.


    "You talk too much," I snarl.


    "Then make me shut up," she shoots back.


    I am not a gentle man, not when I¡¯m like this, and she must sense it. I crush my mouth to hers, teeth finding the bow of her lip, and she opens with a reckless hunger. It¡¯s a fight disguised as a kiss, tongues and teeth and heat. I hear a sound. It sounds like a growl and it takes me a second to realize it¡¯s my own.


    Reba¡¯s hands are everywhere, braced against my shoulders, then curling behind my neck, then tracing my jaw with her wet, shaking fingers. The chemistry is unexpected and vtile; her curves soft in my grip, the pulse at her wrist battering against my thumb.


    "So much for not being attracted to me, huh?" she whispers.


    Instead of answering, I kiss her again, harder, pouring all my frustration with the night. The failed gambits, the loss of control into that singr point of contact. Herugh gets swallowed into my mouth, turning wild, breathless.


    My hand slides over her hip, under the water, barely above the fabric line of her bikini bottom. I shudder when she bites my lower lip, just sharp enough to sting.


    "You want me to fuck you right here?" I ask.


    "Yes," she breathes.


    My hand slips all the way beneath the water and tugs at the knot on her bikini. The string gives easily. Reba arches her back, both invitation and dare, herughter dissolving into a low moan when my hand finds her bare ass.


    "You¡¯re really going to do this," she whispers.


    "Do you want me to stop?" I say, my voice strangled.


    She shakes her head just once and bites her lip.


    I am not waiting for another invitation. I grip her hips, guiding her so she straddles me more fully. The wet heat of her core glides over my cock, only separated now by the thin barrier of my own swimsuit.


    Her hand finds me beneath the waterline, nimble and ruthless, freeing me in one swift motion. She slides her wet bikini bottom aside, positions herself, and then slowly, excruciatingly sinks down onto me.


    We gasp together. The heat, the friction, the audacity. Every inch of her shudders as she takes me, and I see her eyes widen with the same perfect, wild focus as I¡¯m feeling.


    For a moment, we don¡¯t move. The only sound is the bubbling jets, the distant party, and the ragged rhythm of our breaths.


    Then Reba moves. Her hips roll with an instinctive, filthy grace, and the movement nearly undoes me on the spot. She clutches my shoulders and rides me. She is unafraid. Noisy and greedy, she takes what she wants.


    I guess she is just like me in a way.


    "You¡¯re... such... a fucking menace," I grunt, holding on to the edge just to keep from exploding.


    She throws her head back andughs. "Don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t love it."


    Her nails rake my chest, leaving scrapes that sting through the chlorine. Every time she grinds down, I see stars. She mps her inner muscles tight and grins when I moan, knowing she¡¯s got me right where she wants me.


    Inside, the party¡¯s moved on. Voices and music blend into a muted background, but out here, we are invisible. Or reckless enough not to care.


    Reba leans in, her lips by my ear. "Come for me, Marcus."


    I can¡¯t hold back. I brace her ass, thrust up, once, twice, and then I break...filling her, clutching her so hard I know I¡¯ll leave marks. She bites down on my shoulder to muffle her own scream as shees, her body trembling around me, convulsing with pleasure.

 Chapter 155: A Teacher

    <h4>Chapter 155: A Teacher</h4>


    Marcus


    For a long moment, we stay locked like that. Her breath hitches in my ear before she copses forward onto my chest, heartbeat racing, sweat mixing with chlorine and spilled gin. I can¡¯t remember thest time it felt this raw and unfiltered. No staging. No script. Just two people fused by something less than love but a little more than hate.


    "I¡¯m sorry I came inside you," I say, not sure whether it¡¯s a joke or an apology.


    Reba doesn¡¯t move her face from my shoulder, but I feel herughter rumble through both our chests. "Toote to apologize now," she breathes, voice rough as gravel.


    "You¡¯re right," I say, rubbing her bare back with a slow, possessive palm. "I didn¡¯t expect to lose control."


    She lifts her face, hair sticking to her cheeks, and gives me that feral little grin of hers, lips red from my teeth, eyes daring me even now. "All those speeches about discipline and not being my type, and you¡¯re the first one toe?"


    I can¡¯t help it. Iugh out loud, a realugh, even as I¡¯m trying to pull her tight bikini bottom over her ass under the water. "There¡¯s a first time for everything," I murmur. She¡¯s still grinding on me, slow aftershocks rolling through both of us.


    Reba nts a lingering,nguid kiss on my jaw. "If I get pregnant, I¡¯ll name it after you," she whispers, teeth grazing my ear.


    I look at her with a horrified expression.


    Sheughs again and finally slides off myp, retying her bikini.


    We don¡¯t say anything for a while.


    After a minute, she turns her head toward me, voice softer now. "I guess I should leave now."


    "I have guest rooms," I say, grabbing the nearest towel and tossing it at her.


    Reba wraps it around herself, hair wild and skin glowing. "Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself," she says. "I still have some pride left not to overstay my wee. I will leave you alone."


    I raise an eyebrow. "So you just use me for sex and then leave?"


    She rolls her eyes. "Won¡¯t be your first time, would it? Hailey told me about your...um...adventures."


    "Yes," I admit without missing a beat. "But I am usually the one who is dismissive."


    Reba gives me a slow, deliberate look. "Well, congrattions. You¡¯ve been officially outyed."


    She turns to gather her things, wringing out her hair with the towel before tossing it around her shoulders. I watch her, part of me still vibrating from what just happened, the rest...numb. Or maybe confused.


    Maybe both.


    "You don¡¯t have to go," I say again, quieter this time. The words feel unfamiliar on my tongue.


    She pauses, her back still to me. "I think I do," she says and turns her head, onest nce over her shoulder. "Don¡¯t worry, Marcus. I won¡¯t make a scene. You can go back to pretending you¡¯re the cold, controlled one. Pretend that I am not good enough for you."


    I clench my jaw but don¡¯t say anything.


    She walks off, barefoot and dripping and unapologetically herself.


    I sit there alone in the water, pulse still erratic, the silence closing in like a fist.


    What the hell just happened?


    I stare at the ripples in the water like they¡¯ll rearrange themselves into answers.


    They don¡¯t.


    The heat from the hot tub has nothing on the fire still licking along my nerves. Her touch, her voice, her everything. Reba stormed into my life like a punchline to a joke I didn¡¯t realize I was telling. I thought I had control. I always do. Calcted moves, managed emotions, hearts are broken but never mine.


    She did just outy me, didn¡¯t she?


    Her body fit against mine like a perfect goddamn insult.


    ~-~


    The next day, I go to the studio in a foul mood.


    Everything pisses me off. The sharp click of heels on concrete, the coffee that tastes like ash, the way everyone greets me too cheerfully, like they don¡¯t know I¡¯m two seconds away from biting someone¡¯s head off.


    I am supposed to go over the new project with Hailey in the morning and this time, I don¡¯t feel as eager to see her as I did in the beginning.


    Now, all I can think about is Reba. Wild, loud, irritating Reba with chipped nails and eyes that don¡¯t flinch when she looks straight through you. She didn¡¯t care about keeping her voice down or following the rules.


    I step into the conference room. Hailey is already there, legs crossed, her red hair neatly styled. She¡¯s reviewing notes on her tablet.


    "Marcus," she says. "Good morning."


    "Morning," I grunt.


    She studies me for a beat longer than necessary. "Hungover?"


    I re at her. "I don¡¯t get hangovers," I bark.


    "Right...let¡¯s get started then," Hailey says, looking at me curiously.


    Hailey doesn¡¯t press further, but I can feel the weight of her curiosity in the way she flips through the slides. Calm. Professional. Unbothered.


    Unlike me.


    My jaw ticks as she starts talking through the campaign strategy. Something about a different style of photoshoot. But I can¡¯t focus.


    Because all I see is Reba.


    "You seem distracted," Hailey says, eyes never leaving her tablet.


    "I¡¯m fine," I snap too quickly.


    She raises an eyebrow but doesn¡¯t argue. Instead, she taps her nail against the screen. "Look, we can go through thister. But maybe next time, try showing up in a better mood. You¡¯re kind of a dick right now."


    That gets my attention. "Excuse me?"


    Hailey finally meets my eyes, calm andposed as ever. "I said, you are acting rude. Is this about Josh and me fromst night? Can we just keep things professional and..."


    "It¡¯s not about your damn boyfriend. Like I said, I am fine," I say, cutting her off.


    Hailey blinks at me, the cool mask slipping just slightly to reveal a flicker of surprise.


    "Okay," she says slowly, drawing the word out like she doesn¡¯t believe me for a second. "Well, your version of ¡¯fine¡¯ is a hurricane with better clothes, but sure. Let¡¯s pretend you¡¯re okay."


    I sigh and rub a hand down my face, feeling the stubble scrape against my palm. "Sorry," I mutter, not quite looking at her. "That came out harsher than I meant."


    "It¡¯s fine. We can start the shoot as soon as tomorrow," she says.


    "Great," I say with a tight jaw. "Will your annoying friend crash this one too?" I blurt out.


    Hailey raises an eyebrow. "My annoying...oh, you mean Reba?" she asks.


    "Yes," I grit out. "Reba."


    Hailey¡¯s lips twitch. "Don¡¯t worry. She won¡¯t be here to bother you. She is gone."


    "Gone?" I echo.


    Hailey nods, turning her attention back to her tablet. "Yeah. She left this morning. Said something about not wanting to stick around where she¡¯s not wanted. And something along the lines of, her purpose is expired."


    A tight knot forms in my chest, sharp and sudden.


    "She left the city?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.


    "Yes, went back home. Why do you care? It¡¯s not like you are eager to have a long-term rtionship with your...conquests." Hailey says.


    I blink. "She told you we hooked up?" I ask.


    "She said something like, you should be leaving me alone from now on because she knows I won¡¯t sleep with someone who already slept with her." She winces. "And she is right."


    For a moment, I can¡¯t say anything. The room feels smaller. My chest tightens with some unfamiliar emotion.


    "She left quite soon, huh?" I say, more to myself than to Hailey.


    Hailey tilts her head. "She did. She has to go back to work."


    "Where does she work?" I ask.


    "She is a Kindergarten teacher," Hailey says.


    I snort out augh. "Kindergarten? Are you serious?"


    Hailey looks up, catching the genuine confusion in my voice. "Yeah. She¡¯s good at it, I hear. Why is that shocking?"


    I shake my head. "I just... can¡¯t picture her wrangling five-year-olds, that¡¯s all."


    In my mind, I see Reba as she wasst night, loud and reckless and wing at my skin with a hunger that bordered on savage and I try to reconcile that version of her with the one dancing in a ssroom, singing songs to children, taping finger paintings on a chalkboard. It¡¯s such a jarring contrast, I can¡¯t even process it.


    Hailey shrugs. "She loves her kids."


    "She sure doesn¡¯t act like a teacher," I mutter.


    "Yeah, well, she does when she is in a ssroom. Now are you done interrogating me about Reba? I need to start preparing for the shoot," Hailey says.


    I wave my hand in dismissal, and she leaves.


    A kindergarten teacher...I can¡¯t fucking believe it.


    I should put her out of my mind. I should get back to my normal life. I¡¯ve been with plenty of women. Models, actresses. Why should I think about some average-looking kindergarten teacher who tries way too hard to be sexy?


    A knock on the door. I look up to see Tammy already opening it, a folder tucked under her arm. "You have to sign these," she says, then pauses at the threshold and squints. "You look like shit."


    I almostugh. "Thank you, Tammy. Just what I needed to hear."


    She flops the folder. "Partied too hardst night?"


    I grin as I remember Reba riding me in the hot tub. Her sweet pussy was wet and hot, her plumb breasts rubbing against my chest.


    My dick stirs in my jeans at the memory.


    "Marcus!"


    "Huh, what?" I snap my eyes at her.


    "Your signature?" she says, tapping her index finger on the folder.


    "Oh right...sorry," I say and grab a pen.


    "Are you sure you are okay? You seem distracted," Tammy inquires.


    "Yeah, I am fine," I grumble.

 Chapter 156: Lost Item

    <h4>Chapter 156: Lost Item</h4>


    Hailey


    "I don¡¯t like the idea of leaving you alone with Marcus," Josh announces after kissing me onest time at the airport.


    I smile at his protectiveness. "I will be fine. Marcus had been keeping his distance from me ever since the party. I think whatever Reba did worked. Or maybe it¡¯s the fact that he saw how much I like you. But regardless of the reason, I am d he backed off."


    Josh hums thoughtfully. "I hope Reba is okay. It¡¯s not like she makes a habit of having one-night stands."


    "Well, now that you are going back home, you can check on her and make sure," I say.


    Josh nods. "Yeah, you are right. And of course, to face Sarah¡¯s wrath for not telling her about you and me from the beginning," he adds andughs.


    Iugh. "Sarah is very happy for us."


    "Yeah," he mutters, grinning as he pulls me in for onest hug. "Be careful with Marcus. And call me, okay?"


    "I will," I promise.


    As I watch him walk toward security, disappearing into the crowd, a heavy feeling settles over me. I was getting too used to having him by my side, and now, I will be alone here.


    At least he promised to fly over to me often...


    ~-~


    A few weeks go by, and slowly, I start finding my rhythm at Luxe. The chaos that once felt overwhelming now flows in a pattern I understand. Early morning meetings, back-to-back shoots, creative brainstorms over overpriced espresso, and the constant pressure to be better.


    And I kind of am. Better.


    It helps that Marcus hasn¡¯t made any inappropriatements or gestures since that night. Whatever switch Reba flipped in him must¡¯ve been serious because now, he¡¯s strictly professional, distant even.


    We barely speak unless it¡¯s about work. No loaded looks. No smug smirks. Just curt nods and the asional "good job" when somethingnds well.


    I feel relieved.


    "Have you noticed Marcus acting a bit weird?" Tammy asks one day.


    I nce up from myptop, blinking at Tammy. "Weird how?" I ask


    She leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I don¡¯t know. He¡¯s still efficient and all, but something¡¯s off. He¡¯s quieter. Like...distracted. Did something happen?"


    I shrug, ying with the corner of a notepad. "Not that I know of. Maybe he¡¯s just...burnt out?"


    Tammy tilts her head. "He¡¯s Marcus. The guy doesn¡¯t burn out. He burns other people out."


    That makes me snort. "True."


    She narrows her eyes at me, studying my face a little too closely. "You sure you don¡¯t know anything?"


    I meet her gaze and shake my head. "Why don¡¯t you ask him?" I ask.


    Tammy makes a face. "And get barked at? No thanks. Maybe you should ask since he is into you."


    I make a choking sound. "He is not into me. At least he hasn¡¯t been acting like it these days. It¡¯s for the best, so I am not about to bring it up."


    "Yes, but he still likes you and even respects you. Come on, Hailey. Take one for the team and find out what¡¯s wrong. This campaign won¡¯t be sessful if Marcus is too distracted," Tammy insists.


    I groan, slumping in my chair. "Fine. But if he snaps at me, I¡¯m telling HR it was your idea."


    Tammy grins triumphantly and walks off before I can change my mind.


    The truth is, I have been wondering. Marcus has always carried himself like he¡¯s above emotional turbulence. Buttely? He looks...exhausted and irritable.


    I find himter that afternoon in the editing room, staring nkly at a screen disying raw shots fromst week¡¯s shoot. His jaw is tense, arms crossed, and he doesn¡¯t notice I¡¯m there until I clear my throat.


    He turns slightly, blinking like I just interrupted a dream. "Hailey."


    "You okay?" I ask, cutting straight to it.


    "I¡¯m fine," he says automatically.


    I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"


    He looks at me. "Why do you ask?"


    I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe. "Because you¡¯ve been walking around like someone stole your espresso machine. People are worried."


    Marcus exhales slowly.


    "I¡¯ve just been busy," he mutters, turning back to the screen. "Nothing to worry about."


    "I do appreciate you not making a move on me anymore. But I am curious, what changed?" I ask.


    His eyes flick to mine, and for a second, he looks like he wants to say something clever, but it dies before it makes it out alive. He reboots. "What can I say? I¡¯m a changed man. Don¡¯t want to end up the viin in some #MeToo thread."


    I snort. "I am so d you came to your senses, but something did changed, didn¡¯t it?"


    Marcus shrugs.


    I decide not to push it. I should be celebrating his sudden epiphany of being a better person. "Alright then. I will be outside. The models should be here any moment now."


    Marcus shifts in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk as I move to leave.


    "Hailey," he says suddenly, stopping me mid-step.


    I nce over my shoulder. "Yeah?"


    He looks almost...ufortable. His eyes drop to the desk, then back up to mine. "Have you, uh... heard from your friend?"


    I blink. "My friend? You mean...Reba?" I ask.


    He nods once.


    I tilt my head. "Why do you want to know?"


    Marcus hesitates, then sighs and leans back in his chair, arms folded.


    "I don¡¯t know," he says.


    I narrow my eyes at him. "She is doing fine," I say after a beat.


    He nods. "She left one of her earrings, I think it fell," he says. "I was hoping to return it to her."


    I stare at him curiously. There is a soft expression on his face that I haven¡¯t seen before. Did Reba cause this sudden change in him?


    Well, I¡¯ll be damned...


    "You want to give me the earring so I can mail it to her?" I offer even though I already know it¡¯s not about the earring.


    He finally looks at me. "No. I will do it myself. Can you...uh...give me her address?"


    I shake my head. "You are my boss, but I can¡¯t just give out her address like that. She won¡¯t like that. Besides, why won¡¯t you just give it to me?"


    Marcus opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he¡¯s still buffering. He clears his throat and mutters, "Because...she left it at my ce, so I should return it myself."


    I arch an eyebrow. "That doesn¡¯t make much sense, does it? And besides, it has been weeks. Why didn¡¯t you say any anything about the scarf right away?"


    He rubs the back of his neck and gives me an ufortable smile. "I guess it¡¯s not all about the earring. Maybe I also want to clear the air. After we hooked up, she left abruptly. Perhaps I offended her somehow."


    "Since when do you worry about who you sleep with, or offend, Marcus? I¡¯ve caught you having sex with two different women in the same week. Isn¡¯t she just one more of your conquests? Leave her be. You had your fun," I say sternly.


    His expression turns hard. "Fine. Go back out there. I will join you in a moment."


    ~-~


    The summer campaignunches with more fanfare than anyone predicted. My photos are everywhere. Train stations, billboards, web banners. Josh¡¯s face looms, elegant, clean, and untouchable.


    He texts me from Pornd, a photo of himself without a shirt on, hair messier than usual, captioned: "You could have these abs, but you are all the way in NY. Miss you."


    I just roll my eyes and smile at the text.


    I tap out a quick reply: "Nice try, thirst trap. Miss you too."


    A heart emoji pops up from him almost instantly, followed by: "Can¡¯t wait to see you. Counting the days."


    I reread that message twice before locking my phone and setting it face down. A slow warmth spreads through me. As overwhelming as this city can be, Josh has be my rock, my biggest fan.


    My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my office door.


    I nce up. "Come in!"


    The door creaks open, and a young intern peeks her head inside. "Hi, uh...Marcus wants to see you."


    I blink. "Did he say why?"


    The intern shrugs, looking a little nervous. "He just said it was important. He¡¯s in Studio B."


    Great.


    I thank her and gather my things.


    Studio B is on the other side of the building, tucked away with soundproof walls and dramatic lighting. Marcus stands near the backdrop, his arms crossed, something small in his hand.


    He looks up when he hears me. "Thanks foring."


    I step inside. "What¡¯s going on?"


    He takes a breath. "Here," he says and opens his palm.


    On his palm, I see something sparkly and green, shaped like a broli of all things.


    I narrow my eyes. "Is this the earring in question?"


    Marcus gives a sheepish shrug. "Yeah. Weird, right? Who wears broli-shaped earrings?"


    I stare at it, stunned into silence for a moment before augh bubbles up. "That¡¯s definitely Reba¡¯s. She has a thing for vegetable shaped earrings. Pretty sure I saw her wear banana earrings in my sister inw¡¯s baby shower."


    A small smile pulls at Marcus¡¯s mouth. "Figures."


    "So... you called me here to give it back to me?" I ask, folding my arms.


    His smile drops. "No. I¡¯m not giving it back to you. I¡¯m just showing you so you don¡¯t think I made it up about the earring. Now, can I have her address?"


    I stare at him for a long moment, amazed by the twinge of desperation in his voice. "Fine, but don¡¯t do anything crazy."

 Chapter 157: An Excuse

    <h4>Chapter 157: An Excuse</h4>


    <strong>Reba</strong>


    "Okay, everyone, what sound does a cow make?" I ask with exaggerated enthusiasm, holding up a picture card.


    "Mooooo!" the kids chorus, some of them giggling, a few dragging it out like a dramatic opera.


    I grin and sh the next card. "And what about a duck?"


    "Quack! Quack! Quack!" shouts Tyler from the front row, pping his arms like wings.


    "Very good, my little ducklings," I say, suppressing augh. "Now, who wants toe up and match the animal to the sound?"


    A sea of tiny hands shoots into the air, some kids hopping in ce, desperate to be picked. I call on Lucy, who marches up proudly and sticks the duck card onto the sound chart with all the seriousness of a surgeon.


    "Perfect match," I say, giving her a high-five. "You¡¯re all doing amazing today. After we finish our chart, we can go outside for story time under the big tree. Sound good?"


    A cheer erupts from the group. A few kids bounce in ce, one identally knocking over a tub of crayons. As I crouch to help him clean up, my phone buzzes in my cardigan pocket.


    I nce at the screen.


    <strong>1 New Text Message</strong>


    <strong>Unknown Number: "</strong><i>I</i> have something of yours." ¨C Marcus


    My hand stills above a green crayon.


    I put my phone down face-first on the craft table and straighten up with a pasted-on smile. "Okay, kids! Back to the rug for our animal book!"


    They scatter like confetti, plopping down on the alphabet carpet, some already flipping through picture books while waiting.


    While they settle in, I sneak another look at my phone.


    "My self-respect and dignity? I think I left them there on purpose," I type back quickly.


    The kids are mostly upied, arguing over who gets to hold the giant plush ma during story time.


    <strong>Buzz.</strong>


    "Very funny."


    I stare at the message, heart tapping a little faster.


    "Whatever it is, you can give it to Hailey. She is due to visit her family here anyway," I write and hit Send.


    Tyler identally elbows Mia in the face during the ma dispute, and I swoop in with my teacher voice. "Let¡¯s remember to be gentle. Everyone gets a turn."


    Mia sniffles. I hand her the ma and whisper, "You get to be queen for this story."


    That earns a tiny smile.


    My phone buzzes again.


    "It¡¯s not something I can leave with Hailey."


    I raise my eyebrow. Can¡¯t leave with Hailey? "What is it?" I type.


    "Your earring," he replies faster than I can breathe.


    My earring?


    I try to picture what I was wearing that night. It had been a blur¡ªsomewhere between reckless and stupid.


    Then, ites to me in a sh. It was the green broli earrings from my Vege jewelry set. One had gone missing after my night with him.


    My body heats up as I remember that night. How our bodies fit so perfectly together, how it felt to have him inside me. God...what I would give to do that again...


    No...I should walk away with whatever self-respect I still have. Marcus is not the kind of person who would want something more than a one-night stand anyway.


    "That cheap piece of jewelry? Just throw it in the trash. I already threw the other one away," I type.


    Marcus¡¯s reply takes longer this time.


    Finally¡ª


    <strong>"It is very important I give this back to you."</strong>


    I stare at the message, teeth pressing into my lower lip. What did he expect? That I¡¯d rush over, starry-eyed and grateful because he found some two-dor earring shaped like broli?


    I slip my phone back into my pocket and force my thoughts to the present. The kids are settled on the grass under the sprawling tree now, sunlight dappling through the leaves as they chatter and squirm beside me.


    I open the oversized storybook. "Once upon a time, there was a goat who didn¡¯t want to eat grass anymore..."


    Laughter fills the air. But my mind drifts.


    Why <i>did</i> he text me?


    He could¡¯ve mailed it. Given it to Hailey anyway. Hell, he could¡¯ve ignored it altogether.


    He is so weird.


    My phone buzzes again in my pocket,.


    I ignore it.


    I finish the story, hand out animal stickers, and usher the ss back inside, pretending the weight in my chest isn¡¯t growing.


    Once the kids are back in their room, I steal a nce at my screen.


    <strong>Marcus: </strong><i>"</i>Maybe I want this to be an excuse to see you again."


    My heart flutters, confused and cautious. Because that? That¡¯s not something I expected Marcus to say.


    Do I respond? Or do I protect myself and ghost him?


    I start typing again, my fingers shaking slightly. "Well, too bad I am all the way to Pornd. Too far from you to qualify as your ¡¯bootycall.¡¯"


    The replyes fast.


    Marcus: "I didn¡¯t say I wanted a bootycall."


    I stare at the screen, pulse quickening.


    Then why?


    "So what do you want then? Closure? A medal for being semi-decent one time?" I reply.


    There¡¯s a pause. I imagine him staring at his phone the way I am now¡ªunsure of how far to push, how much to say.


    Then it buzzes again.


    Marcus: "I don¡¯t know what I want. But I haven¡¯t stopped thinking about you."


    A soft gasp escapes me before I can catch it. I nce up quickly¡ªthankfully, the kids are preupied with finger paints and glitter glue.


    I wipe my hands on a wet wipe and step into the corner near the coat hooks, like standing there will somehow give me more rity.


    I type slower this time.


    "I am not your type, remember?"


    Marcus: "Maybe that¡¯s the problem."


    I stare at the words, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest.


    What is that supposed to mean?


    I decide not to text him back anymore.


    I slip my phone back into my pocket and press both hands to my cheeks, trying to will away the heat building there. Glitter, giggles, and the sweet scent of washable paint swirl around me¡ªeverything pulling me back to the now. The real world. The one that doesn¡¯t include Marcus.


    Not your type.


    Maybe that¡¯s the problem.


    What the hell does that even mean?


    That he is into me now? That he wishes he wasn¡¯t into me?


    That I somehow got under his skin and he doesn¡¯t know what to do about it?


    I grit my teeth and force myself to turn back toward the tables.


    "Miss Reba, look!" Lucy grins up at me, holding out a paper te painted with pink and glitter¡ªsomething between a cat and a cotton candy explosion.


    "It¡¯s beautiful," I say, kneeling beside her.


    She smiles proudly, and I manage an actual smile.


    This. This is where I belong.


    Glitter on my shoes, crayon streaks on my sleeves, a sticker-covered phone case, and twenty tiny humans who say my name like it means something. Like I mean something. Like I¡¯m enough just as I am.


    I¡¯m not about to let Marcus unravel all that because he suddenly found himself being attracted to me. I had my fun that night and that should be the end of it. I don¡¯t belong in his world.


    And besides, he will leave me for another who is his type anyway.

 Chapter 158: What’s Wrong?

    <h4>Chapter 158: What¡¯s Wrong?</h4>


    Marcus


    I stare at the screen, watching those three little dots vanish.


    She read it.


    Then nothing.


    No reply.


    I scrub a hand over my jaw and toss my phone onto the counter, the damn thing ttering louder than it needs to.


    "Maybe that¡¯s the problem," I muttered to myself when I typed it, and now I¡¯m wondering if it was the final nail in the coffin.


    Because I don¡¯t even know what the hell I meant. Not really.


    All I know is I haven¡¯t been able to stop thinking about her. Not since that night. Not since she slipped out of my hot tub and left me with one broli earring.


    She wasn¡¯t supposed to get to me.


    I didn¡¯t expect to miss herugh.


    This is so stupid.


    I lean my elbows on the counter and stare at the earring. I¡¯ve kept it in a tiny dish by the sink, like some pathetic idiot who thinks having a reminder of her is normal.


    I pick up the earring. It¡¯s a stupid little trinket. She was right. It¡¯s cheap and not worth keeping. But I can¡¯t find myself throwing it away yet.


    I flip the earring over in my fingers, watching the light glint off the glossy green enamel. It¡¯s shaped like broli, for god¡¯s sake. What kind of woman wears vegetables on her ears and still manages to look sexy as hell doing it?


    Reba, that¡¯s who.


    My phone rings, jolting me.


    I freeze.


    My heart kicks like a stallion in my chest.


    Reba? Maybe she decided she didn¡¯t want to ignore me after all.


    I snatch the phone off the counter so fast it nearly slips from my hand.


    My eyes fly to the screen.


    And then... they narrow.


    <strong>Call from: Natalie</strong>


    My breath whooshes out, part disappointment, part dread.


    Natalie.


    My sister.


    We haven¡¯t spoken in God...has it been over a year?


    The phone keeps ringing, her name glowing up at me like some ghost that refuses to stay buried.


    I hesitate and then swipe to answer.


    "...Nat?"


    There¡¯s a pause. A breath. Then, her voice.


    "Hey, Marcus."


    I grip the counter, grounding myself. "Didn¡¯t expect to hear from you."


    "Yeah," she says, like it weighs something. "I had to. Dad is dying."


    My jaw tightens. I press the earring into my palm until it digs into my skin. "Oh," I say simply.


    "Mom told me," she adds quickly. "Stage four cancer."


    I say nothing for a while.


    "Marcus, are you there?" Her voice sounds distant.


    "Yeah. Why are you calling me, Natalie?" I ask.


    A beat of silence on the other side before I hear her exhale. "Marcus, I think it¡¯s time we go over there and..."


    "NO!" I say louder than I intend to, then quickly lower my voice. "No, I made a promise to myself that I will never show my face to him."


    "Marcus..." Natalie¡¯s voice is soft now, almost pleading. "It¡¯s been years. He¡¯s dying. Don¡¯t you think¡ª"


    "No," I snap, the word like a hammer in my throat. "He doesn¡¯t get to y the poor old man now. Not after everything he did."


    I hear her inhale, slow and shaky. "I¡¯m not saying you have to forgive him. I haven¡¯t. But if you don¡¯t go now, you¡¯ll carry that weight with you forever."


    I rub a hand over my face, my skin hot. The earring¡¯s still in my palm, and for some reason, I want to keep holding it.


    "I don¡¯t care. And neither should you. Goodbye, Nat," I say.


    "Marcus, please..."


    I hang up the phone and I stand there for a long time, phone face-down on the counter again like I¡¯m trying to bury it.


    I stare down at the broli earring still in my hand, and my fingers curled around it so tightly the edges bite into my skin. I press it harder like maybe the pain will push all the memories back into the hole I¡¯d stuffed them in.


    I can¡¯t go back there. I <i>won¡¯t</i>.


    He doesn¡¯t deserve my forgiveness. Or my presence. Not after what he did to me. To Natalie. To Mom.


    The man was a monster in a suit, and just because cancer¡¯s turned him frail doesn¡¯t mean he stopped being a monster.


    Still... Natalie¡¯s voice clings to me. Tired. Sad. Scared.


    And I hate that I care.


    I grab my phone again. I need a fucking release and I need it now.


    I scroll through my contacts until I see the name Diana.


    She is easy. No expectations. No emotional strings. Just a warm body and the right amount of distraction.


    I hit <i>Call</i> before I can second guess it.


    She picks up on the second ring, her voice smooth, familiar. "Marcus. Wow. Didn¡¯t expect to hear from you."


    "Yeah," I say, rubbing my thumb against the counter. "I was just thinking...you free tonight?"


    A pause.


    Then a lightugh. "I could be."


    She is still talking when my mind drifts¡ªright back to Reba.


    That stupid broli earring is still digging into my palm, and now the ache isn¡¯t just physical. It¡¯s crawling into my chest, setting up camp somewhere behind my ribs.


    "Marcus?" Diana¡¯s voice is lighter now. "You still there?"


    I close my eyes. What the hell am I doing? This won¡¯t help. She is not who I want.


    "Actually," I say, clearing my throat. "Forget it."


    There¡¯s a pause. "What?"


    "I shouldn¡¯t have called. That was... a mistake."


    Another beat of silence.


    Then, tly, "Wow. Okay. So this is how we¡¯re doing it now?"


    "I didn¡¯t mean to mess with you, Diana. I¡¯m just... not in the right headspace."


    Sheughs, but there¡¯s no humor in it. "Right. Sure. Whatever you say."


    I don¡¯t reply. I just end the call.


    The silence that follows is louder than her voice. It presses in from all sides.


    I drop the phone on the counter again and press my forehead to my arm.


    What the fuck is wrong with me?


    <i>You know what¡¯s wrong, </i>a little voice inside my head tells me. <i>You want Reba.</i>


    Fucking hell.

 Chapter 159: Surprise Date

    <h4>Chapter 159: Surprise Date</h4>


    Sara


    The kitchen is steamy from me and Marishka, who I now call Mama, cooking all day long. I stand over the big steel pot with a slotted spoon in one hand and my phone in the other, keeping tabs on the time.


    For tonight¡¯s dinner, I invited Josh and Hailey because this will be the first time I will see them together after they started dating. Reba is invited by default, along with one of Matthew¡¯s friends, who is, at the moment, the most eligible bachelor. Reba has no idea that I am conspiring to match her with him.


    I text Hailey: Bring more ice.


    Three dots flicker, then disappear. Nothing. I take this as consent.


    The back door creaks open just as I¡¯m tasting the sauce for salt, and Mama pokes her head in, her cheeks flushed and hair tied up with a red bandana.


    "They¡¯re setting up outside," she says, wiping her hands on a towel. "I told Matthew not to let Josh near the grill. Last time he tried, we nearly had a fireworks disy."


    I chuckle, giving the sauce another stir. "Good. I want everyone fed, not singed."


    Mama eyes the simmering pot with approval then leans in closer. "So, this mystery bachelor. You think Reba¡¯s going to bite?"


    I grin. "She better. He¡¯s smart, sessful, and not allergic tomitment."


    Just then, my phone buzzes on the counter. Hailey: Got the ice."


    I text back: Door¡¯s open. Come straight through.


    Secondster, Reba and Hailey tumble through the screen door in a rush ofughter that¡¯s too loud for whatever story they¡¯re telling. I catch only the tail end:


    "...and she¡¯s just shaving his chest right there on a towel, like it¡¯spletely normal!" Hailey says, shaking her head in disbelief as she dumps a bag of ice into the sink.


    Reba cackles, leaning heavily on the counter, her face flushed from the cold or the story or both. "It was waxing, not shaving. There¡¯s a difference. And he asked for it. Very politely, actually."


    Mama raises an eyebrow, bemused. "Who is waxing what now?"


    "Who really knows," I say. "Reba and Hailey has gotten close ever since she visited her and Josh in New York. Reba is probably corrupting Hailey now."


    Mamaughs. "I will go check on Rhea," she says and leaves.


    Hailey slides around me with the new ice, her eyes catching mine for a moment. "Where¡¯s Josh?" she asks.


    "Outside. Probably arguing with Matthew about something," I say.


    Hailey rolls her eyes. "As long as it¡¯s not politics or me dating Josh and Matthew not liking it, we will survive this dinner." She dumps the rest of the ice into the cooler and rinses her hands in the sink.


    "Matthew is fine with you dating Josh. He just always find something to argue about with him," I say, rolling my eyes.


    Reba leans in toward the pot, sniffing exaggeratedly. "Whatever this is smells like a hug from the inside. Please tell me we¡¯re eating soon. I skipped lunch for this."


    I smirk. "You¡¯ll eat when everyone¡¯s here and seated like a civilized person. Try to be patient."


    She snorts. "You invited me. That¡¯s on you."


    I arch a brow. "Technically, you were invited by default. Hailey was the real MVP with the ice."


    Reba gasps in mock offense. "Excuse me?"


    Hailey tosses a dish towel at her. "She¡¯s setting you up with someone. That makes you a guest and a target."


    Reba freezes. Her head turns slowly toward me. "Sara," she says in that dangerous, too-calm voice, "what did you do?"


    I y innocent, twirling the spoon in the pot like it¡¯s a wand. "I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about."


    Hailey grins. "Matthew¡¯s friend is cute. And normal. Well, normal enough."


    Reba groans and lets her head fall onto the counter with a dramatic thump. "Tell me it¡¯s not another tech bro who thinks podcasts count as therapy."


    "Definitely not," I say sweetly. "He¡¯s a pediatrician."


    Reba lifts her head just enough to squint at me. "...Okay, that¡¯s annoying. That¡¯s actually a good one."


    I give her a smug smile. "You¡¯re wee."


    Just then, we hear a yell and a loud ng from the backyard.


    "JOSH!" Matthew¡¯s voice booms through the open window.


    Reba sighs, grabs a wooden spoon, and points it like a sword. "If he broke your grill, I¡¯m making him do the dishes for a month."


    I can¡¯t helpughing as I lift the lid from the pot, steam rising in fragrant waves.


    Let the evening begin.


    Hailey heads for the door with mock determination, twirling the spoon like a baton. "Wish me luck," she says over her shoulder. "If there¡¯s a grease fire, I¡¯ll be the one dragging Josh out by his ears."


    Once the door swings shut behind her, Reba and I exchange a look. "So, who is this man you are setting me up with?" she asks.


    I try to keep my face neutral, but my lips tug upward all on their own. "His name¡¯s Kevin," I say,dling sauce into a small bowl for taste testing. "He¡¯s a pediatrician. Went to med school with Matthew. Comes from a good family, volunteers at animal shelters, probably reads actual books instead of self-help threads on Reddit."


    Reba narrows her eyes. "Okay, stop. You¡¯re selling him too hard. That¡¯s suspicious."


    I shrug, casual. "I just thought you¡¯d appreciate a guy who doesn¡¯t ask what your Enneagram number is on the first date."


    "That does sound appealing..." she admits reluctantly, plucking a stray basil leaf from the cutting board and chewing on it thoughtfully. "So what¡¯s the catch?"


    "No catch," I say, watching her too closely now. "He¡¯s nice. Handsome. Single."


    Her brows shoot up. "Why is he single, then? That¡¯s always the question."


    I arch an eyebrow. "Because his ex moved to Paris and became a perfume chemist. He was very supportive, apparently, but long-distance wasn¡¯t his thing."


    Reba blinks. "Wait, that¡¯s oddly... healthy."


    I grin. "I know. He¡¯s like a unicorn. A real one, not the weird dating app kind."


    She groans and leans her forehead against the cab. "I swear, if he smells like sandalwood and talks about mindfulness, I¡¯m going to scream."


    "He smells like freshundry," I say. "And he will bring wine."


    Reba lifts her head slowly. "Red or white?"


    "Red," I say smugly. "Italian. Not screw cap."


    She mutters something under her breath and tosses a towel onto the counter. "You witch."


    "I prefer hostess with incredible matchmaking instincts."


    Just then, the front door creaks open, followed by the sound of voices and warmughter.


    Reba nces toward the sound, then back at me. Her expression is somewhere between resignation and curiosity. "If this goes badly, you owe me a chocteva cake."


    I hold up the sauce spoon like a solemn oath. "Deal."


    She squares her shoulders and heads for the dining room, muttering, "Please don¡¯t be weird, please don¡¯t be weird," under her breath.


    I follow her with a secret smile, the scent of dinner filling the air and the buzz of new possibilities crackling just behind it.


    Let the introductions begin.


    The living room is already buzzing when we step in. Rhea is curled up on the sofa with a juice box, her curls bouncing as she waves at us. Josh is by the drinks table looking smug and suspiciously innocent. Hailey¡¯s giving him the side-eye while Matthew¡¯s poking at the grill tongs like he¡¯s mentally writing a list of safety vitions.


    Then I see Kevin.


    Tall, clean-cut, dressed in a soft gray button-down and jeans, bottle of wine in one hand and a shy but warm smile on his face. He¡¯s chatting politely with Mama¡ªwho, bless her, already has that look of approval she usually reserves for people who eat seconds and offer to do dishes.


    Kevin looks up as we approach, and for a split second, he freezes. Then he smiles again¡ªthis time wider, directed squarely at Reba.


    "Hi," he says. "You must be Reba."


    Reba nces at me for half a second like she¡¯s going to kill meter, then turns back to him and extends her hand. "I am. And you must be Kevin, the unicorn."


    Kevin blinks. "The... what?"


    I backpedal quickly. "Inside joke. Don¡¯t worry about it. Wee! You brought wine¡ªyou may now stay."


    Kevinughs. "Italian red, as requested."


    Reba eyes the bottle. "That is disturbingly specific. You¡¯re either really good at following instructions... or you¡¯ve been prepped."


    Kevin nces at me. "Guilty. But I was promised food in exchange for mild social danger."


    "Then you¡¯vee to the right ce," she says, and I swear I catch a hint of a smile.


    Matthew ps his hands from the patio. "Food¡¯s ready!"


    As everyone heads outside, Reba slows beside me just long enough to murmur, "He better not be perfect."


    I grin. "I make no promises."


    Outside, fairy lights glow overhead, the table is set, and the smell of grilled everything fills the air. I watch as Kevin pulls out a chair for Reba. She sits, and her thanks is apanied by something rare¡ªan unguarded, maybe-this-won¡¯t-suck smile.


    I look out at the table¡ªat Haileyughing at something Josh said, at Matthew finally rxing, at Rhea stealing a roll while no one¡¯s looking¡ªand feel a quiet joy settle in my chest.


    Sometimes, the right mix of food, family, and just a little harmless meddling is enough to shift the whole world an inch closer to good.


    Let dinner begin.

 Chapter 160: Who is Kevin?

    <h4>Chapter 160: Who is Kevin?</h4>


    Reba


    I slide into the chair Kevin pulled out for me, trying not to read too much into the way his hand briefly grazes the back of my arm. He smells¡ªannoyingly like exactly what Sara promised: clean cotton with a hint of cedar and maybe something citrusy.


    My mind drifts into Marcus. He smelled incredible too...


    No, I can¡¯t think of him now. I left him at New York and that¡¯s where he needs to stay.


    The table is warm with noise and flickering candlelight, everyone settling in with tes passed down like currency. Josh is already halfway through a rib, sauce on his chin, while Hailey looks at him with admiration. Oh, young love...


    Kevin sits beside me and unfolds his napkin like it¡¯s a formal event. He is calm, maybe even a little shy, which is a refreshing change from the usual brand of loud, performative confidence I tend to attract.


    Like Marcus.


    "So," he says as he spoons some grilled corn onto his te, "do I need to apologize for showing up as your blind date?"


    I nce sideways at him. "Only if this turns out to be one of those nights where I fake an emergency just to leave early."


    He chuckles softly. "Good to know the bar¡¯s nice and low."


    "Oh, incredibly low," I say, stabbing a piece of roasted squash. "Practically underground."


    He raises his wine ss in a mini toast. "To manageable expectations."


    I clink mine lightly against his. "And usible deniability."


    We fall into an easy rhythm after that. Sharing side dishes, swapping harmless stories. I learn he¡¯s been working in pediatric oncology for three years. He doesn¡¯t talk about it to impress me; he talks about it like it¡¯s hard, like it matters, like he¡¯s grateful to be doing something that feels useful. That gets my attention more than a thousand well-rehearsed dating app bios.


    Halfway through the meal, I catch Sara watching us from across the table with that smug, matchmaking smile of hers. I narrow my eyes and mouth, Stop it, but she just lifts a piece of bread in faux innocence and looks away.


    Kevin follows my gaze and leans in just a little. "Let me guess, Sara¡¯s the puppet master in this scenario?"


    I smirk. "Oh, full-on string-puller. She probably has a Pinterest boardbeled ¡¯Reba¡¯s Future Husband¡¯ somewhere."


    Heughs, not the forced kind, but something genuine and warm that settles under my skin in an annoyingly pleasant way. "Should I be ttered or concerned?"


    "A little of both," I say, reaching for another slice of grilled eggnt. "But hey, at least you¡¯re not a tech bro who collects crypto and red gs."


    Kevin pretends to wipe his brow in relief. "Whew. Dodged that stereotype."


    Afortable silence settles between us as tes clink and forks scrape across ceramic. Someone puts on music¡ªold jazz, the kind that drifts like perfume through warm air. I find myself rxing.


    Kevin refills my ss without asking, like he¡¯s already figured out that I¡¯m not one of those women who makes a big deal out of small courtesies. He doesn¡¯t make a show of it. Just pours, then sets the bottle down with a soft clink and resumes eating like it¡¯s the most natural thing in the world.


    I swirl the wine, watching it catch the light.


    "So," he says, carefully buttering a roll like he¡¯s handling a surgical instrument, "what about you? What do you do when you¡¯re not being ambushed by dinner party setups?"


    "I am a Kindergarten teacher," I say.


    To my surprise, his eyebrows don¡¯t go up, or if they do, the movement is so micro I can¡¯t catch it. Instead, he just nods. "That actually tracks."


    I blink. "It does?"


    He shrugs. "You¡¯ve got very ¡¯faces danger with a whistle and a smile¡¯ energy. The kind that onlyes from wrangling someone else¡¯s hellspawn all day."


    That makes meugh. "You mean the finger-paint chaos demons?"


    Kevin grins, eyes sparking. "Exactly. Takes guts. You must have the patience of a saint."


    I shake my head. "Oh god, no. I rely entirely on sticker charts and the threat of calling someone¡¯s Mom."


    Heughs, a deep, rolling sound, then sobers a beat. "I could never do it. I tried to coach little league once. Lasted exactly one practice and a half."


    I lean closer. "What got you?"


    He pretends to shudder. "Six-year-olds with metal bats. Dozens of them. In a circle. If one started swinging, it was contagion. Perfect storm every time."


    For a second, I see myself on that diamond, screaming children and all, and instead of dreading it, I find myself...happy? Or at least amused. Like I¡¯d miss it if it stopped.


    Sara¡¯s voice cuts through, toasting something up at the head of the table. I catch her looking over with a weird, half-worried, half-proud expression. When our eyes meet, she tips her chin like she¡¯s reminding me: you can do this. This date, this dinner, this not-messing-up. I flip her off under the table, which makes her snort her drink out her nose.


    A shadow flickers across my memory¡ªwet skin, hot tub jets, a man¡¯s hand tight on my neck. I catch myself scanning the room for something sharp-edged and unfairly beautiful. But of course Marcus isn¡¯t here.


    Maybe that¡¯s why, when Kevin leans over and asks if I want to walk outside after dinner, I say yes. Maybe that¡¯s why, when he lets his hand brush against mine as we pour more wine and offer to share dessert, I surprise even myself and don¡¯t jerk away.


    From across the table, Hailey gives me a closed-lipped, secret smile that says, Attagirl. Then she goes back to poking fun at Josh, who looks about two seconds from carrying her off caveman-style.


    I sip thest of my wine and I nce at him sideways. "So. Honest opinion, do you regreting?"


    He shakes his head. "Not even a little."


    I breathe out a smallugh, surprised. "Even with the ambush, the curated wine selection?"


    "Especially because of all that," he says. "Sarah must care a great deal about you because she warned me not to screw it up."


    That makes me pause.


    "She said that?" I ask.


    Kevin nods, nudging a crumb off his te with the tip of his fork. "Right after she made me promise I don¡¯t believe in star signs or refer to women as ¡¯females.¡¯ Then she threatened to unfriend me if I mentioned CrossFit more than once."


    Augh bursts out of me before I can stop it. "She does have standards for me."


    He grins. "She also said you¡¯d probably try to make a joke before letting me know if you were actually having a good time."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"


    Kevin shrugs, feigning innocence. "Her words, not mine."


    I toy with my wine ss, then nce up at him. "I am having a good time."


    It¡¯s quiet for a moment, not awkward¡ªjust full. Like the space between us knows not to rush the next thing.


    "Good," he says finally. "Because I was starting to think you might bolt before dessert."


    I tilt my head. "Depends. What kind of dessert are we talking?"


    His expression turns mock-serious. "You mean Sara didn¡¯t tell you? She made homemade chocte tart. It¡¯s supposed to be life-changing. Like, reevaluate-your-choices kind of good."


    I feign skepticism. "Bold im. I¡¯ll be the judge of that. Sarah never cooked anything before marrying Matthew."


    Kevin stands and offers his hand. "Come on then, Judge Reba. Let¡¯s go put it to the test."


    I take his hand.


    And this time, I don¡¯t think about Marcus. Not his lips, not his warm body, not the way he always made things feel like a dare.


    This isn¡¯t a dare.


    It¡¯s just a walk. A tart. A boy who listens.


    My phone buzzes and my heart stops when I look at it.


    Marcus: "Are you awake?"


    I stare at the text. I didn¡¯t answer hisst text, so his ego must have been bruised. I don¡¯t reply this time either.


    Kevin returns with dessert. He slides a te across the marble for me, eyebrow lifted. "Everything okay?"


    "Fine," I say, pocketing my phone too quickly.


    He nods, not pressing, just forks into his own slice and groans appreciatively. "Okay, Sara was right. This is maybe the best thing I¡¯ve ever tasted."


    I force a bite of my own, willing my face to behave. It is good. It¡¯s so good. It¡¯s also dry and gluey in my mouth, impossible to swallow with the weight of that text burning a hole in my back pocket.


    Another buzz.


    Marcus: "Don¡¯t ignore me, Reba."


    I excuse myself, iming some urgent call from a parent, and duck out to the back deck.


    "I am having dinner with friends," I write.


    My thumb hovers over the screen a second longer than necessary before I hit send.


    The message shoots off. I stand at the edge of the deck, it smells like damp wood and candle smoke out here. It¡¯s kind of rxing.


    The replyes faster than I expect.


    Marcus: "Who are these friends?"


    Nosy bastard.


    Me: "Hailey and Josh. Who you already know. Hailey¡¯s brother Matthew and his wife Sarah, who also happenes to be my best friend. And..."


    I pause. Should I tell him?


    Ehh...what the heck.


    "....Kevin," I finish typing and hit send.


    Three dots appear. Then vanish.


    Then appear again.


    Marcus: "Who is Kevin?"

 Chapter 161: Goodnight, Marcus

    <h4>Chapter 161: Goodnight, Marcus</h4>


    Marcus


    Who the hell is Kevin?


    I stare at the message thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard but not typing. I shouldn¡¯t care. I shouldn¡¯t fucking care. But I do.


    Kevin.


    She didn¡¯t say he was anything to her. She didn¡¯t say he was a friend. But just...Kevin. The name sounds significant somehow and I am not sure I like it.


    I swipe a hand down my jaw, pacing the length of my penthouse like it¡¯ll help burn off the frustration building in my chest.


    I drag a hand through my hair and stop in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights bleeding into the dark like veins of gold. Somewhere down there, Reba is at a dinner partyughing, maybe. Smiling. Letting someone named Kevin sit too damn close.


    My jaw tightens.


    I don¡¯t have the right to be angry. I have no im on Reba. Heck I even told her I am not into her. But now the image of her next to some well-mannered, predictably charming "Kevin" is eating me alive.


    I scroll back through the messages.


    I am having dinner with friends.


    Friends. Plural. Harmless.


    But then¡ª


    ...and Kevin.


    Just Kevin.


    Not my friend Kevin. Not Sara¡¯s cousin Kevin. Just a name. No context. No definition. Which means she knew I¡¯d wonder. Knew I¡¯d question it.


    Smart girl.


    She knows how to get under my skin.


    I toss my phone onto the couch and go pour another drink, but my hand is shaking. This isn¡¯t like me. I¡¯ve handled negotiations with people twice my age and twice as dangerous without blinking. I¡¯ve broken up with women and forgotten their names an hourter.


    But Reba?


    She¡¯s still here. In my head. In my chest. In the fucking way I can¡¯t breathe right now.


    I sit down, elbows on knees, staring at the untouched drink in my hand. Ice crackles softly.


    Is she really just going to sleep with me one night and forget about me?


    What if Kevin is kind? Stable. Safe. Everything I am not.


    My phone dings again, making me jump.


    Reba: "Kevin is my blind date. Sarah decided to y Cupid."


    I stare at the message, my pulse thudding louder than it should.


    Blind date.


    I sink back into the couch, the leather creaking beneath me, and read the message again. Then again.


    She didn¡¯t have to tell me. Didn¡¯t have to answer at all. But she did.


    Did she tell me because she thought it would bother me?


    My thumb moves before I can stop it.


    Marcus: "So you¡¯re really giving this guy a shot?"


    The three dots appear. Then stop.


    Then appear again.


    I hold my breath like an idiot. The silence stretches long enough that I begin to think she¡¯s changed her mind.


    And then¡ª


    Reba: "Maybe. He¡¯s... nice. Easy to talk to. And very handsome."


    Handsome? She is going to go for some random loser because he is...handsome?


    Maybe she¡¯s trying to get a rise out of me.


    My grip tightens around the ss until I¡¯m afraid it¡¯ll crack. I set it down before I do something stupid.


    Toote for that.


    Because everything about this night is pulling something out of me I didn¡¯t want to admit existed.


    Jealousy. Regret. Want.


    I pick up the phone again.


    Marcus: "That¡¯s what you want? A guy who¡¯s "nice"?"


    Three dots.


    Reba: "Maybe, lol. Anyway, I better pay attention to my date now. Nice talking to you, Marcus. Goodnight."


    Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake.


    My thumb hovers over the keyboard again.


    But what the hell would I even say? Don¡¯t fall for him because I might want you again.


    No. That¡¯s not how I operate. That¡¯s not who I am.


    I drop the phone beside me and rake both hands through my hair.


    It¡¯s quiet. Too quiet.


    The ice in my drink has melted. The city stretches out before me, glittering and unaware. Down there, she¡¯s finishing dessert and probably smiling at Kevin like he¡¯s already got a shot.


    And here I am, drowning in silence, still feeling the echo of her skin on mine like it was yesterday.


    Because here¡¯s the truth:


    I¡¯ve never wanted someone the way I want Reba right now.


    Let her think it¡¯s goodnight.


    But this isn¡¯t over.


    Not by a long shot.


    I call Tammy.


    Tammy answers on the second ring, her voice clipped and businesslike. "Yes, Marcus?"


    "I need you to call Tiffany¡¯s," I say, ignoring the way my heart double-hammers at the words. "Tell them I want them to make something special."


    There¡¯s the briefest hesitation on the line, then her tone smooths to velvet. "Marcus. I am off the clock."


    I tap my knee, restless. "Sorry. Just... make it happen, Tammy. Please. I will pay you for overtime."


    Tammy sighs.


    "Fine," she says. "What kind of jewelry?"


    I exhale and give her directions. "Don¡¯t tell anyone about this," I instruct her.


    Tammy hums on the other end of the line. "Sure, sure." She pauses, "You don¡¯t usually do sentimental gifts."


    "It¡¯s not sentimental," I snap too quickly.


    Another pause. "Right. Totally business. A manmissions a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry from none other than Tiffany¡¯s on a Saturday night and says it¡¯s a secret. Sounds very professional."


    I rub my temple. "Just do it, Tammy."


    Her sigh is lighter this time,ced with something like amusement. "Fine. You¡¯ll have a design sketch by morning. Anything else?"


    "No."


    A beat.


    "Goodnight, Marcus."


    "Yeah," I mutter, "goodnight."


    I hang up and set the phone down again. Lean back into the couch. Stare up at the ceiling like maybe the answers are up there, hiding in the cracks.


    What the hell am I doing?


    I don¡¯t chase. I don¡¯t second-guess. I sure as hell don¡¯t get jealous over blind dates.


    But here I am, moping around.


    Because the truth is...I didn¡¯t expect her to get under my skin the way she has. One night with her, and now my entire world seems gray without her in it.

 Chapter 162: It’s Okay to Like Him

    <h4>Chapter 162: It¡¯s Okay to Like Him</h4>


    Hailey


    I nudge Josh hard on his knee under the table, nearly making him drop his fried chicken.


    "What?" he asks quietly so only I can hear.


    "Reba is flirting with her date," I say.


    "so what?" he asks.


    " What about Marcus? Do you think she just forgot about him?" I muse.


    Josh smirks. "Who knows? Reba has always been impulsive. Maybe she got bored with Marcus already.


    "How can she get bored with Marcus?"


    "Shoot, Hailey. How would I know? Why don¡¯t you go ask Reba?"


    Josh nudges my shoulder.


    I shrug. Maybe I will.


    After the party died down. I pull her aside to ask just that.


    "So," I begin. "What¡¯s up with you and Mr. Clean Cut over there?"


    Reba raises her eyebrow. "Kevin? He is kind of cute, right? For once, Sarah did a great job ying the cupid," she says.


    "Hmm.... he does seem Pretty perfect," I say thoughtfully. "But do you like him, though?"


    Reba nods. "of course I do. What¡¯s not to like?" She says, grinning.


    "And what about Marcus?" I ask.


    Reba looks rmed. "Marcus? What about him?"


    "You hooked up with him in the Hot tub, Ba."


    "Yes, I did, and it was he fun. you ought to try Hot tub sex too, Hailey." Reba says a little too loudly.


    "Eww... no thanks. I will pass on that for now," I say, looking at her with disgust.


    "oh,e on, Hailey, you won¡¯t know until you try. Anyway, Marcus is in the past now," Reba says,


    "Oh really?" I look at her skeptically. "And you are okay with leaving him in the past?"


    "Yes, l am. I was just having some fun with him, and now the fun is over," Reba says.


    For some reason, I don¡¯t believe her for one second.


    She is affected by Marcus, whether she wants to admit it or not.


    "You know... I don¡¯t think Marcus wants to leave you in the past," I say.


    "Why do you say that?" Reba asks, her eyes glowing with curiosity.


    "Well, the other day, he was acting weird. Asking me about some broli earring you left at his ce."


    "Um, I told him he could throw the earring away. It was cheap and worthless," Reba says, suddenly looking ufortable.


    I cross my arms. "Yeah, well, Marcus didn¡¯t throw it away. And he made me give him your address, assuming to ship it to you."


    Reba frowns. "Really?"


    "Yup, really."


    "He called me tonight and grilled me about Kevin," she says.


    My eyes turn wide. "No way! He called you? Tonight?"


    Reba nods, biting her lip like she just realized she gave something away. "Yeah... it was weird. He kept asking questions. About Kevin. About the date. About how nice Kevin is."


    I gape at her. "Girl, he¡¯s jealous!"


    Reba scoffs, but there¡¯s no real heat behind it. "He has no reason to be jealous. We hooked up only once."


    "Does he know that?" I joke.


    "I shouldn¡¯t have slept with him, I know that. But I couldn¡¯t resist the temptation. He is arrogant and self-centered, but there is something undeniably attractive about him. I couldn¡¯t help myself," Reba says.


    I look at her thoughtfully. I am used to Reba being yful and flirty, but she looks almost mncholic right now. "It¡¯s okay if you like him, Reba. Do you want more from him?"


    She shakes her head no. "Even if I do, I shouldn¡¯t. We are from two different worlds."


    I study her for a second, the way her voice dipped lower, how she couldn¡¯t quite meet my eyes.


    "But sometimes," I say gently, "those different worlds find a way to collide. And when they do... they change everything."


    Reba lets out a breath, one hand brushing her hair back from her face. "You make it sound so dramatic."


    I smirk. "Because it is dramatic. You, Marcus, hot tub sex, mystery earrings, jealouste-night phone calls? This is straight-up soap opera material."


    Sheughs softly, but it fades fast. "It was supposed to be fun. No strings, no expectations."


    "Yeah, well, strings got pulled whether you like it or not," I say. "And if you¡¯re still thinking about him while holding hands with Kevin, that¡¯s not nothing."


    Rebaughs. "Maybe. Has he stopped flirting with you in the office?" she asks.


    I nod. "Oh yes. He has not made any inappropriatements or sent me unsolicited gifts since that night. You have cured him just like you said you would."


    Reba chuckles, but there¡¯s a flicker of something in her eyes like she is remembering that night all over again.


    Josh interrupts right then. "There you are," he deres and looks at Reba. "Mind if I steal my girlfriend for a bit?"


    Reba waves her hand. "By all means."


    Josh slides his arm around my waist and tugs me gently toward him. "You two looked like you were plotting something shady," he teases.


    "We were," I say with a grin. "Reba¡¯s love life is our next investigation."


    Josh chuckles. "Well, let me know when the suspect list includes wine and pizza. I¡¯ll happily join in."


    Reba snorts. "You two are ridiculous."


    Josh kisses my temple before whispering, "Come on, I want to show you something."


    I raise an eyebrow, intrigued, and let him lead me away from the patio and down a dimly lit garden path behind the house. The sounds of the party fade as we move farther from the crowd.


    "Are we sneaking off to make out, or is this an actual surprise?" I ask, half-joking.


    "Both, maybe," Josh says, shing a mischievous smile.


    He stops under a string of fairy lights someone strung between two trees. They glow warm and golden, casting soft shadows on his face. Then he turns to face me, suddenly more serious.


    "Well? What did you want to show me?" I ask.


    He grins. "Nothing. I just wanted to make out with you."


    I blink at him, half amused, half exasperated. "Seriously? You dragged me all the way back here just for that?"


    Josh shrugs with a crooked smile. "Can you me me? You¡¯ve been looking gorgeous all night, and I¡¯ve had to share you with fried chicken, Reba¡¯s drama, and like¡ªten other people."


    Iugh despite myself, lightly swatting his arm. "You¡¯re ridiculous."


    "Ridiculously in love with you," he says smoothly, and before I can roll my eyes, he leans in and kisses me.


    It¡¯s soft at first¡ªgentle, like he¡¯s still checking to see if I¡¯ll pull away. But I don¡¯t. I lean into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The garden is quiet, the fairy lights flickering softly above us like a scene pulled straight from a teen rom. And honestly, I don¡¯t hate it.


    He pulls back just a little, his forehead resting against mine. "Worth the walk?"


    I smile. "Maybe."


    Josh chuckles. "Tough crowd."


    "I have high standards," I tease.


    "Good. That means I¡¯ll never getzy."


    We stand there for a beat, just swaying slightly in our own little bubble, until I murmur, "Reba¡¯s really got herself twisted up over Marcus, huh?"


    "Yeah," Josh says. "She might not know it yet, but she¡¯s already in deep."


    "She¡¯s going to get hurt."


    "Maybe. Or maybe she¡¯ll be the one doing the hurting," he says. "But that¡¯s love, right? Messy, stupid, real."


    I sigh. "God, are we growing up?"


    Josh kisses my nose. "Don¡¯t say it like it¡¯s a tragedy."


    "I¡¯m just saying, next thing you know, we¡¯ll be nning brunches and arguing about IKEA furniture."


    He grins. "As long as we still make out under fairy lights, I¡¯ll survive."


    Iugh, pulling him in again. "Fair point. Now shut up and kiss me before Rebaes looking for more therapy."


    "Hands off my sister unless you want to marry her!" Matthew¡¯s booming voice interrupts the moment.


    I groan. "MATTHEW!"


    Josh jumps back a full foot, nearly tripping over a tree root. "Dude! Where did you evene from?" he sputters.


    Matthew steps into the light like some kind of judgmental guardian angel in cargo shorts. "I¡¯ve been watching. And honestly? That was a long kiss. Suspiciously long."


    "Oh my God," I mutter, covering my face with both hands. "This is why I don¡¯te here often."


    Josh clears his throat, trying to recover his dignity. "Pretty sure she can kiss her boyfriend without a family tribunal, man."


    "Not when her big brother is around," Matthew says, crossing his arms like a bouncer at a club. "Which I always am. Unexpectedly. Constantly. Get used to it."


    "Great," I mumble. "You¡¯re like a nosy roon, but with moral superiority and ess to my baby photos."


    "Exactly." He winks at Josh. "You¡¯ve been warned."


    "Matthew, can you please go back to the party and let me enjoy my cute moment in peace?" I ask, trying not tough.


    Matthew holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Just don¡¯t do anything I wouldn¡¯t do."


    "Your bar is on the floor," I shoot back.


    He grins like that¡¯s apliment and finally walks off, muttering something about needing more soda and less trauma.


    Josh waits a beat, then looks down at me. "So... how soon can we get married?"


    I snort. "When Matthew gets abducted by aliens."


    "Noted." He pulls me close again. "Guess I better enjoy this before hees back with binocrs."


    I sigh contentedly, resting my head on Josh¡¯s chest.

 Chapter 163: Just Broccoli

    <h4>Chapter 163: Just Broli</h4>


    Reba


    One weekter...


    I stare at the package sitting on my kitchen counter like it¡¯s a live grenade. Small. Iconic. Wrapped in the unmistakable robin¡¯s-egg blue with a crisp white ribbon tied in a perfect bow.


    A Tiffany¡¯s box.


    "What the actual..." I murmur, cautiously sliding it closer.


    I haven¡¯t ordered anything. Definitely cannot afford anything from Tiffany¡¯s with my teacher¡¯s sry. And unless Sarah decided to start sending luxury apology gifts for setting me up with people, that only leaves one possible sender.


    Marcus.


    My heart stutters.


    I untie the ribbon slowly, my fingers betraying my cool exterior. The lides off with a soft pop, and inside¡ª


    I gasp and thenugh out loud.


    Inside the box, nestled against the plush white satin, are a pair of earrings.


    They are shaped like broli.


    But not just any broli. These are miniature masterpieces. The florets are tiny clusters of brilliant emeralds, rich and glimmering like they were plucked from a fairytale garden. The stalks are made of polished gold, smooth and gleaming, catching the light like something out of a red carpet catalog.


    They are ridiculous.


    They are exquisite.


    They are...me.


    I lift one delicately between my fingers, the fine craftsmanship obvious even at a nce. The way the emeralds are set¡ªjust imperfect enough to mimic real broli. It feels like some absurd inside joke taken to a morous extreme.


    Of course he would.


    Marcus, arrogant, maddening, ridiculously thoughtful Marcus, somehow found a way to turn a throwaway moment into... this.


    A custom Tiffany¡¯s set.


    Broli.


    I can¡¯t stop smiling. And for one long, dangerous second, I forget about Kevin. About my carefully drawn boundaries. About the "just for fun" rule.


    Damn it, Marcus.


    My phone rings and I snatch it off the bed. "What the heck, Marcus?" I say without saying hello.


    "You got them, huh?" he asks,ughter in his voice.


    "I...I love them," I stammer.


    "Beautiful, aren¡¯t they?" Marcus says, his voice smooth with smug satisfaction.


    I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m still smiling like an idiot. "They¡¯re are absurd," I say, holding one earring up to the light. "Who makes broli earrings out of emeralds and gold?"


    "I do," he says simply. "Well, I didn¡¯t make them. Tiffany¡¯s did."


    I shake my head, trying not to let my voice soften. "You¡¯re insane."


    "Maybe," he says.


    "Marcus," I start, then stop. "This is sweet. And it¡¯s...funny. But I can¡¯t ept them."


    A beat of silence before he speaks. "Why not?"


    "They look expensive. Too expensive," I say.


    "They weren¡¯t cheap. But who cares?" he argues.


    "I do! You don¡¯t owe me anything," I counter.


    "I am merely recing something you lost," he says.


    "The one I lost was two dors, Marcus!"


    Heughs, low and unbothered. "Then think of it as interest. For the emotional damage of you ghosting me."


    "I didn¡¯t ghost you," I say, heat rising in my cheeks.


    "You kind of did," he says lightly. "After the hot tub... radio silence. You won¡¯t even let me return your broli."


    "I told you to throw it away. Instead, you custom made even more expensive ones," I retort.


    "You are most wee," he says, smug as ever.


    I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Marcus. You can¡¯t just..."


    "I can, and I did. So does this earn me a second date, or what?" he asks.


    I stop breathing for a moment. "A second date?" I whisper.


    "Yes. And before you say something silly like you live too far, I will remind you that I can afford ne tickets," he says.


    I should probably say no. I should probably focus on the nice man who doesn¡¯t y emotional chess and who,st week, walked me to my car.


    But the thought of Marcus on my doorstep is too much. Maybe he will bring me a bouquet of Broli.


    "You are a danger to my heart, Marcus," I say.


    "And you are a danger to my pride."


    I roll my eyes. "Oh, are you so bothered by the fact that you are attracted to me? The woman you think is fat and not attractive?"


    There¡¯s a sudden silence on the line.


    Not the yful kind.


    The kind that feels like the air has gone still.


    "Is that...what you think I think?" Marcus finally says, his voice quiet, all the teasing stripped away.


    I swallow. Hard. "Well, I mean...yeah."


    "I never said that," he interrupts, sharper now. "Not once."


    "But you¡ª" I falter. "You said I am not your type. And my boobs are too big and how you like the model types and how I am too fat to be a model."


    Marcus exhales slowly. "Well..." he starts. "Your breasts are big, to the point of lewdness.


    I gasp. "You are an asshole!"


    But he justughs, low and defiant. "I am, yes. But you are the one who threw yourself on me in a hot tub."


    "That was a dare!"


    "The dare was to sit on myp, Reba. Butter, you chose to ride me like a stolen bicycle."


    I sputter, half outraged, half mortified. "You absolute¡ª"


    "Don¡¯t say it," he cuts me off, voice suddenly like velvet. "Save your breath." There is a pause, and something in it softens me, even as my hands tighten around the phone instinctively.


    "So you hate them?" he says after a second.


    "I love them. I am never taking them off," I admit, hating the way my voice sounds almost shy. "They¡¯re a ridiculous flex. And I love that you did it. Even as a joke." I press my fingers to the cool gold stem, tracing the broli¡¯s absurd little crown. "But you are not as clever as you think, Marcus. They will not get youid again."


    "Oh, I know," he says, the purr in his voice now unmistakable. "That¡¯s not the point. Or maybe it is."


    "Stop being cryptic."


    Heughs again, this time so warm it makes my shoulders rx. "You know what I want, Reba?"


    "Tell me." My voice dares him.


    "I want you to send me a picture right now. Just you. And those earrings. Nothing else."


    I can¡¯t help it¡ªI choke onughter but also heat. "You¡¯re dreaming."


    He sighs theatrically. "Reba. Don¡¯t make mee there and put them on for you. I will fly to your house right this second and fuck you so hard you forget how to count to broli."


    I have to mp a hand over my mouth to keep from cackling, even as I feel my thighs tighten. "You¡¯re all talk, Marcus."


    There¡¯s a rustle, and I know, with a primitive certainty, he¡¯s standing up and pacing now. He hums. "Humor me."


    I look at myself in the mirror, hair wild from the day, face flushed. Ridiculous, morous broli earrings swinging at my jaw.


    "Fine," I whisper and start taking my clothes off.

 Chapter 164: Dirty Talk

    <h4>Chapter 164: Dirty Talk</h4>


    Marcus


    Her voice disappears and the line goes quiet, but I don¡¯t hang up.


    I stand frozen in the middle of my apartment, one hand gripping my phone, the other now clenched uselessly at my side. My pulse is thrumming in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world. I stare out the floor-to-ceiling window, but I don¡¯t see the skyline. I only see her.


    Reba. Unraveling.


    For me.


    The woman who once called me a walking red g. Now, she¡¯s on the other end of this line, undressing.


    Because of me.


    My lips twitch into a slow, almost disbelieving smile. I think I¡¯m half in love with her already.


    I pull in a slow breath. "Still there?" I ask, my voice low, careful.


    A rustle.


    Then a sigh.


    "Yeah."


    I sit on the edge of the bed, my tone softer now. "What are you wearing?"


    A breathyugh. "You already know the answer to that."


    Jesus. My eyes close briefly. My brain tries to fill in the details¡ªher hair down, the soft curve of her shoulder, the line of her neck. The earrings catch the light as she tilts her head.


    "Tell me," I growl.


    She doesn¡¯t hesitate. "Just your broli. Nothing else. It¡¯s cold in here, Marcus. I¡¯m getting goosebumps."


    "Good," I say, because it¡¯s all I can manage.


    The silence is broken only by the oceanic hush of her breathing, waves in and out. I hear the faint brush of her finger against the phone, her breath hitching, and suddenly I need to see her more than I¡¯ve ever wanted anything.


    "Picture," I prompt. "Now."


    There¡¯s a pause. Then, a muffled snap. Secondster, my phone vibrates. For a moment, I can¡¯t open it. I just stare at my trembling hand, like the phone holds a live wire. Then I do it anyway.


    She fills the screen, wild hair around her flushed face, lips bitten red and breathless, gold and green of the earrings brilliant against pale skin. Her eyes are wide and so alive, and there¡¯s a dare in them as if she¡¯s asking what I¡¯ll do next.


    I¡¯m on my feet, hard and aching, every inch of me desperate to reach through the ss.


    I could fly to her right now. Less than two hours if I left the city by sundown.


    "Reba," I say, voice thick. "I don¡¯t think you are fat or unattractive. You are beautiful."


    She hums on the other line. "I don¡¯t look like those models you are used to sleeping with."


    "I don¡¯t want a damn model," I say, my voice low and steady. "I want you."


    There¡¯s another pause. She doesn¡¯t speak, but I can feel her listening.


    I take a breath, because if I¡¯m ever going to be honest, it has to be now.


    "I want the woman who makes sarcastic remarks under her breath when she thinks no one hears. The woman who rides me like she¡¯s iming a damn prize and then pretends it didn¡¯t mean anything."


    A soft, shockedugh huffs through the phone. But she doesn¡¯t interrupt.


    "I want more from you, Reba."


    She exhales, sharp and shallow. Like I¡¯ve knocked the wind out of her.


    There¡¯s a long, chemical silence. I think maybe the connection¡¯s dropped, until her breath reappears, softer now, the tiniest shiver behind it. "Is that right, Marcus? What do you want me to do?"


    It¡¯s a dare.


    I drag my hand over my face and close my eyes, hand tight on the phone. "I want you to touch yourself. I want to know exactly how wet you get thinking about me inside you again."


    I can hear the change in her exhale¡ªrelief and desire, cut with mischief. "That¡¯s so presumptuous of you," she purrs, but there¡¯s no venom. Only anticipation.


    "It¡¯s not presumptuous if we both want it," I say, voice slow as a de.


    "Hmm," she says, and I hear the phone shift, fabric moving, the sharp intake of breath as her palm finds bare skin. "Say it again."


    I grip the back of my neck, exhaling hard. "I want you to imagine me there, fucking you so deep you can¡¯t remember anything else. I want you to touch yourself for me, Reba. Now."


    A little moan, half swallowed. "You¡¯re so bossy."


    "You like it."


    "Maybe," she whispers, and I can picture the flush spreading down her throat across the curve of her chest. "I want you to touch yourself too."


    I unzip my pants and take my cock in my hand. It is already slick with my precum. "I am touching myself," I tell her. "I¡¯m hard, Reba. I¡¯ve been hard ever since you left."


    She gasps, sharp and delighted. "Good. I hope it aches."


    "It does."


    I hear the wet slide of her fingers, the high whimper as she finds the right spot. Her voice, broken and hot, cuts through me. Sheughs, just once, breathless and real. "I wish you were here."


    "I can be. Tell me toe."


    I can hear herugh again, even as it¡¯s punctuated by little gasps. "Not yet. You haven¡¯t earned it. I haven¡¯te yet¡ª"


    I squeeze myself harder, push my hips into my hand. "Do you want me to call you names?" I ask, not even aware I want this until it spills over. "You want me to tell you how fucking filthy you are, getting off to my voice?"


    She whimpers, a whine at the top of her throat. "Yes." And, over it, a giggle. "Call me a slut, Marcus."


    I almoste right then. "You¡¯re my slut," I say, and itnds with the weight ofmand. "You¡¯re my greedy, desperate little slut, and no one else gets to see how gorgeous you are when you¡¯re like this. No one else gets to make youe."


    She gasps, high and sharp, and I can tell she¡¯s close.


    "Are you going to?" she pants, the line breathless. "Make mee, Marcus?"


    "I am. Are you rubbing your pussy for me, Reba?"


    The silence is so thick I can feel her on the other end, poised and shivering. "I¡¯m so wet. I¡¯m so close. Nobody¡¯s ever...nobody ever talked to me like this¡ª"


    The possessiveness in my own voice almost shocks me. "Only I¡¯m allowed to make you beg."


    She gasps, her pace picking up. "Please¡ª"


    "Come for me," I say, halfmand, half-prayer.


    The sound she makes is not a word or a moan, but a raw, shattering whimper that seems ripped straight from the marrow. I grip myself tighter ande in my own hand, the sensation white-hot and perfect, even from a thousand miles away.


    On the line, she sighs, and there¡¯s the flutter of sheets, her recovery mixing with incredulousughter.


    "God, you¡¯re dangerous," she whispers.


    I wait, for once, and let her catch her breath.


    "You¡¯re not getting a photo of my ass," she suddenly says.


    "Fine. I¡¯ll see it in person," I say.


    She¡¯s quiet a beat longer, then whispers, "Goodnight, Marcus."


    "Goodnight, Reba."

 Chapter 165: A Smile

    <h4>Chapter 165: A Smile</h4>


    Hailey


    I¡¯ve been at the studio since sunrise, my breakfast consisting of a single gran bar and two-and-a-half cappinos.


    The camera feels good in my hands. Today¡¯s shoot is styled city-cool and I¡¯m aiming for kic: models walking, talking, hair moving, uncontrolledughter. The premise is that beauty is found in motion. It¡¯s a little on the nose, sure, but the energy is wee after weeks of glossy, frozen perfection.


    Tammy¡¯s perched on a stedder, calling out queues to the models. "Wait, yes, L, do that again¡ªlike you just told a bad joke!" She poses with her hand on her chest, feigning outrage. "Perfect. Hailey, did you get that?"


    I snap, snap, snap through theughter, and the preview on my digital monitor practically throbs with light.


    "You¡¯re killing it," Tammy sings, blowing me a kiss as she shimmies down. "Marcus is going to wet himself."


    At the mention of his name, I instinctively nce at the row of ss-walled offices above the main shooting floor. He¡¯s there, outlined against the city, talking with someone in a sharp suit, his entire bodynguage humming with Yes, I Own This. Heughs at something, tipping his head back just a touch too far, like he¡¯s not afraid to show his throat.


    Weirdly, he¡¯s been in a disturbingly good mood all morning. Not the menacing, coiled-predator kind of "good," but actual, almost-human cheer. He even offered a "Nice shot, Jameson" when he passed through earlier, which is not only rare, it¡¯spletely unheard of for Marcus.


    I¡¯m not the only one who notices. Even the crew is specting. If the hair girls are to be believed, Marcus greeted them this morning "like he was starring in an Applemercial."


    Perplexing.


    L, the baby-faced model with cheekbones sharp enough to slice smi, drifts over. "Hey. If you want the action shot, you¡¯re going to have to get my right side. My left eye lookszy when Iugh."


    "I¡¯ll take your word for it," I say, flipping through the test shots. "But honestly, they¡¯re all good. You¡¯re one of the only people I¡¯ve ever seen who looks better blurry than in focus."


    He grins, showing off a gap between his front teeth that¡¯s be his signature. "You¡¯re nicer than I expected. Marcus said you¡¯re a total hardass."


    I cough, almost dropping my camera. "Did he now?"


    "He told me you made a model cry once, for chewing gum on set."


    "That was an exaggeration." I pause. "...She cried because she got gum in her hair and <i>then</i> tried to lie about it while standing under a key light. I just happened to be the one who called it out."


    Lughs. "So, not a hardass. Just terrifying in a moralpass kind of way."


    "I can live with that," I mutter, refocusing my lens as the next round of models lines up for their mark. But my thoughts have already drifted back to Marcus.


    Why is he in such a good mood?


    He has been acting like someone slipped joy into his espresso. The man who once told me the only emotion he trusted was ¡¯relentless ambition¡¯ is now apparently cracking jokes with interns andplimenting my lighting choices.


    I wonder if Reba has something to do with this.


    Tammy breezes past again, all swish and grin. "Lunch in twenty. And by lunch, I mean standing on the loading dock with a stale muffin and pretending we¡¯re not slowly dying inside."


    "Sold," I say, but even as she vanishes behind the scaffolding, I nce up at Marcus¡¯s office again.


    He¡¯s alone now. Leaning against the ss, scrolling through his phone. And then he <i>smiles</i>. Not a smirk. Not a PR grin. A <i>real</i> smile¡ªquick and sharp, lighting up his whole face before it fades again.


    "Oh my Jesus," Tammy hisses. "Did Marcus just smile?"


    "You saw that too?" I whisper.


    Tammy grabs my forearm like we are in the middle of a horror movie and just spotted the killer taking off his mask to reveal <i>feelings</i>. "How could I miss that? It was blinding."


    "Oh my God," I murmur, still watching him through the lens of disbelief. "Do we need to call someone? Like¡ªHR? Or an exorcist?"


    Tammy fans herself dramatically. "I need a sedative. This is like watching Batman giggle."


    It¡¯s absurd, really. Marcus doesn¡¯t <i>smile.</i> Not like that. Not unless he¡¯s closed a multi-million-dor deal or destroyed a rival with nothing but a smirk and a pen.


    But this? This wasn¡¯t power.


    This was pleasure.


    Soft, <i>personal</i> pleasure.


    "Who the hell is he texting?" Tammy mutters, her eyes narrowed like she¡¯s about to storm up there with a warrant.


    I already know the answer, but I pretend not to. "Maybe he¡¯s watching cat videos."


    Tammy scoffs. "Please. Marcus would only watch a cat video if the cat filed taxes and overthrew a government."


    I can¡¯t stop staring. Reba. He is talking to Reba, I just know it.


    "You know what this means, right?" Tammy says, deadly serious.


    I tear my gaze away. "That the world is ending?"


    Tammy groans, rubbing her temples. "If he starts whistling, I¡¯m leaving the country."


    "If he starts <i>singing</i>, I¡¯m throwing myself into traffic," I deadpan.


    I can¡¯t help but wonder, what did she <i>say</i> to make the ice king melt?


    "You should go ask him," Tammy says.


    I frown. "What? Why me?"


    "Because he likes you, Hailey. Not just to sleep with you, but likes you as his employee and coworker. Besides, it was your friend he is going gaga over right now," Tammy says.


    I blink at her. "You think Marcus still likes me after I rejected him?"


    Tammy raises a brow, like I¡¯ve just said something deeply idiotic. "Hailey. You¡¯re the only person in this building he doesn¡¯t speak to like a Bond viin. He trusts you. He respects you. Which is either terrifying or weirdly ttering. Maybe both."


    I shift my weight, ufortable. "He respects my work."


    "He respects you," Tammy insists. "And if anyone can get the truth out of him without being dismembered by eye contact, it¡¯s you."


    I nce back up toward the ss office.


    Still alone. Still scrolling. Still smiling that secret smile.


    "Even if I wanted to ask him, which I don¡¯t, I wouldn¡¯t even know how to bring it up. ¡¯Hey, boss, why are you glowing like a man who just discovered joy? Is it because my friend identally set your emotional repression on fire?¡¯"


    Tammy snorts. "Perfect. Lead with that."


    I stare at Marcus for a second longer, then shake my head and turn back to my camera. "Forget it. I¡¯m not poking that bear."


    Tammy makes a mock-sad face. "Coward."


    "I prefer the term self-preservationist."


    Still, despite my best efforts, my eyes wander back to him once more. He¡¯s typing something now, fast and focused, thumbs flying.


    I wonder what Reba is saying back.


    Damn, I¡¯m curious.


    I grip my camera tighter and refocus on L, who¡¯s now bncing on one leg like he¡¯s auditioning for America¡¯s Next Interpretive Dancer.


    "Let me know if I look stupid," he calls.


    "You always look stupid," Tammy replies cheerfully, wandering off toward the craft services table.

 Chapter 166: Real Date

    <h4>Chapter 166: Real Date</h4>


    Reba


    "How about I take you out on a real date?"


    I stare at the text message, trying to figure out what to say.


    Should I say yes? Or should I say no? But why would I say no to Kevin?


    It¡¯s not that I ammitted to Marcus. Sure, my body feels hot from the memory of our phone call the other night. The way his voice deepened as he asked me...no, told me to touch myself while thinking of him.


    Oh god...


    But Marcus never promised me anything. And I didn¡¯t promise him anything. We are free to date whoever we want.


    Aren¡¯t we?


    "Ms. Reba?" a little voice brought me out of my wanderings. I look down at the little blonde girl and Smile. "Yes, Tracy?"


    Tracy furrows her brows. "Mikey took all the toys out of the box without asking again, Tracyins.


    I sigh. "Did he, now?"


    Tracy nods dramatically. "Yes! And he won¡¯t listen to me when I tell him to stop. He said I am not his boss!"


    I decide to deal with the textter. Right now, I need to focus on my job.


    "Alright, let¡¯s go talk to Mikey together, shall we?" I dere.


    For the rest of the ss, I was busy dealing with the chaos of my ssroom. Some days, I feel more like a mother than a teacher. When it is finally time to go home and I have sent thest kid home with his parent, I am exhausted.


    My phone dings as I walk toward my car.


    "So... is that a no?" The text message says.


    Shit. Ipletely forgot to answer his text message!


    I quickly type a reply; my heart is pounding. "I didn¡¯t exactly say no yet," I say.


    His replyes fast. "Oh, Good. I thought I scared you at the party or something."


    I smile and reply: "I teach kindergarten. It takes a lot to scare me."


    "Then how about going out with me this Saturday? I promise I will make it worth your while."


    I look at the text and think.


    Sure, why not? Why not give Kevin a chance? Kevin is nice, funny and someone who is a lot more...attainable than Marcus. Marcus is probably just ying with me.


    "Sure," I type before I give myself the chance to back out of this. But as I head home, I feel a knot in my stomach.


    God... why do I feel guilty?


    I owe Marcus nothing. I can date whoever I feel like. I am not his girlfriend and he is not my boyfriend!


    I keep repeating these words in my brain as I drive home.


    But they don¡¯t help. Not really.


    Because as soon as I get home. Shoes kicked off, purse dropped by the door, I see his name on my phone screen.


    Marcus: Busy today?


    Just two words. Innocent. Normal.


    And yet, I feel like I¡¯ve been caught cheating.


    I don¡¯t answer right away. I toss my phone on the couch and head to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge even though I¡¯m not really hungry. There¡¯s half a takeout container and a bottle of white wine I¡¯ve been meaning to finish for weeks. I grab the wine, screw off the cap, and take a sip straight from the bottle.


    I am a grown woman. I am allowed to say yes to a date with Kevin. I¡¯m allowed to want something that isn¡¯t soplicated, so dangerous. I¡¯m allowed to choose peace over obsession.


    And yet...


    My feet betray me. I walk back to the couch. Pick up my phone.


    I type: Kindergarten madness. Just got home.


    He replies almost instantly.


    Marcus: Did you get my picturest night?


    My stomach flips.


    Oh, I got it. I saved it, even though I¡¯ll deny it until I die. Just a photo of him in bed, messy hair, low lighting, half a grin like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I must¡¯ve stared at it for twenty minutes, debating if I should reply with something equally reckless.


    I didn¡¯t.


    Now I type back:


    Yeah. Nice sheets.


    It¡¯s safer that way.


    Marcus: Nice sheets? That¡¯s all I get? I was shirtless, Reba.


    I bite my lip.


    You want a medal?


    Marcus: I want you.


    There¡¯s a pause after that. He doesn¡¯t say more. And I...I just sit there, staring at the words until they blur.


    God.


    Why does he always do this? Why does he know exactly how to say something so simple it slides past my defenses like smoke under a door?


    "Well, you can¡¯t have me," I type.


    A few minutester, I got a reply. "Oh no? ying hard to get, huh? How long do you think you can keep up the charade?"


    I stare at the message, my breath caught somewhere between my ribs.


    ying hard to get.


    Charade.


    The words hit me like ice water, like he¡¯s just reminded me of exactly who he is¡ªMarcus in all his arrogant, too-smooth confidence. The kind of man who always thinks he¡¯s three moves ahead. The kind of man who thinks I¡¯m the one pretending.


    Except... maybe I am pretending. Maybe I¡¯m pretending this whole thing isn¡¯t affecting me. That I don¡¯t check my phone for his name more often than I should. That I didn¡¯t feel heat pool low in my stomach just from that photo.


    God.


    I toss my phone on the couch again like it¡¯s suddenly dangerous. I pace. I take another sip of wine. I sit down. I stand back up. Every nerve in my body feels like it¡¯s sparking.


    I could block him and go on that date with Kevin and try to build something normal.


    But I don¡¯t have it in me to do that.


    I send him another text: "I am going on a date with Kevin this Saturday, Marcus. I am not ying hard to get."


    The silence after I send the message is deafening.


    No immediate reply. No three-dots typing bubble. Just stillness.


    And my own heart thudding so hard it feels like it¡¯s shaking my entire ribcage.


    I stare at the phone, willing it to ding.


    Nothing.


    A minute passes. Then two. I set it down on the coffee table like it¡¯s a bomb I¡¯ve just defused, except the anxiety still thrums under my skin.


    This was the right thing. The adult thing.


    Honest. Direct.


    I told him the truth. I drew a line.


    So why do I feel like I¡¯ve just stepped out onto a ledge?


    Finally, my phone buzzes.


    Marcus: Kevin.


    One word. t. Sharp. I can feel the bitterness baked into every letter.


    Another message follows.


    Marcus: He doesn¡¯t even know you.


    I stare at it, lips pressed tight. My fingers hover above the screen.


    And then¡ª


    Marcus: He¡¯s not the one you think about when you can¡¯t sleep.


    He¡¯s not the one who makes you wet with just a voice.


    He¡¯s not the one you saved that picture for, is he?


    My breath catches.


    Another ping.


    Marcus:


    But go ahead. Go on your date.


    See how that feels when you¡¯re lying in bed Saturday night, and it¡¯s my name in your mouth.


    I should be angry. I should be furious. But all I feel is shaken. Torn. Lit up in a way that¡¯s both thrilling and terrifying.


    I don¡¯t reply.


    I can¡¯t.


    I put my phone on silent and sink into the couch, arms wrapped tightly around my knees.


    Marcus is dangerous. Not in the way that hurts your body, but the kind that seeps into your thoughts, your routines, your choices. The kind that changes what you want without asking.


    And now I¡¯m standing at a crossroads: Kevin, who is safe, and kind, and avable...


    And Marcus, who makes me feel like the world narrows to a pinpoint when he looks at me.


    Saturday ising.


    And I don¡¯t know which part of me is going to show up.

 Chapter 167: Feelings For Her

    <h4>Chapter 167: Feelings For Her</h4>


    Marcus


    A date with some guy named Kevin? What is she thinking!?


    I am angry even though I have no right to be. Reba has the right to date other men if she wants to.


    Except...the thought of another man touching her is making my blood boil. I want to tell her not to go out with that guy. But I know she won¡¯t listen to me. I mean, why would she?


    Maybe I should fly over there on Saturday and stop it myself. I may do just that. Oh, she will be pissed and it will be absolutely glorious.


    Iugh out loud at my own devious n.


    "Um...Marcus?" I look up to find Hailey staring at me with a puzzled expression.


    "Why are you just standing in the middle of the room andughing like a maniac? You look like you were nning world domination just now," Hailey says.


    "It is going to be a lot better than that," I reply.


    "Better than the world domination? Okay then," she says, her face twisted.


    I grin at her. "Is there anything I can do for you, Jameson?" I ask.


    "Could you take a look at this portfolio? This is a new model from Argentina." Hailey says.


    I take the folio from her and flip through it.


    "Her nose is too big and her birthmark is on the wrong cheek," I say dryly and hand the file back to Hailey.


    "Her birthmark is on the wrong cheek? What does that even mean?" Hailey raises an eyebrow


    "It means she is obviously wrong for the campaign, Hailey. Find someone else," I say and wave my hand in dismissal.


    "Um...alright then. Marcus, are you doing okay? You¡¯ve been pacing your office a lot," she asks.


    I look at her straight in the eyes for the first time. "Do you think I am a bad person?" I ask.


    Hailey blinks. She wasn¡¯t expecting that question.


    "Whoa. Okay. Mood shift," she mutters, then tilts her head, studying me like I¡¯ve turned into some rare, mildly dangerous animal. "What kind of bad are we talking about? Like, tax evasion bad? Or buries people in the woods bad?"


    I don¡¯t smile. Not really.


    "I mean it. Do you think I¡¯m the kind of man a woman regrets getting involved with?"


    She frowns now, the sarcasm melting away. "You¡¯re intense, Marcus. And a pain in the ass ny percent of the time. But you¡¯re not bad."


    Iugh once. Short. Bitter.


    "Even though I was inappropriate with you and tried to force you to sleep with me?" I ask.


    She exhales, walking over to the edge of my desk and leaning on it. "Is this about Reba?"


    I don¡¯t answer, but the muscle ticking in my jaw is loud enough.


    Hailey lets out a slow breath, like she¡¯s carefully choosing her next words.


    "Okay. Let¡¯s just...unpack that."


    I raise an eyebrow. "You¡¯re going to psychoanalyze me now?"


    "Someone has to," she shoots back. "Look, you crossed a line. But you didn¡¯t force me. And you apologized. Eventually."


    I don¡¯t say anything. The silence stretches, heavy.


    "But that¡¯s not the point, is it?" she goes on. "You¡¯re not worried about what I think. You¡¯re worried Reba thinks you¡¯re that guy. The kind of man she should regret."


    My eyes flick to hers, sharp. She hit the bullseye.


    Hailey holds my gaze, not flinching. "You shouldn¡¯t be afraid to show your real feelings, Marcus."


    "I¡¯m not afraid," I say too fast, too hard.


    She lifts an eyebrow. "Really?"


    I rake a hand through my hair and let out a frustrated sigh. "You don¡¯t understand."


    "You obviously have some kind of feelings for her, don¡¯t you?" Hailey asks.


    I nce away, jaw tight. "I don¡¯t do feelings."


    "That¡¯s not an answer," Hailey says calmly, like she¡¯s talking to a spooked animal.


    I want to snap at her. I want to tell her to leave me alone and that it¡¯s none of her business. But the truth is¡ªI don¡¯t know what to call what I feel for Reba. All I know is, I can¡¯t stop thinking about her. Wanting her. Needing her.


    I finally say, "She makes me...feel things I¡¯d rather not feel."


    Hailey¡¯s expression softens. "Sounds like more than just lust."


    I can¡¯t even deny it outright because she is right. "I have to go see her," I say.


    "Then go see her. Everything is good to go at the studio. We can cover for you," Hailey says.


    I look at her, surprised. "Just like that? You are fine with me chasing her?"


    Hailey shrugs. "You are not exactly chasing her. She likes you already. Way more than she should."


    I let out a breath I didn¡¯t know I was holding. "Did she tell you that?"


    "She didn¡¯t have to tell me anything. I can see it in her eyes when your name was brought up. And you gave her those ridiculously expensive broli earrings. My guess is you don¡¯t do that kind of thing for just anyone."


    "Thanks, Jameson," I say.


    "Just don¡¯t screw it up," she says, grabbing the portfolio off my desk.


    I nce down at my desk, her words sitting heavy in my chest. There is a strange sensation¡ªlike someone has reached inside me, taken the writhing, hungry part of myself that I pretend not to notice, and set it throbbing in my hands.


    For a moment, I resist the urge to look vulnerable in my own empty office. I stare at the folders and the neat grid of my calendar, at the untouched mug of coffee collecting skin on its surface, at the silent phone.


    Hailey was honest. Blunt, even. She thinks I¡¯m capable of being good for someone, or at least not actively bad.


    If the world were simple, I¡¯d call that absolution and get on with my miserable day. But the world is not simple, and my chest aches with wanting.


    I pull the phone closer. Open the browser. I hesitate¡ªbecause I am still, in many ways, a coward and then hammer out the flight details with the reckless urgency of a teenager about to do something extremely, gloriously stupid.


    There¡¯s a moment, right after I hit confirm, when I feel like the air¡¯s been sucked out of me.


    Just don¡¯t screw it up, I can almost hear Hailey repeating.


    I roll up my sleeves, then sit and stare out the window at the city, letting the adrenaline prickle under my skin. In forty-eight hours, I¡¯ll be standing on Reba¡¯s porch. I have no idea what I¡¯m going to say. But I know I¡¯m going.

 Chapter 168: Date Night

    <h4>Chapter 168: Date Night</h4>


    Reba


    It¡¯s Saturday night, and my date with Kevin is in less than an hour.


    I stare at my reflection in the mirror for the sixth time in thest ten minutes, tugging at the sleeve of my dress like it¡¯s suddenly too tight, too bright, too not me. My lipstick is too red. My hair has too much volume. I look like someone trying too hard¡ªand maybe I am.


    Kevin is sweet. Safe. Predictable.


    He¡¯s the kind of guy who remembers to open doors and asks about your day andughs at all the right moments. He¡¯s nice.


    And yet, all I can think about is Marcus.


    Marcus, with his sharp mouth and sharper eyes. Marcus, who infuriates me and unsettles me and somehow makes my whole body remember him even when my mind begs it to forget.


    Kevin isn¡¯t even in the same sr system.


    Still, I need to give him a chance.


    That¡¯s what I tell myself as I pick up my purse and walk down the stairs, ignoring the flutter in my chest that doesn¡¯t belong to Kevin at all. I check my phone¡ªno texts. No calls from Marcus. And for some stupid reason, I¡¯m disappointed.


    Stop it.


    There is a knock on my front door, and I open it to find Kevin right outside, who is giving me his most dazzling smile.


    "Wow," he says, eyes sweeping over me. "You look incredible."


    I force a smile. "Thank you."


    He¡¯s dressed in a navy button-down and dark jeans. Clean. Polished. Handsome in a catalog kind of way. Everything about him is easy,fortable. And for a moment, I feel guilty for not being more excited.


    "I made a reservation at that little Italian ce on 9th," Kevin says. "I remember you said you liked their risotto."


    I nod, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind me. "Sounds perfect."


    But even as I follow him down the front steps, something feels off. Like I¡¯m walking through a scene someone else scripted.


    He holds the car door open for me. I slide in, murmuring another thank-you, and buckle my seatbelt while he circles to the driver¡¯s side.


    "You okay?" he asks as he starts the engine. "You seem...distracted."


    "I¡¯m fine," I lie. "Just a lot on my mind."


    He nods, epting the answer without prying. And I wish, absurdly, that he would pry. That he¡¯d push, get frustrated, ask questions I didn¡¯t want to answer.


    I grip the edge of my dress, trying to anchor myself in the present, but the memory of Marcus¡¯s hands, his voice, his heat¡ªit¡¯s everywhere. In the space beside me. In the scent of my perfume. In the ache beneath my ribs.


    I find myself wishing he¡¯d show up.


    Which is insane.


    The car rolls forward, and I turn my face toward the window, hoping the cold ss will cool the heat in my cheeks.


    This night isn¡¯t about Marcus. It¡¯s about Kevin.


    So why does it already feel like I¡¯m going the wrong way?


    "Those are...um...interesting choices for earrings," Kevin says, looking at my earlobes.


    I blink, caught off guard. "What?"


    He gestures toward my ears with a slightly confused smile. "Your earrings. They look like...broli?"


    I reach up instinctively, fingertips brushing the tiny green gemstone florets. Augh slips from me before I can stop it.


    "Yeah," I say. "They are."


    Kevin chuckles politely, though the confusion doesn¡¯t quite leave his eyes. "Well, they¡¯re definitely...unique."


    I stare out the window again, theughter gone from my chest.


    Kevin reaches for the radio, filling the silence with some light acoustic track I barely register. He¡¯s saying something about the restaurant¡¯s wine list, but it all blurs together under the weight of memory.


    What am I even doing here?


    My phone buzzes in my purse, and my heart jumps.


    Kevin doesn¡¯t notice as I pull it out and nce at the screen.


    1 new message ¡ª Marcus


    "Have fun on your date."


    I frown. Is he trying to be passive-aggressive with me right now?


    "What¡¯s wrong?" Kevin asks, noticing my sudden stillness.


    I look up from the phone. "Nothing."


    ~-~


    The date went well, and Kevin held my hand during the drive back from the restaurant, thumb-tracing slow circles over my knuckles. He walks me to my door, says he had a great time, and hugs me politely.


    This is how it¡¯s supposed to be, I think: normal. Sweet. No hot tub jet-fueled confusion or power games or unexpected Tiffany¡¯s deliveries.


    I drop my purse and move through the house toward my bedroom.


    When I push open my door, my first thought is that some animal has broken in and made a nest in my bed.


    Because there is no way Marcus Winters is lying there, half-tangled in my duvet, with a bare leg draped over the side. There is a nket, but it covers only the necessary territory, and just barely. He¡¯s reading something on his phone with the blue light illuminating the sharp line of his jaw and absolutely nothing else.


    I make a sound that¡¯s somewhere between a scream and a lunge for the nearest blunt object.


    Marcus looks up, startled, then grins a wide, predatory smile that got me into trouble in the first ce. He doesn¡¯t even reach for more coverage.


    "About time you got home," he says, as if naked home invasion is a thing people just do.


    "Jesus Christ, Marcus!" I m the door behind me out of reflex and then stand there, clutching the knob to keep from copsing. "How the hell did you get in here?!"


    He shrugs, like my locked home is just another conference room at Luxe. "Your spare key is in the fake rock. That¡¯s the oldest trick in the book, by the way."


    "Normal people call first," I hiss, feeling my face go so hot it mightbust.


    "But you wouldn¡¯t have let me in. I needed to see you." He sits up, but the nket slips, and I get a very clear view of his navel before I snap my eyes skyward.


    "You broke in!" I cross my arms, as if this will hide the fact that I am now deeply and inappropriately invested in the nket¡¯s ability to stay put.


    He swings his legs off the bed and sits on the edge, all lean muscle and calcted nonchnce. "Yes, I did." He says. "That part is obvious."


    "Why?" I snap.


    His eyes flick up. He gives azy, appraising nod. "Payback for you barging into my life."


    I want to argue. Instead, I turn away, step into my bathroom, and close the door behind me. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to get my breathing back to normal. I ssh water on my face because there is a man in my bedroom waiting for me.


    And he is naked.

 Chapter 169: A Bastard

    <h4>Chapter 169: A Bastard</h4>


    Marcus


    I hear the bathroom door click shut, and I stretch out across her bed like I own it.


    God, she¡¯s going to kill me. And I deserve it.


    But I flew across the country, sat through twoyovers, and broke into her house using a rock that honestly insulted both of us. She¡¯s going to listen to what I have to say.


    Even if she pelts me with a curling iron first.


    I look around her room. It smells like her. Warm. Soft. Slightly floral. There¡¯s a cardigan tossed over the chair, a book with a cracked spine on the nightstand, a little dish full of jewelry.


    The bathroom door creaks open. I sit up a little straighter, but don¡¯t bother hiding the fact that I¡¯m still very naked under the nket. She emerges looking flushed, eyes sharp, jaw tight, like she¡¯s gearing up for war.


    Good. Let her fight me.


    I can take it.


    "I should call the cops," she says, arms crossed.


    "You won¡¯t," I reply calmly, watching her like she¡¯s thest thing tethering me to Earth.


    She narrows her eyes. "You are so sure of yourself."


    I tilt my head, studying her. God, she¡¯s beautiful when she¡¯s furious. All flushed cheeks and fire in her eyes, like she¡¯s seconds away from either kicking me out or kissing me¡ªand I honestly don¡¯t know which one would hurt more.


    "Why don¡¯t you take your dress off and join me?" I offer.


    She doesn¡¯t blink. "What if I invited Kevin inside for a nightcap?"


    "But you didn¡¯t." I stand, tossing the nket aside. I cross the room in three strides and stop in front of her, bare and unashamed.


    Her cheeks turn pink. "You are insane," she breathes.


    "Probably." I let my fingers brush the inside of her wrist, feeling the pulse going wild. "But you didn¡¯t say you wanted me to leave."


    Her eyes go to my face, to my mouth, up to my eyes. "No, I didn¡¯t."


    I slide my hands up to her elbows and pull her gently closer. "I guess I have to undress you myself."


    She inhales sharply but doesn¡¯t move away.


    For one suspended second, all the noise in the world vanishes. Just her breath hitching. Just my fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. Just the wild, silent storm of her wanting me as badly as I want her.


    Then she whispers, "Marcus..."


    And I know I¡¯m either about to be pped or kissed.


    I lower my mouth to her ear. "You drive me insane."


    Silence.


    I reach behind her, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress. It glides open like it¡¯s been waiting for this moment too. She exhales slowly. The dress slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet.


    She¡¯s just as stunning as I remember.


    I lift her, arms around her thighs, and she wraps around me. "I...I am heavy," she stammers.


    "If you are so heavy how am I carrying you so easily? Don¡¯t ever say shit like that again. You think I flew over here, broke into your damn house, and stood here naked like a lunatic because I don¡¯t want you exactly the way you are?" I growl.


    "You are ridiculous," she says, but her arms are tight around my neck, and her mouth finds my jaw, hot and electric.


    I back her toward the bed, every muscle alive with need, and we both copse onto the mattress together, gasping at the fall. The earrings glitter in the bedside light, the absurd little broli crowns wobbling as she tilts her face up, eyes wide and dark and entirely focused on me.


    I pin her wrists above her head and slide down, trailing my teeth against her stomach, the flutter of herugh turning ragged as I take the waistband of her panties in my mouth and pull, slow, never breaking eye contact. The fabric stretches, then gives.


    Her breath stutters and goes loud, and I savor every twitch as I peel thece from her hips, tongue following, greedy and meticulous.


    The taste of her is salt and heat. I drag my teeth along her thigh and drop the ruined panties onto the floor, then lever her legs open with my palms, pushing until she surrenders all tension and just waits, shivering.


    I don¡¯t rush. I want her insensible, so I make it slow and devastating, tongue and teeth and the idle threat of fingers never quite where she needs.


    She gasps, then curses me, and I grin into her,pping at her until her legs quake. Her hands fist in the bedding, in my hair, nails biting down until I know my scalp will bear tiny crescent marks for days.


    "Marcus," she bites out, voice shredded, "fuck¡ªeither finish me or leave me alone forever."


    "Not a chance," I murmur, the words lost in her skin, and then I do¡ªhard and sudden, until she shudders, thighs mping around my head with a violence that feels like victory.


    She breaks, and I don¡¯t stop. Not until she isughing and weeping in equal measure, breathless and undone. Only then do I ease up, crawling up to taste her mouth, to let her taste herself.


    I roll her onto her stomach with a casual force, and she arches back into me, half growl and half plea.


    I thrust into her hard and fast.


    She takes me, all of me, with an eagerness that makes my teeth grit. Her head turns, face mashed into the linen, and herughter¡¯s muffled but bright as a re. I brace my palm atop her spine, holding her in ce, and ride out the punishing rhythm of skin and hunger and weeks of wanting.


    "You think about Kevin now?" I taunt, voice ragged.


    She ws backward with her hips, greedy and exact. "Never crossed my mind," she spits, and I reward her with a slow, grinding twist, burying myself to the root.


    Her legs tremble, and I lean low, mouth at her shoulder. I taste salt and her perfume, breathe her in, feel her clench and whine.


    "Mine," I say, and she only whimpers in answer.


    When I finallye, it¡¯s an annihtion. For a moment, there is nothing but the slip of my skin on hers, the liquid heat, the way her back bows and her whole body shivers to ept all of me. I bury my face in her neck and bite down, just hard enough to mark, because of course I want her branded.


    She rolls to her side, pinning me with a sleepy, wrecked smile. "You¡¯re a bastard," she says, but her fingers are gentle as they y with the hair at my nape, her touch slow and unconsciously tender.


    "Don¡¯t tell anyone," I whisper, and sheughs until her whole body shakes against me.

 Chapter 170: A Secret

    <h4>Chapter 170: A Secret</h4>


    Reba


    I wake with my head buried in a pillow that smells like both of us, like sweat, and salt, and something for which there is no polite name. The sun is barely up, but even through my eyelids I see the pale lighting through the curtain.


    My body is still achy from hours of love makingst night. I stretch, and his arm tightens reflexively around my waist, drawing me backward into the heat of him.


    In the same moment, his hand slides down, palm t against my belly as if staking a im, then further to cup me between the legs. He moves his fingers with a goddamn surgeon¡¯s patience, parting me with the barest pressure, thumb already finding the secret part of me that wants him most.


    A jolt of disbelieving pleasure cuts through the fog of sleep. I am still slick and open from the night before.


    I bite the pillow, trying not to give him satisfaction, but the sound thates out is a traitor to my intent. Heughs quietly, breath stirring the hair at the base of my neck, and whispers, "I missed you all night. Every time you stopped touching me, I woke up."


    He pushes his thigh between mine and rocks me against it. I whimper. "Marcus...I am sore," I manage, but my voice is already giving up.


    "I can¡¯t let you rest if you keep making that noise," he murmurs, tracing soft concentric circles on my clit.


    He teases me to the edge and then stops, just to watch me beg. He is infuriating, and I love him for it, or maybe despite it.


    When he finally lets mee, it is so violent that I nearly ck out, leaving me trembling and gasping in the aftermath.


    "Last time. I promise," he says and positions himself at my entrance.


    I let him. I let him do whatever he wants.


    ~-~


    By the time I make it out of bed, my legs are wobbly, and my dignity is somewhere buried in the sheets behind me. I put on a robe and head to the kitchen.


    He grins when he sees me pad into the kitchen, hair a mess, smeared mascara, and entirely unbothered.


    "Morning, domestic goddess," he says, shirtless, standing at the stove with a spat in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other.


    "You cook?" I raise an eyebrow, easing onto a stool at the counter.


    "I do everything," he replies smugly. "Except mop floors."


    Iugh and he beams like he just won a prize. He tosses a few chopped veggies into the pan like he¡¯s on a cooking show, then turns to grab two mugs. "Coffee?"


    "Please. Make it strong enough to reanimate the dead."


    He hands me a mug and slides a small te of toast my way, which has a tiny heart burned into it where he clearly pressed a cookie cutter into the bread before toasting it.


    "Seriously?" I ask, holding it up.


    He shrugs. "Hailey told me I need to act romantic."


    I take a bite and try not to smile too hard. "You¡¯re such a menace."


    "Oh, I know," he says, setting a te of scrambled eggs and something that may or may not be a sad-looking pancake in front of me.


    "How did you figure out where things are? Did you do an inventory check of my kitchen when you broke inst night?" I ask.


    Marcus raises an eyebrow like I just asked the most obvious question in the world. "Of course I did. What kind of criminal would I be if I didn¡¯t scope out the cutlery situation first?"


    I give him a look, but I can¡¯t stop theugh that escapes me. "So what¡ªyou broke in, wandered around, judged my spice rack, and decided on breakfast?"


    "Pretty much." He pours himself some coffee and slides onto the stool next to me. "By the way, you own three different brands of cinnamon and no ck pepper. I¡¯m concerned."


    I sip my coffee, giving him my most deadpan expression. "You¡¯ve been here for eight hours and you¡¯re already roasting my pantry."


    He leans in, voice low, smug. "I¡¯ve been roasting you all night."


    I snort into my mug, choking slightly. "God, you¡¯re unbearable."


    "And yet." He gestures between us, his grin spreading. "Here we are."


    He picks at one of the pancakes, which is, objectively, a little undercooked in the middle. "Okay, maybe I didn¡¯t quite ace the culinary portion of this home invasion. But I get points for effort."


    "You get points for not setting the kitchen on fire," I reply, lifting a bite of eggs to my mouth. "Barely."


    He watches me eat, eyes softer now. There¡¯s a quiet that settles between us, not ufortable, but...full.


    "So...um...there is something I need to tell you. I should¡¯ve told you this before, but..." he hesitates.


    Marcus sets his fork down slowly, his eyes fixed on mine, all the teasing from moments before draining out of him like someone flipped a switch.


    I blink. "Okay... You¡¯re scaring me. What is it?"


    He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, then exhales through his nose. "It¡¯s nothing bad. I have a daughter. She is eight and her name is Megan."


    For a moment, all I can do is stare at him.


    A daughter.


    He watches me carefully, like he¡¯s braced for me to flinch or bolt.


    "Megan," I say quietly, testing the name on my tongue. "She¡¯s eight?"


    He nods. "Yeah. She¡¯s smart. Stubborn. Obsessed with space documentaries and glitter pens. She lives with her mom in Chicago. We split custody." He hesitates, fingers tightening around his coffee mug.


    "Oh," I say softly. For some reason, I never imagined Marcus would be a father.


    "Is that a deal breaker?" he asks, still looking at me intently.


    I set my coffee down slowly. "No," I say, and his shoulders loosen just a little. "It¡¯s not a deal breaker."


    His eyes search mine, cautious hope flickering there. "You¡¯re sure?"


    "Yes, I am sure," I admit honestly. "I love children. I teach children for a living."


    "You will love her," he says quickly. "She is a great kid. Almost too good. I still don¡¯t know how someone like her shares DNA with someone like me."


    I smile at him. "You are not so bad."


    "If you say so, Reba." His voice is rough.


    I stare at him for a moment, then, almost shyly, I say, "You¡¯ll have to introduce me sometime. To Megan. Only if you think it¡¯s... right, or whatever."


    God, I sound so nervous. Why am I nervous?


    He looks over. "I would like you to meet her."


    I feel a flutter in my stomach. "Really?"


    Marcus smiles softly, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes something warm bloom in my chest. "Yeah, really."


    "Whe-when?" I ask.


    He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Next week? It¡¯s my turn to see her. She will stay with me for a few days."


    I frown. "I can¡¯t. I have a job here."


    "Take the week off. Come stay with me, Reba," he says, suddenly looking intense as if his whole life depended on me saying yes.


    I blink, caught off guard by the sudden urgency in his voice. "Take the week off? Marcus, I can¡¯t just do that. I have students. Responsibilities."


    He nods, his gaze steady. "I know. But she¡¯s important to me. And I want you to meet her. To see this part of my life."


    I bite my lip, torn between wanting to say yes and the practicalities holding me back. The thought of meeting Megan, this little girl who is part of Marcus, makes my heart race with both excitement and fear.


    "I want to meet her," I finally say, my voice softer.


    He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Then say yes. I will handle ne tickets and whatever you need."


    The warmth of his touch and the promise in his eyes make my heart melt.


    I look at him, a shy smile tugging at my lips. "Okay. Next week, then."


    His grin lights up the room. "Great."


    God...I am in too deep, aren¡¯t I?


    He leans back, still grinning. "So...now that you know my secret, any secret you want to share with me?"


    I hesitate, then lean forward, lowering my voice. "Okay... but you have to promise not tough."


    Marcus crosses his arms. "Scout¡¯s honor."


    I take a deep breath. "When I was a kid... I had a huge crush on a cartoon character. Like, full-on embarrassing levels of obsessed. I still remember the theme song."


    He bursts outughing, and I re at him, pretending to be offended, but I¡¯m smiling.


    "Which one?" he asks, still chuckling.


    I shrug, feeling suddenly shy. "I won¡¯t tell you. It¡¯s too humiliating."


    "That¡¯s not fair. Tell me now," he orders.


    I bite my lip, the heat rising to my cheeks. "Fine," I mumble, barely above a whisper. "It was... Jem and the Holograms."


    Hisughter bursts out again, louder this time, and he shakes his head. "Seriously?"


    I scowl, trying to hold onto what little dignity I have left. "Hey, don¡¯t judge. It was the ¡¯80s. And those outfits were fire."


    He grins, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Alright, I won¡¯t tease you anymore. Tell me about your family. Any siblings?"


    "Yeah, I have one younger brother, Nate. He is in college in Florida."


    Marcus leans back, looking thoughtful. "And your parents?" he asks.


    "They¡¯re still together," I say. "Mom¡¯s a nurse, and Dad runs a smallndscaping business. Pretty normal, really."


    Marcus nods slowly.


    I nce at him, feeling a warmth spread in my chest. "What about you? Any siblings?"


    His eyes turn dark. "I have a sister," he says.


    The sudden shift in the mood catches me off guard. I wonder why he looks so sad at the mention of his sister.

 Chapter 171: Relationship

    <h4>Chapter 171: Rtionship</h4>


    Marcus


    Reba is gazing at me with an expectant look, her eyes probing for more information about my family. It¡¯s as if she¡¯s silently urging me to open up, to share stories and details. But, the truth is, an invisible barrier holds my words back.


    I feel an overwhelming hesitation to get into the topic, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest at the thought of discussing them. Not only do I not want to talk about my parents, but even the idea of talking about Natalie feels like opening a door to a room I¡¯d rather keep shut.


    "What¡¯s your sister¡¯s name? Is she younger or older?" Reba asks.


    I force myself not to sigh. Those are fair questions to ask me. After all, I started it by being curious about her family.


    "My sister...Her name is Natalie, and she is three years younger than me," I reply.


    "And your parents? What do they..."


    "Reba," I interject, my tone firm yet gentle. "Can we talk about something else for now? I promise I¡¯ll share more about my family, just not at this moment." My wordse out more curtly than intended.


    Reba¡¯s expression shifts to one of disappointment, her eyes dimming slightly. "Oh, okay. Sure, we can tall about itter."


    The slight sadness in her gaze tugs at my heart, unraveling my resolve. I pull her towards me, the warmth of her presence a reassuringfort.


    "I¡¯m sorry," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to hurt your feelings. I¡¯m truly sorry if I did."


    Her face transforms with a radiant smile, bright and reassuring. "You didn¡¯t hurt my feelings!" she insists.


    "But you look so sad," I counter, doubt creeping into my voice. "I must have hurt you, right? Damn it... I¡¯m a terrible person. I just...This whole rtionship thing is new to me. I don¡¯t really know how to be a good boyfriend and..."


    "Marcus!" she exims, silencing my self-deprecating spiral as she ces a soft, calming hand over my mouth. "Stop rambling! I promise you didn¡¯t hurt my feelings. Seriously."


    "Are you absolutely sure?" I ask, the tremor in my voice betraying my vulnerability, making me feel utterly pathetic.


    "Yes, I am sure. It¡¯s clear that you aren¡¯t ready to get into your family background, and that¡¯s perfectly alright," she replied, her head shaking gently, as if to reassure me.


    A wave of relief washes over me, and I let out a long sigh. "Thank you."


    "Maybe you¡¯d want to talk more about Megan instead?" Reba inquires, her eyes sparkling with hope as she gazes at me expectantly.


    I brighten at that. Megan, my daughter, is the sunshine of my life. Without her, my life would¡¯ve been dark and dreary. "Maggie is the best thing that came out of what could¡¯ve been the biggest mistake of my life," I dere.


    Reba smirks, her lips curling with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I¡¯m guessing you and her mother don¡¯t exactly see eye to eye?" she asks, her voiceced with yful curiosity.


    I grimace, the memories shing ufortably through my mind. "You guessed right," I admit, my voice tinged with exasperation. "Amy was a nightmare to be around. What was meant to be just a one-night stand turned into an ordeal when shetched onto me like a burr and nearly crossed the line into stalking."


    Reba raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of mock concern. "Oh great," she says with a dramatic sigh. "Am I going to have to fend off a crazy baby mama?"


    I can¡¯t help but chuckle, the tension easing as I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. "Don¡¯t worry," I reassure her, my tone light and soothing. "Once Maggie was born, and I agreed to pay a hefty sum of child support, Amy finally backed off and left me in peace."


    "Good. Because you are mine now," Reba deres softly, pressing her warm lips against mine. I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing myself to get lost in the intoxicating sweetness of the kiss, feeling the world around us fade away.


    She pulls away first, her gaze piercing and unwavering as she studies my face with an intensity that sends a thrill through me. "Marcus," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Earlier, you mentioned something about... being new to rtionships."


    I raise an eyebrow, curiosity sparking within me. "Yes, so what?"


    She pauses, a hint of vulnerability flickering in her eyes before she continues, "And then, you said you don¡¯t know how to act like a good boyfriend."


    I regard her with a questioning nce, my heart racing. "Yes, I did say all of that. What¡¯s your point?"


    Her voice drops to a whisper, trembling slightly. "Am I...am I your girlfriend?" she asks, as if afraid to hear the answer.


    For a moment, her question hangs between us like a fragile thread¡ªsomething delicate and real, something that could either stretch into something beautiful or snap under the weight of silence.


    I blink, startled not by the question itself, but by the sheer emotion behind it. Her vulnerability is so raw, so unguarded, that it slices straight through the walls I¡¯ve spent years building around my heart.


    "Reba," I say slowly, my hand finding hers. "Of course you¡¯re my girlfriend."


    Her eyes widen, and I swear her breath catches just slightly.


    "I thought it was obvious," I add, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I mean... I don¡¯t make heart-shaped toast for just anyone."


    A breathyugh escapes her, and she quickly swipes at the corner of her eye. "You didn¡¯t actually make the toast, Marcus. You branded it."


    "Semantics," I mutter, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. "But yes. I want you to be mine. And I¡¯m...yours, if you¡¯ll have me."


    Reba leans in then, forehead resting against mine, her eyes fluttering shut. "God, Marcus. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that."


    I smile. "You could¡¯ve just asked."


    "I did just ask. And it was terrifying." She pouts.


    I chuckle softly at her pout, lifting her chin with two fingers so I can see her eyes. "Terrifying?" I echo, teasing gently. "You face screaming second graders during indoor recess. And this is what scares you?"


    She smiles despite herself, her lips curving up as she shakes her head. "That¡¯s different. Glue and glitter don¡¯t break hearts."


    "Neither do I," I say.


    "Liar. You have a reputation of being a yboy," she points out.


    "Yes," I admit. "I was that guy. Flirting, short-term stuff, not letting anyone get too close."


    Reba raises an eyebrow, waiting.


    "But I want to try to be...different," I continue, my voice quieter now.


    Her eyes soften a bit. "Because of me? Why?"


    "You call me out on my crap. You make meugh when I¡¯m being too serious. And the sex with you is fucking fantastic." I grin.


    Reba rolls her eyes. "Of course that would be one of the reasons."


    "You pursued me to keep me away from Hailey. Now you have seeded. Are youining?" I point out.


    She shakes her head no. "Nope."


    "Good."


    I reach out, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her flush against me. "Now, what are you going to do about this...Kevin?" I ask.


    Reba blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "Kevin?" she repeats, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion.


    "Yeah," I say, keeping my tone light, though there¡¯s a teasing edge under it. "The guy who you went on a date with and the one sending you ylists titled ¡¯Songs That Remind Me of You.¡¯ That Kevin."


    She snorts, pulling back just far enough to look me in the eye. "Oh my god, he never send me a ylist like that!"


    I raise both eyebrows and shrug. "He didn¡¯t? Well, he seems the type."


    "We only went on one date. Are you jealous?" she asks.


    "No. Why should I be? I mean, maybe I should send him a gift basket. Something like, ¡¯Thanks for warming her up for me.¡¯"


    "Marcus!" she gasps,ughing and shoving at my chest. "That is so messed up."


    God, I love making herugh. She swats at my chest again, but there¡¯s no real heat behind it.


    "I mean it," I tease, giving her my most obnoxious grin. "Maybe include a card that says, ¡¯Better luck next time, champ.¡¯"


    She groans and drops her forehead against my shoulder. "You¡¯re the worst," she mumbles, though her arms slide around my waist like she has no intention of letting go.


    "I prefer ¡¯the best bad decision you ever made,¡¯" I reply smugly, wrapping my arms tighter around her.


    Reba lifts her head again, eyes dancing with amusement. "You¡¯re ridiculous."


    "But you like me ridiculous."


    "Maybe," she concedes with a smirk. "But if Kevin ever does send me a ylist, I¡¯m forwarding it to you just to watch your head explode."


    I narrow my eyes, mock serious. "I swear to God, if I get a Spotify link from that guy with sad boy indie tracks and a title like ¡¯Late Nights & What-Ifs¡¯¡ª"


    She cracks up. "Late Nights & What-Ifs! Oh my god, that¡¯s exactly the kind of ylist he¡¯d make."


    "See? I know mypetition."


    "You don¡¯t havepetition, Marcus."


    Her words are simple, but they hit me hard¡ªsolid and warm like a punch to the chest wrapped in a hug.


    "I better not," I say.

 Chapter 172: Meeting Her

    <h4>Chapter 172: Meeting Her</h4>


    Reba


    I check the clock on my phone for the fifteenth time, smudging the screen with my thumb. Six minutes until I meet Megan for the first time.


    I am nervous. I am scared. What if she hates me?


    I¡¯ve changed shirts three times and have spent more time on my hair than I did for thest three weeksbined, and it still falls limp at the roots, frizzing at the ends. There are two mugs on my desk, both half full, both cold. "Chill out," I mutter, but the words do nothing to slow the jitters.


    She¡¯s eight. Just a kid. Chances are, she¡¯ll find me dull, file me in the drawerbeled "Adults Who Make Dumb Jokes," and get on with her life. Still, the pressure sits heavy and cold. I have no experience being the person a child wants to see. I mostly deal with children who¡¯ve been conditioned to crave Miss Reba¡¯s stickers and the promise of extra Lego time.


    This...this is new. I¡¯ve never dated someone who had a daughter or children. I never even had to think about impressing someone else¡¯s kid. But I want to impress her. Badly.


    Marcus is picking her up from the airport while I wait in his kitchen alone, terrified out of my wits.


    "You really think she wants to talk to me?" I had asked him before he left.


    God, I sound pathetic.


    He looked like he had given it a thought, then grinned. "Nobody hates you, Reba. It¡¯s basically scientifically impossible."


    Yeah, right!


    "You hated me," I remind him.


    He had punched the bridge of my nose then. "Don¡¯t be silly. I never hated you."


    He had been kind to me this past week, almost ridiculously so. I still can¡¯t believe he is serious about us. About this...rtionship. He is finally starting to look like someone attainable, but it¡¯s still so hard to believe.


    A knock at the front door jolts me from my spiral. I freeze, heart skipping a beat. Then another knock¡ªthis time lighter, more tentative. They¡¯re here.


    I leap up, nearly tripping over one of the mugs, and rush to the mirror by the entryway. My hair still frizzes, my shirt still rides up at the shoulders, and there¡¯s definitely lipstick on my teeth. I fix what I can with trembling fingers before opening the door.


    Marcus stands there with a lopsided smile, one arm casually slung around a petite girl with wide hazel eyes and a pink unicorn backpack.


    "Hi," he says, voice soft like he knows I¡¯m one step from passing out.


    I clear my throat. "Hi."


    "This is Megan," Marcus says, nudging her gently forward. "Maggie, this is Reba."


    Megan¡¯s eyes scan me from head to toe in one efficient sweep. I kneel a little to meet her at eye level, fighting the urge to recite a whole resume of why I¡¯m not a monster.


    "Hi, Megan. It¡¯s really nice to meet you." I smile and offer my hand like a dork.


    She stares at it, then tilts her head. "You look different than the picture Dad showed me."


    Oh god.


    "Different bad or different good?"


    She shrugs. "Just different. You¡¯re taller."


    I blink. "I get that a lot."


    Megan lets out a quiet giggle, and I feel my spine slowly rx. It¡¯s a small sound, but it feels like the crack of sunlight through a storm cloud.


    Marcus¡¯s hand finds the small of my back, steady and grounding. "She also didn¡¯t believe me when I told her you made cookies," he murmurs.


    Megan perks up. "You made cookies?"


    "I did," I say, trying not to sound like I¡¯m pleading for approval. "Chocte chip. The real kind, with browned butter and way too many chocte chunks."


    She narrows her eyes like she¡¯s trying to catch me in a lie. "Do they have nuts?"


    I shake my head. "No nuts. Just sugar, butter, chocte, and my soul."


    Another giggle. This one a bit louder. "Okay," she says, stepping inside like we¡¯ve negotiated a peace treaty. "But I get to pick the biggest one."


    "Fair," I reply, leading her to the kitchen. Marcus trails behind us, grinning like he already knew this would go fine.


    I set the te down in front of her. Megan eyes the cookies, then very deliberately picks one up, weighing it in her small hands before taking a bite.


    She chews, considering, then gives a decisive nod. "Okay. You can stay."


    Marcus barks augh behind her, and I feel warmth flood my cheeks¡ªand my chest. "Thanks," I say, trying not to sound too relieved. "I was worried you were going to banish me."


    "You¡¯re not bad...for a grown-up." She swings her legs idly from the stool. "Are you, like...my dad¡¯s girlfriend?"


    I nce at Marcus, who raises a brow and lifts his hands like your move.


    "I guess I am," I say, carefully. "If that¡¯s okay with you."


    Megan shrugs. "I mean, you made cookies. So that¡¯s a pretty good start."


    I nod solemnly. "I have many skills."


    "Good," Megan says, mouth full. "Dad used to date someone who hated kids."


    Marcus chokes on his coffee. "Megan."


    "What? She did." Megan turns back to me. "Her name was L and she wore, like, a ton of perfume."


    "Well," I say, smirking, "I¡¯ll try not to stink. And I definitely don¡¯t hate kids. I teach second grade."


    "Ew," Megan replies immediately. "Second grade is the worst."


    I fake a gasp. "Excuse you! Second graders are amazing."


    Marcus wraps his arm around my shoulders, his voice low and amused. "You¡¯re doing great."


    "I feel like I¡¯m in a job interview," I whisper back.


    "Yeah, but so far, you¡¯re hired," he whispers and turns his attention to Megan. "To be fair, I wasn¡¯t exactly dating L."


    Megan looks up at him, squinting with the kind of suspicion only an eight-year-old can pull off. "Then what were you doing with her?"


    Marcus nces at me, sheepish. "Making very bad decisions," he says finally.


    Megan snorts. "Clearly."


    I try to smother augh behind my hand. This kid is sharper than I expected. "Well, I promise I don¡¯t wear too much perfume," I add, "and I don¡¯t hate kids. I actually like them."


    "You like them?" Megan repeats like the idea is baffling. "Even the ones who pick their noses and stick the boogers under their desks?"


    "Especially those ones," I say solemnly. "They¡¯re the ones who need the most help."


    Megan giggles again¡ªthirdugh. I¡¯m keeping score. "You¡¯re weird," she deres.


    "I get that a lot, too."


    She takes another bite of cookie, chews thoughtfully, then says, "Okay. You can stay."


    Marcus lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Already got the Megan Seal of Approval. That took Aunt Linda three months."


    "Yeah, but Aunt Linda brought me raisins on her first visit," Megan replies tly. "Raisins, Dad. Raisins."


    I hold up both hands. "No raisins here. Only chocte, pink sprinkles, and very questionable dance moves."


    "Dance moves?" Megan perks up. "Do you know how to floss?"


    Marcus groans. "Please, no."


    I slide off the stool with a grin. "Flossing? Oh, prepare yourself, young padawan. I learned from the best¡ªYouTube tutorials filmed by twelve-year-olds."


    And yes, I do it. Right there in Marcus¡¯s kitchen, making an utter fool of myself, swinging my arms and hips in that ridiculous way.


    Megan stares.


    Then bursts outughing. Loud, delighted, unrestrained.


    Marcus hides his face in his hands. "I¡¯m dating a second grader," he mutters.


    I shoot him a look. "And you love it."


    He leans in, presses a kiss to my cheek. "I really, really do."


    Megan, still giggling, hops off her stool. "Okay, now you definitely have to stay. Dad¡¯s boring, but you¡¯re kind of fun."


    I pretend to bow. "My greatest honor."


    As Megan wanders off to explore the living room, Marcus pulls me in close and murmurs, "Thank you."


    "For what?" I whisper back.


    "For not running. For trying. For making herugh."


    I smile, resting my forehead against his. "She¡¯s awesome. You did good, Marcus."


    He grins. "Amy may be the worst one-night stand, but she is a decent mother."


    "Shh...don¡¯t talk trash about Megan¡¯s mother!" I hiss.


    Marcus chuckles under his breath. "She can¡¯t hear me. Besides, I think she will agree."


    I swat his arm lightly, then nce toward the living room where Megan is kneeling in front of the bookshelf, flipping through a stack of old picture books. She hums to herself as she reads,pletely at ease.


    "She seems happy," I murmur.


    "She is," Marcus says.


    Megan¡¯s voice drifts back into the kitchen. "Reba! Do you know how to y Uno?"


    Marcus groans. "Oh no. Don¡¯t say yes unless you¡¯re ready to be destroyed."


    I raise an eyebrow. "Destroyed?"


    "She cheats," Marcus stage-whispers.


    "I strategize," Megan corrects from the living room without even turning around.


    I grin. "Bring it on."


    Marcus leans into the counter, watching me as I head out to join her, a soft pride in his eyes.

 Chapter 173: Accidental

    <h4>Chapter 173: idental</h4>


    Reba


    "Come on, Reba!" Megan calls, waving me over to the living room floor where she¡¯s spread out a constetion of colored paper, glue sticks, glitter, and oh god...sequins everywhere.


    It¡¯s an explosion, the kind that would set most parents off, but Marcus just walks by with a mug of coffee and an arched brow, like he¡¯s fully resigned himself to a home decorated in sparkle.


    "Dad says you¡¯re crafty," Megan says, inspecting me with the sly authority of someone who knows the rules and fully intends to break them.


    "Rumors of my craftiness have been greatly exaggerated," I say, easing onto the floor and crossing my legs in a way I hope doesn¡¯t look like the world¡¯s most awkward yoga pose. "But I can hot glue with the best of them."


    She grins, and there it is again¡ªthat inescapable pull that makes it so easy to see this little person as a person, not just a kid.


    "We need to make a model of the sr system. Out of snacks. It¡¯s for science," she adds, with the forced gravitas of an academic under scrutiny. I¡¯ve never seen someone gets so excited with Science!


    "Well," I say, rolling up my sleeves, "you¡¯vee to the right ce. I minored in Snack-Based Astronomy."


    Megan giggles. It is a fourthugh, I note, and immediately hands me a marshmallow and a pipe cleaner. "Make Pluto," shemands.


    I gasp in mock outrage. "Pluto is a in this house?"


    Megan¡¯s face turns solemn. "It might be tiny, but it¡¯s important."


    "Solidarity," I agree.


    Together we start piecing together the edible universe, arguing over the rtive merits of gummy worms versus Twizzlers for Saturn¡¯s rings, and whether Reese¡¯s Pieces are "scientifically urate" for asteroids or not.


    Megan insists the real trick is getting the scale right; I argue the real trick is not eating the project as we go.


    Marcus hovers at the edge of the kitchen, pretending to read emails but clearly tracking every moment, the corners of his mouth twitching every time Megan trounces me with an astronomy fact.


    "Do you think you and Dad will get married?" Megan suddenly asks.


    I nearly choked on my Diet Coke. "Wow. That¡¯s a...that¡¯s a big question."


    Megan shrugs, her shoulders rising and falling with a casual grace. "I just want Dad to be happy," she says, her voice tinged with a sincerity that belied her youthful face. "He puts on this act, trying to seem cheerful when he¡¯s around me, but I can tell it¡¯s not real. And I think you genuinely make him happy. Like, truly happy."


    Her words struck me with the force of a direct hit. My eyes flutter rapidly, as if trying to ward off the emotional tide welling up inside, a mix of warmth and a tender ache in my chest. "Thank you, Megan," I manage to say, my voice slightly unsteady. "That¡¯s probably the nicest thing anyone¡¯s ever said to me."


    She grins broadly, her smile illuminating her face with a contagious brightness. "You can call me Maggie, you know. Mom and Dad call me that."


    I can¡¯t help but smiling wider. Gosh, this kid is something else. "Maggie it is."


    Later, when Megan plopped down for her "twenty-minute dpression time" (her term) with her tablet. Marcus catches me in the kitchen, scooping glitter off the counter.


    "She likes you," he murmurs,ing up behind me and kissing the top of my ear.


    I tilt my chin. "She seemed like a tough sell. So I count it as a win."


    "She¡¯s right, you know. About you making me happy," he says, his voice is deep and raspy.


    I spin around, glitter fingers and all. "You¡¯re getting sentimental, Winters."


    "I can¡¯t help it." His hands find my waist and he tugs me close, both of us dusted with blue glitter and pizza dough flour. "It¡¯s new. I kind of like it."


    I let myself sink into him, just for a moment, content.


    Marcus leans in, his stubble brushing my jaw. We both nearly jump as his phone starts ringing.


    Marcus stiffens against me and I feel it instantly. The way his fingers still, the warmth in his chest cooling like someone cracked open a window.


    He is looking at the phone and his eyes are suddenly dark with emotions.


    I follow his gaze.


    Natalie.


    That¡¯s his sister¡¯s name, isn¡¯t it?


    Marcus sighs through his nose, presses his lips together, and doesn¡¯t answer right away. The phone keeps ringing, a shrill pulse in the silence between us.


    "Do you need to get that?" I ask gently.


    Marcus doesn¡¯t answer right away. His thumb hovers over the screen, conflicted. The name Natalie continues to sh, and even though I¡¯ve only heard her mention that one time, I know there¡¯s history there¡ªunspoken, brittle history.


    "I rather not," he says curtly.


    My eyebrows lift at the tone. Sharp. Clipped. Like the call itself left a sour taste in his mouth before he even answered it.


    But he doesn¡¯t put the phone down either. Just lets it keep vibrating in his hand, a low, persistent buzz like a wasp trapped in a jar.


    "What if this is an emergency?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.


    Marcus exhales. More of a growl than a sigh, really¡ªand finally hits Decline. The phone goes quiet.


    "I will call her back," he mutters.


    I hesitate. I don¡¯t know the full story, but the tension is unmistakable¡ªtight across his shoulders, stiff in his jaw. Like a dam holding back a flood he¡¯s not ready to talk about.


    "You don¡¯t have to exin," I offer. "Not if you don¡¯t want to."


    He nces up at me. There¡¯s something like apology in his eyes, but also gratitude.


    "She and I... we¡¯re not close," he says finally, voice low. "Not anymore."


    I nod. I don¡¯t push. I don¡¯t need the details to understand the weight of whatever history lives between them.


    "I just don¡¯t want her messing up tonight," he adds after a beat, like the words were dragged out of him.


    I take a small step forward and slide my arms around his waist, careful not to brush against anything sharp in that cracked ce he¡¯s trying to keep hidden.


    "She can¡¯t mess anything up," I say firmly. "We¡¯re still here and we will have a great time."


    Marcus presses his forehead to mine again. It¡¯s less romantic this time¡ªmore of a grounding gesture. Like he¡¯s trying to find center again.


    "I¡¯m sorry," he whispers.


    "Don¡¯t be." I smile faintly. "But just so you know, if I ever do meet your sister and she makes one snidement, I will identally spill glitter in her purse."


    That gets augh, low and real. "God, I love you."


    The words hit me like aet. Warm and sudden and pulling me into his orbit before I can brace.


    I blink. "What?"


    Marcus blinks like he¡¯s just heard himself for the first time. His mouth opens and then closes. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly scrambling for a way to walk it back or smooth it over.


    "I mean...I didn¡¯t...that wasn¡¯t..." He winces. "I didn¡¯t mean to drop that on you like like a bowling ball out of the sky."


    I just stare at him. Not startled, exactly. But... stilled.


    He exhales, slow and shaky. "It slipped out. I wasn¡¯t trying to make things weird or¡ªGod." He rubs his hands over his face. "It¡¯s just something people sometimes when..."


    "Marcus," I say quietly. "You didn¡¯t freak me out. I know it¡¯s something people say sometimes. I am not a dummy. Stop rambling so much."


    "You¡¯re not? Oh good," he says.


    "No." I step a little closer. "Don¡¯t worry. I know it¡¯s too soon for that."


    Marcus exhales, this time more evenly. "Yeah."


    I let out a quietugh. "You should¡¯ve seen yourself. Falling in love is not as bad as you think, Marcus."


    He squeezes my waist gently. "Yeah. I know that."


    For a moment, all the tension between us fades, reced by a quiet promise. Not rushed. Not forced. Just... something real, waiting to grow.


    "You two look like something out of a cheesy ro movie,"es an usatory voice from the door.


    We both turn toward the doorway, where Megan is standing, arms crossed and an amused smirk on her face.


    Marcus chuckles, shaking his head. "I will leave you two your crafting," he says, pointing at the messy table. "I have to go to the studio now. Think you can handle being alone in the house?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.


    Megan grins without missing a beat.


    "Please. We¡¯ve got snacks and science. What could go wrong?"


    I smile and wave Marcus off as he grabs his mug and heads out.


    Once the door clicks shut behind him, Megan hops up and plops down beside me again.


    "So, about those Reese¡¯s Pieces¡ªdefinitely asteroids, right?"


    Iugh, feeling the weight of the day lift just a little.


    "Absolutely. Scientific fact," I reply quickly.

 Chapter 174: Ghost from the Past

    <h4>Chapter 174: Ghost from the Past</h4>


    Marcus


    Damn Natalie...


    Why does she have to keep calling?


    Why does she feel the need to wedge a crack in my meticulously crafted life? I am finally beginning to understand what a true family feels like, the warmth, the connection, and now...


    I thought cutting ties would mean peace, but the past has a way of bleeding through the cracks no matter how tightly you try to seal them. Every ring of her phone call is like a reminder of old wounds, things I¡¯ve buried deep but never truly escaped.


    She doesn¡¯t get it. She never did.


    I walk to the studio, still fuming.


    The only way to shake these thoughts is work, so I lose myself in the monotony¡ªcharging batteries, stacking props, rearranging the gels. I check the lighting on thetest setup and snap a series of pointless test shots just to hear the camera shutter break the silence.


    But every time the phone in my pocket vibrates, I see that name again.


    NATALIE (4)


    Eventually I give in. I open the thread and read, expecting an emergency.


    Her first message is sharp and surgical: "We have to talk. It¡¯s about Dad. Call me."


    The others are more or less variations on the theme.


    "I¡¯m not kidding, Marcus."


    A gnawing, ancient guilt stirs in my gut.


    Fuck.


    I shove the phone deep in my pocket and stalk back to the set.


    But the phone keeps buzzing.


    I grit my teeth, snatch up the phone, and answer the seventh call.


    "Marcus," Natalie says, her voice clipped and dense with unmet expectations. "It¡¯s about time you called back. Please just hear me out."


    "Cut to the chase," I say. "Is he dead yet?"


    There¡¯s a pause, long enough for me to pick up the faint sound of traffic and keyboard clicks in the background. "No," she says, but her tone already says the opposite. "He¡¯s not dead. Yet."


    I breathe out.


    "So why the urgency?" I ask.


    "Don¡¯t be cruel, Marcus."


    I lose it then.


    I m the phone against my palm, my voice low and cold.


    "Cruel? You want to talk about cruelty?" I roar, not caring there are other people in the studio who are now looking at me with wide eyes.


    Natalie¡¯s silence stretches, but I can hear the tension breathing through the line.


    "I¡¯m not asking for forgiveness," she finally says, voice breaking. "But Dad is dying, and he¡¯s asking for you. We need to decide what happens next. Family, whether you like it or not...it¡¯s pulling us back together."


    "He hurt us, Nat. Did you forget all about it just because he is sick?" I demand.


    Her voice cracks, soft but sharp like ss breaking.


    "Marcus, I haven¡¯t forgotten. But we are still hurting and nothing is going to heal if we don¡¯t face him onest time. Together."


    I run a hand down my face, feeling the weight of years pressing into every word. The anger, the betrayal¡ªthey¡¯re still raw, but beneath it all, something else stirs. A thread of responsibility I thought I¡¯d buried.


    "What does he want?" I ask, voice rougher than I intend.


    "To see us. And I don¡¯t want to go alone, Marcus. Please. You have toe with me. Don¡¯t make me face him alone."


    I want to tell her no. To shut the door on that part of my life for good. But beneath the anger, beneath the resentment, something else ¡ª a flicker of something I¡¯d almost forgotten stirs.


    "Alright," I say, my voice low and steady. "I¡¯lle with you."


    There¡¯s a pause on the other end, then a quiet, shaky relief. "Thank you, Marcus."


    I press the end call button and slip the phone back into my pocket, the weight of the choice settling deep in my chest.


    The studio feels colder now, the shadows stretching longer. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, and set about packing up my gear.


    "Um...everything okay? You are kind of needed at the set," a woman¡¯s voice breaks through the silence.


    Tammy.


    I look at her. "Yeah. Everything is peachy. Is the new model here?"


    Tammy hesitates, her brow knitting with concern. "Yeah, she just arrived. But you seem to be in a bad mood. Are you sure you¡¯re up for this today?"


    I force a grin, but it¡¯s brittle. "Just had some family drama. Nothing I can¡¯t handle."


    She gives me a skeptical look but doesn¡¯t press further. "Alright, if you say so. We¡¯ll need your eye for this shoot."


    I nod and turn back to my gear, trying to shake the heaviness settling in my chest. Natalie¡¯s call had cracked open a door I¡¯d mmed shut years ago. Now, it¡¯s swinging wide open again.


    I pull my jacket tighter, feeling the chill of the studio wrap around me like a warning. This isn¡¯t just about Dad. It¡¯s about everything I¡¯ve been running from.


    It¡¯s not until I reach the make-up bay that I realize this day will just get worse.


    The girl in the chair isn¡¯t just another model.


    "Hello, Marcus," she says. She tucks her phone into the pocket of a white silk robe and stands, poised even when barefoot on a linoleum floor. "Good to see you again."


    I cover my surprise by not blinking. "Annika."


    Sheughs, head tilted, making her earrings swing. "I begged my agent to get me this gig because I really wanted toe back here."


    I check the board. "We¡¯ve got you in three looks. Try not to break anything today."


    She grins, all teeth. "That was one time. Besides, you never minded a brokenmp."


    We move to the set.


    "I have missed you," she whispers.


    I don¡¯t look at her. "Please try to keep things professional, Annika. No more mixing business with pleasure."


    She cocks her hip on the stool, gold shimmer catching the studio lights. "Since when did you care about professionalism?"


    I waive at Hailey to proceed with the shoot. "Since today."


    Annika¡¯s eyes sh with mischief. She steps onto the set like she owns the ce.


    I introduce her to Hailey. "Annika and I worked together before," I tell Hailey.


    "Oh. Nice to meet you, Annika. I will be your photographer today," she says lightly.


    Annika looks at me for a moment before smiling. "See you after the shoot, Marcus," she says and winks at me before taking her ce on the stage."


    Hailey gives me a side-eyed nce. "What was that about?"


    I shrug. "Nothing. Annika and I have a history."


    "Good god. Was she one of your...conquests?" Hailey whispers.


    I clear my throat and try to steer the conversation back to work.


    "Let¡¯s just focus on the shoot," I say, pulling out my light meter. "No distractions."


    Hailey raises an eyebrow but lets it go. Annika starts warming up with some poses, the studio lights flickering to life around her. She moves like she¡¯s home here, confident and in control.


    Once in a while, I find her looking at me and smiling flirtatiously. I decide to go back to my office. Hailey can handle this by herself.


    I sit down behind my desk and wipe a hand over my face. The silence in here is cathedral-grade, the kind of hush that could make even my internal monologue kneel down and whisper. I stare at nothing for several minutes.


    I think about Reba. I wonder if she is having a good time with Megan by herself.


    After several minutes, or maybe an hour, there is a soft knock on my door. I don¡¯t answer, just keep my head down, and after a pause the knob twists anyway.


    Annika glides in, wearing a white silk robe. Her hair is up now, and her face is scrubbed to a moon-pale shine. She closes the door behind her and flicks the lock shut.


    "Hey, Marcus." She perches one hip on the corner of my desk. The fabric of her robe hikes up, shing thigh, an echo of a hundred such moments from another life.


    I stare at her, not feeling amused by this sudden intrusion.


    "So... you busy?"


    I don¡¯t break eye contact. "Don¡¯t you have three more looks to get through?"


    She shrugs. "They¡¯re prepping the next set. I wanted to see you."


    My mouth is a line, thin and unsmiling.


    Annika pouts and then says, "You wouldn¡¯t answer my messages."


    "So what?" I ask.


    Her smile doesn¡¯t falter. "You haven¡¯t changed, Marcus. Still the ice king I found so attractive before."


    I don¡¯t break eye contact, my gaze as cold and ssy as the paperweight I toy with on my desk. "You don¡¯t have a full day¡¯s worth of outfits to wear and lights to stand under?" I ask, keeping my tone t, unyielding, careful to give her nothing. "Thought you were a professional, Annika."


    She swings one bare leg,nguid and feline, then shrugs¡ªa gesture that is all insouciance and artifice. "They¡¯re prepping the next set. Hailey¡¯s got them in a tizzy over backgrounds. We have plenty of time to do what we need to do."


    She leans closer. "Come on. Don¡¯t act like a stranger to me."


    Before I can react, she straddles me.


    She does it neatly, like the memory of being on top of me is muscle-deep. The hem of the robe slips up her thigh, and she folds her legs around my hips, her slender hands framing either side of my face.


    "I want you to fuck me again," she says, gaze fixed on my lips and then flicking up to my eyes, searching for the old heat that used to be there.


    I feel the shift in my jaw but not the urge. I keep both hands at my sides, knuckles pressed white against the desk¡¯s ck walnut.


    "Get off of me," I say as evenly as I can.


    She grinds against me, searching for resistance to break and finding nothing but my patience. "You can¡¯t do this," she whispers, now with a trace less confidence. "You can¡¯t just be...done. You never used to say no to sex."


    "That¡¯s enough," I say. My voice is very quiet. "I¡¯m seeing someone."


    Annikaughs, brittle and sharp, like ss hitting tile. "You said you don¡¯t do rtionships."


    "I was wrong."


    "Who is it?" She pouts.


    "Me."


    My heart stops dead, and my eyes fly to the door where Reba is standing, her face flushed.

 Chapter 175: Don’t Cheat

    <h4>Chapter 175: Don¡¯t Cheat</h4>


    Reba


    Oh, hell no!


    Words cannot describe how utterly pissed I am.


    Here I am, being the perfect girlfriend, bringing my so-called boyfriend lunch. And what do I see?


    Some bimbo with legs so long they seem to have their own gravitational field straddling him in a white robe that¡¯s barely clinging to her shoulders. For a second, my vision goes fish-eye. The world narrows down to their faces¡ªhis, impassive as always; hers, flushed and hungry, like this is the most natural thing in the world.


    I want to scream. Or smash the ss. Or set the whole goddamn studio on fire just to see if anyone would notice.


    "What do we have here?" I snarl.


    The bimbo looks up from her pose, eyes sparkling with mischief as she slowly straightens, the silk robe slipping just a little more off one shoulder.


    Marcus barely blinks, but his jaw tightens.


    "You are interrupting," the bimbo says.


    I step closer, voice low and cutting. "Oh, I am sooooo sorry."


    Marcus finally meets my eyes. "Reba, this isn¡¯t what you think."


    Iugh, sharp and bitter. "Oh, really? Then what is it, Marcus? Because from where I¡¯m standing, it looks like you¡¯re cozying up with some ho."


    "Hey!" the bimbo exims.


    I step right up to her, voice low and fierce. "Are you going to get off my boyfriend¡¯sp, or what?"


    God, I want to w that smug, glossy-lipped look off her face.


    "Annika, for fuck¡¯s sake. Get off," Marcus says, voice calm but his body rigid, like he¡¯s bracing for a punch.


    The woman slowly stands up. "You need to take a breath, honey. This isn¡¯t your business."


    I see red. "Marcus¡ª" I jerk my head at him.


    He meets my gaze, his face stoic, but his hands twitch where they rest on the edge of the desk. He looks at Annika. "Annika, this is my girlfriend, Reba. Annika, you need to get back to the set before I am forced to remove you from the building."


    Annika¡¯s smile fades for an instant. She flounces to the door in a way that¡¯s probably supposed to look effortless and unbothered. "Whatever. Good luck with everything." She yanks the door shut behind her with a bang that rattles the ss in the frame.


    For a second, the silence is absolute. I realize I¡¯ve curled my fists so tight that my nails are digging half-moons into my palms.


    Only Marcus and I are in the room now, the air still vibrating with the echo of her exit.


    "Well," I say, loud in the quiet, "that was fun."


    He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Reba, what are you doing here?"


    I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice, but it cracks anyway.


    "I brought you lunch," I choke out, the tears falling now. "I thought maybe... maybe you¡¯d want to eat with Megan and I. Together."


    He looks at me like I¡¯m some fragile thing breaking apart right in front of him... and maybe I am.


    "Reba, I¡ª"


    I step back. "I told Megan to hang out with Hailey for a moment. Good thing I didn¡¯t bring her over here, huh?"


    Marcus¡¯s face twisted as if he is in pain. "Ba, sweetheart..."


    I let out a loud sob. I don¡¯t even care that I am crying like a little bitch anymore.


    He is across the room in two steps, catching me up before I have time to flinch. His arms mp around my shoulders, almost lifting me off the ground, and I can feel the shuddering force of his heart against my cheek. I try to pull away, but he holds me tighter, burying his face in my hair.


    "I don¡¯t want anyone else," he says, voice rough. "I swear to God, Reba. What you saw¡ªI didn¡¯t want it, and I sure as hell didn¡¯t invite it."


    I shake my head, my voice breaking at the edges. "Why didn¡¯t you push her off?"


    He tilts my chin up, his grip strong and trembling. "You¡¯re right. I should have toss her to the floor right away. But you think I care about her? About anyone but you?"


    "I don¡¯t know what to think," I say, every word sticky with humiliation. "She was gorgeous. She was on yourp."


    He closes his eyes, like the admission physically hurts.


    "She was nothing to me. Just a mistake from a long time ago. She doesn¡¯t matter." He wipes the tears off my cheek with a thumb that¡¯s surprisingly gentle for the rest of his body, which is in full fortress mode.


    I drag in a shaky breath. The room smells like leather and printer paper and his cologne. "You have to tell me the truth, Marcus. If you¡¯re just using me to get over her, or Hailey, or¡ªChrist, whatever model you want, just tell me now. I can take it."


    Heughs. "Reba..."


    "I am seriously asking," I mutter.


    He lets out a strangled noise, halfugh, half-animal. "I am not using you. I need you."


    I want to hit him and also never stop letting him hold me.


    He pushes the hair out of my face, all business. "You listen to me, Reba." He leans in, his breath hot on my cheek. "I want you. God help me, I think I want you for the rest of my stupid, messed up life."


    My heart is hammering so hard I can¡¯t decide if I want to cry again orugh.


    "You¡¯re not allowed to cheat on me," I whisper, anger melting into exasperation. "Ever."


    He gives me that lopsided, infuriatingly sincere smile. "I¡¯d rather cut off my own dick."


    "Good...I mean, no, don¡¯t do that. I want that...um...intact," I murmur.


    Marcus chuckles, a deep, broken sound that rumbles through his chest and into mine. "Noted," he says softly, his forehead resting against mine. "The dick stays. For you."


    I shake my head,ughing through the tears, half-horrified, half-relieved. "God, you¡¯re such an idiot."


    "But I¡¯m your idiot," he murmurs, and suddenly the anger doesn¡¯t feel so volcanic anymore¡ªjust tired. Bruised. Like it¡¯s still there, curled in my ribs, but no longer looking to destroy the room.


    We stand like that for a moment, tangled up in each other.


    "I hate that she touched you," I say after a beat, quieter now. "I hate how she looked at you. Like she knew something I didn¡¯t."


    His jaw tightens again, but he doesn¡¯t pull away. "She doesn¡¯t. She wants to think she does, but she doesn¡¯t know me."


    I pull back just far enough to look at him, really look at him¡ªhis tired eyes, his clenched jaw, the way he holds me like I¡¯m the only real thing left in the world.


    "I want to know you more," I whisper.


    "You will," he promises instantly.


    I sigh and lean into him again. "Just... be honest with me. That¡¯s all I ask."


    His arms tighten around me. "Then there is somewhere I want you to go with me."

 Chapter 176: Lunch is Served

    <h4>Chapter 176: Lunch is Served</h4>


    Marcus


    She pulls back just slightly, those stormy eyes of hers narrowing in suspicion. "Where?" she asks.


    I hesitate¡ªGod, I hate that I¡¯m hesitating. But this isn¡¯t just a drive or a walk in the park. This is me. All of me. The part I¡¯ve been too much of a coward toy bare.


    My hands stay on her, one resting at her waist, the other brushing softly at the small of her back¡ªmore for my own sanity than hers. I¡¯m grounding myself with her.


    "It¡¯s not far," I finally say. "But it¡¯s important."


    Her expression shifts. I can see the war inside her¡ªthe instinct to run shing against the part of her that still hasn¡¯t let go of my hand. That¡¯s the part I¡¯m clinging to.


    "What kind of ce are we talking about?" she asks, suspicious, squinting at me like she expects me to pull out a ring or a death certificate.


    I take a deep breath, bracing myself. "I¡¯ve been keeping secrets from you."


    Her face falls.


    "Oh, well that¡¯s exactly the thing you should say to your crying girlfriend after she just walked in on you being human furniture for a lingerie model."


    I almost smile. God, she¡¯s still fire, even in tears. That¡¯s my girl.


    "I deserve that," I admit, because I do.


    "Damn right you do."


    I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. "I just... I want to...no, I need to show you my childhood home," I say, voice low. "Will youe with me?"


    The words hang there, trembling in the air between us. I¡¯ve never taken anyone there. Not even Megan. Not even when she begged to meet her grandparents, she had never seen.


    That house is everything I hate and everything that made me. And for some reason, this girl¡ªthis storm with a soft heart is the one I want standing next to me when I face it again.


    I search her face, waiting.


    Please, Ba. Just say yes.


    "Already letting me meet your parents? Why, Marcus! Whatever happened to taking things slow?" she says in a teasing tone.


    I huff a softugh, more breath than sound. "Trust me, this isn¡¯t that kind of visit."


    Her brows lift a little, curiosity edging in, but she doesn¡¯t joke again.


    "I haven¡¯t been there in years," I say, the wordsing slowly now, like I¡¯m peeling off armor one buckle at a time. "Not since...not since I turned eighteen. It¡¯s not pretty. The ce. The memories."


    Reba doesn¡¯t interrupt. She just watches me, quiet but alert, like she knows this is one of those moments where everything either breaks open or ms shut.


    "I didn¡¯t leave on good terms," I go on, my voice a little rougher. "And I sure as hell didn¡¯t n on going back." My thumb brushes absentmindedly along her waist. "But now, I need to. And I want you there when I do."


    She studies me for a moment. Long enough that my chest tightens and my stomach knots like a kid waiting to be picked for a team that might never call his name.


    But then she does something thatpletely levels me.


    She leans in, rests her forehead against mine, and whispers, "Okay. I¡¯lle."


    Relief floods me so fast I almost forget how to breathe. My eyes flutter shut.


    "Thank you," I murmur.


    A small, unmistakable knock cuts through the quiet between us.


    We both stiffen at the same time, and Reba leans back slightly, her eyes darting to the door.


    "Dad?" Megan¡¯s voice calls gently through the door.


    I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Yeah, Meg. You cane in."


    The door creaks open. "What¡¯s taking you so long?" she says, narrowing her eyes at us. "The lunch is getting cold."


    Reba lets out a shakyugh, swiping a hand quickly under her eyes. "Sorry, Maggie."


    Megan¡¯s eyes turn wide. "Are you crying? Dad! Are you messing this up already?"


    I blink, caughtpletely off guard. "What? No¡ªI mean, yes, she¡¯s crying, but not because of¡ªokay, maybe partly because of me."


    Reba gives a wateryugh beside me, and I can feel her trying not to dissolve into another emotional puddle. "Your dad¡¯s a work in progress," she says, shooting me a half-hearted re.


    Megan steps into the room fully, arms crossed like a mini judge. "So what happened? Do I need to talk to someone?"


    Reba snorts again, and this time, it¡¯s a realugh. "No. But next time, I will call you if I need to fight someone, tough girl."


    Megan gives a small, smug grin, but then turns those sharp eyes back on me. "So, are youing?"


    I blink. "Where are we going?"


    "To eat, gosh, Dad! Try to keep up," Megan groans.


    I chuckle, shaking my head. "Right. Food."


    Reba nudges me with her shoulder, her smile a little more solid now. "Come on, Marcus. Before Megan calls in a hunger strike."


    Megan¡¯s already halfway out the door.


    Reba grins. "She is so sassy. No wonder we are best friends now."


    "She gets it from her dad, you know," I say as we step into the hallway together.


    Reba quirks a brow. "Oh, so that sarcasm streak is your fault?"


    "Guilty." I grin. "But I make it look good."


    Her fingers brush mine, and without thinking, I reach for her hand again.


    We walk toward the break room like that, quiet but not tense anymore.


    Tammy sees us holding hands and gives me a look as if to tell me I am acting weird. But I don¡¯t care. I tighten my fingers around her, feeling her warmth spreading through me.


    Reba squeezes back. That one simple gesture settles something restless in my chest.


    I am a lost cause, I know that now.


    We step into the break room and the scent of toasted bread, cheese, and something that might be tomato soup hits us.


    Megan¡¯s standing proudly at the counter, her hair pulled back in a crooked ponytail, a mismatched apron tied haphazardly around her waist. "Ta-da!" she announces, gesturing grandly to the table. "Lunch is served. Gourmet style."


    "Wow," I say. "Is that... grilled cheese shaped like dinosaurs?"


    Megan beams. "Reba helped me make these."


    I bite back augh as I look at the tes. Of course she did.

 Chapter 177: Back Home

    <h4>Chapter 177: Back Home</h4>


    Reba


    The drive is quiet.


    Not thefortable kind of quiet we usually fall into where we hold hands. No.


    Marcus hasn¡¯t looked at me in thest ten minutes. His jaw¡¯s clenched, one hand gripping the steering wheel like it might fly away if he lets go.


    The air between us feels heavier.


    I nce at him out of the corner of my eye. His expression is t, but not calm. It¡¯s the kind of nk that¡¯s hiding something¡ªsomething sharp and too close to the surface.


    "Marcus," I say softly.


    He doesn¡¯t respond right away. His eyes stay fixed on the road like it¡¯s the only thing keeping him anchored.


    "What?"


    That one word is short. Not cruel, exactly. Just... hollow. Like he¡¯s already pulled away from me and shut the door behind him.


    I fight the instinct to shrink back. Instead, I rest my hand gently over his on the gearshift.


    "I¡¯m here," I say. "With you. Okay?"


    His jaw works, but he doesn¡¯t say anything. Not right away.


    I wait.


    Then, after a beat, his hand flips under mine and squeezes.


    "I know," he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel. "I¡¯m just... not good at this."


    "Being a broody road trippanion?" I tease lightly, trying to coax out even a hint of a smile.


    Nothing.


    "I¡¯m sorry," he finally says, his voice tight.


    He didn¡¯t tell me what happened to him. I didn¡¯t ask. He¡¯ll tell me when he¡¯s ready¡ªor maybe he won¡¯t. But I already know whatever waits for us at the end of this drive is something that put cracks in him long before I showed up.


    We fall back into silence.


    I keep our hands joined as the town blurs past the windows.


    Then we turn a corner, and I know without him saying a word, we are close.


    The houses on this street are smaller, older. Faded paint, sagging porches, yards strangled with weeds. One of them stands out only because of how much it doesn¡¯t: a two-story box of a home with shuttered windows and a cracked driveway that looks like it¡¯s trying to copse in on itself.


    Marcus pulls in without a word.


    He cuts the engine, but doesn¡¯t move. Doesn¡¯t even blink.


    I nce over at him.


    His hands are still on the wheel. Knuckles white. Shoulders stiff. Breathing shallow, like just being this close is pulling him under.


    I don¡¯t speak.


    I just wait.


    Finally, he lets out a breath and reaches for the door handle but stops.


    His voice is low. "We don¡¯t have to go in. We can leave. Right now."


    "We can," I say gently. "But you didn¡¯te here just to turn back."


    He turns to me, and there it is again, that storm in his eyes. But this time, I see something else flickering behind it. Fear. Not of me, not of the house. Of what it might pull out of him. Of who he might be if he lets those memories breathe again.


    He swallows hard.


    And then, slowly, he nods.


    We get out together.


    I release his hand for a second, but he snatches it back in his palm. "Don¡¯t let go," he growls.


    My heart stumbles in my chest.


    I look down at our joined hands. His grip like iron, like I¡¯m the only rope he has left. I nod quietly, even though he¡¯s not looking at me.


    "I won¡¯t," I whisper.


    We step toward the house. The porch groans beneath our weight. Paint peels from the railing in thin, curling strips, and the wee mat is a faded lie. Nothing about this ce feels weing.


    Marcus stops in front of the door. I feel the tension in him, the way his body goes still¡ªnot the calm kind, but the rigid kind, like he¡¯s back in some old nightmare.


    He knocks on the door.


    The door flies open as if someone had been waiting by it. A woman stands before us with ck hair, piercing green eyes, and a perfect nose. "Marcus," she says in a breathy voice. "You are here." She eyes me. "Who is she?"


    His whole body is tight, like the tension in him has turned to stone. He¡¯s staring at the woman like she¡¯s a ghost¡ªone he never wanted to see again. And maybe she is.


    I nce between them, my hand still wrapped in his. His grip hasn¡¯t loosened. If anything, it tightens.


    "Natalie," he says finally, voice t. Devoid of the warmth or even the resentment I expected. Just...numb. "This is Reba, my girlfriend."


    Her eyes flick to me again. "Hi," she says. "I am Marcus¡¯s sister."


    Her voice is smooth, but there¡¯s an edge to it¡ªlike ice pretending to be silk.


    "Hi," I say, offering a polite smile, even though everything in me feels a little off-kilter. "It¡¯s nice to meet you."


    Natalie steps aside without saying anything else, gesturing for us toe in.


    Marcus still hasn¡¯t moved.


    I look up at him. His eyes are fixed on the floor just past the threshold, like it¡¯s a line he¡¯s afraid to cross.


    So I squeeze his hand. Just a little.


    He breathes in, deep and rough, and steps inside.


    The air in the house hits me like a wall. It¡¯s too quiet. Too cold.


    Everything is in order¡ªtoo much order. The living room is neat, the furniture stiff, not a single cushion out of ce. It looks like a showroom someone tried too hard to make feel "lived in."


    Natalie closes the door behind us.


    "I cleaned up," she says simply, like that exins everything. Then she turns on her heel and walks into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"


    "No," Marcus says quickly. "Where are they?" he asks.


    Natalie pauses mid-step, her back still to us. "Upstairs," she says finally. "Same room."


    Marcus¡¯s jaw clenches again. I can feel it radiating off him, the way his whole body tightens like a spring about to snap.


    "Come on, Reba," he says softly before heading up.


    He doesn¡¯t look at me the whole time, but I feel his fingers tighten around mine.


    He opens the door.


    I almost gasped out loud when I saw the man lying in bed. Or a ghost of a man.


    He was thin¡ªtoo thin. Bones sharp under paper-thin skin, eyes sunken in like the life had been drained from them long ago. A feeding tube trailed from his nose, and machines beeped in a slow, steady rhythm that made the silence in the room even louder.


    The air smelled of antiseptic and something older. Rotting wood and time that had settled too long in one ce.


    I feel Marcus go still beside me.


    He does not speak.


    Does not move.


    And then I realized¡ªthis wasn¡¯t just someone sick in a bed.


    This was a man who had hurt Marcus.


    I don¡¯t know the details. Marcus never told me. But I didn¡¯t need the story. It was in the way he stood there, so rigid it looked like his body had forgotten how to breathe.


    Marcus let go of my hand and took a step forward, slow and unsure, like each inch of space he crossed took something from him.


    I stay where I am.


    A womanes out of the bathroom then.


    She looks at Marcus, and her eyes turn wide. "Marcus," she says, her voice trembling.


    He doesn¡¯t answer.


    She stands by the side of the bed and, for a moment, stares down at her husband. Then she takes the corner of the towel and wipes his mouth with a gentleness so practiced it doesn¡¯t even look real. "You came back home," she says without any warmth in her voice.


    I nce from her to Marcus and back. I have the urge to run, but I hold fast, my hands balled in the fabric of my skirt.


    Natalie stands in the doorway, arms crossed, the cut of her green eyes never leaving her brother¡¯s face.

 Chapter 178: A Survivor

    <h4>Chapter 178: A Survivor</h4>


    Marcus


    I had imagined that seeing him in this condition would bring me some sense of satisfaction.


    Just look at him now... his skin is as pale as moonlight, his eyes zed over like frosted ss, and his cheeks hollowed and worn. He is nothing more than an empty husk of a person now, a useless shell stripped of vitality and spirit.


    You would think I¡¯d feel something triumphant. But no. There¡¯s just a sick weight in my gut.


    Heys there, the slow drag of air through his nose like an engine refusing to die, while the mother who never protected any of us acts as if she¡¯s dusting off a mantelpiece. I look at them, at the old quilt draped over his stick-thin legs, at the yellow pill organizers clustered on the nightstand, and mostly I just want to bolt.


    But Reba¡¯s here. She stands just in reach but doesn¡¯t move to touch me. Her presence anchors me better than any bolt to the floor.


    I turn to Natalie¡ªback straight, chin up, the old family defiance soldered into her spine. She¡¯s the first to speak.


    "Doctor says it¡¯s only a matter of days. Maybe a week if he¡¯s stubborn." Her eyes flick to the bed as if to say, ¡¯and of course he is.¡¯ "He¡¯s been asking for you."


    "Has he," I say.


    Mother speaks, her voice strained by years of pretending. "You came home," she says again.


    I stare at her. "Not for him or you," is all I manage.


    She flinches, like she¡¯s been pped.


    "Marcus." His lips barely move, but I hear it clear as breaking bone.


    I set my jaw and cross the room. Reba stays just outside, her eyes never leaving me.


    "You wanted to see me?" I say.


    His head lolls my direction. It¡¯s hard to tell if there¡¯s anything left behind his gaze. "Didn¡¯t...think you¡¯de." His voice is barely a shape in the air.


    "But here I am," I reply, holding his stare with a nk coldness that feels fossilized.


    He reaches out, a slow, trembling hand, paper-skinned and desperate. I let it hover in the gap between us.


    "Sorry," he whispers. "Both of you. Everything I did."


    Natalie utters a sound between a breath and a sob, but she doesn¡¯t cry.


    Our mother stands by the window, a fixed point of old pain, facing away. I have nothing to say to her. Not today.


    I want to believe this is the part where reconciliation happens, or forgiveness is supposed to sprout, but I feel nothing except the old ache, the old storm, the old sketchy outlines of a father I never truly had.


    "Do you?" I ask. "Are you actually sorry, or is this just what dying people say?"


    For a second his face splits with something ugly, then copses back into apology. "I... didn¡¯t know how. To stop. I was wrong," he murmurs, but the words seem to float higher than the man who says them.


    The room is silent for a long minute.


    Reba stands by me. She¡¯s close enough that I can sense her, even though we¡¯re not touching.


    I swallow hard, eyes still on the man who used to loom sorge in my nightmares. He looks so small now. Like if I blinked too hard, he might disappear entirely.


    "You were wrong," I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. "And now you¡¯re dying, and I¡¯m supposed to... what? Let go? Say I understand?"


    His eyes flutter closed. Maybe from shame. Maybe exhaustion. I don¡¯t care which.


    "I¡¯m not here to make peace," I say quietly, voice t. "I¡¯m here because I couldn¡¯t resist the urge to watch you die."


    A sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence¡ªNatalie¡¯s. But she doesn¡¯t look at me.


    His lips twitch, a flicker of something like pain or recognition. "I deserve that," he croaks.


    "You deserve worse," I say.


    He doesn¡¯t argue. He just lies there, shrinking into the mattress like he¡¯s trying to disappear into it. Like he knows this is thest ce he¡¯ll ever be.


    Reba¡¯s hand finds my arm. A silent gesture. Not a reprimand¡ªnever that. Just a tether, something to stop me from spiralingpletely.


    "I wanted to fix things," he says after a moment. The words tremble with a kind of pathetic hope, too weak to stand on their own. "Before it was toote."


    "It is toote," I snap. And then quieter: "You can¡¯t fix a lifetime in a breath, no matter how close to death you are."


    He closes his eyes again.


    I nce at Natalie, who¡¯s staring down at him now, jaw tight but not cold.


    Did she forgive them already?


    I wonder if she did. If somewhere in all those years of burying her pain, she dug up something that looked enough like forgiveness to carry. Or maybe it¡¯s not forgiveness at all. Maybe it¡¯s resignation. eptance that the past won¡¯t change, and the only power she has left is deciding how much of herself she still gives to it.


    I don¡¯t think I have that in me.


    "I¡¯m not going to forgive you," I tell him.


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away¡ªmaybe he can¡¯t, maybe he knows there¡¯s nothing he can say that I¡¯d believe. "I just..I ask you take care of your mother."


    The words hit me like a p, sharp and undeserved.


    Take care of your mother.


    I stare at him, stunned¡ªnot by the request itself, but by the sheer audacity of it. Of him. Of all the things he could¡¯ve said, all the people he could¡¯ve asked about, her?


    My voicees out low, razor-thin. "You want me to take care of her?"


    His eyes flutter open again, hazy but pleading. "She¡¯s...she tried."


    I let out a bitterugh, short and humorless. "She watched. While you tore us apart, she watched. While Natalie hid bruises and I stopped sleeping through the night, she just stood there. Don¡¯t you dare ask me to protect the woman who never once protected us."


    I feel my mother¡¯s presence stir somewhere near me, but I don¡¯t turn my head to look at her.


    She doesn¡¯t speak. Of course she doesn¡¯t.


    Not a denial. Not an apology. Just silence¡ªthe same silence she gave us our entire childhood while he raged like a storm through the house.


    I can feel her eyes on me. I imagine she¡¯s wearing that same brittle expression she always wore in the aftermath: lips pressed thin, chin lifted like that made her brave. As if endurance and love were the same thing.


    "I used to dream she¡¯d step between us," I say, my voice colder now. "Even just once. Just once, I wanted her to look at you and say, ¡¯That¡¯s enough.¡¯ But she never did. She let it happen. She let you happen."


    My father says nothing. His breaths are shallow now, ragged. There¡¯s sweat gathering at his temples.


    "I¡¯m not the caretaker here," I add, softer, but no less final. "Not for her. Not for you. You wantfort? You should¡¯ve been someone worth mourning."


    Natalie¡¯s voice cuts in atst, raw but steady. "We took care of each other. That¡¯s how we survived."


    I meet her eyes. She gives me the smallest nod. She¡¯s not angry. She¡¯s not broken. She¡¯s just... done.


    Maybe we both are.


    "Well, this was fun. But I will be leaving now. let¡¯s go, Reba."


    Reba doesn¡¯t say a word. She just steps in beside me, silent as ever, the warmth of her presence grounding me in a way nothing else in this house ever has.


    As I turn toward the door, I nce back onest time. Not at him. Not at her.


    At Natalie.


    She¡¯s still standing by the bed, eyes ssy but spine straight. A survivor, like me. Like we always had to be.


    "Youing?" I ask.


    She hesitates. Then: "In a minute."


    I nod once. I don¡¯t need to understand. I just need to get out.


    Marcus


    I had imagined that seeing him in this condition would bring me some sense of satisfaction.


    Just look at him now... his skin is as pale as moonlight, his eyes zed over like frosted ss, and his cheeks hollowed and worn. He is nothing more than an empty husk of a person now, a useless shell stripped of vitality and spirit.


    You would think I¡¯d feel something triumphant. But no. There¡¯s just a sick weight in my gut.


    Heys there, the slow drag of air through his nose like an engine refusing to die, while the mother who never protected any of us acts as if she¡¯s dusting off a mantelpiece. I look at them, at the old quilt draped over his stick-thin legs, at the yellow pill organizers clustered on the nightstand, and mostly I just want to bolt.


    But Reba¡¯s here. She stands just in reach but doesn¡¯t move to touch me. Her presence anchors me better than any bolt to the floor.


    I turn to Natalie¡ªback straight, chin up, the old family defiance soldered into her spine. She¡¯s the first to speak.


    "Doctor says it¡¯s only a matter of days. Maybe a week if he¡¯s stubborn." Her eyes flick to the bed as if to say, ¡¯and of course he is.¡¯ "He¡¯s been asking for you."


    "Has he," I say.


    Mother speaks, her voice strained by years of pretending. "You came home," she says again.


    I stare at her. "Not for him or you," is all I manage.


    She flinches, like she¡¯s been pped.


    "Marcus." His lips barely move, but I hear it clear as breaking bone.


    I set my jaw and cross the room. Reba stays just outside, her eyes never leaving me.


    "You wanted to see me?" I say.


    His head lolls my direction. It¡¯s hard to tell if there¡¯s anything left behind his gaze. "Didn¡¯t...think you¡¯de." His voice is barely a shape in the air.


    "But here I am," I reply, holding his stare with a nk coldness that feels fossilized.


    He reaches out, a slow, trembling hand, paper-skinned and desperate. I let it hover in the gap between us.


    "Sorry," he whispers. "Both of you. Everything I did."


    Natalie utters a sound between a breath and a sob, but she doesn¡¯t cry.


    Our mother stands by the window, a fixed point of old pain, facing away. I have nothing to say to her. Not today.


    I want to believe this is the part where reconciliation happens, or forgiveness is supposed to sprout, but I feel nothing except the old ache, the old storm, the old sketchy outlines of a father I never truly had.


    "Do you?" I ask. "Are you actually sorry, or is this just what dying people say?"


    For a second his face splits with something ugly, then copses back into apology. "I... didn¡¯t know how. To stop. I was wrong," he murmurs, but the words seem to float higher than the man who says them.


    The room is silent for a long minute.


    Reba stands by me. She¡¯s close enough that I can sense her, even though we¡¯re not touching.


    I swallow hard, eyes still on the man who used to loom sorge in my nightmares. He looks so small now. Like if I blinked too hard, he might disappear entirely.


    "You were wrong," I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. "And now you¡¯re dying, and I¡¯m supposed to... what? Let go? Say I understand?"


    His eyes flutter closed. Maybe from shame. Maybe exhaustion. I don¡¯t care which.


    "I¡¯m not here to make peace," I say quietly, voice t. "I¡¯m here because I couldn¡¯t resist the urge to watch you die."


    A sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence¡ªNatalie¡¯s. But she doesn¡¯t look at me.


    His lips twitch, a flicker of something like pain or recognition. "I deserve that," he croaks.


    "You deserve worse," I say.


    He doesn¡¯t argue. He just lies there, shrinking into the mattress like he¡¯s trying to disappear into it. Like he knows this is thest ce he¡¯ll ever be.


    Reba¡¯s hand finds my arm. A silent gesture. Not a reprimand¡ªnever that. Just a tether, something to stop me from spiralingpletely.


    "I wanted to fix things," he says after a moment. The words tremble with a kind of pathetic hope, too weak to stand on their own. "Before it was toote."


    "It is toote," I snap. And then quieter: "You can¡¯t fix a lifetime in a breath, no matter how close to death you are."


    He closes his eyes again.


    I nce at Natalie, who¡¯s staring down at him now, jaw tight but not cold.


    Did she forgive them already?


    I wonder if she did. If somewhere in all those years of burying her pain, she dug up something that looked enough like forgiveness to carry. Or maybe it¡¯s not forgiveness at all. Maybe it¡¯s resignation. eptance that the past won¡¯t change, and the only power she has left is deciding how much of herself she still gives to it.


    I don¡¯t think I have that in me.


    "I¡¯m not going to forgive you," I tell him.


    He doesn¡¯t answer right away¡ªmaybe he can¡¯t, maybe he knows there¡¯s nothing he can say that I¡¯d believe. "I just..I ask you take care of your mother."


    The words hit me like a p, sharp and undeserved.


    Take care of your mother.


    I stare at him, stunned¡ªnot by the request itself, but by the sheer audacity of it. Of him. Of all the things he could¡¯ve said, all the people he could¡¯ve asked about, her?


    My voicees out low, razor-thin. "You want me to take care of her?"


    His eyes flutter open again, hazy but pleading. "She¡¯s...she tried."


    I let out a bitterugh, short and humorless. "She watched. While you tore us apart, she watched. While Natalie hid bruises and I stopped sleeping through the night, she just stood there. Don¡¯t you dare ask me to protect the woman who never once protected us."


    I feel my mother¡¯s presence stir somewhere near me, but I don¡¯t turn my head to look at her.


    She doesn¡¯t speak. Of course she doesn¡¯t.


    Not a denial. Not an apology. Just silence¡ªthe same silence she gave us our entire childhood while he raged like a storm through the house.


    I can feel her eyes on me. I imagine she¡¯s wearing that same brittle expression she always wore in the aftermath: lips pressed thin, chin lifted like that made her brave. As if endurance and love were the same thing.


    "I used to dream she¡¯d step between us," I say, my voice colder now. "Even just once. Just once, I wanted her to look at you and say, ¡¯That¡¯s enough.¡¯ But she never did. She let it happen. She let you happen."


    My father says nothing. His breaths are shallow now, ragged. There¡¯s sweat gathering at his temples.


    "I¡¯m not the caretaker here," I add, softer, but no less final. "Not for her. Not for you. You wantfort? You should¡¯ve been someone worth mourning."


    Natalie¡¯s voice cuts in atst, raw but steady. "We took care of each other. That¡¯s how we survived."


    I meet her eyes. She gives me the smallest nod. She¡¯s not angry. She¡¯s not broken. She¡¯s just... done.


    Maybe we both are.


    "Well, this was fun. But I will be leaving now. let¡¯s go, Reba."


    Reba doesn¡¯t say a word. She just steps in beside me, silent as ever, the warmth of her presence grounding me in a way nothing else in this house ever has.


    As I turn toward the door, I nce back onest time. Not at him. Not at her.


    At Natalie.


    She¡¯s still standing by the bed, eyes ssy but spine straight. A survivor, like me. Like we always had to be.


    "Youing?" I ask.


    She hesitates. Then: "In a minute."


    I nod once. I don¡¯t need to understand. I just need to get out.

 Chapter 179: I am Not Weak

    <h4>Chapter 179: I am Not Weak</h4>


    Marcus


    I push off the doorframe and find myself under that flickering bulb, the light pulsing like a bad heartbeat. Reba falls in beside me, her hand sliding into mine without asking. I give it a squeeze.


    "Did you hear what he asked?" I keep my voice low, more to Reba than anyone down this empty hall. "He wanted me to... take care of Mom."


    She hesitates, then threads her fingers through mine. "Yeah. I heard."


    I swallow the lump in my throat. "He actually thinks.." My voice trails off.


    She tilts her head, her eyes soft but fierce. "What did he do to you, Marcus?"


    look away from her, toward the peeling wallpaper and the dust floating in the yellow light. Anything but her eyes.


    "He used to lock me in the cer when I cried," I say finally, the words scraping their way out. "Said boys who cry turn into weak men. Said I¡¯d thank him one day."


    Reba doesn¡¯t speak. She just stays close, thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.


    "He broke my ribs once. Told the doctor I fell off adder. I was eight."


    Her fingers tighten around mine. No gasp. No pity. Just solid presence. That¡¯s why I let myself keep going.


    "I pissed the bed until I was twelve. Not because I was scared of the dark¡ªbut because I knew he¡¯de in drunk if I made a sound. I learned to stay quiet. I learned to stop crying. I learned to disappear."


    My jaw clenches. The bulb above us flickers harder, like it¡¯s trying to go out for good.


    "So no," I say, voice t now. "I¡¯m not going in there to hold his hand and pretend he didn¡¯t carve out pieces of me and leave them to rot. I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s dying. He already killed something in me a long time ago."


    Reba steps in front of me, both her hands cupping my face now. There¡¯s no fear in her, just that same fierce softness.


    "You don¡¯t owe him anything, Marcus," she whispers.


    But I can¡¯t breathe.


    Not from panic. From pressure. Like there¡¯s something lodged in my chest that I¡¯ve carried for too long, something that¡¯s shaped my ribs around it like scar tissue.


    "I know," I whisper back. "But part of me still wants him to look at me and say that he saw me. That I wasn¡¯t weak."


    My voice cracks on thest word.


    Reba brushes her thumb over my cheek, and I realize I¡¯m crying. I didn¡¯t feel it start. The tears are just... there. Quiet. Like I used to be.


    "Marcus," she says.


    She waits, and when I don¡¯t say anything, she asks the question I¡¯ve been trying to dodge.


    "Did he hurt Natalie, too?"


    I swallow hard. The truth tastes bitter but it¡¯s time.


    "He did," I admit, voice low. "Not exactly the same way as me. But yeah, she got it, too."


    Reba¡¯s hand tightens around mine, steady and grounding.


    "He wasn¡¯t just cruel to me. He broke her spirit in silence. Locked her away with his cold words and his disappearances. Made her feel like she was nothing. Like she didn¡¯t deserve to be seen or heard."


    The weight presses down on my chest, but I need her to understand. "She learned to hide behind a smile, to pretend everything was okay. But I saw through it. Saw how small she got inside."


    Reba doesn¡¯t let go of my hand. She just watches me, steady as stone, and says, "Then show me."


    I blink. "What?"


    "Don¡¯t tell me more. Show me where it happened. Where he raised you. Where you learned to disappear."


    I stare at her, but she doesn¡¯t flinch.


    So I nod. Slowly. And without saying a word, I turn and start down the hall, taking her with me.


    The floorboards creak in all the same ces. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ve ever been fixed. I stop outside the third door on the left, my hand hovering over the knob like it still might burn me.


    Then I push it open.


    The room is small. Not just in size, but in feeling. The air feels thinner in here, like the walls are trying to press inward. There¡¯s a bed in the corner with no headboard, just a stained mattress and a gray sheet stretched too tight. A single dresser, one drawer missing. No photos. No posters. No books. No signs of childhood at all.


    Just emptiness.


    Reba doesn¡¯t say anything right away. She steps inside slowly, her eyes moving over the barren walls, the cracked windowsill, the thinyer of dust that¡¯s settled like it¡¯s been waiting for someone to remember.


    "This was it?" she asks.


    I nod. "I spent most of my childhood in here. Or the cer."


    She turns to me. "Marcus, this room isn¡¯t even livable."


    I let out a short breath that¡¯s not quite augh. "Wasn¡¯t really meant to be."


    She looks back at the mattress and something shifts in her expression ¡ª not just sadness. Rage.


    "You deserved so much more than this," she says.


    I shrug. "I didn¡¯t know better. I thought it was normal. It wasn¡¯t until I stayed over at a friend¡¯s house in high school that I realized how much was missing."


    Reba walks over to the corner where the wallpaper¡¯s peeling back to reveal bare drywall. She touches it gently, then turns to face me.


    "I get why you never came back," she says.


    I nod. "Didn¡¯t really feel like I had a reason to."


    Reba nces around the room again. "It feels like a prison."


    "It was," I say. "Only difference is the door didn¡¯t lock from the outside. He didn¡¯t need to. I stayed because I was too scared to leave."


    She moves closer to the wall where the paint¡¯s chipped and runs her hand along it. "This doesn¡¯t look like a kid¡¯s room."


    "It wasn¡¯t," I say. "It was a ce to sleep. That¡¯s all. No toys. Nofort. Nothing I cared about enough for him to take away."


    She doesn¡¯t say anything for a second. Just looks at the mattress like she can see everything that happened here without me saying more.


    "You deserved better," she finally says.


    I shrug. "Didn¡¯t know any different back then. I thought this was how it was for everyone."


    She looks at me now, her voice soft. "It wasn¡¯t."


    I nod, swallowing hard.


    "I¡¯m going to talk to Natalie," I say. "I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m gonna say, but... I can¡¯t avoid her anymore."


    "Do you need me to leave you two alone?" Reba asks. "I can wait in the living room."


    I shake my head fast, panic creeping in like it did so many years ago. "No. Don¡¯t leave."


    Reba¡¯s eyes widen a little, but she nods and steps closer.


    "I want you to stay with me," I admit, voice barely more than a whisper. "At all times."


    "Okay," she says softly. "I¡¯ll be right here."

 Chapter 180: Call Me

    <h4>Chapter 180: Call Me</h4>


    Marcus


    I push the door open, slow.


    Natalie¡¯s sitting at the edge of the bed. Her hands are in herp, fingers woven tight. She doesn¡¯t look at me right away.


    Reba stays behind me, just inside the door. I don¡¯t let go of her hand.


    Natalie lifts her head.


    "Thank you foring, Marcus," she says. "I know it was hard for you."


    I nod. "Yeah. It was hard for you too, Nat."


    Natalie looks up at me again.


    "I don¡¯t want to talk about him right now. I said my peace with him."


    "You don¡¯t have to," I say.


    Natalie looks at our hands, then back at me. "Then maybe we can just talk. About anything else. About...us."


    "Sure," I say.


    She nods. "Good."


    Natalie leans back a little.


    "I forgot how quiet it gets in this house," she says. "Even when people are here, it¡¯s like no one¡¯s really allowed to speak too loud."


    "Like your voice might wake something you don¡¯t want to face," I say.


    "Exactly."


    I nce at the floor. Still the same scratched wood. The same air that smells like dust and old habits.


    "You remember the closet in the hallway?" she asks. "The one with the broken hinge?"


    I nod. "He used to shove us in there and block the door. Left us in there hours at a time."


    Natalie doesn¡¯t flinch. Just presses her lips together like she¡¯s trying not to cry or scream ¡ª or maybe both.


    "I thought I imagined that," she says quietly. "Sometimes I¡¯d wake up thinking it was a dream. That it didn¡¯t really happen."


    "It happened," I say. "You were seven. I was ten. He said we were too loud. Said we needed to learn how to be still."


    "I remember it being cold," she whispers. "Even in the summer."


    I nod. "And dark. No light came in. I used to count your breaths to make sure you hadn¡¯t stopped."


    She blinks fast. "Marcus..."


    "I should¡¯ve done more," I say. "I should¡¯ve fought harder. I was the older brother."


    "You were just a kid too," she says. "We both were."


    She wipes at her eyes and offers a small, broken smile. "But you always pulled me onto yourp and held me. Even when I cried. Especially when I cried."


    I nce down, my voice rough. "It¡¯s all I knew how to do."


    "And it helped," she says. "More than you know."


    Reba is still here quietly. She hasn¡¯t moved an inch or said anything. But I need her here. I am selfish for making her feel ufortable, but I don¡¯t have the strength to face things alone.


    "I kept that memory," Natalie continues. "That you held me. That you told me it would be okay, even when we both knew it wasn¡¯t."


    I let the silence sit between us for a second. Then I say, "I almost cut you out of my life."


    Her eyes flick up to meet mine, confused. Hurt. "I know."


    I swallow. "It wasn¡¯t because I didn¡¯t care. It¡¯s the opposite, actually."


    She waits. No anger. Just waiting.


    "I thought if I stayed away, it would protect you. From the weight of remembering every horrible thing he did to us."


    "You¡¯re not the one I needed protection from," she says gently.


    "I didn¡¯t believe that," I admit. "I didn¡¯t think I deserved to be your brother anymore. You were trying to move on, trying to build something normal. And I... I kept reliving it. I didn¡¯t want to drag you back into it every time I couldn¡¯t sleep or couldn¡¯t breathe or couldn¡¯t feel like a person."


    She shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "You¡¯re not a burden, Marcus."


    "I felt like one. And part of me thought that if I disappeared, maybe you¡¯d have a better shot at peace."


    Natalie leans forward, her hand brushing mine on the edge of the bed.


    "You were the only peace I had. I am not mad at you, Marcus. You are my big brother and I still love you," Natalie says.


    I hear myself exhale, shuddering. If Reba weren¡¯t here, it would feel like a hallucination. But her palm hot against mine tells me this is really happening.


    Natalie breaks the silence first, her voice shaky but determined. "They said it would only be a day or two. If you want, you never have to see him again after. No funerals, no memories, nothing."


    "Good," I say. "That¡¯s good."


    Reba is watching us both, eyes huge, but she doesn¡¯t say a word. She belongs here, somehow more than anyone else. I don¡¯t know how Natalie reads that, but she gives Reba a small, grateful smile.


    "You must be someone very special to Marcus. He never shares this part of him with anyone."


    "How would you know that?" I ask, tilting my brows.


    "Because I know you, Marcus. And yes, I have heard of your reputation with...women," Natalie replies.


    I almost smile at that, but ites out more like a sigh.


    "Yeah, well," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. "Most of that was just noise. White noise to drown everything else out."


    Natalie nods like she already knew that.


    Reba finally speaks, her voice soft but steady. "He¡¯s not very good at hiding the real him."


    "I figured," Natalie says, her eyes flicking back to me. "There¡¯s still a little boy in there. The one who used to sleep curled up at the foot of my bed when I had nightmares."


    I close my eyes for half a second. That image¡ªher small voice asking me not to leave, my back pressed against her mattress because it was the only ce that felt safe. Yeah. That version of me still exists.


    "I used to think the only way to survive was to be someone else," I say. "Someone harder. Someone who didn¡¯t flinch."


    Natalie studies me. "But you do flinch, Marcus. You just hide it better than most."


    I look at her then, really look. She¡¯s older now, sharper around the edges, but her voice is still soft. Still the one that used to ask me if I believed in magic. Still the only one who could get me to sing under the covers when the power went out.


    "I don¡¯t want to pretend anymore," I say quietly.


    She reaches for my hand again, this time with both of hers.


    "Then don¡¯t."


    I nod. Slowly. I can¡¯t promise anything else yet. But she seems to understand that.


    After a moment, Natalie lets go and leans back on the bed. "Remember when we used to sneak Oreos from the pantry? You¡¯d always me the dog even though we didn¡¯t have one."


    I chuckle. For real this time. "I was verymitted to the bit."


    "You were," she says. "You said if we believed hard enough, the dog would just appear one day."


    I nce at Reba, who gives me a soft smile.


    "I¡¯m d you came," Natalie says again. "And I¡¯m d you have someone."


    I nod. "Me too."


    We sit there for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.


    "I will go home now. Will you leave too, Nat?" I ask.


    She sighs. "I need to wrap some things up. Mom...well...he isn¡¯t leaving her with much."


    I nod, understanding more than she¡¯s saying. He never was good with money. Too busy spending it on things that made him feel bigger than he was.


    "You need help with any of it?" I ask, though part of me hopes she¡¯ll say no. I¡¯m not ready to dig through his things, to sort through whatever mess he¡¯s leaving behind.


    Natalie shakes her head. "I can handle it. Mom¡¯s got a sister in Phoenix. She might go there for a while."


    "Good," I say. "That¡¯s probably for the best."


    I stand up, still holding Reba¡¯s hand. The room feels smaller now, like the walls are pressing in. I need air. I need to get out of this house before it swallows me whole again.


    "Marcus," Natalie says as we reach the door.


    I turn back.


    "Call me. When you¡¯re ready. Not because you have to, but because you want to."


    "I will," I say, and for the first time in years, I mean it.

 Chapter 181: Will You…

    <h4>Chapter 181: Will You...</h4>


    Reba


    The hallway feels endless walking out. Every step echoes, and I watch Marcus¡¯s shoulders tense as we pass that closet door. It¡¯s still there. Still broken. I can feel the weight of whatever happened behind that door pressing down on him like a physical thing.


    I squeeze his hand tighter. It feels cold in my hand and I know the weather has nothing to do with it.


    Outside, Marcus stops and takes a deep breath like he¡¯s been drowning. I don¡¯t say anything until we¡¯re in the car, doors closed, engine running. Safe.


    "You okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer. He doesn¡¯t have to tell me.


    He grips the steering wheel and stares at the house through the windshield. I follow his gaze. It looks so ordinary from out here. Just a tired old house with peeling paint and dead flowers in the window boxes. But I know now what it holds inside.


    "I don¡¯t know," he says honestly. "Ask me tomorrow."


    I nod. Don¡¯t push. He¡¯s been brave enough for one day.


    He puts the car in drive, but before we pull away, he looks at the house one more time. There¡¯s something final in his expression, like he¡¯s saying goodbye.


    "Thank you," he says to me. "Foring with me. For not saying anything. For just... being there."


    I turn in my seat to face him. "You don¡¯t have to thank me for that."


    "Yeah, I do," he says. "Most people would have run. Hell, most people wouldn¡¯t havee in the first ce."


    "I¡¯m not most people," I tell him. Seeing him so vulnerable made me realize something. I don¡¯t want to be with anyone else anymore.


    He drives slow through the old neighborhood, and I watch him taking it all in. There¡¯s a corner store, a park, a bus stop. Normal things. But I can see him remembering, can see the weight of childhood settling on his face.


    "She seems like she¡¯s doing well," I say quietly, thinking of Natalie. The way she looked at Marcus with such love, such forgiveness.


    "Better than I thought she¡¯d be," he admits. "Better than I am, maybe."


    "You¡¯re doing fine."


    He shakes his head. "I left her, Reba. When she needed me most, I just...I wanted to escape. I am a horrible person."


    My chest tightens. "Don¡¯t say that. You were protecting yourself. And maybe her too, in your own way."


    He considers that, and I hope he believes it. Because I think it might be true.


    "My therapist used to say that sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone is to work on yourself first," I continue. "Even if it means stepping away for a while."


    "You had a therapist?" he asks.


    The question catches me off guard. We don¡¯t talk about our pasts much. Both of us prefer living in the present. "Yeah. Do you think I am always rainbows and sunshine?"


    His lips twitch at that. "You make it seem like it."


    "There are days I have to close my eyes and count to ten just to keep from falling apart," I admit. The words feel embarrassing and true all at once. "My parents were great. But I¡¯ve always been this...quirky kid. Kids at school made fun of me. They thought I was weird."


    Marcus nces at me, his expression softening. "Weird how?" he asks.


    I look out the window, watching the suburban streets blur past. "Oh, you know. I collected bottle caps and organized them by color and year. I memorized the periodic table for fun when I was nine. I used to name all the nts in our garden and talk to them like they were pets." I shrug. "I also had this habit of humming movie soundtracks under my breath and quoting random facts at inappropriate times."


    "That doesn¡¯t sound weird. That sounds... cute." Marcus grins.


    "Try telling that to Jennifer Morrison and her little gang of mean girls," I say, making jazz hands mockingly. "They called me Robot Reba because I¡¯d correct their grammar and knew the scientific names for everything. Apparently, saying ¡¯Actually, it¡¯s Canis lupus¡¯ when someone mentions wolves makes you a freak."


    His lips twitch. "You still do that."


    "Do what?"


    "The random facts thing. Last night you told me that honey never spoils and that they found edible honey in ancient Egyptian tombs."


    I feel my cheeks warm. "That¡¯s... that¡¯s actually really interesting information."


    "It is," he says, squeezing my hand. "I like it. I like that your brain works differently."


    My heart does this little flutter thing. "Really?"


    "Really. Tell me more about high school."


    I fidget with the radio dial even though it¡¯s not on. "Well, I had exactly two friends - Sarah and Josh. And we didn¡¯t even meet until college. We called ourselves the Breakfast Club, which was deeply uncool since that movie was already ancient history. We sometimes had heated debates about whether Batman could actually afford to be Batman in real life." I pause, smiling at the memory. "I did the math once. Turns out being a vignte is really expensive."


    Marcus is grinning now. "Of course you did the math. So...is it the same Josh Hailey is with right now?"


    I nod. "Yes. That¡¯s why I am super protective over him."


    Marcus lets out a softugh. "I get it now. Why you were so mad on his behalf for pursuing Hailey."


    I nod, a little sheepish. "Josh doesn¡¯t fall in love easily. And when he does, it¡¯s like this full-hearted, all-in kind of thing. So yeah, I was ready to go full mama bear if you continued to mess with them."


    Marcus nces at me. "You really care about people."


    "Not people. My people," I say. "Big difference."


    He¡¯s quiet for a second, eyes on the road. Then he says, "I care about you too, Ba. A lot."


    I smile, but I don¡¯t say anything. Because I am scared if I open my mouth now, he will know the truth. He will see that I might already be in love with him.


    We drive infortable silence for a while.


    "Can I tell you something?" he says eventually.


    "Yes," I say.


    "I don¡¯t know how to do this," he admits. "How to be with someone who actually...who actually sees me."


    My heart squeezes tight. "What do you mean?"


    "I mean I¡¯ve spent so long hiding, Reba. From everyone. Even from myself sometimes. And you just... you walk into my life and suddenly I want to tell you everything. I want to show you all the broken parts and trust that you won¡¯t leave."


    "I won¡¯t. You can tell me anything, Marcus," I say softly.


    He looks over, not quite smiling but not as hard-edged as before.


    "Okay," he says, that single word a sigh and a promise at once.


    "Can I ask you something?" I say, in a small voice. I am still not sure how much I can probe.


    He tips his head the tiniest fraction, eyes still closed. "Sure," he says.


    "Were you scared?" I mean it about the house, about all of it, but what I really want to know is if I¡¯m the only one who isn¡¯t sure how to survive being together.


    His mouth twitches. "I was terrified," he says, still not looking at me, and it¡¯s the truest thing I¡¯ve ever heard him say. "You wouldn¡¯t believe how much it costs me to need someone. To let anyone see that I do."


    I reach over and rest my hand on his thigh. He flinches, just for a second, then covers my hand with his. He nces at me, wary and unguarded at once, and I swear I feel the distance between us copse molecule by molecule.


    "You don¡¯t have to be scared of me," I say. Then add, because it¡¯s true, "I won¡¯t ever put you in a closet."


    He actuallyughs. It¡¯s a jagged sound, but it breaks the tension like sunlight through a cracked door.


    "Promise?" he asks, and the smile is so vulnerable it nearly undoes me.


    "Promise," I say. "And this time, you can even leave the door open if you want."


    He leans in then, and I meet him halfway, the kiss not rough or hurried but very, very gentle, like something valuable handed over without asking for a receipt. When we break apart, neither of us pulls away for a while.


    Eventually, he says, "We better get home soon. Megan will think we ran away to join the circus."


    I snort. "Be honest. Does she like us together?"


    He grins, all sly mischief, but there¡¯s a softness now too. "Yes she does. She told me after breakfast the other morning that if I don¡¯t make this official she¡¯s running for emancipation."


    My mouth drops open. I cannot help butugh.


    "Well," I say, straightening. "Then I guess we are making it official. Marcus, will you marry me?" I ask, trying to keep myself fromughing out loud.

 Chapter 182: Best Food

    <h4>Chapter 182: Best Food</h4>


    Reba


    Marcus nearly swerves the car into the nextne. "What?!"


    I dissolve intoughter, grabbing his arm. "I¡¯m kidding! Oh my god, your face¡ª"


    He shakes his head, smiling despite himself, that stunned look still lingering. "You can¡¯t just casually drop a proposal while I¡¯m driving, Reba. That¡¯s how idents happen."


    "Well," I say, teasing, "you did say you wanted someone who saw you. This is what happens when someone sees you too much."


    He gives me a long sideways look, then turns his eyes back to the road. "Yeah, well... maybe I liked it."


    I grin, leaning back in my seat. The air between us feels lighter now, even though we¡¯re both carrying a thousand-pound past.


    He nces at me again, eyes softer now. "You sure you¡¯re ready for all my baggage, though? Because Ie with several emotional suitcases and a carry-on of unresolved trauma."


    I pretend to consider. "I mean... as long as you let me alphabetize the contents, we should be okay."


    Marcusughs. It is a realugh this time.


    "I wasn¡¯t joking about Megan, though," he adds, smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. "She¡¯s got opinions. And she really likes you."


    "She¡¯s smart. Clearly has good taste," I say.


    "She also thinks we should get a dog."


    I blink. "What?"


    "Yeah. She said if we¡¯re gonna y happy family, we need a dog toplete the aesthetic."


    Iugh again, picturing it. "Can it be one of those ridiculous shaggy ones that looks like a mop?"


    "As long as it doesn¡¯t bark too much."


    "Oh, Marcus," I say with a dramatic sigh. "You¡¯re going to be one of those dog parents."


    He shrugs. "Only if you help me pick out the name."


    "Okay," I say. "But I¡¯m vetoing any names from Greek mythology."


    Marcus groans. "You take all the fun out of everything."


    I smile. "You¡¯ll live."


    He reaches across the center console and takes my hand again, and this time, it¡¯s warm. Solid.


    Real.


    At a red light he nces at me, then away fast, like he caught himself at something illicit. "You okay?" he asks, his thumb anxious on the leather wheel.


    I nod, even though it¡¯s a lie and he knows it.


    "When we get home," he says, "I want to cook for you." He keeps his gaze forward, at the ho-yellow traffic, at the scuffed hood of the rental two cars up. "Anything you want."


    My lips twitch, and I almost smile. "You cook?"


    "Only the best Italian food you can dream of," he says smugly.


    "What if I want a seven-course tasting menu?" I ask, voice light but hands wringing a nervous energy in myp.


    He grins. "Challenge epted."


    By the time we¡¯re halfway home, the light outside has softened, thatte-afternoon hush falling over the world like a quilt. Marcus¡¯s hand stays in mine, even as he drives. Every few minutes, his thumb sweeps slow across my knuckles.


    I nce at him, wondering how someone can look so manly and boyish all at once. He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.


    "What?" he says.


    "Just thinking," I say.


    "That sounds scary," he teases.


    I smile. "I was wondering if you were always like this."


    "Like what?"


    "Funny. Gentle. A little tragic."


    He gives a quietugh and looks back at the road. "No. I think I used to be meaner. Harder. Sarcastic in the way that hurts people."


    I¡¯m quiet, because I believe him. But I also believe in who he is now.


    "What changed?"


    "You, maybe," he says simply.


    It stuns me for a second¡ªhow quickly and easily he says it. No build-up. No dramatics. Just the truth handed to me like a ss of water.


    I swallow, and suddenly I can¡¯t quite look at him either.


    A few minutester, we get out of the car and walk toward the house.


    He unlocks the door and lets me in. I kick off my shoes with a sigh I didn¡¯t know I was holding.


    Marcus locks the door behind us and stands there for a quiet beat.


    I nce back. "You okay?"


    He nods but doesn¡¯t move. "Much better now that I am home." He looks at me. "Still want that seven-course tasting menu?" he asks, opening the fridge.


    "Only if course one is wine," I say, leaning against the counter.


    He chuckles.


    Megan trots into the kitchen right then. "You are back! About time."


    She says it like she¡¯s been waiting years instead of hours, arms crossed, one brow cocked like a tiny detective who¡¯s figured out more than she should.


    Marcus ruffles her hair as she walks past him. "Miss us, squirt?"


    She shrugs with mock indifference, but she sidles closer to me. "Ba, are you going to stay with us this weekend too?."


    I shake my head and smile sadly. "No, sweetheart. I have to go back to work at my hometown."


    Megan¡¯s face falls. Just a flicker, like she¡¯s trying not to show it, but I see it anyway.


    "Oh," she says, voice small. "Okay."


    I crouch beside her and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "Hey. I¡¯lle back soon."


    She gives me a look that¡¯s far too grown-up for someone her size. "You promise?" She asks skeptically.


    I swallow hard, caught off guard by how attached I feel to her already. "I promise."


    Marcus watches us from the stove, spat in hand.


    I stand, brushing off my knees. "Wine?" I ask, tilting my head toward the cabs.


    Marcus nods and gestures with the spat. "Top shelf. Far left."


    I find the bottle and pour while he saut¨¦s something that smells like garlic and heaven had a baby.


    Megan sits at the counter, swinging her legs. "What¡¯s for dinner?"


    "Seven courses of chaos," Marcus mutters.


    Weugh, and for a moment, everything feels stupidly, impossibly good. Like maybe life doesn¡¯t have to be perfect to feel right. Maybe it just has to be real.


    We watch a movie together. The three of us.


    "She is out cold," Marcus says after a while, pointing at Megan under the big nket.


    Marcus stands and gently scoops Megan into his arms, careful not to wake her. Her small body melts against his chest, breathing slow and even.


    I watch him carry her down the hallway, his steps quiet, his face soft with tenderness.


    He kneels beside her bed and carefullyys her down, pulling the nket up to her chin.


    "Goodnight, princess," he whispers, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.


    I feel something warm in my chest. I can tell he loves Megan more than anything. He is giving her the kind of love his parents never gave him.


    Marcus nces back at me with a smile and gestures me to follow him.


    I follow him into his bedroom.


    "I...I should get some sleep too. I need to wake up early and..."


    "Reba," he interrupts me, his voice deep and gravelly.


    I look at him questionably.


    He grabs my waist and pulls me against him. I don¡¯t protest. I press against him, enjoying the warmth and hardness of his body. "Yes Marcus?" I breathe.


    He leans down and brushes his lips softly over my cheek. "I want to make love to you," he whispers.

 Chapter 183: A Phase

    <h4>Chapter 183: A Phase</h4>


    Reba


    For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing¡ªhis, steady and close; mine, shallow and quick like my heart¡¯s trying to catch up.


    I don¡¯t pull away. I don¡¯tugh it off like I normally would. Instead, I lift my eyes to meet his.


    He¡¯s watching me with that look again. The smoldering look that melts me from the inside.


    "Reba," he says again, quieter this time. Like my name is something he¡¯s trying not to break in his mouth. "I am serious."


    "I know," I whisper.


    And I want it too. More than anything. I¡¯ve been wanting him all day.


    My hands slide up his chest, resting over the steady beat of his heart.


    "Take me to bed then?" I ask.


    His eyes hold mine. "Yes."


    I lean up then and kiss him, slow, like we have all the time in the world. He groans low in his throat and pulls me in deeper, his hands syed across my back, holding me.


    He scoops me up in his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me to his room.


    Marcusys me down like I¡¯m something precious. Like he¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll shatter if he¡¯s not careful.


    He hovers for a moment, just looking at me, his fingers brushing my cheek like he¡¯s memorizing the moment.


    "You are beautiful, Ba," he says. "I¡¯ve said a lot of stupid things to you before. Said I wasn¡¯t attracted to you. But I was lying through my teeth."


    "I know," I whisper. "I know a liar when I see one."


    He grins and kisses me again.


    He starts undressing me, slowly like it was important for him to take his time.


    Marcus¡¯s fingers tremble just slightly as he unbuttons my blouse.


    I watch him, my breath hitching as his knuckles graze my corbone, a fleeting touch that sends heat pooling low in my belly.


    We had sex many times already, but this...this time feels different. I don¡¯t know why.


    I reach for his shirt, tugging at the hem with unsteady fingers, needing to close the distance to feel his skin against mine.


    Marcus¡¯s breath catches as I pull his shirt up, the fabric sliding over his shoulders with a soft rustle. His skin is warm under my fingertips, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with something deeper, more primal, as I trace the hard lines of his chest.


    He leans down, his lips brushing my neck, a slow, deliberate trail that makes my toes curl against the cool sheets.


    My hands grip his shoulders as he presses closer. His fingers slip under the waistband of my jeans, teasing the skin there with a maddening slowness. I arch into him, a quiet gasp escaping as he growls softly, "Fuck, Ba, you¡¯re driving me crazy."


    I want him so badly. I want him to hurry and fill me already.


    Marcus¡¯s hands pause at the button of my jeans, his thumb brushing over the denim as he looks at me, eyes dark with a hunger that mirrors my own.


    I shift under him, the ache building as his fingers finally pop the button open with a small, deliberate snap. His touch is slow, torturous, sliding the zipper down inch by inch, the sound sharp in the quiet room.


    The tension coils tighter as he tugs my jeans down my hips, his hands rough but careful, skimming over my thighs. I kick them off, the fabric pooling on the floor, and suddenly, I¡¯m bare under his gaze, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten. He lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw as he murmurs, "Shit, Ba, you are fucking perfect."


    I pull him closer, my nails digging into his back as I urge him on, my voice a breathless plea, "Marcus, please, don¡¯t make me wait."


    His jaw clenches, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he sheds the rest of his clothes, the rustle of fabric and the creak of the bed filling the space.


    I stare. He is beautiful.


    "Tell me you want me inside you, Ba. I want to hear you say it," he growls.


    Yes...god, yes.


    "I need you inside me, Marcus," I croon.


    His grip tightens on my hips, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he presses himself against me, the heat of him making my pulse race even faster.


    He doesn¡¯t rush, though, even now. His hands slide down my thighs, parting them with a slow, deliberate touch, his fingers brushing against me in a way that makes me gasp, my body arching toward him instinctively.


    He positions himself, the tension between us snapping taut. I feel him, hard and ready, and my breath catches as he eases in just enough to tease, drawing a soft moan from my lips that I can¡¯t hold back.


    Every inch of him feels like fire, a slow burn that stretches me, fills me, until I¡¯m clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. His forehead presses against mine, sweat beading there as he moves with a controlled, agonizing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, punctuated by his ragged breaths and my stifled whimpers.


    "You feel so fucking good," he growls, his lips brushing mine in a messy, hungry kiss. "You always do, like a perfect piece of a damn puzzle. My Reba. My love."


    His love? He really shouldn¡¯t say stuff like this because I don¡¯t know if I can take it.


    He shifts, pinning my wrists above my head, his weight pressing me into the mattress as his hips roll harder, deeper, each movement drawing a sharp cry from my throat.


    "Harder, please," I beg, my voice raw, my nails digging into his palms as I arch beneath him, chasing that edge.


    His breathes in ragged pants, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest, the heat between us unbearable as he fucks me with a relentless pace, the tension coiling tight in my belly.


    My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, the friction sending sparks through my nerves as I gasp, I¡¯m so close. And I can tell he is too.


    He drives into me with a force that makes the headboard m against the wall, bang after bang. The room spins with the heat of our need, my body shuddering beneath him, every muscle taut as the wave builds, ready to crash.


    Marcus¡¯s mouth crashes into mine as Ie undone beneath him, shattering around him with a cry I can¡¯t contain, my body pulsing, trembling. His name escapes me again and again, a mantra on my lips as the wave takes me, drags me under, then leaves me breathless in its wake.


    He follows right after with a low, guttural sound torn from deep in his chest. His movements stutter as he buries himself inside me, his hands gripping mine so tightly our fingers ache. I feel the way his whole body tenses, then shakes as he finds his release, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes clenched shut like he¡¯s holding on to something that scares him.


    Then there¡¯s silence¡ªonly the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between us.


    He doesn¡¯t move right away. Doesn¡¯t roll off me or say something to break the moment. He just stays there, our bodies tangled, skin flushed and damp, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.


    I run my fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, grounding myself.


    Marcus finally speaks, his voice barely audible, rasping against my skin. "I didn¡¯t mean to say it."


    My stomach flips. "What?"


    "That you¡¯re my love," he murmurs. "I mean...I didn¡¯t n to say it out loud. I don¡¯t know if I know what love is yet."


    I blink up at him, feeling like the ground has tilted just slightly. "Oh."


    He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. "Is that okay?"


    I don¡¯t answer right away. I just stare at him. Because he¡¯s Marcus¡ªtheplicated, bruised, maddening man I fell for without even realizing it.


    "Yes," I whisper. "It¡¯s okay."


    His eyes close for a beat, something raw flickering behind them when he opens them again.


    He kisses me slow, soft this time. No urgency. Just a kind of reverence that makes my chest ache.


    And then, finally, he pulls away and lies beside me, his arm curling around my waist like I belong there. Like maybe I always have.


    I rest my head on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. We don¡¯t say anything else. We don¡¯t need to.


    For now, this is enough for me.


    "Reba," he says quietly as he draws invisible shapes on my back.


    "Hmm?" I hum.


    "I need to tell you something." His voice is different now. Soft, but with an edge of vulnerability that makes me lift my head to look at him.


    He¡¯s quiet for a long moment, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin like he¡¯s buying time. Finally, he meets my gaze.


    "I have to go stay at Germany for a while," he says. "For work. We are opening an office there."


    My stomach drops. "How long is a while?"


    "A month."


    A month. Four weeks.


    I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling because looking at him right now feels impossible. The warmth of his body next to mine suddenly feels temporary.


    "That¡¯s a long time," I whisper.


    "I know," he says. He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together.


    His hand is still in mine, warm and solid, but it feels like he¡¯s already halfway across the world.


    He shifts beside me, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at me. His face is shadowed in the dim light, but I can see the worry etched into the lines around his eyes. "Ba, I don¡¯t want to go," he says, his voice low, almost rough. ¡¯But I don¡¯t have a choice. It¡¯s a big deal for thepany, and they need me there to set things up."


    He pauses, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, absent circles. ¡¯


    "I¡¯ll call every day. We will video chat." There¡¯s panic in his voice.


    "It¡¯s okay, Marcus. We already live far away from each other anyway, right? I live in Pornd, you live in NY," I try to reassure him, even though I¡¯m not reassured myself.


    What if...what if his going overseas makes him realize that I¡¯m just a phase?

 Chapter 184: Too Soon

    <h4>Chapter 184: Too Soon</h4>


    Marcus


    Reba¡¯s voice is calm when she says it.


    "We already live far away from each other anyway."


    The practiced tone of someone trying to sound unbothered. She¡¯s trying to make it easier for me.


    And I hate it.


    I study her face in the dim light. The ceiling catches the shadows, her profile etched in quiet disappointment, her lips just slightly parted like she¡¯s trying to convince herself this isn¡¯t a big deal.


    I want to tell her it will fly by. That I¡¯ll be back before she can miss me. That it¡¯s just a month.


    But the truth is, I already miss her. And I haven¡¯t even left yet.


    "I don¡¯t want this to feel like distance," I murmur, my thumb still tracingzy circles on her hand. "I don¡¯t want it to change anything."


    Reba turns to face me then. Her eyes, wide and unreadable, lock on mine.


    "We don¡¯t have a choice," she says. "But...I¡¯m sure...I¡¯m sure we will talk to each other on the phone or video chat. Won¡¯t we?"


    I want to say something that¡¯ll hold us together. Something permanent. But all I can think about is how much I don¡¯t want to wake up without her next to me anymore. How much I¡¯ve gotten used to the sound of herugh, her messy hair in the mornings.


    I am in love with her.


    God help me. But I am.


    And the scariest part is, she might not know that yet. I even told her that I didn¡¯t mean to call her ¡¯my love¡¯ out loud just yet. Why did I tell her that?


    I lean in and kiss her forehead.


    "I¡¯ll make it up to you," I whisper. "When I get back, I¡¯ll take you anywhere you want. We¡¯ll eat pancakes at midnight, crash weddings, whatever you want."


    She lets out a softugh. "You¡¯re terrible at reassurance."


    "Yeah," I admit. "But I¡¯m good at wanting you."


    She shifts closer, her head on my chest again. Her fingers curl around the edge of the sheet, like she¡¯s afraid if she lets go, I¡¯ll disappear.


    I wrap my arms around her tighter.


    This, this right here is everything.


    And I¡¯ll be damned if a ne ticket or a time zone will undo it.


    "Marcus. There is something I want to tell you," she says.


    My stomach twists immediately. Something she wants tell me?


    I have a feeling I know what that is. She decided I¡¯m not worth the wait or she doesn¡¯t think it¡¯ll be realistic to travel back and forth to be together.


    Maybe she is deciding to choose that guy Kevin after all .


    Maybe...


    "Marcus!" she exims.


    I blink rapidly. "Sorry, what?"


    "Did you just zone out?" she pouts.


    "Sorry Ba. What did you want to tell me?" I ask quickly, dreading the answer.


    Reba shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at me. Her hair tumbles around her face in a dark curtain, eyes searching mine like she¡¯s trying to find the right moment, the right breath, to say what¡¯s on her heart.


    I brace myself. My stomach knots so tight it hurts. Whatever it is, I¡¯ll take it like a man. I¡¯ll smile through it if I have to. I¡¯ll...


    She exhales, soft and shaky. "Marcus...I¡¯ve been thinking about something for the past few weeks."


    I keep my face still, straight. My heart, on the other hand, is doing jumping jacks.


    She looks away then, eyes flicking to my shoulder like it might offer her backup. Her fingers twist in the sheet, fidgeting like she¡¯s working up the nerve to admit she¡¯s already letting go.


    But then, in the smallest voice, she says:


    "I...I love you."


    My brain short-circuits.


    Wait.


    Wait, no...run that back.


    She is still not looking at me. Her face is pink, like she is embarrassed by the words. She¡¯s biting her lower lip, eyes darting toward the ceiling like maybe if she doesn¡¯t see my reaction, it won¡¯t hurt if I don¡¯t say it back.


    My heart is thundering now, painfully loud.


    She loves me?


    "Ba," I whisper, my voice hoarse.


    She flinches. "It¡¯s okay if you¡¯re not ready to say it back. I just...I didn¡¯t want to keep it in anymore."


    I stare at her. My sweet, wild, brilliant Reba.


    I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Say it again."


    Her brows pinch together. "What?"


    "Please," I say, barely breathing. "Say it again."


    She swallows. Her cheeks are bright red now. "I love you."


    I pull her down to me, wrapping her up like the words cracked something open inside me and I¡¯m afraid if I don¡¯t hold her close, I will fall apart for sure.


    "Thank God," I murmur into her hair. "Thank God, Ba, because I love you too. So much it scares the shit out of me."


    She lets out a wateryugh against my chest, and I feel the way she melts into me. Her body softens, her tension fades.


    We stay like that for a while. And for once, distance doesn¡¯t feel so threatening. Because no matter where I go, she¡¯s with me now.


    In every beat of my heart.


    "You don¡¯t think it¡¯s too soon? I mean, we didn¡¯t date long," she murmurs.


    I tilt her chin gently so she is looking at me again. "No," I say. "No, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s too soon."


    Her eyes search mine, wide and uncertain, like she¡¯s expecting me to take it back.


    "I think time¡¯s a bad measure for this," I say. "It¡¯s not about days or weeks. It¡¯s about you. And how it feels with you."


    She still looks unsure, so I press my forehead to hers.


    "I¡¯ve been with other women for months and never felt this way," I whisper.


    "Your man whoring business doesn¡¯t count." She smirks.


    I chuckle. "I guess not."


    There¡¯s a long, peaceful pause. Her hand finds mine under the sheets, fingerscing slowly through mine like she¡¯s making sure I won¡¯t slip away.


    "I don¡¯t want you to leave," she admits. Her voice is small again, fragile around the edges.


    "I don¡¯t want to either," I say honestly. "But I wille back."


    She nods, like she believes me. Or maybe like she wants to believe me badly enough that it doesn¡¯t matter.


    "We will talk everyday," I say.


    She nods. "Would you mind if I visit Megan sometimes? Even if you are not here?"


    I kiss her hair. "Jeez, do you even have to ask? Of course you can. She loves you and you don¡¯t know how much I appreciate you befriending her so quickly."


    She giggles. "I am good with kids in case you can¡¯t tell by my career choice."


    "I will talk to her mother about it," I reassure her. I tilt her head up so she will look me in the eyes again. "So...you love me, huh?" I grin.


    Reba groans. "Are you going to tease me about it?"


    I turn serious. "No."


    She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her brows draw in slightly, that nervous little crease between them showing up like it always does when she¡¯s overthinking.


    "I meant it, Marcus," she says finally. "I don¡¯t say that word lightly."


    "I know," I say, and I do. I know how guarded she can be. How much of herself she keeps hidden behind humor and confidence. That she said it first means something.


    "It scared me," she admits, her voice small. "Saying it. Feeling it."


    "It scares me too," I confess. "Because I¡¯ve never had anything that felt like this before."


    She swallows, her thumb brushing absently over the back of my hand. "I don¡¯t want this to fall apart when you¡¯re away."


    I sit up slightly, leaning on one arm so I can really see her. Her hair is a mess, eyes still sleepy, skin warm and glowing in the early morning light. And I know right then and there¡ªno matter what city, no matter how many miles stretch between us¡ªthis is the person I want toe home to.


    "It won¡¯t fall apart," I tell her. "I¡¯m going to do everything I can to make sure of that. I¡¯ll call. I¡¯ll text. I¡¯ll send you terrible memes at 2AM just so you know I¡¯m thinking of you."


    That gets a reluctant smile out of her. "You¡¯re already pretty bad at memes."


    "I¡¯ll improve under pressure."


    Sheughs softly andys her head back down against my chest. I kiss the top of her head again, inhaling the scent of her hair and trying to burn this moment into memory.


    A pause.


    "Marcus?"


    "Hmm?"


    "If you ever get lonely there...like really lonely," she says, her voice hesitant, "I want you to tell me. Even if it¡¯s 3 in the morning your time."


    "I will," I promise.


    She nods, then adds in a quiet voice, "I don¡¯t want you to feel like you¡¯re going through it alone."


    God, how does she do this? Break me open with just a few soft words?


    I tighten my arms around her and press a kiss to her temple. "You¡¯re not getting rid of me that easy, Ba. We¡¯re in this."


    She smiles against my skin.


    And for the first time since I told her about Germany, I see a little lighte back into her eyes.

 Chapter 185: Whiskey

    <h4>Chapter 185: Whiskey</h4>


    Reba


    It¡¯s been three days since Marcus boarded that flight. I watched him walk through the security gate at JFK with that stupid, confident smile on his face. The one that always hides how nervous he actually is. He turned back three times to wave at me.


    And I stood there, a mess of emotion, clutching my coffee.


    I thought I¡¯d be okay. I thought I¡¯de back to my hometown, binge something dumb on Netflix, and distract myself with work. But I haven¡¯t been okay.


    It¡¯s not the absence that hurts the most. It¡¯s the space he left behind.


    The way my phone feels heavier in my hand, waiting for his text.


    The way I almost make two cups of coffee in the morning.


    I hate this.


    I curl up on the couch now, in his hoodie. It is gray, too big, and smells like his cologne and I scroll through ourst chat.


    I smile at the screen. I miss him.


    I miss him so damn much it surprises me.


    I always thought I was good at being alone. Independent, unattached, unbothered. That was kind of my whole thing.


    But now I¡¯m realizing being alone and being without him aren¡¯t the same thing.


    Ah, darn it. I need to keep myself busy with something else. Maybe I will go Visit Hailey. And maybe Josh, too. It has been a while since the three of us hung out together.


    I send a text to the group chat:


    "Anyone up for mediocre wine and unhealthy amounts of takeout?" I write.


    Sarah: "Always. I will ask Matthew to watch Rhea. Your ce or mine?"


    "Mine," I quickly type. My phone lights up with another text.


    Josh: "Only if it¡¯s that disaster pad thai from Thai King, because living dangerously is my vibe right now."


    I smile to myself.


    Within the hour, Josh and Sarah are here.


    "You look like death, babe," Sarah deres, shaking her head. "Absolute train wreck. Is this about your man?"


    I groan and copse onto her shoulder.


    "Marcus. He is gone," I say.


    "He is not GONE. He is in Germany for work," Josh calls out from the couch, where he¡¯s already ten minutes deep in a boba-fueled rant about thetest MCU reboot.


    "And it has only been three days," Sarah says, popping open a second bottle of wine even though the first one¡¯s not technically finished.


    I groan. "A long time."


    Josh grins. "Always so dramatic. I can¡¯t believe you are dating Marcus, of all people."


    "You don¡¯t get him," I protest. "He is not some shallow asshole. And besides...he said he loves me."


    Josh¡¯s eyes turn wide. "No shit."


    "Tell me more!" Sarah demands.


    "And I love him. Guys, don¡¯t make a big deal out of it," I say.


    There¡¯s a stunned silence.


    "YOU LOVE HIM?!" Sarah exims. "Is this a joke? Are you pranking us?"


    Josh stares, mouth open in a perfect O, his straw abandoned mid-suck. "Back up. You¡¯re, like, actually in love? With that guy?"


    "Yes," I say, cheeks burning. "Yes. I think I am. Don¡¯t make it weird."


    "Oh, honey, it¡¯s already so weird," Sarah whispers, eyes shining with unshed tears. Possibly from joy, possibly from multiple sses of ros¨¦. "How did this happen?" Josh demands to know.


    "It¡¯s like he sees me, the way I actually am, and not just the fun, quirky parts. And he still wants me anyway," I say tentatively.


    Sarah¡¯s eyes go soft, her hand squeezing mine over the table. Josh just shakes his head slowly. "Wow," he says. "He is really good. Hailey did tell me he is a yer. He got you good, huh?."


    "It¡¯s not like that," I snap at him. "You don¡¯t know him like how I got to know him, Josh. There is so much more to him than just some cold, arrogant man. He...he is good to me."


    Josh¡¯s expression softens. "Alright, Ba. I am sorry. As long as he is good to you."


    "Yeah, you have our support," Sarah agrees.


    The rest of the night passes in a looser, easier kind offort. We eat,ugh until we cry about old stories, then copse in a heap in front of an absolutely abysmal Netflix documentary about haunted dollhouses.


    In the morning, there is a message waiting.


    Marcus: "It¡¯ste here and I miss you too much. Call youter, Beautiful. xo"


    My chest tightens.


    You¡¯d think, after everything, it would be easier to breathe. But love has a way of squeezing the air out of you.


    I text back, ignoring the hour.


    Reba: "Miss you more. Hope Germany is ready for you."


    For a while, I just hold the phone in both hands.


    My phone lights up.


    "No one can be prepared for Marcus Winters," he wrote.


    I roll my eyes. There¡¯s my arrogant, self-absorbed boyfriend.


    I stare at Marcus¡¯s message for a solid minute, grinning like an idiot.


    "No one can be prepared for Marcus Winters."


    God, he is such a dork.


    I hug the phone to my chest and flop back onto the couch, nket tangled around my legs.


    I type back:


    "They¡¯re lucky to have you. Even if you¡¯re a little insufferable."


    A typing bubble appears almost immediately, then disappears. Thenes back. Then, it disappears again. I wait, oddly giddy.


    Finally, it appears:


    Marcus: "You love me even when I¡¯m insufferable."


    I blush instantly, like a teenager, even though I was the one who said it first. Love.


    I scroll up to reread his earlier message, then mine, then histest. I should probably get on with my day, shower, and eat something, but I just stay there, curled up in his hoodie, letting the warmth of it linger.


    He hasn¡¯t even been gone a week, and I already feel like I¡¯m living half a life.


    It¡¯s terrifying how fast someone can be your home.


    "I do. I love you even when you use three-in-one shampoo and call it ¡¯efficient.¡¯"


    Marcus: "sphemy. It¡¯s elite multitasking."


    "It¡¯s a war crime," I reply.


    Another bubble. I wait.


    Marcus: "If you were here, I¡¯d throw a pillow at you. Then kiss you to make up for it."


    My heart clenches in the softest, most annoying way. I stare out the window at the overcast sky and try to imagine what the weather¡¯s like in Germany.


    Is he thinking about me the way I¡¯m thinking about him?


    I sigh and pull the nket tighter around me. Then I start to type again.


    "Promise me something?"


    There¡¯s a pause.


    Marcus: "Anything."


    "When things get busy over there, when you¡¯re working long hours and you¡¯re tired and overwhelmed, I want you to text me anyway. Even if it¡¯s just a word. Even if it¡¯s nonsense. Just so I know you¡¯re still... with me."


    Another pause. My heart tap-taps nervously.


    Marcus: "Whiskey."


    I blink.


    "What?"


    Marcus: "That¡¯s the word. If I send you that, it means I miss you like hell, but I¡¯m too tired to string a sentence together."


    Iugh, suddenly and breathlessly.


    "Whiskey. Got it."


    I don¡¯t know how I am going to make it through the next four weeks.


    I type again. "Do you feel like I am being too clingy?"


    Marcus doesn¡¯t reply and I immediately regret sending him that text. What if he does thinks I am too needy?


    But then...


    Marcus: "No. I feel like I¡¯m being starved and you¡¯re the only thing I crave."


    I stare at the screen, heat rising to my cheeks. My fingers curl around the edge of my phone, holding on like it¡¯s him.


    That¡¯s the thing about Marcus. He doesn¡¯t always say the right words, but when he does, it¡¯s like being struck by lightning. Gentle and devastating all at once.


    I cover my face with one hand and breathe out a soft, disbelievingugh.


    "I hate how smooth you are," I text, biting my lip.


    Marcus: "You love it."


    Okay, he is not wrong.


    I nce at the time. It¡¯s way past noon. I should probably get dressed and do something productive. But instead, I curl up tighter and scroll back through our messages, letting myself be hopeless just a little longer.


    My phone buzzes again.


    Marcus: "Want to try something weird and sappy?"


    My heart stutters.


    "Always."


    Marcus: "Okay. When you go to bed tonight, leave a space on the pillow next to you."


    "Why?"


    Marcus: "Because I¡¯ll be doing the same thing."


    Oh.


    That¡¯s when the tearse.


    Not the big, ugly kind. Just the quiet ones. The kind that sneak up on you when you¡¯re holding your breath too tight for too long.


    "Okay. Deal. I¡¯ll leave a space. Just for you."


    I stare at the blinking cursor, wanting to say more. Wanting to tell him I¡¯ve never done this before, missed someone like this. Loved someone like this. It feels like I opened a door and the whole world changed colors.


    But instead, I just type:


    "Whiskey."


    He sends a heart.


    And suddenly, even though he¡¯s a thousand miles away, I don¡¯t feel so alone.

 Chapter 186: Couldn’t Wait

    <h4>Chapter 186: Couldn¡¯t Wait</h4>


    Hailey


    Rhea¡¯s tiny fingers are sticky with juice, and somehow she¡¯s managed to get glitter glue in her hair again. I don¡¯t even want to know how. She twirls in a circle, her tutu catching the sunlight that pours through Matthew and Sarah¡¯s living room like it¡¯s performing for her.


    "Look, Auntie Hailey! I¡¯m a sparkly tornado!"


    "You are," I say, chasing after her with a wet wipe in one hand and an empty juice box in the other. "A very chatty one."


    Matthew chuckles from the kitchen as he unpacks groceries. "She gets that from Sarah."


    "I heard that," Sarah calls from down the hallway.


    I manage to wrestle Rhea into a hug and wipe her face, all while dodging the streamers she¡¯s tied to her wrists. She giggles and hugs me tighter, her curls tickling my cheek.


    For a moment, I forget the rest of the world.


    Rhea runs off again, this time yelling something about unicorns and cereal, and I sit back on the couch with a sigh.


    Sarah walks in and plops next to me. "You look like you¡¯re thinking too hard."


    "Just enjoying the moment with my little niece," I say, smiling. "She is too darned cute."


    Sarah¡¯s eyes brighten. "Isn¡¯t she? And a total Daddy¡¯s little princess."


    "Totally spoiled," I say, feeling overwhelming love for the kid. She looks like the perfectbination of Sarah and Matthew. And yeah, maybe I¡¯m a little bit obsessed with her.


    Sarah sighs like a proud mom, which she is. "She already has Matthew wrapped around her finger. I don¡¯t even pretend to be the boss anymore."


    From the kitchen, Matthew calls, "That¡¯s because you never were!"


    Sarah grabs a throw pillow and aims it expertly at him. It hits the wall near the pantry.


    "Anyway," she says, turning back to me with a smug little grin, "how are things with you and Josh?"


    I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean? He¡¯s still annoying. I still love him. He still steals my fries and ims it¡¯s part of the rtionship use."


    Sarah hums. "Yeah, but like...have you two talked about anything serioustely? Future stuff?"


    I blink. "You mean like joint Costco memberships and who gets to name the dog?"


    She gives me a look.


    I giggle as I see Rhea is now wearing ader as a crown.


    "Okay, okay, fine. Things are pretty serious between us. He agreed to do another modeling shoot. The condition is that I will be the photographer," I add.


    Sarah raises her eyebrows. "What kind of shoot are we talking about here? Like... shirtless, soap opera vibes, or strictly GQ?"


    I purse my lips, trying to look innocent. "A tasteful blend."


    Sarah chokes on her mimosa. "So, porn."


    "ARTFUL nudes," I correct, and am rewarded with a look of pure horror from Matthew, who must have picked up thest few words as he rounds the corner with cereal in both hands.


    "He¡¯s going shirtless for a magazine ad, right?" Sarah says,ughing so hard she almost drops her drink. "Just tell me if I need to block his Instagram for Rhea in the future."


    Matthew shakes his head. "He¡¯s going to end up as a meme," he predicts.


    "Probably," I say, smiling like it would be the best possible oue.


    The conversation veers intoplete chaos after that, with Rhea demanding a third bowl of cereal and Matthew insisting that someone please, for the love of God, throw out the expired oat milk. I feel oddly at home in it, like I always have. And I realize, this isn¡¯t the backup family¡ªit¡¯s the real one, the one that¡¯s been here all along, even if I didn¡¯t know I needed it.


    Eventually, Rhea falls asleep on Sarah¡¯sp, breathing softly.


    Sarah strokes her curls with that soft, quiet expression only mothers wear. Matthew wraps an arm around both of them and kisses the top of Rhea¡¯s head, and the sight of it makes something shift in my chest. Something tender and a little scary.


    I grab my phone and sneak a picture. Just a quiet, golden moment.


    Josh texts at that exact second.


    Josh: Still alive over there? Or did the toddler riot win?


    I grin.


    "We lost. The sparkly tornado imed the couch and dered sovereignty. I¡¯m now her loyal snack servant."


    His typing bubble pops up immediately.


    Josh: As long as you didn¡¯t defect to the unicorn kingdom. I need you in one piece. Also, I miss you. Come home soon.


    Thatst part stops me. It¡¯s not like Josh to be sappy without sarcasm. And yet...


    "Miss you too. Should I bring glitter and expired oat milk?"


    Josh: Only if you¡¯re bringing that killer smile and the camera you love more than me.


    I roll my eyes. He¡¯s ridiculous. He¡¯s also everything.


    Sarah nudges me with her elbow. "You look like a teenager."


    "I do not," I say, but I know I¡¯m blushing.


    "Josh?" she asks knowingly.


    "Josh," I admit.


    Sarah sighs. "God, are we all just growing up? Falling in love and bing boring?"


    Iugh. "You literally own a spice rack now, Sarah. How long has it been since you were cool?"


    Matthew snorts. "Shebeled it by cuisine. I found a jar marked ¡¯emotional damage.¡¯"


    Sarah pouts. "Bullies."


    We all burst outughing.


    Eventually, the house quiets. I walk outside for a minute to get some air, pulling my coat tighter around me.


    I check my phone again. Still no word from Marcus.


    It¡¯s been a few days since Ist heard from him directly. He¡¯s probably swamped in Germany, running around being intense and broody and handsome with all the European business types. Still... I worry about Reba. About how quiet she¡¯s beentely.


    I text her.


    "Hey. Just checking in. You okay?"


    No reply yet. That¡¯s fine. Maybe she¡¯s resting.


    I say goodbye to Sarah and Matthew and head home.


    The apartment smells like something warm and cinnamon-spiced the moment I step through the door. I frown, blinking in confusion as I slide off my shoes.


    Josh is the king of takeout and three-ingredient "culinary hacks." This isn¡¯t his usual move.


    And then I see it.


    The lights are dimmed, but the soft glow of tea candles lines the kitchen counter. There¡¯s a trail of rose petals, actual rose petals, leading from the door to the living room, where a pic nket is spread out with two tes, two wine sses, and one very proud-looking Josh standing in the middle of it all.


    "Wee home," he says, grinning like he just nailed the final round of a game show.


    "What... is this?" I ask, my voice doing a stupid, breathy thing I didn¡¯t mean to let happen.


    "A surprise?" he says, suddenly sheepish. "I know you¡¯ve had a long week, and you¡¯ve been spending a lot of time with your family, and I just... missed you. So I made dinner."


    "You cooked?"


    "I Googled aggressively. Also, the smoke rm only went off once."


    I step closer and spot what looks like stuffed shells and garlic bread. There¡¯s even a sd. With actual vegetables and everything.


    "You made all this... for me?"


    He shrugs one shoulder, trying to look casual and failing miserably. "Yeah. I know it¡¯s not much, but I just... I wanted you toe home to something good."


    My heart thuds once, twice, then does something weird and fluttery.


    "I love you," I say.


    He steps forward, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me in like he¡¯s been waiting all day just to do that. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his scent.


    He whispers into my hair, "You¡¯re everything, Hailey. Even when you¡¯re yelling at me for miscing lens caps and stealing your fries."


    Iugh against his shirt. "Especially then."


    "There¡¯s something else I want to ask you," he says and backs off a little.


    I raise my brows. "What is it?"


    Josh suddenly looks nervous. Not his usual teasing kind of nervous, the real kind. The kind that makes his fingers twitch and his breath hitch slightly as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans.


    I freeze.


    "Josh..." I whisper, my voice caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.


    "I know this is a little... unorthodox," he says, holding out a tiny velvet box in one slightly shaking hand. "And maybe it¡¯s not over-the-top or choreographed with sh mobs or a violinist hiding in the closet, but..." he swallows. "I didn¡¯t want to wait anymore."


    I stare at him, wide-eyed.


    He opens the box. Inside is the most beautiful, imperfectly perfect ring I¡¯ve ever seen. Not too shy. Not too traditional. Just... us.


    "Hailey," he begins, and his voice is already thick with emotion. "You¡¯ve made my life messy and loud and frustrating in the best ways possible. You see the world through a lens that makes everything brighter, even when you¡¯re mad at me for using your favorite mug or forgetting where I put your lens cap. I love you. I love every stubborn, brilliant, passionate part of you. And if you¡¯ll let me...I want to keep loving you. For real. For always."


    My hands fly up to cover my mouth as tears instantly blur my vision.


    He takes a breath, kneeling lower now. "Will you marry me?"


    The room goes very, very quiet except for the pounding of my heart and the soft hum of candlelight around us.


    I nod. I nod so fast it makes me dizzy. "Yes," I whisper. Then louder,ughing through tears, "Yes. Of course, yes."


    He lets out a relieved exhale, like he hadn¡¯t let himself believe I¡¯d say it. He slips the ring onto my finger. His hands are shaking, and I¡¯m crying, and it¡¯s perfect.


    And then he is standing, and I¡¯m wrapped in his arms again, and everything else fades.


    "This was the cheesiest proposal ever," I whisper into his chest.


    "You are wee," he says, kissing the top of my head.


    "You don¡¯t think it¡¯s too soon?" I whisper.


    He grins. "Why, do you think it¡¯s too soon? Should I do this again in a few months? Or another year? Because I can assure you, you will still be the one I want to marry."


    I shake my head no and giggle. "No. Of course, I don¡¯t want to wait anymore."


    "Then stop looking so doubtful and kiss me," he says, pulling me toward him again.

 Chapter 187: A Smile for Her

    <h4>Chapter 187: A Smile for Her</h4>


    Reba


    It¡¯s ate summer afternoon, warm and golden, the kind of day that feels like it¡¯s been dipped in honey. I put on my yellow dress I bought especially for this asion as today is a very special day.


    I don¡¯t usually get nervous before weddings. I¡¯ve attended enough to know how the day goes. Theughter, the dancing, the champagne-fueled toasts. But today is different.


    Today, it¡¯s Hailey and Josh¡¯s wedding.


    Hailey has been nning this day for months now, and the fact that it¡¯s finally here, that she¡¯s about to marry the most chaotic, endearing man alive, makes my heart ache in the best way.


    I nce at the clock again.


    Marcus iste.


    I lean against the windowsill and smile to myself. He always cuts it close, iming it¡¯s part of his charm.


    I pretend to be annoyed when he iste. He knows I secretly love it. Because just when I think he has forgotten, he always shows up like he has been rushing for miles just to get to me.


    I wonder what Marcus will say when he sees me in it.


    Probably something ridiculous.


    A car horn honks once outside.


    I press my hand to my chest.


    That better be him.


    I grab my little clutch, slip into my heels, and head out the door.


    And there he is.


    Marcus leans against the passenger side of his car like he¡¯s posing for a magazine cover. Crisp shirt rolled up to his elbows, tie slightly loosened, and that slow, dangerous grin that still messes with my ability to form full sentences.


    "Hi, Beautiful," he says as I walk up. "Is it just me, or did the sune out just for you?"


    I roll my eyes. "You arete."


    "I prefer ¡¯fashionably on time.¡¯"


    "You¡¯re lucky you are handsome," I retort.


    He opens the door for me and bows slightly. "And you are lucky I¡¯m hopelessly in love with you."


    I slide into the seat and try not to let my smile get too big.


    I fail.


    As we drive, he reaches for my hand, fingers threading through mine like it¡¯s second nature. The windows are down. The wind ys with my hair. Music hums low from the speakers¡ªsomething soft and nostalgic.


    "You nervous?" he asks as we pull up to the venue.


    "About the wedding?"


    He nces at me, amused. "About catching the bouquet."


    Iugh. "Don¡¯t you dare say anything out loud if I do."


    "Not a word," he promises, squeezing my hand.


    The ceremony is perfect.


    The kind of perfect that is not just about weather or flowers or carefully arranged seating, it is the kind that feels honest. Like something real is being stitched into the air as vows are exchanged.


    Hailey looks radiant, glowing in a soft ivory gown that catches the light every time she moves. Her smile is brighter than I have ever seen it. Her bouquet, wild and full of yellow and white blooms, trembles slightly in her hands but not from nerves, I know, but from joy barely held in check.


    Josh is standing at the altar, looking like someone has just handed him the universe. His tie is crooked, of course. His hair is a mess, as if he ran his hands through it a hundred times. But the way he looks at her like the rest of the world has disappeared, makes my eyes sting.


    Marcus wraps his arm around my waist as we sit in the second row, his thumb brushing the curve of my hip absently.


    "You okay?" he whispers in my ear.


    "I think I am going to cry," I whisper back.


    He grins. "Same. But if you tell anyone, I will deny everything."


    The ceremony begins.


    The officiant talks about forever in that warm, gentle voice that somehow makes you believe in it. Then, it is time for the vows.


    Josh, true to form, starts his with a joke.


    "When we met, I knew two things," he says. "One, Hailey was going to steal myst french fry. And two, she was going to be impossible to forget."


    The guestsugh, and Josh grins wide, unapologetic.


    "But somewhere between arguing over movie genres and you sneak taking embarrassing pictures of me, you became my best friend. The person who makes me braver, sillier, steadier. I love you, Hailey."


    Josh¡¯s smile fades into something softer, more reverent.


    "You challenge me, youfort me, you let me make stupid jokes. And today... today I choose you. Every version of you. Even the one who leavesundry on the floor and thinks microwaved pizza is a gourmet meal."


    A ripple ofughter follows, but Hailey holds her gaze on him.


    Hailey bites her lip, eyes ssy.


    Hailey takes a slow breath, and for a second, it looks like she mightugh. But then she lifts her chin, looks right at Josh, and her voicees out soft, but clear.


    "Joshua Daniels," she begins, and he blinks like he still can¡¯t believe that¡¯s his nameing from her mouth at the altar.


    "When we first met, I thought you were trouble. The charming, loud, slightly ridiculous kind of trouble thates with too much confidence and a snack in your hand."


    Everyone chuckles, and Josh looks smug.


    "But then you held the door for an olddy with five shopping bags and no patience. You apologized to a pigeon you almost stepped on. And you looked at me like I was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to you."


    Josh¡¯s ears turn slightly red.


    "I didn¡¯t fall in love with you all at once. It happened slowly. A little more every time you made meugh when I wanted to cry. Every time you believed in me more than I believed in myself."


    She pauses, blinking fast.


    "You¡¯re my favorite mess. My unexpected calm. You make everything louder and brighter and somehow more peaceful all at once. And yes, you snore when you fall asleep on the couch halfway through movies. But you also remember the names of my nts. You make coffee for me when I forget to eat. You are my home."


    Josh swallows hard.


    "So today, I promise to choose you. Even when it¡¯s hard. Even when we are old and bickering about whether to get cats or dogs or weird hybrid alien pets the future invents. I will choose you. Every day. In this life and whateveres after."


    Sheughs quietly as a tear slips down her cheek. "And I promise to always, always take the blurry pictures too. Because those are the ones that make usugh."


    The officiant lets out a breath. "Beautiful," she says, dabbing her eyes along with half the guests.


    Josh mouths, I love you, and Hailey mouths it right back.


    The officiant clears her throat, a little choked up herself. "Well... if there¡¯s anyone not crying, I¡¯d like to know your secret."


    Everyoneughs gently, tissues dabbing cheeks all around.


    And then: "By the power vested in me, and with a whole lot of joy, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Josh, you may kiss your bride."


    He doesn¡¯t wait.


    He leans in and kisses her like the world finally made sense.


    And Hailey kisses him back like she just found her favorite forever.


    Josh wipes his eyes like he is trying to look cool about it. He fails spectacrly.


    I turn to Marcus and catch him looking at me.


    "What?" I ask.


    "You¡¯re glowing," he says simply.


    "I am sweating."


    "Beautifully," he says. "I want our vows to be even more spectacr."


    I raise an eyebrow. "That¡¯s very presumptuous of you to think I¡¯d ever marry you."


    He grins, mouth cocky and challenging, but his eyes caught on mine in a way that feels suddenly, dangerously true. "Is that a challenge? Wait until you see my proposal."


    Iugh, a quiet bubble at the back of my throat. "I want them written in calligraphy and delivered by carrier pigeon, minimum."


    "I was thinking skywriting." He says it so deadpan I almost believe him.


    "Oh my god, don¡¯t you dare," I whisper.


    He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. "I love you."


    The words are so easy for him now.


    ~-~


    After the wedding is over, he drives me home. He walks me to my door.


    Inside, he stands behind me and wraps his arms tight around my waist. "You ever think about spending forever with me?" he asks, and his cheek is rough against my ear.


    "I do."


    Heughs, that rare, full-bodied sound that I love best. "Good. Because if you didn¡¯t, I would have had to start that PowerPoint presentation I made for ¡¯Convincing Reba to Marry Me¡¯."


    I turn to face him.


    He¡¯s dead serious.


    "You made a PowerPoint?"


    "It¡¯s got graphs," he says proudly. He slides his hands up my arms. "Pie charts. Compelling data visualizations."


    I can¡¯t help it. Iugh until I hup.


    I let my head fall against his chest, stillughing, still hupping. He smells like sandalwood and soap and something familiar that makes my chest tighten.


    "You¡¯re ridiculous," I murmur.


    "Ridiculously in love with you," he replies, and I groan softly at the line, even as my heart soaks it in.


    I look up at him and whisper, "You know, you don¡¯t need pie charts. You already convinced me."


    His expression shifts, something fierce and tender all at once. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.


    "Yeah?"


    I nod. "Yeah."


    He kisses me again. One hand cradles my cheek, and the world blurs until there is only him.


    When we finally pull apart, he presses his forehead to mine and says, "We¡¯re gonna be so obnoxiously happy, aren¡¯t we?"


    "I hope so."


    He chuckles, kisses my nose, and whispers, "You, me, and Megan. She called dibs on being your flower girl, by the way, and said we better hurry up before she gets too old."


    Iugh, full and bright. "Oh no. Pressure from a ten-year-old. We really are on a deadline."


    "She¡¯s very persuasive," Marcus says solemnly. "She also drew us a wedding dress design and made a seating chart for the reception. Spoiler alert: she put herself at the head table."


    "Obviously," I say, smiling against his corbone. "She earned it."


    This is what it feels like, I think. To be chosen, not just in the glitter of grand gestures, but in the everyday, in the ridiculous, in the quietly unfolding ordinary.


    "Reba," he says, and something in his voice makes me look up.


    He is not joking now.


    There is no pie chart, no skywriting.


    Just him. Just me.


    "I meant it," he says. "Forever."


    I nod once, my throat tight. "Me too."


    We do not need vows yet. Not tonight. But something has already been promised, in the curve of his hand at my back, in the softness of his kiss, in the way he shows upte butpletely mine.


    So I whisper, "Okay. Let¡¯s be obnoxiously happy."


    And he smiles that smile that¡¯s meant just for me.


    ¡ª-The End¡ª-


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