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🔥🔥🔥 It was a lie from the start: the child was never more important than Paris. Chapter 1 On our twentieth wedding anniversary, my husband boarded a flight to Paris with our daughter and another woman, using the eighty-thousand-dollar trip I had planned with my own hands. At 9:17 a.m., an airline notification popped up on my phone. [Boarding for your flight, AF023, will begin in three hours.] I stared at the screen for a long time, one hand drifting instinctively to the slight swell of my belly. Two weeks ago, Daniel had told me he was postponing the trip because I was pregnant. He had even crouched in front of the couch and held my hand, his voice so gentle it had sounded almost caring. "Paris isn't going anywhere, Isabelle. You and the baby matter more." But the flight had never been postponed. I logged into the account with our travel provider. The flights, hotel, and private driver were all still booked as scheduled. My name was still on the plane ticket, but on the hotel reservation and the private tour itinerary, another woman had taken my place. Veronica Hayes, our neighbor, whose husband had died two years ago. My fingers began to tremble. I opened the reservation details for the hotel in Paris and found her name listed on the anniversary dinner, the Seine cruise, and the winery tour. I was the only one who had been removed. I called Daniel immediately. It took him a long time to answer. Voices clamored in the background, and an airport announcement came clearly through the phone. "Attention, passengers traveling to Paris—" "Where are you?" I asked. Silence fell on the other end for a moment. "Isabelle, don't get worked up." I gripped the edge of the dining table as nausea churned in my stomach. "I asked where you are." He lowered his voice. "At the airport." "With whom?" Daniel didn't answer. But then I heard Sophia's voice through the phone. "Dad, we need to check our bags." A second later, another woman gently reminded him, "Don't make her too upset. It isn't good for the baby." My hand clenched around the phone. "Veronica is there too?" "It isn't what you think," Daniel finally said. "You're pregnant. A long flight isn't safe for you. The flights and hotels were already booked. We couldn't let everything go to waste." "So you replaced my name with hers?" "It's just a trip." "It's our twentieth-anniversary trip." I enunciated every word. The itinerary binder I had spent a year putting together was still lying on the dining table, our names printed across the cover. The eighty thousand dollars had come from the savings I had built up little by little after leaving my job at the hotel. I had booked his favorite restaurant. I had even contacted the old inn where we had stayed on our honeymoon. And now he was going to experience all of it with another woman. Daniel sighed impatiently. "Isabelle, you've already been to Europe plenty of times. Veronica has had a difficult couple of years, and Sophia wanted her to come. Why do you have to assume the worst?" My voice came out very quietly. "Sophia already knew?" The phone was passed to her. "Mom." There wasn't a trace of guilt in my daughter's voice. "I was the one who said Dad could bring Veronica." "When did you find out the trip hadn't been postponed?" "Two weeks ago." The very day Daniel had sat in front of me, holding my hand as he lied to my face. "So for the past two weeks, you watched me prepare for my prenatal appointments. You listened to me talk about the trip being postponed. You even blamed the airline with me, and it never occurred to you to tell me the truth?" "Because you would have said no," Sophia replied. "You're pregnant. You should be staying home anyway. Veronica has never been to Paris. What's wrong with giving her the opportunity?" I walked over to the living room wall. An old photograph hung there, taken when Daniel and I were twenty-five in Paris. In the picture, he had draped his coat over my shoulders and promised that we would spend every important anniversary together. "Do you even remember whose anniversary this trip was supposed to celebrate?" Sophia was silent for two seconds. "Mom, can you stop using your anniversary to guilt everyone? Dad is already exhausted." She hung up. I stood alone in the empty living room, looking down at the slight curve of my belly. Two weeks ago, Daniel had rested his hand there and promised he would take care of me and our baby. Now he was at the airport, on his way to Paris with another woman. A few seconds later, a message from Daniel appeared. [We'll talk when we get back. Stop making a scene.] Not long afterward, Veronica posted an update on social media. In the photo, she stood beside Daniel, wearing a scarf my husband had carefully arranged around her neck. Sophia had linked arms with her. The three of them stood in front of the international departures entrance. The caption consisted of a single line: [Finally setting off with the family who matters most.] I looked at it for a long time, then called the travel provider's customer service line. "Hello," the representative said. "How may I help you?" I looked at the reservations I had paid for, none of which carried my name anymore. "I need to review the hotel in Paris, the private driver, and every anniversary activity. Cancel every reservation that is still under my account and eligible for cancellation." "May I ask why you're canceling?" I slipped off my wedding ring and placed it beside the itinerary binder. "Because there is no longer a wife on this anniversary trip." Chapter 2 The customer service representative was silent for two seconds. "Mrs. Whitman, I'll need to verify your identity first. Could you provide the email address linked to the account and the last four digits of the payment card?" I gave her the email address, then read out the final four digits of my credit card. I had selected every part of this trip and paid every charge myself. Daniel had changed the names of the hotel guests and tour participants, but he couldn't erase my payment history along with them. I heard the clicking of a keyboard through the phone. "Your identity has been verified. The luxury suite at the hotel in Paris and the private driver can both be canceled. The Seine cruise is eligible for a partial refund. The anniversary dinner requires forfeiting a twenty-percent deposit. The winery tour has passed its refund deadline. As for the airline tickets, they are nonrefundable and cannot be transferred to other passengers under the fare rules." "Cancel the hotel and every private activity that can be canceled." "Including the anniversary dinner?" I looked at the itinerary binder on the table. That restaurant required reservations six months in advance. I had even arranged for them to serve the same champagne we had drunk twenty years ago. I had sent the manager an old photograph and asked him to write our names on the dessert. Now that seat belonged to Veronica. "Cancel it," I said. "The winery tour is nonrefundable, but I can still cancel the reservation itself. Are you sure you want to do that as well?" "I'm sure." After confirming with me again, the representative went through the refund amounts and cancellation fees one by one. I opened my computer and saved every payment receipt, itinerary-change record, and cancellation confirmation email. The original guest list had carried Daniel's name and mine. Two weeks ago, Daniel had contacted the travel provider and replaced my name with Veronica's. He hadn't merely lied about postponing the trip. He had planned in advance for another woman to sleep in the room I had booked, ride in the car I had arranged, and take my place at my anniversary dinner. After canceling the final reservation, the representative asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with?" "Add additional security verification to the account," I said. "From now on, no one may change a reservation without my written authorization." I ended the call, organized all the documents into a new folder, and named it "European Trip Payment Records." For the past twenty years, I had been the one who solved every problem in our family. When Daniel forgot to pay a bill, I handled it. When Sophia changed her plans at the last minute, I accommodated her. Even for this trip, I had considered everyone's preferences in advance. They probably assumed that once my anger passed, I would clean up their mess this time too. That afternoon, another notification arrived from the airline. Flight AF023 had departed. I didn't call any of them. I sent Daniel a single message. [I have canceled the hotel and private activities that I paid for, that remained under my account, and that were eligible for cancellation. You will be responsible for all other expenses yourselves.] The message was marked as delivered, but no reply came. Early the next morning, my ringing phone jolted me awake. The bedroom was dark, and Daniel's name flashed across the screen. I answered without speaking first. "Isabelle, what the hell did you do?" His voice was loud. I could hear suitcase wheels and a crowd of people around him. "I canceled my reservations." "The hotel says the suite was canceled. We just spent hours on a plane, and now we have nowhere to stay." "Then book another hotel." "It's peak season in Paris. Every hotel nearby is either full or outrageously expensive." Daniel's voice tightened with anger. "Call the travel company right now and get the room reinstated." I sat up in bed and reached for the glass of water on my nightstand. "And who would stay there once it was reinstated? You and Veronica?" "Don't start this now. Sophia is here too. Do you want your own daughter dragging her luggage around and sleeping at the airport?" "She's twenty-one, and she knew two weeks ago that all of you were lying to me. You made this decision together. You can deal with the consequences together." Daniel's breathing grew noticeably heavier. "You planned this trip. Paying for it was your responsibility in the first place." "I planned a twentieth-anniversary trip for my husband and me, not a family vacation for you, our daughter, and another woman." I heard Sophia complaining in the background. "Dad, tell her we're already in Paris. What does she think she's accomplishing?" Daniel seemed to walk a few steps away before lowering his voice. "Isabelle, I know you're angry, but you can't use money to punish us. Reinstate the hotel first. We can discuss everything else when I get home." "That eighty thousand dollars came from my personal savings. You changed the itinerary without my consent, and now you expect me to keep paying for all of you?" "We're married. Why do you insist on keeping score?" Holding my water glass, I suddenly laughed. He hadn't remembered we were married when he removed my name from the itinerary. Now that he needed my money, our marriage mattered again. "The moment you decided to board that plane with Veronica, every cent between us had to be accounted for." "If you don't reinstate the reservation, I'll tell Sophia everything," Daniel said. "I'll make sure she knows her mother deliberately ruined this trip." "She already knows the truth. Like you, she simply assumed that no matter how badly you hurt me, I would still pay for everything in the end." I ended the call and temporarily muted his number. Less than a minute later, messages from Sophia began appearing one after another. [You've gone too far.] [Veronica won't stop crying.] [Dad was only trying to make everyone happy. Why do you have to ruin everything?] Finally, she sent me a voice message that lasted a little over ten seconds. When I played it, I heard my daughter crying first. Then came Veronica's gentle voice. "Let me talk to Isabelle. Maybe she's just jealous." Chapter 3 Veronica's voice drifted from my phone, soft and soothing, as if she were trying to calm an unreasonable child. I played the voice message again. She knew perfectly well that this was my anniversary trip. She knew I had never agreed to let her come. Yet there she sat in a Paris airport, dismissing my anger as "jealousy." My phone rang again. This time, it was Sophia. "Mom, did you get the hotel reinstated?" Those were the first words out of her mouth. She didn't even ask whether I was feeling all right. "No." "We found another hotel." Her tone was stiff. "But the rooms are tiny, and it costs several times what the original one did. Dad has been dealing with everything. He hasn't had any rest at all." "Those are the consequences of his actions." "Why do you have to be so heartless? You already set aside the money for this trip. What do you gain by canceling everything except humiliating all of us?" I pushed back the covers, got out of bed, and walked to the window. The street was deserted in the early hours of the morning. My reflection stared back at me from the glass, along with the bed behind me where I had slept alone. "Sophia, have you forgotten that I was supposed to be on that plane?" "But you're pregnant." "Being pregnant doesn't justify lying to me." "We were doing it for your own good!" she said, raising her voice. "A long flight is exhausting. What if something happened to the baby? Dad knew you wouldn't agree, so we decided not to tell you yet." "Not tell me yet?" I asked. "When exactly were you planning to tell me? After you got back from Paris, or after I saw the pictures from my anniversary dinner?" Sophia didn't answer. I continued, "Veronica knew from the beginning that I didn't want her on this trip, didn't she?" A brief rustling sound came through the phone. "She just thought it would be a waste not to go when everything had already been booked." "So the three of you weren't discussing whether to deceive me. You were discussing how to keep me at home." "Mom, do you have to make everything sound so awful?" I was about to respond when Sophia suddenly said to someone beside her, "You explain it to her. She won't listen to anything I say." The phone quickly changed hands. "Isabelle." Veronica spoke my name softly. "I'm sorry things turned out this way." "If you were truly sorry, you never would have boarded that plane." She paused, but her voice remained gentle. "Daniel was really looking forward to this trip. Ever since you became pregnant, he has been under a lot of stress trying to manage your emotions. I only wanted him to have a few days to relax." My hand tightened around the curtain. "What gives you the right to judge whether my husband is under stress?" "Because he chooses to tell me." Her answer came quickly, as if she had been waiting for me to ask. "For the past two years, he has often had dinner with me and helped me fix things around the house. He talks to me about the problems between you as well. He feels as though he always has to walk on eggshells at home because he's afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting you." "So you think you understand him better than I do?" "I didn't say that." She sighed softly. "But at least he can relax when he's with me. He doesn't have to constantly worry about a pregnant woman's emotions, and he doesn't have to follow an endless schedule for an anniversary." The cold slowly spread through my fingertips. So in Daniel's version of the story, the trip I had spent a year planning wasn't a gift. It was a burden. "I paid for and arranged this trip," I said. "You used my reservations to celebrate my wedding anniversary with my husband, and now you're telling me you did it to help him relax?" "I know this is difficult for you to accept," Veronica said. "But marriage shouldn't make someone this exhausted. If you truly love Daniel, perhaps you should ask yourself why he would rather bring me to Paris." At last, the mask of gentleness slipped away. "Put him back on the phone," I said. "Daniel went to the front desk to deal with the room. He's exhausted, and I don't want you upsetting him any further." She said it so naturally, as though she were the one entitled to protect my husband. I hung up. A few minutes later, Sophia sent me a photograph. It had been taken in the lobby of their new hotel. Daniel stood in the center, one arm around our daughter's shoulders and the other wrapped around Veronica's waist. Veronica gazed up at him with his coat still draped around her shoulders. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows behind them, the Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance. The three of them looked like a real family. Beneath the photograph was a message from Sophia: [We found somewhere to stay. Are you happy now?] I didn't reply. I enlarged the photograph and saw Daniel's wedding band on his ring finger. He was wearing the ring I had chosen for him while holding another woman in his arms. At that moment, I finally understood that the hotel and dinner weren't the only things that needed to be canceled. I opened my contacts and found the attorney who had handled a friend's divorce the year before. At 4:12 a.m., I sent her an email. [Hello. I would like to schedule a divorce consultation as soon as possible.] Chapter 4 The attorney responded to my email at 6:03 a.m. [I'm available for a video consultation at ten this morning. Please prepare your marriage certificate, a list of your major assets, information on any joint accounts, and records of recent payments that may become disputed.] I didn't go back to sleep. After sunrise, I gathered our marriage certificate, the documents for the house, our bank statements, and every record related to the European trip. Twenty years of marriage had been reduced to a stack of papers covering the entire dining table. At ten o'clock, the attorney, Erin, joined the video call right on time. "Are you certain you want a divorce, or do you only want to understand your options?" "I'm certain." My voice was calmer than I had expected when I said it. Erin asked me to briefly explain what had happened. I told her how Daniel had lied about postponing the trip, how he had changed the reservations without my permission, and finally about the photograph Sophia had sent me. When I finished, she cautioned me, "What happened on the trip can help explain why the marriage broke down, but property matters require evidence. Don't move money out of any joint accounts. Don't damage or remove anything belonging to your husband. Save every payment record, message, and notification showing changes to the reservations." "The eighty thousand dollars came from savings held in my name alone." "Save proof of where the funds came from as well," she said. "Also, if you decide to separate, you should arrange a place to live and establish your future contact information as soon as possible. You're pregnant, so stability and safety need to come first." After the consultation ended, I looked around the house where I had lived for twenty years. I had chosen the curtains in the living room and hung every photograph on the walls. A picture of the sun that Sophia had drawn as a child was still taped inside one of the kitchen cabinets. Boxes she had left behind before going to college remained in the storage room. I had once believed this was where Daniel and I would grow old together. Now, I only wanted to leave as soon as possible. I contacted the leasing agent for an apartment I had viewed a few days earlier. It was close to the hospital, had an elevator, and included a small room beside the bedroom that could be turned into a nursery. The agent asked when I wanted to move in. "Today." After signing the lease, I called a moving company. By the time the movers arrived that afternoon, Daniel still hadn't contacted me, but Veronica's social media account had been updated with new photographs from Paris. I didn't open them. I packed only my clothes, books, work materials, and personal belongings. I left the furniture we had purchased together untouched, along with everything that belonged to Daniel. After the movers carried the boxes out of the study, I returned to the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Inside was a dark blue travel planner. A year earlier, I had written on the first page: [Twentieth anniversary. Retracing the journey we took when we were young.] Every page after that was marked with dates and destinations. There were the restaurants Daniel loved, the museums Sophia was looking forward to, and the anniversary dinner that was originally supposed to belong to Daniel and me alone. I had even prepared a gift. It was a pair of cuff links engraved with the date, which I had planned to give him in Paris. I had imagined the moment the restaurant brought out dessert. He would recognize the photograph from twenty years ago, take my hand, and say we had finally made it to this day. I closed the planner and placed it inside a box. My phone lit up at that moment. Daniel had sent me a copy of their hotel bill. [Because you canceled the suite, we had to spend more than four thousand dollars. You'll reimburse me when we get home.] I stared at the message, and suddenly, so many things from the past twenty years made sense. It wasn't that he didn't know he would hurt me. He had simply assumed that no matter what he did, I would remain exactly where he had left me and absorb the consequences for him. I took off my wedding ring. A pale band remained around my ring finger. I placed the ring on top of the travel planner and left it behind. By evening, the final box had been carried into my new apartment. There were no curtains yet. The walls were bare, and the air carried the scent of a freshly cleaned room. I sat in the only chair in the living room and listened to the traffic passing outside. I took a photograph of the neatly stacked boxes in my new apartment, then sent Daniel a message. [I have moved out of the marital home and retained a divorce attorney. From now on, all matters involving the divorce and our property should be handled through our attorneys. We can discuss matters concerning the baby separately.] I paused before adding one more line. [That twentieth-anniversary trip was the last gift I will ever give this family.] Less than ten seconds after the message was delivered, Daniel called me. I didn't answer. He called six times in a row, then sent me a message. [Isabelle, don't threaten me with divorce. We're going to settle this when I get home.] I turned off my phone, stood, and opened the window of my new apartment. The evening breeze swept into the unfurnished living room. Daniel still thought I was merely angry. He had no idea that by the time he returned from Paris, the wife who had always waited at home for him, no matter how deeply he hurt her, would no longer be there.

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My crush was posing completely naaked as the model for my sculpture class. I was the famously quiet nerd. I knew he would never notice me. Until, after class, he walked up to me, complimented my work, and asked if I'd draw a portrait of him—just us. “You can decide whether I wear clothes,” he added in a low voice, “And how much I wear.” --- Catalina‘s pov I took a deep breath and looked down to the paper. The name read "Brandon Atwood, Sports Training Major" with a phone number underneath. I knew exactly who he was—the star player on the Briarford Falcons basketball team, campus golden boy, total jock stereotype in my mind. A year ago, on my very first day, I'd shown up alone dragging heavy luggage. A senior girl helping me yelled at a random guy nearby to lend a hand. That guy was Brandon. The suitcase was so heavy that the senior and I had to carry it together up the stairs. Brandon saw us struggling, grabbed it without a word, and flashed an easy grin. "No big deal." But on the next landing, it banged hard against the railing. The ancient thing popped open and everything inside flew out. Brandon's hand shot out and caught something mid-air—a lacy white brra. The tiny straps looked ridiculously fragile dangling from his big fingers. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. Later the senior handed me a brand-new suitcase, saying Brandon had bought it to replace the broken one. That was the end of their one and only interaction… until now. My professor asked me to invite Brandon to be our model when our new Sculpture class starts next week. Out of the seventeen people in Sculpture Class 2, I was by far the quietest. I hardly spoke to classmates or teachers, let alone strangers. Getting sent on this errand totally threw me. After lunch I showered, scrubbed clay off my clothes, procrastinated as long as possible, then finally saved his number and called. No answer. I groaned and lightly banged my forehead on the desk. Great. Now I'd have to hunt him down at the basketball gym. I had no afternoon classes, just open studio time, so I waited in my dorm for hours. Still nothing. Around three I gave up, grabbed my bag, and walked over to the gym—it wasn't far from my building. Inside, two teams were practicing, a few guys chilling in the stands. I edged closer. One player jogged over. "We're training right now." "Sorry," I mumbled. "I'm looking for Brandon. Can I just wait here?" I braced for him to tell me to leave. Instead he yelled over his shoulder, "Yo, Bran! Girl's here for you!" A basketball hit the floor with a thud. Suddenly every head in the place turned my way. My heart slammed against my ribs. I wanted to bolt, but I made myself stay put under all those stares. Brandon stood out immediately—tall, broad, ridiculously good-looking. A year hadn't changed much. Same sharp jaw, same powerful build. But he wasn't smiling today. His hooded eyes locked on me, body coiled tight like he was about to spring. One of his teammates drawled, "damm, Bran. New girlfriend?" "Shut up," Brandon shot back, half-laughing, wiping sweat off his face. When he smiled, those heavy lids curved and he looked almost boyishly cute. He walked over, basketball tucked against his hiip, and pointed at himself. "You looking for me?" I barely managed a whisper. "I'm from Sculpture Class 2. Professor Bernard sent me. Next week we—" "Louder. Can't hear you." He towered over me, heat rolling off his sweat-slicked skin. I stepped back instinctively, chin lifting as I tried again, voice stronger. "Professor Bernard from Sculpture sent me." He held my gaze. My pale eyes looked almost see-through, my face delicate and cool, my voice soft. I couldn't tell what he was thinking as he looked at me. His tone dropped, gentler than I expected. "But I already told him no." "What?" I blinked. "I thought you guys had a deal." He raised one brow and chuckled. "I was joking when I said 'send your prettiest student to convince me.' He actually took it seriously?" I froze, cheeks heating. ###Chapter 2 Catalina‘s pov "I'm slammed," he said, tilting his chin. "Ask someone else. Turn left outside—tons of Phys Ed guys you can grab." He tossed the ball to his teammate and started to walk away. Panic surged. Without thinking I reached out and caught his arm. "Wait." The guys immediately crowded closer. "Ooooh, they're holding hands!" Brandon glanced down at my fingers wrapped around his forearm, then back at my face. "Still not giving up?" I yanked my hand away, flustered. "Professor Bernard specifically wants you. Nobody else will do." He crossed his arms and leaned down until our eyes were level, teasing. "Sorry, Miss Perfect. Basketball season's starting. I'm booked solid." I opened my mouth, but a sharp whistle cut through the gym. "Boys! No slacking!" Coach's voice boomed. My shoulders slumped. Defeated, I turned and headed back to the dorm. My roommates were already there. "Why the sad face?" Valarie asked. Along with Jacquelyn and Nancy—all oil-painting majors—they'd been randomly assigned as my freshman-year roommates. Schedules rarely lined up, so we weren't super tight, but they were nice. "It's nothing," I mumbled, not wanting to dump my stress on them. Jacquelyn waved her phone. "Phys Ed vs. Sports Training basketball game tomorrow night. You guys in?" "HeIl yes—Brandon's playing," Nancy jumped in. "And maybe his roommate Daryl will be there too!" My ears perked up at Daryl's name. Jacquelyn smirked. "So… you want Brandon or Daryl?" Nancy laughed. "I'm greedy. I want both." "Keep dreaming," Jacquelyn snorted, then looked at Valarie and me. "You two coming?" "Yes," we answered at the same time. The other girls stared. "You never come to games," Valarie said. "What's different now?" I forced a laugh, stomach twisting. Professor Bernard needed the model by Monday. That meant I had to convince Brandon tomorrow night—no excuses. Plus… Daryl might actually be there. The game was at the outdoor court at 7 p.m. By the time my roommates and I arrived, the place was already packed. Brandon jogged onto the court in his white #27 jersey. Amid all the cheering, I quietly scanned the crowd until my eyes landed on Daryl. Daryl had been the golden boy of the Physical Education department since day one. He wasn't on the basketball team like Brandon—he was in Sports Management—but everyone knew him for his smooth charm and gentle vibe. He was kind, easy to talk to, and stupidly handsome, especially in a plain white shirt that hugged his shoulders just right. No wonder he was the most popular guy on campus. I had been secretly crushing on him since freshman year. It started the first time I hit the cafeteria. The beef was marinated in kiwi—something I was deathly allergiic to. One bite and my mouth filled with uncontrollable drool. I barely made it outside before I was puking into a trash can, mortified as a crowd started to gather. Then Daryl appeared out of nowhere. He stepped in front of me, blocking everyone's view, and quietly asked if I was okay. He stayed with me the whole time, walking me to the school hospital without a single complaint—even though it meant skipping lunch. I offered to buy him dinner to say thanks. He smiled politely and turned me down. Sweet, but distant. We were in different majors, so I rarely saw him except on stage giving speeches or running events. As a total introvert, I kept my feelings locked down tight. No one ever knew how much I liked him. Jacquelyn leaned in during the game. "Brandon is so damm cute." I was too busy staring at Daryl to really listen. I just made a vague noise. "You think he's cute too?" Jacquelyn grinned. "Nancy's all about Daryl, but I think he's kinda hard to get close to. Brandon feels more real, you know?" The game kicked off. Sports Training won the tip-off, but Phys Ed played tight defense. After a couple quick passes, Brandon got the ball. He launched into the air and drained a perfect three-pointer right at the buzzer. The crowd exploded. Brandon landed with that cocky half-smirk, clearly proud of himself. "Nice shot, Bran!" "Ten seconds in and he's already cooking!" "Phys Ed's defense is solid, but Brandon's just built different." People kept talking. Last year, as a freshman, he'd dragged the Falcons to the semifinals in a brutal group. Everyone wondered if they'd finally make the finals this time. The game wrapped around 9 p.m. Sports Training won easily. Brandon led in points. Surrounded by teammates and screaming fans, he casually lifted the hem of his jersey to wipe sweat from his face. ###Chapter 3 Catalina‘s pov A flash of carved abs gleamed under the lights—hard ridges catching the light. Girls nearby lost it. "Oh my God, did you see those abs? I wanna lick them." "He's got some serious balls flashing that in front of everyone." "So fvcking hot. I need a boyfriend like that." I accidentally caught the glimpse too. Just a second of taut, sweat-slicked skin before the jersey dropped. The crowd sighed in disappointment. Brandon waved lazily and headed off with his roommates, not looking back. "I gotta handle something," I told Jacquelyn. "Head back without me." I took off after him. The paths were packed with people leaving the game. I couldn't catch up until he was almost at his dorm building. "Brandon, wait!" He and his roommates turned. I let out a quiet breath—Daryl wasn't with them. "You again?" Brandon stepped back. "Stay back. I'm drenched in sweat. Don't want you passing out from the smell." "Bran, didn't know you were so considerate," one roommate teased. Brandon elbowed him. "Shut up and go inside." I swallowed. "Can we talk? Just us?" Brandon sighed. "Look, I really don't have time to model." I was out of options. "Remember a year ago? You broke my suitcase?" His eyes widened. "Wait… you're that girl?" The roommates perked up. "One year ago? Oh, there's a story here." "Is she the one you're into?" Brandon spun around, pointing. "No. Shut it. Go." They scattered, laughing and shoving each other like kids. Brandon's ears turned red, the blush creeping down his neck. He clearly hadn't expected that old embarrassing moment to come back and bite him. He grabbed my wrist—his grip warm and firm—and pulled me gently. "Come on." We walked until we were under a tall pine tree outside the building. He cleared his throat, awkward. "I already replaced your suitcase." I felt my face heat up too. I just looked at him, not sure what to say. "Fine," he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. "I owe you. When do you need me?" My eyes brightened. "Next Monday." He pulled out his phone. "Add me on WhatsApp. What's your name?" "Catalina Woodward." I added him back while he typed. He mumbled something about my name sounding familiar, but I missed it. "Thanks for today," I said, surprised at how easy it had been, even if it felt a little weird. "I should head back." "Wait." His long arm blocked my path. "I think I've heard of you. You're killer at wood carving, right? You make those little figurines?" I nodded. "Yeah." He flashed a big, almost boyish smile. "Make one for me? I wanna use it to confess to a girl." "I'm swamped," I said weakly. "Too much homework." "I can wait." He leaned in a little. "Deal: you do it, and anytime you need a model, I'm your guy." I blurted without thinking, "Even a nvde one?" He paused, then grinned. "So you're into my body, huh?" "No! That's not—" My face went scarlet. "Then what?" "I just… needed to know if you'd be okay with it." He laughed low. "Only go half-naaked." I almost asked which half part before catching myself. My roommates always teased me for having zero filter. "Deal?" he pressed. Worried he'd back out, I nodded fast. "Okay. But you provide the wood." "I know nothing about wood," he said shamelessly. "Use the best stuff you got. I'll pay whatever." "A good piece isn't cheap," I warned. "No problem." Then, curious: "Why so expensive?" I shrugged, confident. "Because my work is worth it." He nodded, impressed. "What do you want carved?" He thought of the little rose and prince charm on Valarie's bag. "The Little Prince and his rose. Can you do that?" I froze for a second. His crush liked The Little Prince too? "Yeah," I said after a beat. "But only as inspiration. I don't copy." "Cool." We sealed the deal. When I got back to the dorm, Valarie was out. Jacquelyn asked where I'd been. "Just got the model for Monday's class," I said. We chatted a bit more about it. Since carving wrecked my hands if I overdid it, I stayed in on Sunday—no studio. After dinner I texted Brandon the class time. He sent me money right away. Before I could ask why, a voice message popped up: "Hey, can you grab me breakfast tomorrow? I can't drag my ass out of bed that early." I stared at my phone, shaking my head. Typical spoiled rich boy. ###Chapter 4 Catalina‘s pov I typed back one word: "OK." The next morning I slipped out of my dorm at 7:30. I grabbed breakfast in the cafeteria and picked up extra for Brandon—a bottle of milk and two sandwiches. When I reached his building, he came jogging out the door, still looking half-asleep but stupidly hot in his practice shorts and tight tee. I handed him the paper bag and stepped behind his tall frame to block the stares from passing students. Brandon was campus-famous; of course people noticed a girl bringing him breakfast. "Where's the class?" he asked, already digging in. "Clay Sculpture Studio, third floor of the arts building." "Cool. Still got time. Let me eat first." I nodded. He demolished the sandwiches in record time and chugged the milk. Right before we walked in, he crumpled the empty carton, grinned like a kid, and said, "Bet I can nail the trash can from here." I hesitated. "Uh… okay?" He tossed it. Perfect shot. He smirked. "Told you." I couldn't help smiling. His goofy, over-the-top energy actually lifted my mood. Inside the building Brandon stopped short. "Is this place still under construction or what?" Stuff was everywhere—scrap wood, rocks, broken plaster casts, rusty metal frames. Only a narrow path cut through the mess. "Those are our materials," I explained. "A lot of it comes from the trash." He laughed. "Yeah, I've heard art kids love dumpster diving." I shrugged. He wasn't wrong—some seniors even took junk home after graduation. Up on the third floor it looked even worse, like a legit construction zone: damp dust in the air, wood shavings, the sharp smell of old metal. No real space to stand. "My God, it's Brandon!" The whole class turned. Eyes lit up. He waved smoothly and strolled over, asking what everyone was working on. "Welding a frame," one guy said. A girl hurried to me. "Wait, he's the model Prof. Bernard wanted you to get?" I nodded. "I would've worn something cute if I'd known!" the girl wailed, brushing dust off her shirt. I chuckled. Dust and clay wrecked everyone's look eventually. Prof. Bernard walked in, spotted Brandon, and grinned at me. "You actually pulled it off." Brandon shrugged. "Not here for you, man." "So you're here for my prettiest student?" Walter teased. My heart tripped. What? "I bugged him twice," I jumped in fast. "He only said yes 'cause I'm annoying." Walter laughed. "You? The quietest kid in class annoyed *him*?" "I'm… not that quiet," I mumbled. I sure wasn't admitting I'd basically blackmailed Brandon—even if he'd already made up for the suitcase thing. Walter clapped. "Alright, Brandon—up on the stage. Let's go." Brandon, total extrovert, turned with a straight face. "So… I don't have to strip?" The class cracked up. Walter smiled. "Who said anything about stripping?" I felt my stomach drop. Sure enough, Brandon pointed right at me. "Catalina asked if I'd be cool going full nvde." Everyone lost it, laughing harder. Walter winked at me. "You asking for yourself or the whole class?" My face burned. "I—I—" Brandon's eyes flicked to me again, sharper now, like he'd caught something interesting. But he didn't push. "Alright, let's work," Walter said. He had Brandon hit poses. First one: jump like you're shooting a basketball. Brandon nailed it—clean form, muscles flexing under his shirt as he launched, landed, held the follow-through. I sat front row. Sunlight poured through the tall window, catching us both in a bright square. Every line of his body stood out—broad shoulders rolling, abs tightening under the fabric when he jumped again. Walter talked through it: "See how the core engages, how the quads drive the power? You need to catch these details in your sculptures." Class dragged on—big statues meant long sessions building armatures. I was the only one Walter praised today. Years of wood carving since I was a kid gave me an edge. Around ten, Brandon's part ended. But he didn't bounce. He asked Walter if he could hang and watch. Walter said sure. Brandon grabbed a half-clean chair and dropped into the seat right next to me. I froze. Why was he staying? "You promised me that figurine, remember?" he said low. "Figured we could talk details while I've got time." "Okay." I nodded. "Want to see the wood options?" "Nah, I know zilch about wood. Just tell me a budget. I'll drop a deposit today." "No rush. We can figure it later." "Lunch," he said. "We talk then. Or I'll bug you during practice." I sighed. Fine. His team schedule was no joke. ###Chapter 5 Catalina‘s pov Class let out at noon. I stayed behind, grabbed paper, and sketched quick. A minute later I slid it over. Brandon's eyes went wide. "Holy crap. That's amazing." I explained: "I've got this aged boxwood piece—high quality, small but pricey. This sketch is rough, just to show scale. I'll send full orthographic views on WhatsApp later." Talking about my work made me forget to be shy. "If you're not sure, I can mock it up in clay first." But honestly the design was simple. I planned to skip that step. Brandon shook his head. "Once I hire you, I trust you." I paused. That felt… risky. "Come on," he said. "Cafeteria. Food and figurine talk." I packed up and followed him to the North Campus spot. We'd barely sat when his phone rang. "Yeah, North Cafeteria… Told you last night—the arts department needed me… Sure, come." I tensed. "Your roommates?" "Yup." "All of them?" "Yep. What's wrong? You shy around new people?" I stood fast. "I—I should go." He caught my arm gently. "You haven't eaten. Stay. You still gotta tell me about the figurine anyway." "I really can't. Next time?" I pulled free and turned—almost crashing into a guy carrying a steaming tray of soup. "Watch it," Brandon snapped, face darkening. In one smooth move he yanked me back against his chest, spinning so his broad back blocked the guy. His arm stayed locked around my waist, warm and solid, my back pressed to his front for a heartbeat too long. The tray stayed steady. No spill. A soft voice cut in. "Arts department needed you? Looks like a date to me." I shoved away from Brandon fast, cheeks flaming, and looked up at Daryl. "No—no date," I stammered. "We're just talking about this wooden figurine he asked me to make." Brandon lifted a brow, watching me closely. Something clicked. Did Catalina… like Daryl? I felt like I was about to crack. If I stayed one more second, my face would give everything away. To everyone else, my fidgeting looked weird—like I was hiding something guilty. I wasn't sure if Daryl would connect the dots. "This isn't a date," Brandon jumped in quick when he saw how red I got. "The soup almost burned her. I just pulled her out of the way." Daryl stared at me, eyes wide. "Wait… it's you?" I froze. "You remember?" He knew I roomed with Valarie. Back in his freshman year, he'd helped me out once. "Yeah. You're the one who's allergiic to kiwi." My eyes lit up. He actually remembered. Brandon gently guided me back into my chair and asked, casual as anything, "So… you two close? Sounds like it." "No," I said, lips tight. "I had an allergiic reaction in the cafeteria once. He took me to the hospital." Brandon smirked. "You knew you were allergiic to kiwi and still ate it? Come on, what cafeteria's food is that good?" "The beef was marinated in it. I didn't know," I mumbled, staring at my plate and poking at my food one tiny bite at a time. Brandon's roommates showed up, and Daryl ended up sitting right across from me. Ruben and Derek had heard the whole story last night, so they kept the teasing light. But Derek couldn't hold back forever—he knew Brandon had asked me to carve a confession gift for his mystery crush. "Bran, seriously—who's the girl? Why the big secret?" I flicked a quick glance his way, curious. Brandon had girls throwing themselves at him left and right. "I'll tell you if it works out," Brandon said, dead serious. "What if she shoots me down? I don't want it blowing up in her face." Ruben gasped dramatically. "There are girls who don't want you?" "Apparently," Brandon said flat, no smile. One was sitting right next to him. Daryl chuckled. "When's the big confession?" "Got Catalina making a little gift for me," Brandon said, shooting me a sideways look. "Should take about a month. We'll see then." Daryl laughed. "Dude, you've been hyping this in the group chat all summer. All talk, no action!" "This time it's real, I swear." Brandon grinned. "Gift's in the works." I sat quiet through the whole thing. Turns out their dorm mixed athletes and sports media guys, so talk eventually turned to the Briarford Falcons' upcoming games. State prelims were brutal—only top two teams advanced to regionals. Meal done, Brandon told his roommates, "You guys head out. Gotta talk to Catalina a sec." ###Chapter 6 Catalina‘s pov Daryl stood first, knowing it was about the carving. I kept stealing glances at him and noticed he grabbed a to-go box. Hadn't he just eaten? Brandon waved a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Catalina. You like him?" "What?" I snapped. "Did I read that wrong?" His face stayed serious. "I don't like him," I said fast, voice shaky. "Stop making stuff up." My pretty features twisted with worry. Brandon grinned, amused. "Come on, you're not fooling anybody. The second he showed up, you tried to bolt. You looked ready to cry when I pulled you close. You wouldn't even look at him during lunch, but the minute he's gone? You can't stop staring." "I…" I had nothing. Under my breath I muttered, "Stupid Brandon. Blind when it matters, sees right through me when it doesn't." No way out. I pleaded, "Please don't tell anyone. I'll carve it for free—just cover the wood." Brandon smiled wider. "You ever think about just telling him how you feel?" I went quiet for a second. "What if he says no? That's so embarrassing." "Embarrassing?" He laughed out loud. "Everybody gets rejected sometime. That should hurt your heart, not just make you cringe." "You don't get it," I said stubbornly. He pointed at himself. "You think I don't? I'm the one planning a confession here. You and Daryl aren't even in the same classes or major. Whatever happens stays between you two—he's not the type to gossip. I can send you his WhatsApp. Won't kill you to shoot your shot." I shook my head hard. "No thanks." I didn't have the guts to add him, and no good excuse either. Before he could push more about Daryl, I changed the subject fast. "So… any ideas how you want the carving done?" "Just make it pretty," he said. I sighed. "That's not helpful. A rose with two hundred cuts looks basic. One with two thousand? That's next level." "Make it exquisite." "That's it?" "Yeah." I frowned. "Exquisite how?" He scratched his head. "I dunno. Whatever feels right. Go with your gut." "Fine." "Money's no issue. Just wow me." I knew the rumors—he came from money. No surprise. We walked out of the cafeteria together, heading south. Silence stretched between us, a little awkward. Brandon glanced at the path splitting ahead. "Where you headed next?" He sounded genuinely friendly. "Wood Sculpture Studio." I almost never hung out in the dorm. Between classes and homework, I practiced the woodcarving techniques my grandpa drilled into me. Four years of college, and I still followed his rule: never let your hands go idle, or they'll rust. I went home every month so he could check my progress. "Training for me," Brandon said. "Okay." I stopped walking, hesitating. He turned. "What's up?" He was so tall I got tired of tilting my head to look at him. I trusted him, but I needed to hear it. "You really won't tell anyone? About… you know." Worry flickered in my eyes. Brandon stepped closer. "How about I share a secret of mine?" I blinked. "What?" "I'm too proud," he admitted. "Scared of getting rejected, so I never told my roommates who I'm actually into. If I tell you, we're even. You won't have to worry anymore." I gaped. "Wait—you're telling me who your crush is?" "Yeah." He motioned me closer. Doubtful, I leaned in. He leaned past my ear and whispered a name. I jerked back, stunned. "What?"

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On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend Roman, a mafia heir, and his childhood friend Clara left me stranded on the side of a deserted highway. Their off-road vehicle had been driving for over half an hour before they even noticed the back seat was empty. When Roman called, there was no panic in his voice, only a hint of irritation. "Blair, why didn't you get back in the car?" "Stop messing around. We're rushing to the canyon to catch the sunset. We don't have time to go back and get you." "Figure out a way to hitch a ride here yourself." Through the receiver, Clara's amused voice came through loud and clear. "She's not a three-year-old girl. She can't expect you to wait on her hand and foot." In the past, I would have assumed it was my fault, apologizing to him with teary eyes. Then I would have tried everything in the blowing sand, even running, just to catch up with his car. But this time, looking up at the blinding sun in the desert, I suddenly didn't want to chase after him anymore. I took out my phone and canceled all the luxury suite reservations along the canyon route. I bought a bus ticket to a small coastal town. It was the place they said was totally boring. The coastline stretched on forever, and the world was wide open. I was no longer following anyone. Chapter 1 This graduation trip was something Roman and I had planned a long time ago. Over the past few years in college, I had followed my mafia boyfriend to so many places. Snowy mountain roads, deep canyons, private shooting ranges, and illegal street races. They were all playgrounds for his thrill-seeking nature. On the eve of our graduation, I leaned against his chest and brought it up once. "Roman, let's go to the beach to take some photos." "Let's find a coastal town where no one knows us. We can sleep until we wake up naturally, photograph the seagulls, and enjoy the ocean breeze without any bodyguards or rushing." That day, he kissed my hair and agreed readily. "No problem. You're the boss for the graduation trip." I had looked forward to it for a long time, even drafting three different versions of the photo-shoot itinerary. The hotel was booked right by the coastline, featuring an open-air balcony where we could capture the silhouette of the lighthouse at night. I even secretly bought a sexy set of lace lingerie, wanting to do something romantic with him to the sound of the ocean waves. But just a week before departure, Clara suddenly sent an off-road trail map of the Grand Canyon in our group chat. [A graduation trip should obviously be somewhere exciting.] [You can go to a boring beach anytime, but extreme off-roading in the canyon is a rare chance.] Roman replied to her almost instantly. [This route is intense.] I stared at the screen, my fingertips hovering over the keyboard for a long time without pressing down. In the end, I only typed out one sentence. [But didn't we agree to go to the beach?] Clara replied just as fast. [Blair, you don't actually want to turn our graduation trip into a retirement home, do you?] [We're all young here. Don't be such a nun.] Other guys from his crew joined the group chat to tease me. Some said the canyon was the only place fit for a real man. Some said the beach was just completely boring. Someone said it would be a total waste if born thrill-seekers like Roman and Clara didn't go racing in the canyon. Roman didn't say a single word in the group to defend me. He just sent me a private message. [Don't be a buzzkill.] [Clara is right. I can take you to a place like the beach anytime later.] Later. There was always a "later" with him. But every "later" he promised me always ended up being for someone else. I looked at that message, feeling as if something had tightly gripped my heart. In the end, I obediently replied with one word. [Okay.] So, I silently canceled all the beach itineraries. I stayed up late again to research canyon routes, rent an SUV, book campsites, check sandstorm warnings, make supply lists, and even prepare first aid kits. Clara threw out a casual remark in the group. [Blair is always so good at planning the logistics.] Followed by a thumbs-up emoji. Looking at that sentence, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On the day of departure, Roman drove that modified black SUV to pick me up. Clara was already sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing sunglasses. Her long legs in cutoff shorts were propped up on the dashboard, and she was swirling a glass of tequila on the rocks. Seeing me come out carrying a heavy equipment case, she lifted her chin at me. "Blair, you take the back seat." "I get carsick easily, so I need to sit in the front for some fresh air." I got carsick too, and Roman knew that better than anyone. Just as I was about to speak, he had already opened the back door for me. "Just make do with it. Clara was partying at the bar until three in the morning, and she has a headache now." "There's plenty of room in the back, so you can just lie down and take a nap." I watched him make arrangements for another woman so naturally, and I suddenly remembered the year we first got together in college. The first time I accompanied him out of state for a family event, I was so carsick that I turned pale. He gave up the passenger seat to me without hesitation. The big, bad mafia heir actually squeezed into the back seat, handing me water, tissues, and mints the entire way. At that time he said, "So what if my girlfriend is a little delicate? I like spoiling her." "I just love taking care of her." But now, he casually shoved my luggage into the trunk. He turned his head and whistled at Clara. "Buckle up. Get ready to enjoy the ride." I stood by the car and smiled quietly. It turned out that being his favorite had an expiration date. Chapter 2 Along the way, the two people in the front row chatted enthusiastically. They talked about camera angles, drone flight paths, and which stretch of the wilderness was best for shooting epic dirt bike shots. They talked about how if they posted this trip on social media, the title would be "One Last Wild Ride Before Graduation." I sat in the back row, a tablet resting on my lap showing the itinerary I had made. What time to set off, what time to arrive at the destination, which gas station to fill up at in advance, which section of the road had no signal, and which campground manager to call beforehand to confirm the reservations. I tried to interject several times. "The camp host for tonight said there are wild wolves wandering around, so it's best to get there before dark." But no one paid any attention to me at all. While we were resting by the desert highway at noon, I sent Roman the paved route I had mapped out. "This dirt road has too many potholes, and it could ruin the suspension. Let's take the highway next to it." Clara glanced at the GPS. "I just want to take this shortcut to find a good spot for the camera." "The rougher the road, the more thrilling it is. What's the fun in taking the main road?" Roman smiled. "No problem. Whatever you say." I frowned. "But the tires are already heavily worn." "Blair." His tone revealed obvious impatience. "Can you not be such a buzzkill when we're out having fun?" "I have a spare tire in the trunk. Why are you exaggerating so much?" "Besides, don't you trust my driving skills?" In the end, they insisted on driving the car onto a terrible road full of gravel. Roman hit the gas and loved every second of the wild ride. Half an hour later, the SUV got a flat tire. He changed the tire in frustration under the scorching sun, scraping the back of his hand. I dug out the first aid kit from my bag and used an alcohol swab to clean and bandage it for him. Clara leaned against the hood, shaking her flask and sneering. "Blair, it's just a tiny scratch. You sound exactly like his mother." Roman let me bandage him, but his movements paused for a second before he also chuckled, his tone obscure. "That's just how she is. Always fussing over me. I've been used to it for a long time." The fingers I used to pinch the gauze instantly stiffened. I loved him with all my heart. Even his minor scrapes hurt me. But coming out of their mouths, it became a cheap joke. In the afternoon, the SUV continued to speed through the wilderness. The weather suddenly turned. Sand swirled all around us, smacking against the windshield with a crackling sound. I couldn't help but remind Roman, "Slow down. The visibility ahead is too low." Clara was looking down, adjusting her camera settings, not even raising her head. "Blair, if you're scared, just close your eyes and sleep." "Don't distract the driver." Roman steered with one hand and chimed in with a laugh. "Did you hear that? Shut up and sleep." I gripped my seatbelt tightly and swallowed all my words. Later, the sandstorm grew more violent, and the bumpy cabin caused my motion sickness to flare up completely. My stomach cramped badly, and my forehead was covered in a cold sweat. I searched my backpack for my nausea meds. Then I suddenly remembered I had left the bottle on the hallway counter this morning. I called out weakly to Roman, "Can we stop at the gas station ahead? I want to buy some medicine." He gave a dismissive grunt. The heavy metal music in the cabin was deafening. He and Clara bobbed their heads to the beat, completely oblivious to my distress. Clara excitedly shoved her camera screen in front of his eyes. "Look at this candid shot. The tension is absolutely incredible." "If we edit these photos, they could definitely make it onto a magazine cover." Roman turned his head to admire it. "Great shot, Clara." "I have to admit, your photography style is really different from Blair's. The ones you take are sexier." "Blair, want to take a look later?" No one cared about my answer, and the two of them instantly burst into laughter together. I slumped weakly against the back seat, closed my eyes, and felt my stomach churning. Chapter 3 In that moment, a lot of old memories surfaced. Like the gallery opening during my sophomore year of college. I ran to every frame shop in the city for Roman, staying up for three days straight until my voice was hoarse. On opening night, however, it was Clara who stood in front of the exhibition wall, explaining the meaning of each photo to the curator with flawless charm. The curator praised them as a pair of natural-born partners. Roman smiled and raised his champagne. "We really do click." I shrank into a corner, holding a stack of empty frames that had just been taken down. From beginning to end, he never glanced my way once. Or the summer of my junior year, when Roman insisted on seeking thrills in cartel territory. I knew the underground world was chaotic and disorderly. Afraid he would get caught in a crossfire, I spent half a month in advance researching routes, putting together medical kits for him, and even trying to find reliable channels to buy Kevlar vests. But on the day of departure, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he said the SUV was full and told me to be a good girl and stay in the safe zone. I dragged my suitcase and stood rigidly outside the iron gates of his family estate for an entire afternoon. Until that night, when I saw Clara's post on social media. [The wildest man needs a fearless woman to ride or die with him.] In the photo, she was sitting in the passenger seat, and Roman had one hand on the steering wheel. The glow of the setting sun spilled across the sharp angles of his face. He looked incredibly handsome, but he felt more like a stranger than ever before. And another time, at an internal family celebratory dinner. A capo from one of the branch crews teased Roman, "Why didn't your little girlfriend come?" Roman held his wine glass, his tone casual. "She's too soft and can't handle this kind of scene. Even if she came, she wouldn't know what to say." He said it very lightly, no different from his usual lazy demeanor. And I was standing right outside the door of the private room at the time, holding the hangover remedy I had made for him. That night, I ultimately didn't push open that door. I sent a text saying I wasn't feeling well and went to sleep early. He didn't reply with a single word of concern. Looking at these fragmented moments individually, they seemed like trivial, everyday matters. But as they piled up over time, they felt like a heavy weight pressing against my chest. Soft, not painful, but suffocating. The SUV finally pulled into a run-down gas station by the desert highway. I fought back the nausea and pushed the car door open, my legs feeling so weak the moment they touched the ground that I almost fell over. The heavy metal music in the cabin was deafening. Roman was leaning his head to look at the candid shots in the camera with Clara, laughing uncontrollably. I clung to the car door and spoke weakly, "I'm going to the convenience store to buy some motion sickness pills. I'll be quick." Roman stared at the screen without even turning his head, obviously not having heard a word. Only Clara in the passenger seat glanced at me through the rearview mirror, but she said nothing. The gas station was crowded with all sorts of travelers. The convenience store was all the way in the back. I waited in a long line to buy the motion sickness pills and grabbed a bottle of chilled soda water from the cooler while I was at it. By the time I paid and walked out, the sky over the desert had already started to dim. Clutching the box of pills and the cold drink in my hands, I walked quickly back to our parking spot. The spot where the black SUV was originally parked was now completely empty. I froze. My first reaction was that I was so dizzy I misremembered the spot. So I walked forward and looked around again. I walked past pickup trucks and bypassed RVs, but there was no sign of that black SUV. I stood alone in this run-down truck stop. It reeked of gasoline and was filled with strange, rough-looking men. That was when my phone rang, and Roman's voice came through the receiver. "Blair, where did you go?" My throat tightened, and my voice came out hoarse. "I'm at the gas station. There were too many people in the convenience store, and I just came out." He seemed to let out a breath on the other end of the line. "Why didn't you get in the car or look for me?" "I just turned around and the back seat was empty. It scared me to death." "Blair, you've graduated from college, and you still managed to get yourself lost?" I was stunned for a moment, then asked in return, "I got out of the car to buy medicine. Did you guys not notice?" Clara's voice, carrying a hint of mockery, immediately cut in. "I thought she fell asleep in the back seat." "Roman, we've already raced dozens of miles away. If we turn back now, that perfect sunset at the canyon will be ruined." Roman lowered his voice. "Blair, stop acting up." "We're in the middle of nowhere. If we turn around at the next exit and come back, it will delay us by at least two hours. It's too much of a hassle." "Just hitch a ride on the side of the road, or pay someone to drive you, and come find us at the next canyon exit." I stood alone in this wilderness truck stop, reeking of gasoline and filled with strange, burly men. A heavy-duty truck roared past me, kicking up dust that made my eyes sting. I spoke into the phone, asking, "Roman, are you sure you're not coming back to get me?" He was silent for a few seconds before his tone turned somewhat agitated. "Can you not make such a big deal out of this?" "It's not like we left you behind on purpose." "You're a mature adult. Can't you just hitch a ride over by yourself?" Chapter 4 Clara scoffed playfully in the background. "You spoil her too much." "It's like this every time. One little thing goes wrong, and the whole world has to revolve around her." Hearing this, I smiled bitterly. So leaving me stranded on a dangerous desert highway was just a trivial matter not worth mentioning in their eyes. So the sunset they were so eager to chase was far more important than me being left alone in the middle of nowhere. I lowered my eyes and glanced at the bottle of chilled soda water in my hand. The bottle was so freezing that it made my palm numb, but it was not even a fraction as cold as my heart felt right then. I spoke calmly, "Okay." Roman's tone visibly relaxed on the other end. "Send me your live location once you get a car." "Stay where you are and don't wander off." "And also, don't cry. Crying while we're out having fun just ruins the mood." I didn't answer again and simply hung up the call. The wind swept over from the other end of the highway, and my tears suddenly fell. I didn't squat down and cry out loud like I had done during so many arguments in the past. Instead, the tears just slid down my cheeks, drop by drop. My tears hit the cap of that soda water bottle in complete silence. My mother's worried questions before my departure floated into my mind. "Do you really have to follow that dangerous family to such a remote place?" "Every time you go out with him, you come back looking completely exhausted." I had even spoken up for Roman at the time. "This is our pre-graduation carnival. I promise this will be the last time I go crazy with him." It turned out that this time really was the last time. I opened the booking app and bought a bus ticket to a small coastal town down south. They had the old streets I had always wanted to walk down, the beautiful coastline I had longed for, and that clam chowder spot I had been thinking about for ages. There was also a boutique photo studio where I had secretly submitted my resume. The owner had sent me a formal interview invitation last week, but I had been too afraid to reply. Because Roman had once said, "I wouldn't feel safe letting you run off that far by yourself." "Come back to the family estate with me. I'll have someone arrange an easy job for you." I didn't refuse him at the time, not because I wanted to go, but because I had long grown accustomed to him controlling the trajectory of my life. But at this very moment, I suddenly wanted to smash this cage with my own hands. I quickly switched to the itinerary management app and canceled all the premium campsites and luxury suites along the upcoming canyon route, which I had paid for out of my own pocket. All these tedious reservations had been handled by me alone, and the exorbitant deposits had been deducted from my account. I had no obligation to maintain a trip that I wasn't even part of for a man who had abandoned me on the side of the road. Then I opened my messaging app, completely removed Roman from my favorites, and blocked Clara's number. Finally, I sent my mother a brief text message. [Mom, I'm not going to the Grand Canyon anymore.] [I want to go see the ocean.] My mother replied almost instantly. [Go ahead, my baby.] [Don't worry about anyone else this time. Just take good care of yourself.] Staring at those words, my tears fell again. Night had fully fallen over the wilderness. Carrying my bags, I walked along the highway toward the run-down bus stop nearby. Behind me, the headlights on the highway formed a long ribbon of light, just like the dead-end path I had walked down blindly following him all these years. But this time, I was done chasing.

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"Madam, are you sure you want to divorce Mr. Branson?" The lawyer asked it gently, the way doctors ask if you understand the diagnosis. "I'm certain," I said, and my voice only trembled a little. "I can't keep being a wife without dignity beside a husband who doesn't love me." Saying it out loud hurt more than I expected. I loved Kyle Branson. I had loved him since I was fifteen, from the back row of a party I wasn't welcome at, watching him laugh in his football jersey with his eyes fixed on someone else. I had loved him quietly through college, through the years as his secretary, through three years of a marriage that existed only on paper and in the darkness of our bedroom. The lawyer's pen scratched across the paper. Two weeks ago, I had been happy. For one whole afternoon, I had been happy. "Congratulations," Dr. Ray had said, "you're pregnant." I blinked rapidly, trying to focus. Her smile never wavered as she guided my attention to the screen, pointing to two tiny dots pulsing in sync. "Twins," she added. "You're having twins." I had been so careful — the pills Kyle insisted on, the contract with its cold black text. Clause 6: Regular contraception required. No pregnancies permitted. But staring at those two flickering lights, something warm and terrifying opened up in my chest, like a window I hadn't known was painted shut. Two lives. Two tiny beings growing inside me. Kyle's children. Our children. I cried in the hospital parking lot, my forehead against the steering wheel, and I couldn't have said whether it was fear or joy. Maybe there's no difference, when you've wanted something for as long as I had wanted a family. Would they look like me? Would they have my green eyes, or their father's dark, stormy gaze? The whole drive home, hope kept rising in me, impossible to ignore. Maybe this changes everything, it whispered. Maybe when he sees the picture. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I should have known. Hope had never once kept its promises to me. That evening, I stood outside his study with the ultrasound picture in my cardigan pocket. The door was ajar; lamplight spilled into the hallway in a thin gold line. I raised my hand to knock— "You've been married three years, Kyle." Marcus's voice, lazy with whiskey. "She should be pregnant by now, right?" I froze, knuckles an inch from the wood. "There won't be a child." Kyle's voice was flat. It's like standing in warm water and feeling it turn cold around you, inch by inch, while you're too stunned to move. Marcus laughed. "True. Taylor's back in the country now — I bet all your attention is on her." Ice clinked against glass. "How was last night? A whole night of sweetness, I'd guess." Last night, I was harassed by a stalker. After breaking free during the struggle, I had crouched behind a parked car in an empty garage while his footsteps circled closer, my ankle screaming, my palm bleeding, my phone pressed so hard against my ear it left a mark. I called Kyle times. He'll come. This time he'll come. I thought. An old security guard found me. He shouted the man off, walked me to my car, and stood in the rain until my hands stopped shaking enough to drive. Kyle's reply was waiting when I got home. One word, glowing in the dark bathroom while I wrapped my torn palm. Busy. Humiliation was a living thing crawled up my throat. "So tell me," Marcus pressed, grinning audibly. "Which is better — the wife, or Taylor?" Kyle didn't answer. "Look at me asking," Marcus laughed. "How could a contract wife ever compare to a first love?" I pressed both hands over my mouth so no one would hear me sob. This is a deal, he'd said once, sliding the contract across his mahogany desk. I hope you don't have any other ideas. But I did. So I'd signed, clinging to the hope that time would help him see me differently. Three years later, that hope had proven as substantial as morning mist. When there were no tears left, I took out the ultrasound picture and looked at my babies in the lamplight, two tiny dots, my two tiny dots. "It's okay," I whispered, my thumb tracing the edge of the photo. "Mommy sees clearly now. We don't need him." "All right, ma'am." The lawyer's voice drew me back. He capped his pen. "The divorce agreement will be sent to your email within five days." Five days. Outside, the rain had stopped. I stood on the courthouse steps and breathed, one hand resting lightly over my stomach. Five days. And I'll be leaving him. ###58781549### 2 Taylor had posted again. I knew better than to look. I looked anyway. Three posts since morning. The first: Kyle at the airport, taking her luggage, his head bent toward her in the rain. He was holding the umbrella entirely over her. His shoulder was dark with water. In ten years, I had never once seen him get wet for anyone. Then the two of them at Lumière, golden light, her hand resting on the tablecloth an inch from his. A velvet box. An emerald bracelet, glowing against the dark like something alive. He always knows what I love, the caption read. He didn't. I knew, because I was the one who had chosen it. Last week he'd dropped a catalogue on my desk without slowing his stride — pick something a woman would like — and I, fool that I was, had lingered over the pages. I chose the emeralds because they matched my mother's eyes. Because some starved little corner of me thought, maybe it's for me. I put the phone face-down on the vanity and looked at myself in the steam-blurred mirror. Of course it was Taylor. It had always been Taylor. Everyone who worked at K.T. Enterprises knew the legend — how Kyle Branson had built the most powerful company in the city in ten years and named it for himself and the woman he loved. Their initials, entwined. K.T. A monument, emblazoned across every building, every document, every paycheck I had ever earned. I had signed my name beneath their initials a thousand times. And I knew Taylor better than anyone. She was my stepsister. I was fifteen when my mother died. One week — one week — and my father brought home his new wife, and her daughter. That's when I learned the ugly truth: he'd been seeing them for years. He'd married my mother for her money. Within days, Mom's things were in the attic. Within weeks, the house wore another woman's taste. Everything you have will be mine, Taylor told me that time, thirteen years old and certain as a prophecy. My father. My home. And then, because fate has a sense of humor, the only man I ever loved. I heard the front door. My hands stilled on the towel. Kyle came into the bedroom loosening his tie, and his eyes found me — damp hair, bare shoulders, wrapped in silk — and darkened in that particular way I knew. He crossed the room without a word and kissed me, his hands sliding to my waist, and he smelled of rain and cologne and her, I was certain he smelled of her, and my mind, traitorous and vivid, showed me everything. The umbrella. The tablecloth. The emeralds against her wrist. Him, bent over her the way he was bending over me now, this exact mouth, these exact hands— My stomach heaved. I twisted away and gagged, one hand braced on the vanity, the room tilting. "What's wrong with you?" Kyle's voice behind me. "Something I ate," I whispered. A pause. Then, cooler: "You're still taking the pills?" The pills. Always the pills. No pregnancies permitted. "Every day," I lied, and was surprised how easily it came. He reached for me again — and stopped. His thumb had found the inside of my thigh, the bruise from the parking garage, ugly and yellow-edged. He went very still. "How did you get this?" "I fell." "You fell." His eyes came up to mine, narrowed. "Where? When? " "It's nothing," I said. What good was rain after the harvest had rotted in the field? He opened his mouth to press — and his phone rang. Taylor. "Hey," he said, and his voice, gentle and warm. He walked out into the hallway with it. "...Thursday works..." When he came back, he was already reaching for his coat. And I knew where he was going to. His sleeve caught my handbag on the chair; it tipped, spilled — lipstick, keys, and a crisp white card that slid across the floor and came to rest, face-up, at his feet. Harrison & Lowe. Specializing in Divorce Cases. Time stopped. He bent. Picked it up. Turned it over once in his fingers, and my heart slammed so hard I thought he must hear it. "Someone was handing out flyers by the office," I heard myself say. "I forgot to throw it away." Kyle looked at the card. Looked at me. Then he set it on the dresser and shrugged into his coat, and the something was gone. "Don't wait up," he said. The door closed. I let out the breath I was holding, and it broke apart on the way out, half laugh, half sob. I was still standing there when my phone buzzed. A message. Taylor. No words. Just a photo — a hotel suite in low amber light, sheets in ruins, her bare shoulder pressed to a man. Kyle. ###58781674### 3 The morning sickness hit me as soon as I woke up. I barely made it to the bathroom in time, and afterward I knelt on the cold tile with my forehead against the sink, one hand pressed to my stomach, breathing through it. "I know," I whispered to them. "I know. We only have to do this a little longer." The mirror was unkind. Dark circles. Pale skin. Three more days. I only had to be invisible for three more days, and being invisible was the one thing K.T. Enterprises had ever trained me to do. The elevator doors had barely opened before the whispers found me. "—came in at nine with him. In his car." Jenna from accounting had her back to me, coffee cup forgotten in her hand, holding court by the copier. "Marie saw them in the parking garage. He opened her door for her." "Mr. Branson opened a door?" Priya laughed, low and scandalized. "For a human woman?" "I'm telling you. And you should see her — she's upstairs right now. Red dress, legs for days. Gorgeous." "Who is she?" "Taylor Porter. Apparently they were high school sweethearts." Jenna's voice dropped into the reverent register people reserve for other people's romances. "First love, back after all these years. Isn't that the most romantic thing you've ever heard?" I stood three feet away, waiting for the copier, invisible. None of them lowered their voices. Why would they? I was Mia from HR — quiet, reliable, beneath notice. "They're saying fiancée," Priya said. "Dana heard it from his floor. The fiancée is visiting." The word went through me. "God, imagine," Jenna sighed. "Ten years building an empire, naming it after her — K.T., you know that's them, Kyle and Taylor — and now she comes home and it's like no time passed at all. Some women get everything." "And some of us get Steve from procurement," Priya said, and they laughed, and the copier finished its run, and I gathered my pages with steady hands. "Morning, Mia," Jenna added kindly, stepping aside for me. "You look pale — you should get some rest." "I will," I said. "Thank you." Linda was waiting at my desk, her expression neutral as ever, holding out two cups of coffee. "He asked for these," she murmured, her tone professional, yet I could sense a hint of pity. Linda knew. Linda had stood witness in a registry office while my husband checked his phone. Linda was the only person in this building who knew I existed. My stomach churned at the smell of the coffee, but I nodded. "Sure." When I pushed open Kyle's office door, Taylor was sitting next to him. Taylor rose in one fluid motion, smoothing her red dress, entirely unhurried. She wanted me to see. This was the performance, and I was the audience of one. "Oh, look who it is," her voice dripped honey. "How nice to see you, Mia." I set the cups down carefully, watching my own hands as if they belonged to someone steadier. "Your coffee, Mr. Branson." "That's not how I like my coffee," Taylor pouted, lifting the cup and taking a delicate sip. "Too much sugar. Be a dear and get me another one." "I didn't make the coffee, Miss Matthews. Perhaps you should specify your preferences to the coffee shop directly." Her eyes narrowed for a heartbeat before she laughed. "Oh, Kyle, isn't she adorable? So defensive over a cup of coffee." She turned to me, her smile never reaching her eyes. "Actually, Mia, wait — could you show me to the ladies' room? This building is so big, I always get lost." I knew it was a trap. I had known this woman since I was fifteen. But Kyle sat there behind his desk, not even looking up, and refusing her in front of him would cost more than walking into it. "Of course," I said. The moment the door swung shut behind us, the sweet facade dropped. She checked every stall, unhurried, heels clicking on the tile — and then she turned. "I know what you're doing," she hissed. "Playing the perfect employee, always so helpful, so eager to please. Everyone knows you've always been desperate for any scrap of attention. You're just like your mother — always trying to grab what doesn't belong to you." My hands trembled. "Don't talk about my mother." "Why not?" She stepped closer, her perfume thick in my throat. "Everyone knew what she was. And look at you — following in her footsteps. Do you think he'll ever see you as anything more than what you are? A convenient employee he can use?" She smiled. "You'll never be anything to him, Mia. But you should remember what your mother got in the end." Something in me snapped . The slap echoed off the tiles. Taylor's head whipped to the side. My palm burned, and I stood there shaking, breathless, alive to my fingertips. For a moment there was absolute silence. Then, slowly, she started to smile — and my blood ran cold, because I knew that smile. She grabbed her own arm and squeezed hard, leaving red marks. Messed her hair. Let the tears rise on cue, beautiful, brimming. The door burst open. Kyle stood there, his face dark with anger. "Kyle!" Taylor sobbed, running to him, burying her face in his chest. "I don't know what happened — I just wanted to talk to her, to try to be friends, I know our past is complicated, but she — she attacked me!" "She's lying," I said. "Kyle, she—" "I saw enough." His voice was ice. "Apologize, Mia." But I met his gaze, and my heart broke one final, quiet time — not like glass, like a fever. Breaking as in ending. "No," I whispered. "I won't apologize." His jaw tightened. "Fine," he said coldly. "You're suspended. Linda will handle your work until further notice." "No," I said. "I'm quitting." Taylor's sobbing hitched. And Kyle went very still. "What did you say?" "You heard me." My voice didn't shake. "I quit." I looked at the two of them. "I hope you both enjoy today." "Mia." Kyle's voice cracked out like a whip as I turned. "We are not done—" I walked out. Then I took out my phone and dialed. It rang twice before a gentle, deep voice answered, warm with surprise. "Mia?" I looked out the window at the city, at all that sky I'd forgotten was there. "I'm leaving him," I said. "Let's meet up." ###58781785### 4 Jeo was already there when I arrived at the quiet café downtown, and he stood when he saw me — dark hair stylishly messy, blue eyes as kind as I remembered — and pulled me into a gentle hug. I stiffened for half a second it had been long since anyone had held me like this. "Mia Williams," he said. "Still as beautiful as ever." "You look good too, Jeo." "I ordered you hot chocolate instead of coffee," he said as we sat down. "You never could stomach coffee in the morning." I stared at the cup. Steam rose from it in a thin ribbon, and my throat closed around nothing. "Hey." Jeo's voice softened. "You okay?" "It's the hot chocolate," I said, and laughed wetly. "It's very moving hot chocolate." He had the good grace not to press. Instead he spread the sketches across the table — the Havers project, a luxury boutique hotel, modern but organic, flowing lines and natural light — and somewhere in the second minute of talking, I forgot to be sad. My hands started moving on their own. "You could integrate the existing architecture with bio-mimetic design elements," I heard myself say. "Keep the old brick facade as a contrast to curved glass — and the central atrium could carry a sculptural staircase, with water features that throw light patterns through the whole space as the sun moves—" I stopped. Jeo was grinning at me. "What?" "There she is," he said quietly. "The girl who painted that mural in the university hall. I was starting to think K.T. Enterprises had filed her away somewhere." It had, I thought. "Jeo, it's been years since I've drawn anything—" "Mia." That voice. My spine knew it before my mind did — three years of training, the body snapping to attention. Kyle stood at our table in a crisp black suit, rain glittering on his shoulders, his expression carved from stone. How he'd found me, I didn't ask. Kyle Branson found whatever he wanted found. Jeo rose, extending his hand, easy and unbothered. "Kyle Branson? Jeo Parker. I went to college with Mia." Kyle ignored the hand. His eyes never left me. "A word, Mia." I had to breathe before I stood. Outside, the awning dripped rain between us and the street. His hand closed on my elbow, burning through my sleeve. "Who is he?" "An old friend." "Friends don't look at each other that way." His voice was low, dangerous. "You made a scene this morning. You slapped Taylor and you disappeared — and now I find you here, with him. What is this, Mia? What exactly do you think you're doing?" "Having hot chocolate," I said. "And discussing a job." "You have a job." "I quit that job. You were there. You were holding her at the time — perhaps it slipped your attention." His jaw tightened. "You signed a contract. No relationships with other men during our marriage—" "A job, Kyle." Something hot finally tore loose in my chest, and my voice rose to meet it. "The contract says nothing about a job. Or does it? Should I check?" I pulled my arm free, and the rain-cold air rushed into the space between us. "You suspended me. I saved you the paperwork. What I do now is none of your business." "You're my wife." "Your wife?" I met his gaze. "You don't get to control every aspect of my life, Kyle. Not anymore." "The contract—" "The contract says I can't have relationships with other men. It doesn't say anything about taking a job." I straightened my spine. "Unless you're jealous?" His laugh was harsh. "Jealous? Of him? Don't be ridiculous." "Then there's no problem, is there?" We stood there, staring at each other under the dripping awning. For a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes. I walked back inside on legs that held. Behind me, through the glass, I felt him standing in the rain a long moment before his car door slammed. "The job," I said, sitting down. My hands were shaking now that it was over. I wrapped them around the cooling cup. "Tell me where to sign." Jeo's whole face lit, "Monday. Come Monday." It was dark when I got home. The porch light was off — I always left it on — and the wrongness of that small thing prickled at me even before I reached the stairs. The bedroom light was burning. Taylor was lying on my bed. In my pajamas. The ivory silk ones . She was scrolling her phone against my pillows, one leg crossed over the other, and when she saw me in the doorway she stretched, slow and luxurious, like a cat presenting its claws. "Oh, Mia." A smile bloomed, unhurried. "I hope you don't mind. I just got back to the country and haven't found a place yet — hotels are so impersonal, you know? Kyle worried." She let the word sit there, glowing. "So he said I should stay here." She plucked at the silk collar with two lacquered fingers. "These are darling, by the way. A little loose on me." Two more days. "Where is Kyle?" The smile has something anticipatory. She looked like a woman watching a fuse she herself had lit. "The study, probably." She turned back to her phone. "He found some very interesting reading." I should have heard the warning. I was too tired; the day had used everything. I walked down the dark hallway toward the line of lamplight under the study door, and I pushed it open. Kyle sat behind his desk, perfectly still. The lamp cast shadows across his face, and in his hand, held so tightly the paper had begun to crease, was a hospital report. My pregnancy report. His eyes lifted to mine, and they were nearly black. "When," he said, very quietly, "were you going to tell me?" ###58781857### 5 The study felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in as Kyle's presence loomed larger than life. The lamp on his desk cast shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable — and then he moved, and it wasn't unreadable at all. He slid a folder across the desk. I picked up the folder with hands that had gone strangely calm. The medical report swam before my eyes. My name. My hospital. And there — the dates. Estimated gestational age: 12 weeks. Three months. "My wife is pregnant," Kyle said, each word precise and deadly. "Three months pregnant." He rose slowly from behind the desk. "Because I distinctly remember being in Dubai three months ago. The entire month. Would you like to explain that, Mia?" Two months. I was two months pregnant; my real report was in my drawer, blue folder, second from the top. This paper was a forgery. And I opened my mouth to say all of it— —and then I saw his face, and the words died. Because he believed it. It was already finished in him. This is what I am to him, I thought. And close behind that thought, quiet as a hand slipping into mine: Two more days. Let him believe what he needs to believe. Soon there will be a different paper on this desk. "Well?" His voice cracked like a whip. "Believe whatever you want, Kyle." I set the folder down. He surged around the desk, his chair scraping back. "That's all? That's all you have to say?" His hand slammed into the wall beside my head, and I flinched. He was so close I could see the storm turning in his grey eyes. "You've been at his studio — you quit without a word — the lawyer's card in your bag — how long, Mia? How long has this been going on?" One question, something in me was crying, even now, even at the end. You could have asked me one question first. I have loved you since I was fifteen. The grief of it was enormous, and far away, like weather on another coast. "Are you finished?" I asked softly. "You're not keeping it." The words were like ice. "Do you hear me? Whatever this is, however far along — you will deal with it, or I will destroy you. You and your artist both." "Let me go, Kyle." I stepped past him. "We are done." He didn't follow. Taylor was waiting at the top of the stairs. She stood with her arms crossed, backlit by the hallway sconce, and she wasn't performing now — the honeyed voice, the trembling lip, all of it set aside like a coat indoors. What remained was the girl I'd known since I was fifteen, cold and bright with appetite. "You look pale," she observed. "Rough evening?" "Get out of my way, Taylor." "You figured it out yet?" She tilted her head, savoring it, and her voice dropped to the register of intimacy. "The report. I switched them. Your real one's ashes by now." She watched my face for the collapse and, not finding it, leaned closer, feeding me the rest. "You want to know the best part? How easily he believed it. One doctored paper, one little suggestion that his precious wife had been unfaithful — and he crumbled. He never trusted you at all. He was always mine, Mia. You were just a placeholder." "I know," I said quietly, and meant it, and watched the taste of victory curdle in her mouth. "You can have him." Her eyes narrowed. "You're just like your mother. All heart, no brains — clinging to things that don't belong to you. I told you when we were fifteen: everything you have will be mine. I keep my promises." Her gaze dropped, deliberate, to my stomach. "Everything, Mia." Cold walked up my spine. I moved to step past her — and her nails sank into my arm like talons. "Let go of me—" "Make me," she whispered. And then, with a strength I didn't expect, she shoved me. Hard. Time slowed. The stairs — I'd forgotten how close we were to the stairs. My body twisted in the air, arms wrapping around my stomach, everything I was contracting to a single instinct: protect them, protect them — and then the first impact tore the world apart. Each step was a fresh detonation of pain. The chandelier wheeled overhead. Shadow, edge, shadow. Somewhere above me, distinctly, I heard Taylor throw herself down onto the steps — the rustle of silk, a rehearsed cry. I hit the bottom, and everything went white. When sound returned, it came in pieces. The study door flying open. Footsteps. And Taylor's voice, cracked and breathless with flawless terror: "Kyle — Kyle, she grabbed me — she was screaming that she'd rather die than let you be happy, we struggled, I tried to get away — oh God, my arm, I think something's broken—" "No," I gasped. The word came out as almost nothing. There was warmth spreading beneath me, between my legs, too much warmth, and terror closed around my heart like a fist. "Kyle — she pushed — the babies—" My hands pressed against my stomach. "Please — the babies—" He stood over us. One endless second. I looked up at him through tears of pain — my husband, ten years of my one and only love — and I watched him choose. He bent down. And lifted Taylor into his arms. "It hurts," she whimpered against his chest, her eyes finding mine over his shoulder. They were shining. "I've heard enough about this, Mia," Kyle said, and his voice came from somewhere very far above me, cold and final as a closing door. "You've gone too far." He turned, her heels dangling, her arms around his neck. "Linda will be here soon. She'll take you to the hospital." "Kyle—" My voice broke apart. "Kyle, please, they're yours—" The front door closed. The car started. The sound of the engine faded down the drive, and then there was nothing — just the vast dark house, and the grandfather clock ticking, and me, spreading warmth on the cold hardwood floor. "No, no, no," I whispered, curling around my stomach, around them, as if my body could still be a wall. "Stay with me. Please stay with Mommy. You're all I have — you're all I have left, please—" The pain came in waves now, each one taller. Somewhere a phone was ringing, or maybe that was in my head. The darkness gathered at the edges of the room like water rising, and the last thing I knew was that I was praying — to God, to my mother, to anyone at all — Then the darkness took everything. ###58781946### 6 In the haze between consciousness and darkness, memories floated like scattered photographs, each one more painful than the last. The sedatives coursing through my veins turned my mind into a kaleidoscope of moments I'd tried so hard to forget. "Mr. Branson will see you now." The first time I saw Kyle in his office, tall and imposing behind that mahogany desk. I'd straightened my simple black dress, trying to look professional despite my racing heart. He hadn't recognized me from high school, of course. To him, I was just another candidate for the secretary position. The scene shifted, blurred, reformed. "The board needs me married. Someone quiet. Someone who won't cause problems." The contract sitting between us, stark black text on white paper. "I hope you don't have any other ideas." And then our wedding day. No white dress, no flowers. Just a registry office and Linda as our witness. Kyle checking his phone throughout the ceremony. I'd worn a pale blue dress I'd saved three months to buy, hoping he might notice. He hadn't. "The ring is just for appearances," he'd said, sliding the platinum band onto my finger. "Don't read too much into it." Then the dream turned cruel. I was standing in a sunlit room I'd never seen, and my stomach was round and full beneath my hands, and I was laughing — and two small voices were laughing somewhere just out of sight, in the next room, always in the next room, and I walked and walked through door after door trying to reach them, and every room was empty, and the laughter was getting fainter— "No," I begged the dream. "Please. Let me see them. Just once, let me see their faces—" The doors kept opening onto emptiness. And then even the laughter was gone, and there was only a white ceiling, and an antiseptic smell, and the steady beep of monitors. I was awake. And I knew. My hands moved to my stomach and found it flat . "Mia?" My friend Scarlett was rising from the chair beside my bed, red hair wild, eyes swollen from crying. "Oh, thank God. You've been out for hours—" "The babies," I said. My voice came out as a stranger's, rusted and small. "Scar. My babies." Her face crumpled. "I'm so sorry, Mia," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The doctors — they tried everything, but..." The room went very far away. I heard myself make a sound, and Scarlett climbed half onto the bed and held me while it tore its way out — all of it, ten years of it, grief upon grief upon grief, and at the bottom of everything, my two small lights, whose faces I would never see. I had promised them. I had covered them with my hand and promised: you are wanted, you are so wanted — "I never got to tell them," I sobbed into Scarlett's shoulder. "That I quit. That I got the job. I was going to draw again — I was going to show them the ocean—" "I know," she whispered, rocking me. "I know, honey. I know." I cried until the sedatives dragged me back under, and this time, mercifully, there were no dreams. When I woke again it was dusk, and Scarlett had gone for coffee, and the door stood half open onto the corridor. Two nurses paused outside it, their voices low, the way people talk past rooms they think are sleeping. "—no, the other one. Miss Porter, third floor. Discharged this morning. Nothing but a bruised wrist, if you ask me." "A bruised wrist? Mr. Branson called in three specialists. Dr. Osei flew in from Geneva. For a wrist." "I heard he stayed by her bed the whole night. Wouldn't leave. They had to bring a cot in." A pause; the squeak of a trolley wheel. "Devoted, isn't he." "Shh. Rich people," the other said, with a soft, disapproving click of the tongue, and the footsteps moved on down the corridor. I lay looking at the ceiling. Three specialists. Geneva. A cot by her bed. He was capable of it. The vigils, the flown-in doctors, the not-leaving. All of it. It just had simply never, not once in ten years, been for me. He came the next afternoon. Kyle was standing in the doorway, still in yesterday's suit, shadows under his eyes. He looked at the monitors. "The doctors say you'll recover fully," he said finally. Recover. As if what I'd lost was a thing that grew back. I said nothing. "How's Taylor?" I asked. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know if he spent the night with her while I was losing our children. His jaw tightened. "She's fine. Some bruising." Of course she was. Taylor always landed on her feet. While I lost everything. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. I picked it up. One new email, sitting at the top of the screen like a door standing open. Harrison & Lowe — Your divorce agreement is attached. Please review and sign at your convenience. Five days, the lawyer had said. He was right on time. I opened the attachment and read the first line — Dissolution of marriage between Kyle Branson and Mia Williams — clean, clinical, cold. For once, the coldness of a contract felt like mercy. "What is that?" Kyle asked. I turned the screen toward him and watched his face go white. "Sign the papers." I said. My voice didn't shake. It had done all its shaking; there was nothing left in it but the truth. "Let me go."

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I raised four abandoned boys as my own sons. I gave them my home, my money, my connections, and eventually enough power to run the four most important divisions of Leeds Group. For seventeen years, I believed they loved my biological daughter, Elena, like a real sister. Then she called me from a school bathroom. “Mom, help me.” By the time I arrived, her uniform had been torn open and bruises covered her body. My four sons had heard her screaming. They had done nothing. They were standing outside protecting Sabrina. According to them, Elena was spoiled. She had too much, while Sabrina had too little. So they decided to teach her how to give things up. First, it was a dress. Then they gave Sabrina the lake house meant for Elena’s eighteenth birthday and cleared out Elena’s private studio for her. Finally, they took the business proposal Elena had spent six months creating, erased her name, and submitted it under Sabrina’s. When Elena demanded it back, my sons called her selfish. “You already have everything.” “Sabrina needs it more.” That was when I understood. The four boys I had rescued no longer saw Elena as their sister. They saw her inheritance as something they had the right to distribute. And soon, they came for mine too. They sat in my boardroom and demanded control of my company, my family trust, and everything I had built. They thought Leeds Group existed because of them. They thought I was only an aging mother they could push aside. They had no idea that seventeen years ago, I had walked away from the Moretti criminal empire to give Elena a normal life. Leeds Group was only one legitimate company inside an empire they had never seen. And the power they were so proud of? I had given it to them. My sons wanted to teach Elena that nothing belonged to her simply because she carried my name. Fine. I was about to teach all four of them the same lesson. Chapter 1 “You said you only wanted to scare her?” I looked directly at Matteo. He frowned as if I were the one being unreasonable. “Mom, Elena has been protected her entire life. A little hardship will be good for her.” He glanced toward the bathroom. “We were right outside. We never would have let anything serious happen.” I followed his gaze. Elena was curled against the cold tiled wall, trembling so violently that her teeth were chattering. One side of her school blouse had been torn open, and dark bruises were already forming across her shoulders. She clutched what remained of her collar with both hands, desperately trying to cover herself. This was what they considered nothing serious. I had once lived in a world where men carried guns beneath their tailored jackets, and a single insult could cost someone far more than money. Yet even in that world, no one had ever dared to touch my daughter. I stepped toward Matteo. “When would it have become serious? After they tore off the rest of her clothes, or after someone posted the video online?” Matteo’s expression shifted. Before he could answer, Dante stepped between us. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke in the same calm, measured voice he used in board meetings, the one that always made people believe he was the only reasonable person in the room. “Mom, you don’t know the whole story.” “I know what I’m looking at.” “But you don’t know what caused it.” Dante glanced at the girl hiding behind him. “Sabrina accidentally spilled coffee on Elena’s shoes. Elena humiliated her in front of everyone and told her she could never afford to replace them.” Sabrina clutched the back of Dante’s jacket. Her eyes were wet, and her voice was barely above a whisper. “Mrs. Leeds, I offered to have the shoes cleaned, but Elena said someone like me didn’t even deserve to touch them.” Elena’s head snapped up. “I never said that.” Sabrina bit her lip. “I know Elena doesn’t like me. I shouldn’t have asked to borrow the dress she planned to wear to the charity gala. I just thought—” “You didn’t ask me.” Elena’s voice was hoarse, but she forced out every word. “You told everyone Dante had already promised to give you my dress. When I said that wasn’t true, you poured coffee over my shoes on purpose.” Sabrina’s expression froze for a moment. “I didn’t—” “That’s enough.” Luca immediately moved in front of her. He removed his jacket and carefully draped it over Sabrina’s shoulders, even though she was fully dressed while my daughter sat half-exposed on the floor. “That isn’t what Sabrina told us when she came to us crying.” Luca turned to me, accusation in his eyes. “Mom, Elena made her feel worthless over one stupid dress. She thinks that because she was born into this family, everyone else should bow to her.” “So you let those girls drag her into the bathroom?” “We only asked them to talk to Elena,” Matteo said. “Things got a little out of control.” “You heard her begging for help.” The bathroom fell silent. They had heard her. While Elena cried and begged those girls to stop, all four of her brothers had been standing outside the door. Any one of them could have stepped inside and ended it. None of them had. Nico was leaning against the sinks, turning a silver lighter between his fingers. He looked completely unconcerned. “Elena needed to learn a lesson.” He snapped the lighter shut. “She can’t assume everything belongs to her just because she was born into this family.” I stared at him. Nico had been nine when I found him. His wrist was broken, and he had two dollars in his pocket. For months after I brought him home, he woke in the middle of the night screaming from nightmares. Back then, little Elena would carry her pillow into his room and sit beside his bed until morning. Now he spoke about her as if she were a stranger. “What exactly were you trying to teach her?” I asked. Dante answered. “To share.” His eyes settled on Elena without a trace of sympathy. “She already has more than she could ever need. Sabrina only wanted to borrow a dress. What possible reason did Elena have to refuse?” “It’s my dress,” Elena said quietly. Dante ignored her. “Sabrina has had to work for everything she has. Elena was born with every advantage. If we don’t correct her now, she’ll become exactly what everyone expects—a selfish, arrogant heiress who thinks the world owes her everything.” For seventeen years, I had given those four boys everything I could. I had taken them out of foster homes, shelters, and juvenile courtrooms. I had paid for the best education available and made sure they received years of therapy. When they grew older, I brought them into Leeds Group. Dante ran corporate operations. Luca oversaw public relations and outside partnerships. Matteo controlled finance, while Nico managed real estate development and security. The business press called them the Leeds brothers. People spoke of them as if they had been born into power. Perhaps that had been my greatest mistake. I had given them so much that they had forgotten none of it had originally belonged to them. I walked past Dante and crouched beside Elena. I removed my coat and wrapped it securely around her torn uniform and bruised body. Then I gathered her into my arms. “It’s over now. I’m taking you home.” Elena buried her face against my shoulder and clutched my dress with both hands. “I didn’t do what they said.” “I know.” Dante let out an impatient breath behind me. “Mom, blindly defending her will only make this worse.” I did not turn around. “Dante, stop talking.” He continued anyway. “If you make excuses for her again, she’ll never learn to take responsibility. Elena needs to stand up and apologize to Sabrina.” Elena went rigid in my arms. Dante came closer and reached for her arm. “Get up, Elena. Apologize, and we can put this behind us.” I rose and slapped him across the face. The sound cracked through the bathroom. Dante’s head snapped to the side. His gold-rimmed glasses fell to the floor and skidded beneath the sinks. All four men went silent. Luca reacted first. “What are you doing?” He stepped toward me, but Matteo caught his arm. Dante slowly turned back. A red handprint was spreading across his cheek. The calm, controlled mask he always wore had finally cracked, revealing the anger underneath. “If hitting me makes you feel better, fine.” He looked at me again. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Elena was wrong.” “You still think this is about a pair of shoes?” “It’s about the kind of person she’s becoming.” “No.” I held his gaze. “It’s about the kind of men you have become.” Sabrina moved behind Luca. “Luca, she’s frightening me.” He immediately shifted to shield her with his body. I looked at the way he protected Sabrina, then at my daughter, whom her four brothers had abandoned inside that bathroom while strangers tore at her clothes. The contrast was sickening. Nico gave a cold laugh. “You’ve really disappointed us today, Mom.” “We’re trying to stop Elena from becoming a spoiled bully. Apparently, the four of us are the only people in this family willing to tell her no.” “Elena has said no several times today.” I helped my daughter stand, keeping one arm securely around her waist. “She said no when Sabrina demanded her dress. She said no when those girls dragged her into this bathroom.” I looked at each of them in turn. “The people who refused to respect that word were you.” None of them answered. “If you believe Leeds money has made Elena arrogant, then none of you will be spending another dollar of it.” Matteo folded his arms, contempt lifting one corner of his mouth. “You’re threatening to cancel our credit cards?” “I’m informing you.” “We manage the four most important divisions of Leeds Group. Do you really think canceling a few cards will frighten us?” Luca laughed as well. “If we all walk away, who will run the Brooklyn development? Who will keep the board under control? You?” I studied him in silence. He genuinely believed I had spent the past seventeen years relaxing at my Westchester estate while the four of them built Leeds Group around me. He had no idea how many people were still waiting for a single order from Catherine Moretti, or that Leeds Group was only the part of my empire I had allowed the public to see. Dante bent down and retrieved his glasses. One lens was cracked, but he put them back on. “We’ve worked for this family for years, and we’re the reason Leeds Group is where it is today.” His voice had regained its composure. “Are you really going to tear this family apart because Elena refused to share one dress?” “You stopped protecting this family the moment you stood outside that door and listened to her beg for help.” I guided Elena toward the exit. As we passed Sabrina, I paused. She immediately lowered her eyes, but not before I caught the satisfaction she had failed to hide. She thought she had won. That was fine. I would deal with her later. Right now, my daughter needed me. I stopped beside Dante. “By tomorrow morning, your personal credit cards, vehicles, and access to every property held under the Leeds name will be suspended.” Nico scoffed. “You’ll reverse it within three days.” “Will I?” “The company can’t survive without us.” All four of them believed it. They had mistaken the authority I had loaned them for power they had earned. I looked at Dante one last time. “You wanted Elena to understand that being raised under the Leeds name doesn’t mean everything belongs to her.” He said nothing. “Starting tomorrow, all four of you are going to learn the same lesson.” Then I took my daughter home. Chapter 2 On the drive home, Elena stayed curled in the corner of the back seat, clutching the edge of my coat with both hands. “Mom, I didn’t bully Sabrina.” Her voice was faint and hoarse from crying and screaming for so long. “She wanted to borrow the dress I’m wearing to my eighteenth-birthday gala. I told her the alterations weren’t finished, so I couldn’t lend it to her. That was when she deliberately poured coffee over my shoes.” “All I did was tell her to stay away from me. Then Dante and the others showed up.” I pulled my daughter into my arms and gently rubbed her back. “I believe you.” Elena was silent for a moment before she looked up at me. “They heard me calling for help, didn’t they?” I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes.” The last trace of hope faded from her eyes. Seventeen years ago, I brought four boys home from different foster homes. Dante was already twelve. He trusted no adult, yet he would save part of his own meals for the younger children. Luca was used to solving problems with his fists. Matteo rarely spoke, but he remembered every weakness he observed. Nico was the youngest and the most impulsive. He had once allowed another boy to break his wrist rather than abandon a smaller child he was protecting. I gave them new identities, the best education money could buy, and eventually positions inside Leeds Group. I also told them that Elena was their sister. They did not need to worship her, and I never wanted them to hurt anyone in her name. I only asked them to protect one another the way a real family should. For many years, they did. Dante stayed beside Elena’s bed whenever she was sick. Luca once drove three hours to bring her a costume she had forgotten at home. Matteo reviewed every school application she submitted, while Nico confronted anyone who mocked her for being timid. That was why I had failed to notice when their protection turned into judgment. They had begun deciding what Elena should be allowed to keep, what she should surrender, and which parts of her life ought to be given to someone they considered more deserving. The following morning, I suspended their personal credit cards, reclaimed the vehicles registered under the Leeds family trust, and revoked their access to every family residence. At eight o’clock, Robert entered the dining room and placed several deactivated access cards in front of me. “Ma’am, Dante and the others didn’t return to the main estate last night.” “Where are they?” “At the lake house in Greenwich.” I set down my coffee. The house was intended as Elena’s eighteenth-birthday gift, although it was still legally held by the family trust. Over the past year, she had chosen every piece of furniture herself and converted the south-facing room on the first floor into a music studio. “How did they get inside?” Robert hesitated. “The staff received direct orders from Nico. Since he oversees corporate security and the Leeds properties, they assumed all four men had the authority to use any residence held under the Leeds name.” “What else?” “Dante ordered the staff to clear out Miss Elena’s music studio. They’re turning it into a room for Miss Sabrina.” Elena was sitting at the other end of the dining table. The moment she heard that, she stood up. “My cello is still there.” It was the instrument her grandmother had left her. “I’ll handle it,” I told her. “You need to stay home and rest.” “Mom—” “Trust me.” Elena studied my face for several seconds before she finally nodded. Forty minutes later, I arrived at the lake house. The front gates stood wide open, and a moving truck was parked in the driveway. Several workers were carrying out Elena’s art books, sheet music, and personal decorations. When I entered the living room, Sabrina was sitting on the sofa in Elena’s favorite silk robe, drinking coffee. Dante sat beside her, revising a project document on his laptop. When he saw me, he simply closed the computer. “You arrived earlier than I expected, Mom.” He sounded completely at ease, as though the house had always belonged to him. “Who gave you permission to move in?” “Sabrina is preparing her college applications and needs somewhere quiet to study.” Dante rose from the sofa. “This place has been sitting empty. We only intend to stay for a few weeks.” Sabrina immediately put down her coffee. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Leeds. I didn’t know you didn’t want me here.” She clutched the collar of Elena’s robe and looked at me uneasily. “If I’ve caused trouble, I’ll leave right now.” Luca came out of the kitchen and handed her a glass of warm milk. “You’re not going anywhere.” Then he turned to me. “We’re part of this family too. We shouldn’t need a board meeting every time we invite a friend to stay at a family property.” “This house belongs to Elena.” “She isn’t eighteen yet, and the property is still held by the family trust.” Matteo came downstairs carrying a set of architectural drawings. “Technically, she doesn’t own it.” I looked at him. “So you believe that gives you the right to decide how it’s used?” Matteo remained calm. “We’re making reasonable use of an empty property. Elena lives in Westchester and hardly visits this place. Sabrina needs it more than she does.” There it was again. Need. Whenever Sabrina wanted something, everything Elena owned suddenly became an unnecessary luxury. “Where is the music studio?” Dante adjusted his glasses. “Sabrina has nowhere to store her clothes and application materials, so I had the room cleared temporarily.” I walked directly toward the room at the end of the first-floor hallway. When I opened the door, two workers were installing new wardrobes. The rug Elena had chosen was rolled against one wall, while her sheet music and performance photographs had been thrown into cardboard boxes. Her cello lay on its side in the corner. Two strings had snapped, and a deep scratch cut across the body. I crossed the room and carefully lifted the instrument. “Who touched it?” Nico was leaning against the doorway, turning a set of car keys around one finger. “There was an accident while the workers were moving it.” “Who told them to move it?” “I did.” There was no apology in his voice. “It’s an old cello. I already had my assistant contact the best dealer in New York. They can deliver a new one tomorrow.” “This cello belonged to Elena’s grandmother.” “I know.” Nico shrugged. “But the damage has already happened. We should solve the problem instead of obsessing over an old object.” I stared at him. “You think money can solve everything?” “It can solve the problem of a damaged cello.” He glanced at me. “It would have been replaced even faster if you hadn’t frozen my cards.” Sabrina came to stand beside Dante, tears already running down her face. “This is all my fault. The cello never would have been damaged if I hadn’t come here.” She caught Dante by the sleeve. “I should go back to my school dorm. I don’t want to come between you and your family.” Dante patted her hand. “This isn’t your fault.” Then he turned to me. “Mom, what happened at the school is over. You froze our cards and reclaimed the vehicles, and we didn’t argue with you. Now you’ve followed us here. Do you intend to turn every minor disagreement into a war?” “A minor disagreement?” “The cello can be repaired, and the room can be restored.” Dante’s voice remained measured. “The Brooklyn development is at a critical stage, and we handle contracts worth hundreds of millions of dollars every day. I don’t have time to keep arguing over who gets to use one room.” “Then there’s nothing to discuss.” I took out my phone and called Robert. “Tell the property staff to stop moving Elena’s belongings and restore her music studio immediately.” Robert was silent for several seconds. “Ma’am, the property manager is refusing to comply. He says Nico controls corporate security and the Leeds properties. Without his written authorization, the staff won’t alter the current arrangements.” A faint smile appeared on Nico’s face. He deliberately avoided looking at me and merely swung the car keys around his finger. This was no longer about using Elena’s house without permission. They were testing who truly controlled everything held under the Leeds name. Dante reopened his laptop, his confidence fully restored. “You should go home, Mom. We can discuss this again once you’ve calmed down.” I ended the call and sent a message to a number I had not contacted in more than a decade. The reply came three seconds later. [AT YOUR COMMAND, DONNA.] I put away my phone before anyone could see the screen. When I left that world, I placed the Leeds properties and security operations under Nico’s control. I entrusted the daily management of Leeds Group to Dante and gradually handed more authority to Luca and Matteo. They seemed to have forgotten that whatever power I gave them could also be taken back. I looked toward the front entrance. Three black SUVs without corporate markings were already turning into the driveway. “Robert.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Stop everyone in this house.” Then I looked at Dante as the confidence slowly disappeared from his face. “If your people no longer understand my orders, I’ll replace them with people who do.” Chapter 3 After the three black SUVs stopped in front of the lake house, twelve security officers in dark suits stepped out in orderly succession. Their leader, Anthony, entered the living room and handed the property manager a copy of the trust documents. “This property is held by the Leeds Family Trust. Catherine Leeds is its sole trustee, which means her instructions take priority over anyone else’s.” The property manager’s face changed as soon as he finished reading. He turned to Nico and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nico. Under the terms of the trust, we are required to follow Mrs. Leeds’s instructions.” The car keys stopped moving in Nico’s hand. Dante rose from the sofa. “Nico has always been in charge of security here. Who are you?” Anthony gave him a brief look. “The people authorized to carry out the property owner’s orders.” With that, he signaled his team to begin. The security officers damaged nothing. They packed the clothes, computers, and other personal belongings brought by the four brothers and Sabrina into separate boxes, labeled each one, and carried them neatly outside. The workers stopped installing the wardrobes and began restoring Elena’s music studio. When Luca saw his luggage being removed, his expression darkened. “Mom, do you really have to take this so far?” “This house belongs to Elena. You moved in without her permission and threw her belongings out of her room. All I’m doing is removing the things that do not belong here.” “We’re your sons too,” Luca said. “Are you saying we don’t even have the right to use a family property?” “I gave you that right. You mistook it for ownership.” When Sabrina saw her cosmetics being packed into a box, she hurried toward the front door. “Be careful! Those are expensive!” Anthony’s men ignored her and set the box carefully beside the front steps. Sabrina turned back to me with tears in her eyes. “Mrs. Leeds, you don’t have to humiliate me like this. I already said I could return to my school dorm.” “Then go.” She clearly had not expected me to agree. For several seconds, she could only stare at me. Luca immediately moved to her side. “You don’t have to beg her. We’ll arrange somewhere else for you to stay.” Dante walked toward me, and the gentleness disappeared from his voice. “If you throw us out today, don’t ask us to return to the company tomorrow and clean up the mess.” “I haven’t removed any of you from your positions.” “But you are challenging our authority,” Dante said. “The Brooklyn development involves more than forty suppliers. The four of us control the core contracts, payment approvals, and construction schedule. If we all stop working, the project won’t last a single day.” Matteo came downstairs carrying the architectural drawings. “The first construction payment is due next week. If our signatures are not submitted on time, Leeds Group will breach its contracts and the stock price will suffer.” They were not warning me out of concern. They were reminding me that, in their minds, Leeds Group could no longer survive without them. “Then continue doing your jobs,” I said. “That is what the company pays you to do.” Nico gave a cold laugh. “You still don’t understand. The company depends on us now, not the Leeds name.” “I understand perfectly.” I instructed Anthony to have Elena’s cello repaired, then looked at all four men. “Take your belongings and leave.” Dante held my gaze for several seconds before picking up his computer. “Fine.” He stopped once more before walking out of the house. “But I hope you remember what you said today. When the company begins falling apart, don’t claim we didn’t warn you.” The four brothers left with Sabrina. Although they had just been removed from the lake house, none of them looked particularly worried. As long as they still controlled the company’s most important projects, they believed I would eventually ask them to come back. I had no reason to correct that belief yet. That evening, I instructed Anthony to investigate every project the four brothers had handled over the past three years, focusing on related companies, personal expenses, and transfers of corporate resources that had never received board approval. The following morning, Elena entered my study carrying her laptop. Her face was pale, and her swollen eyes made it obvious that she had been crying. “Mom, they canceled my place in the competition.” I took the computer from her. Elena had entered the National Youth Entrepreneurship Summit. Each participating school could nominate only one student for the final round, and the Leeds Foundation was one of her school’s largest sponsors. Six months earlier, Elena had submitted a business plan for improving healthcare access in underserved communities. She had visited twelve neighborhood clinics, conducted her own research, and independently completed the financial projections and operating model. Her proposal had already passed the school’s final review. Now the registration system claimed that she had voluntarily withdrawn. The student replacing her was Sabrina Hayes. Even more disturbing, the project summary under Sabrina’s name was almost identical to Elena’s proposal. “I didn’t withdraw,” Elena said. “I called the competition committee. They told me Dante sent an official email as executive chairman of the Leeds Foundation and ordered the school to replace its nominee.” She opened the email. “He also claimed my proposal used confidential data from Leeds Group and could expose corporate information if I remained in the competition. But I collected all of that data myself. None of it came from the company.” I closed the laptop. “Get dressed. We’re going to the office.” An hour later, we arrived at the Manhattan headquarters of Leeds Group. The receptionist stood immediately when she saw me. “Mrs. Leeds.” I took Elena to the private elevator. When we reached the executive floor, several senior managers were standing outside the conference room, speaking quietly among themselves. No one had gone inside. “Has the meeting not started?” I asked. The deputy chief financial officer avoided my eyes. “Mr. Dante hasn’t arrived yet.” Two minutes later, the doors of another elevator opened. Dante emerged with Luca, Matteo, and Nico. Sabrina followed behind them, carrying Elena’s business proposal in her arms. The executives waiting in the corridor immediately stopped talking. Dante did not greet them. He simply opened the conference room doors and walked inside, and everyone else followed him. The entire sequence looked so natural that anyone watching might have assumed he was the true owner of Leeds Group. Elena and I entered last. Dante had already taken the seat at the head of the table. Sabrina sat to his right, with Elena’s proposal open on the computer screen in front of her. “You don’t need to memorize every figure in this section,” Dante told her. “If the judges ask about costs, tell them the Leeds Foundation will provide additional support during the next stage.” Luca added, “And don’t worry about the presentation. The foundation is a major sponsor. The judges understand what is expected of them.” Elena immediately stepped forward. “That is my proposal.” The conference room fell silent. Dante closed the laptop and looked at me. “Are you here to discuss what happened yesterday, or the Brooklyn development?” I placed Elena’s altered competition record in front of him. “Restore her place in the competition and notify the committee that you are withdrawing your email.” Dante glanced at the document. “The decision has already been made.” “By whom?” “The foundation’s management.” “In other words, the four of you.” “We have the authority to decide how our sponsored resources are allocated.” Dante leaned back in his chair. “Elena will have plenty of opportunities in the future, but this competition could change Sabrina’s life. Giving it to the person who needs it more is the more reasonable decision.” Elena clenched her hands. “You didn’t just take my place. You stole my proposal.” Matteo looked up. “Watch your language. The Leeds Foundation funds your school, and your project concerns a healthcare issue the foundation has supported for years. We simply reassigned an existing proposal.” “I created that proposal.” “Sabrina will develop it further,” Matteo said. “The value of the project does not change depending on who receives the recognition.” Nico lounged in his chair, his tone casual. “Besides, if you represented the Leeds family, everyone would assume your success came from money and connections. Sabrina has a different story. The judges are much more likely to respond to someone who overcame a difficult background.” Sabrina lowered her eyes. “Elena, if this matters so much to you, I can withdraw.” She began gathering the documents from the table. “It’s just that I already included this competition in my college applications. If I withdraw now, I may lose my only chance of being accepted.” Luca immediately pressed his hand over hers. “You’re not withdrawing.” Then he turned to Elena. “You already have the best school, a house of your own, and a trust fund. Sabrina has one opportunity. Why are you determined to take away her entire future?” “Because it belongs to me,” Elena said. “That is exactly the attitude we’ve been trying to correct,” Dante replied. “You divide everything into what is yours and what belongs to someone else, but you never stop to consider who needs it more.” Elena’s eyes turned red, but she refused to cry. “If you truly want to help her, give her your own projects and achievements. Why do you always have to take something from me?” No one answered. I looked at the executives seated along both sides of the conference table. “Do all of you believe that entering a competition with someone else’s proposal qualifies as reasonable resource allocation?” No one spoke. After several seconds, the deputy chief financial officer finally lowered his voice. “The foundation has always been under Mr. Dante’s authority. It would not be appropriate for us to interfere with his decision.” Dante was clearly satisfied by the answer. When he looked at me again, his manner had returned to its usual gentleness. “Mom, this is not a challenge to your authority. We simply don’t believe the company and the family’s resources should continue revolving around Elena.” “And if I insist that her place be restored?” Luca set down his pen. “Then the four of us will suspend every project under our control until the Leeds Foundation is granted independent decision-making authority.” Matteo pushed a document toward me. “The board will hold a special meeting tomorrow morning to redefine the authority of executive management and the family trust. We expect you to attend.” I opened the document. They wanted me to surrender direct control over the foundation, the appointment and dismissal of senior executives, and part of the family assets held under the Leeds name. This betrayal had not begun yesterday. They had prepared these documents long before the incident at the school. They had merely been waiting for an opportunity to force me to sign them. “Fine.” I closed the document. “I’ll be there.” A smile appeared on Dante’s face. “I’m glad you’re finally willing to be reasonable.” I took Elena’s hand and led her out of the conference room. Only after the elevator doors closed did she look at me. “What about the competition, Mom?” “Let them keep the place for now.” “But—” “The real proposal is still in your hands. No one can take away the knowledge and ability it took to create it.” I handed the notice of the special board meeting to Anthony, who had followed us into the elevator. “Send this to my attorney. Then notify the forensic audit team that they are to begin examining every account controlled by those four men tonight.” Anthony accepted the document. “Should I notify the other board members?” “No.” I watched the numbers above the elevator doors descend. “If they have already decided to take Leeds Group from me tomorrow, let them bring everyone they need.” After all, Leeds Group was only one of the legitimate companies under my control. I wanted to see how many people had forgotten who built it—and what name I carried before Catherine Leeds ever existed. Chapter 4 Elena did not go to school the following morning. She sat at the dining table, repeatedly refreshing the competition website as she waited for the committee to respond to the appeal she had submitted the night before. “Will they look at my evidence?” she asked. “They will, but they won’t reach a decision immediately.” I had already instructed my attorneys to send legal preservation notices to the school, the competition committee, and the Leeds Foundation. From that moment forward, any attempt to delete an email, alter a document, or change a system record would leave evidence behind. Elena was still uneasy. “What if Sabrina uses my proposal in the preliminary round today?” “Let her.” Elena looked up at me. “You created the entire plan. All she has is an edited file. The judges only need to ask a few questions before they realize who truly understands the project.” “But Dante and the others will help her.” “They can prepare answers for her. They cannot put your ability inside her head.” I walked to Elena and placed the documents supporting her appeal into a folder. “You don’t need to kneel to anyone today, and you don’t need to beg them to return what belongs to you. All you need to do is preserve the evidence.” Elena nodded. Before leaving the estate, I instructed Anthony to keep two members of his security team with her. At nine that morning, I arrived at the headquarters of Leeds Group. The special board meeting had been scheduled in the executive conference room on the top floor. When the elevator doors opened, more than a dozen directors and senior executives were already waiting in the corridor. No one had entered the room. Only when Dante emerged from another elevator with Luca, Matteo, and Nico did the conversation stop. The directors and executives followed the four brothers into the conference room. Dante did not slow as he passed me. “I’m glad you decided to come.” His tone was polite, but he spoke as if he were welcoming an ordinary shareholder. I gave him no response and followed them inside. Dante took the seat at the head of the long conference table. That chair had once belonged to me. My seat had been placed at the opposite end of the room. A glass of water and a document prepared for my signature were the only things waiting in front of it. Once the meeting began, Matteo activated the projector. The screen displayed Leeds Group’s financial performance over the previous three years. “Since the four of us assumed control of the company’s core divisions, revenue has increased by forty-two percent, and the Brooklyn development has entered its second phase.” Matteo advanced to the next slide. “Over the past two days, however, a private family dispute has seriously disrupted corporate operations. Sixteen company and trust-owned vehicles have been reclaimed without notice, the personal subsidiary accounts used by several senior executives have been suspended, and the security team at the Greenwich property has been forcibly replaced.” The directors turned toward me. One of them spoke first. “Catherine, the company cannot be used as a weapon in a family dispute.” “The vehicles belong to the Leeds Holding Trust, and the suspended accounts were personal subsidiary accounts. None of them are corporate assets.” “But the people using those assets are members of the company’s core leadership,” another director said. “If executives can lose the resources they depend on every time there is a disagreement at home, how can shareholders have confidence in the stability of this company?” Luca placed a stack of photographs on the table. They showed the boxes that had been removed from the lake house the previous day. “Sabrina only intended to stay for a few weeks. Because Elena refused to share one unused room, my mother brought in an outside security team and had us removed from the property.” “That house belongs to Elena,” I said. “It is still legally held by the Leeds Holding Trust,” Matteo corrected. “Elena has not yet become its legal owner.” “I am the trustee.” “That is precisely what we are here to discuss.” Dante finally spoke. He pushed a document toward the center of the table. “Allowing one person to control both the trust assets and the company’s executive management has created a serious conflict of interest. Whenever Elena dislikes a decision, you can reclaim the vehicles, residences, and other resources used by the company’s senior executives.” He rested one hand on the document. “That is why the Leeds Holding Trust needs an independent management committee. You should no longer have unilateral authority over the distribution of its assets.” I opened the document in front of me. They were not merely demanding the creation of a new trust committee. They wanted me to surrender my seat on the board, my authority to appoint and remove senior executives, and my oversight of the Leeds Foundation. My four adopted sons would divide control of Leeds Group, the foundation, the trust properties, and the remaining assets among themselves. Once I signed, they would have the legal power to decide what Elena was still permitted to own. “How long have you been preparing this?” I asked. Silence settled over the room for a moment. Dante did not answer directly. “This is not a personal attack. We are trying to establish a more professional management structure.” “You were contacting the directors before yesterday.” “We had a responsibility to prepare for possible risks.” I looked around the table. Not one person appeared surprised. They had all known what this meeting was truly about. Seventeen years earlier, I had walked away from the underworld and temporarily buried the Moretti name. Under the public identity of Catherine Leeds, I founded Leeds Group. It was the first company I placed fully in the light, and it represented the cleanest, most public-facing part of the vast empire built under the Moretti name. To separate Leeds Group from my past and attract employees and long-term institutional investors, I gradually diluted my personal ownership. I now held only two percent of its shares in my own name. The Leeds Holding Trust, however, still owned twenty-eight percent of the company, and I remained its sole trustee. Unless I signed the document in front of me, I retained the legal authority to vote those shares and determine what Elena would one day inherit. The four men sitting across from me were not merely trying to take my personal two percent. They wanted me to resign from the board, surrender the trust’s voting rights, and relinquish control over the foundation, executive appointments, and trust assets. If I signed, they would gain legal control of Leeds Group and the power to decide what Elena deserved to keep. What they did not understand was that even if they took the entire company, they would still be stealing only one public-facing business from me. They had mistaken the portion of my power I allowed them to see for everything I possessed. An older director cleared his throat. “Catherine, you stepped away from daily management years ago. Whatever else has happened, Dante and the others deserve credit for the company’s growth.” Another director spoke next. “This arrangement will not affect your lifestyle. You will remain the founder of Leeds Group and their mother. The company will preserve your honorary position and all of your personal benefits.” I looked from one man to the other. “So you intend to take the company I created and then use my own money to support me?” Chapter 5 “No one is taking your company away from you,” Dante said. “We simply need you to accept that Leeds Group is no longer your private kingdom.” I looked at him without arguing. Dante still believed Leeds Group was everything I owned. He had no idea that before Catherine Leeds ever existed, Catherine Moretti had already built an empire far greater than this one public-facing company. Luca opened another file. The logo of Valenti Holdings appeared on the screen, and the atmosphere in the conference room changed immediately. “The Valenti family is looking for a long-term partner in the United States,” Luca said. “They are prepared to invest two billion dollars in a joint venture with Leeds Group involving European logistics and private healthcare.” Several directors visibly straightened in their chairs. Valenti Holdings controlled ports, private hospitals, and transportation networks throughout Southern Europe. If the partnership succeeded, Leeds Group could establish a major presence in the European market within a few years. “The Valenti representatives will arrive in New York tonight,” Dante said. “They have made it clear that Leeds Group must have stable, unified leadership.” He pushed the agreement toward me again. “If you sign, the board will officially authorize the four of us to lead the negotiations.” I looked at the final page. A pen had already been placed beside the signature line. “And if I refuse?” Matteo brought up the financial records for the Brooklyn development. “The first construction payment must be approved by tomorrow afternoon. All four core divisions must sign off before the funds can be released.” Nico continued, “We have also suspended access to the family security network and our supplier relationships. If the project falls into breach, the responsibility will not be ours.” They had timed everything carefully. If I refused to sign, the Brooklyn development would come to a halt, and the shareholders would blame every loss on me. If I signed, they would use the two-billion-dollar partnership to seize complete control of Leeds Group. Dante leaned back in his chair. “You said yesterday that power could be taken back. But a company is not a house, and it is not a collection of credit cards.” He held my gaze, calm and certain of his victory. “The employees, suppliers, and directors in this building recognize the people who can actually keep this company running.” I picked up the pen. A smile finally appeared on Dante’s face. “You’re making the right choice.” “What happens to Elena’s competition?” I asked. Luca and Dante exchanged a glance. “Sabrina has already represented the school in the preliminary round, so replacing her now is impossible. However, we can ask her to thank Elena in her acceptance speech for contributing part of the original idea.” “You stole Elena’s proposal, and your solution is to give her one sentence of thanks?” “There’s no reason to describe it that way.” Matteo frowned. “This was a cooperative redistribution of resources.” Dante turned the agreement to the final page. “Once you sign, this conflict ends. As long as Elena stops targeting Sabrina, we will continue treating her as our sister.” I looked at the four boys I had raised. When they took Elena’s room, they called it the reasonable use of an empty resource. When they took her proposal, they claimed they were giving an opportunity to someone who needed it more. Now they were preparing to take Leeds Group from me, yet they still insisted this was not betrayal. It was merely more professional management. I placed the pen back on the table. “I’m not signing.” The smile disappeared from Dante’s face. A quiet murmur moved around the conference table. The oldest director spoke in a grave voice. “Catherine, I strongly suggest you consider the consequences. The board already has enough votes. If you refuse to cooperate, we will hold a formal vote to suspend your authority and remove you from control.” “Then vote.” Hands rose one after another. The secretary counted them quickly. “The motion passes. Effective immediately, Catherine Leeds is suspended from all board authority and removed from direct control over corporate security, the Leeds Foundation, and executive management.” Nico gestured toward the company guards standing near the door. “Escort Mrs. Leeds out. The rest of this meeting concerns confidential company business.” Two guards approached me, but neither dared to touch me. Dante calmly rearranged the partnership agreement. “Mom, I don’t want to make this uglier than it needs to be. Go home. Once the Valenti partnership is secured, we can discuss what role you’ll be allowed to keep.” I remained in my chair. “Anthony.” A response came immediately from the other side of the conference room doors. “Yes, Donna.” Nico’s expression changed. He turned sharply toward the company guards. “Who allowed an outsider onto the executive floor?” I took out my phone and reviewed the audit report that had just arrived. Over the past three years, seventeen related companies had appeared in projects controlled by my four adopted sons. More than eighty million dollars could not be properly accounted for. The ultimate beneficiary of one of those companies was Sabrina’s mother. I placed my phone on the conference table. “You only dismissed the security team employed by Leeds Group,” I said, turning toward the closed doors. “Now let my people in.” The doors opened, and Anthony entered with my private security team, the chief legal officer of Leeds Group, and the forensic investigators who had spent the night tracing every account my sons believed they had hidden. Four sealed evidence boxes were placed in front of me. Each one carried the name of a different Leeds brother, along with the division he controlled and the amount of money that had disappeared under his authority. The confidence vanished from their faces as they finally understood that while they had been preparing to force me out of my company, I had been preparing a case against all four of them. Anthony rested his hand on the first box and looked at me. “Where would you like us to begin, Donna Moretti?” The room went silent. My sons knew Catherine Leeds. I turned the box around until Dante’s name faced him. “Start with the son who thought he had taken my seat.”