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When they met again, her ex-husband tearfully begged for remarriage. However, the wheelchair-bound tycoon of business lore, rumored to be unable to walk, rose to his feet, clasping her hands tightly, "You are worthy of pursuing her?!" ===== "I've filed for divorce. Four million should set you up for life." Colton Stevens impatiently walked over, his frustration almost palpable. "It's our third wedding anniversary today, can't we at least finish this meal together?" Allison Clarke's face froze for a heartbeat. Her nails dug painfully into her palm as she fought to keep her composure. Colton scoffed, his eyes cold and distant. "Even if we finish this meal together, I'll never love you. Besides, Melany's back. She's proud, and she won't stand for this whole situation." A flicker of softness crossed his face at the mention of Melany Johnson, a warmth that had never been reserved for Allison, no matter how hard she'd tried. She had bent over backward for him, cared for his parents, and sacrificed everything for years. But none of it had earned her more than a passing glance. Melany was the one who held his heart--had always held it. She had walked out on him three years ago, breaking off their engagement and leaving for abroad. Yet now, with a mere word from her, Colton had easily embraced her return and chosen to divorce Allison without a second thought. Allison gripped the table's edge as if trying to steady herself against a sudden gust of wind. "Does your grandpa know about this?" Colton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Don't think you can hide behind Grandpa. He's in the hospital and can't handle any stress. My parents are on board with the divorce. In fact, Melany met with them just today." Allison's heart sank, an icy chill creeping through her veins. She had once been celebrated as a genius perfumer, renowned hacker. For three years, she'd buried every trace of that brilliance, molding herself into the perfect housewife. Just recently, she had secured a rare opportunity with Cobweb--the most elusive intelligence network--hoping to help the Stevens family clinch a crucial deal. A chance like that was nearly impossible to come by. Yet now, it all seemed like a cruel farce. "So, Melany's at your parents' place?" she asked, her voice brittle. "Naturally." Colton smiled, his features softening as if the thought of Melany made everything brighter. "They just had dinner. Melany's always gotten along with my parents. They've been singing her praises all evening -- saying how thoughtful and understanding she is." "And you all knew she was coming back," Allison murmured, her voice thick with disbelief, "but left me in the dark." Her eyes glistened, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. Thoughtful and understanding -- how ridiculous. His parents used to make the same comments about her. Colton shot her an impatient glare. "It wasn't on purpose. The butler just forgot to mention it. Don't start creating drama where there isn't any." He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and for a moment, his expression shifted to one of disdain. Allison had always been delicate, her skin flawless, and her features striking, especially her bright, clear eyes. But none of that mattered. She was boring, and that was all. The ideal housewife, yes--everything he could have wanted in a caretaker for his parents--but living with her was stifling. Allison ironed clothes and prepared meals with precision every day. Her routine was so predictable that Colton never had to wonder what she was doing. She was the picture-perfect housewife--dutiful and entirely devoted to staying home. But he was beyond tired of it. "And whether you accept the fact or not, you're leaving tonight." Colton hesitated, realizing how harsh he sounded. "You can move to Starfish Villas. Take the villa, it's yours." He had done his research on Allison. She came from a modest rural background, dropped out of school early, and hadn't seen much of the world. If it weren't for the fact that she had saved his grandfather's life, she would never have married into the Stevens family. In his mind, offering her the villa seemed more than generous for someone with her humble beginnings. But Allison's face didn't show gratitude. Instead, she offered him a thin, cold smile. "So, she's moving in now?" Allison didn't care about the villa or the four million he offered. She could make far more as a top-tier hacker. What hurt was being discarded after three years of loyalty. Colton sighed and said, "The room on the second floor was always hers. Melany's back and has nowhere else to stay, so I told her she could move in. If you're still here, she'll feel uncomfortable." Her silence was enough to annoy him, assuming she was unhappy with the deal. His frustration grew. "Don't push it. You need to know when enough is enough." He glanced at his watch, clearly counting down the time. "Now that I've lodged my divorce petition, we'll meet in the courthouse in a few days. You'd better make preparations and hire a lawyer..." He did not get to finish. "I know what to do," Allison cut him off, her voice laced with disgust. Her mind wandered back to a childhood memory--when she was blinded and in grave danger. A boy carried her on his back for three days and nights, saving her life. That boy had said his name was Colton Stevens. Now, three years after their marriage, that same boy was forcing her to leave. Time had an uncanny way of warping people into strangers. "I'll go," Allison said, snapping back to the moment. She stood up and looked at Colton firmly with detachment. "From now on, we owe each other nothing." Colton let out a breath, relieved. "Good." As if on cue, the housekeeper, Kaelyn Thorpe, appeared at the top of the stairs, struggling with a suitcase. "Sir, your parents called and said Ms. Clarke needs to leave right away, so I packed her things... Oh no!" Before she could finish, she dramatically yelped and pretended to twist her ankle. Allison's suitcase tumbled down the stairs, spilling her belongings everywhere. Chapter 2 Return "Ms. Clarke, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" Kaelyn hurried down the stairs, her face a picture of exaggerated concern. "Maybe you can just toss everything in a bag for now?" she added, hiding her disdain behind a sweet smile. Kaelyn had always looked down on Allison, seeing her as nothing more than a poor country girl who'd shamelessly latched onto Colton for a better life. Colton frowned in frustration. "You're so clumsy!" he snapped, glancing at the scattered clothes. Allison's suitcase contained so little--a few clothes and hardly any jewelry. She hadn't even spent much of the money he had given her over the years. She lived simply, frugally, and it was a reflection of how she had never tried to take advantage of her status. But love couldn't be forced or faked. "Melany's luggage takes priority. Just toss Allison's things in a storage bag," Colton added dismissively, eyeing the broken suitcase. "I'll have the housekeeper buy you a new one tomorrow." Allison gave a faint, bitter smile. "That suitcase was the one I stole from the kidnappers when we were running for our lives. If it hadn't been for it, we would've drowned back then." For years, she had taken care of that suitcase--just as she had taken care of their marriage. And now, like their relationship, it lay shattered. Colton let out a cold laugh. "That story might fool my grandfather, but it doesn't work on me." The memory of being kidnapped as a child was too vague, and he always doubted that Allison had been with him during that time. Turning to Kaelyn, Colton raised his voice. "Hurry up and pack her things!" "Yes, sir," Kaelyn eagerly began to gather Allison's clothes, but she deliberately stepped on them, dirtying them in the process. With a sickly sweet tone, she mocked, "Ms. Clarke, Mr. Stevens' grandmother always says that people are like clothes. Once a person's clothes are stained, it doesn't matter how much you wash; the marks never truly fade." Allison had always been kind to Kaelyn, even when she didn't have to be. After all, Kaelyn was a distant relative of Colton's grandmother. Years ago, when Kaelyn had made a blunder that nearly put the Stevens family at odds with Kellan Lloyd, the eldest son of the Lloyd family, it was Allison who had smoothed the waters. She had negotiated a deal with Kellan, who was paralyzed, securing the critical land for the Stevens' commercial project. Back then, Kaelyn had been grateful, almost humbled. But now, emboldened by the winds of change within the Stevens family, Kaelyn acted as if she had never bent the knee. It all boiled down to one thing--Colton's grandmother's favor had drifted, and with it, so had the family's attitude. "If clothes get dirty, you're right," Allison said, her eyes flicking to Colton, "they're impossible to clean completely." She shrugged, a casual finality in her voice. "So, I won't be needing them anymore." She had never liked those bland, shapeless things anyway. They had never quite suited her. For the first time, Colton looked at Allison as if seeing her through a new lens--her usual softness was now replaced with a sharp edge. After saying that, Alison turned and walked away. Stepping out of the villa, Allison dialed a familiar number. When the call connected, her voice was calm, almost light. "Rebecca, I'm divorced, and I've moved out of his villa. My house and car are still in Vrining. Mind if I crash at your place for the night?" On the other end of the line, Rebecca Green went from silence to squealing joy within seconds. "Holy crap! You finally divorced that i**ot! Forget crashing--you're staying over for a party! A single's party!" Even from a distance, Allison could hear Rebecca's exaggerated laughter bubbling through the phone. "If the folks at Cobweb find out the founder is back, the servers will explode!" Chapter 3 Cruise Party Inside the villa, Colton's gaze falling on the dining table loaded with food. Frustration flared inside him, especially as his mind flashed back to the memory of Allison just left earlier. Allison had stayed composed, but something about her felt colder, harsher than before--far from the docile, compliant woman he once knew. But the thought slipped away quickly. To him, Allison would always be that dull, submissive housewife. Without him, she'd be nothing. Outside the villa, a sleek Lamborghini pulled up, and a woman stepped out. "Allison, darling!" Rebecca rushed over and wrapped Allison in a warm embrace. "You know, you could live at my place forever if you wanted to!" Rebecca, the only daughter of the Eternity Group's owners, practically owned half the city's skyline. A roof over Allison's head was hardly an issue. "So, what on earth happened tonight?" Rebecca asked, pressing close, her cheek resting against Allison's neck. "You still smell like cooking oil. Don't tell me you were cooking for that m**on again?" Allison felt the familiar tightness in her throat, emotions rising as Rebecca's hug warmed her. "Let's talk in the car," she said. Once inside the Lamborghini, Allison began to recount what had happened this whole day. Her voice remained steady, but Rebecca's temper flared like a spark igniting dry wood. "Can you believe this? Colton got dumped by Melany on their wedding day, and now he's trying to crawl back to her by divorcing you? They're made for each other--two peas in a rotten pod!" Rebecca raged. "And his parents!" Rebecca added, her anger rising like a storm. "You've been looking after them for three years, bending over backward for that family, and this is the thanks you get?" Rebecca continued her tirade, her words like b*llets. "Listen, he's lost his memory of that incident in his childhood, sure, but that doesn't excuse what he's done. You've more than paid your dues over the last three years. There's no point pretending to be the woman he wants anymore. You've wiped that slate clean." Allison slouched in the passenger seat, her gaze distant as the world blurred past her window. "It's done. We're even now." For three years, she'd molded herself into Colton's image of the perfect woman. She'd ditched her heels, pulled her hair back, and settled for modest, boring outfits--ones she didn't even like--all to mirror Melany. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't compete with the woman he truly loved. "Allison, the truth is, the Stevens family doesn't deserve someone like you." Rebecca's voice softened, thick with the weight of emotions as she sensed Allison's exhaustion. "Divorce is a process, but until it's settled, you'll stay with me. You're like a sister to me, anyway." Allison managed a small smile. "Okay." Growing up in an orphanage, Allison had never had any family members. But Rebecca had always treated her better than anyone ever had. Their conversation trailed off as they arrived at an exclusive makeup studio. Rebecca rolled down the window and waved enthusiastically at Mary Brown, a famous makeup artist. "Hey, Mary! Got a little project for you!" Allison rubbed her temples, g**aning softly, "Honestly, I'm wiped. I don't think I can handle makeup tonight." "Oh, come on! You're not planning to keep that whole tired, 'still-waiting-for-him' look, are you?" "Yeah... Definitely not." "Exactly!" Rebecca's face lit up. "Relax and let the pros do their magic. These are top-tier, international artists. Tonight, they're bringing out the version of you the world's been missing!" Thirty minutes later, the transformation was undeniable. Nearly everyone who saw her in the mirror was momentarily stunned. Allison's naturally striking features had always been overshadowed by exhaustion. But now, with just a touch of makeup, she was breathtaking. Her long, feline eyes, accentuated by just the right amount of shadow, were captivating without going overboard. A delicate beauty mark drawn near the corner of her eye added a hint of daring that felt almost rebellious. Even Rebecca couldn't contain her excitement. "This... this is the Allison I remember!" She gestured to a rack of dresses being brought in. "Sweetheart, pick any gown that calls to you. I pulled out all the stops for tonight. We're celebrating your freedom on a luxury yacht. I swear, it's going to be a night you won't forget!" Allison waved it off. "I'm not in the mood." Rebecca watched her closely, sensing she could still be holding onto the past. Time to pull out the big guns! "You know there are going to be international perfumers at this party, right? Including the brains behind Charisma Company! Don't tell me you're not curious to finally meet him." Charisma was the country's most prestigious perfume brand. Allison had crossed paths with the CEO at an international perfumery competition. His creations had been nothing short of art. For the first time in forever, they evoked a feeling of déjà vu, something about them reminding her of her mother's style. But like her, the CEO was an enigma. He'd never showed up in public, even as Charisma shot to global fame. No one knew what he looked like, not even now. "Alright, let's check it out." Allison finally relented, her curiosity piqued. After all, she'd once hacked into Charisma's database, coming up empty-handed. And something in her gut still whispered that this mysterious perfumer could be linked to her mother, somehow... ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &5&

Letting my sister’s 18-year-old best friend live in my house was the biggest mistake of my life. I promised to protect her. But this morning, she stood in my kitchen wearing nothing but my oversized shirt. The collar slipped, exposing her bare shoulder and long legs. My body reacted instantly. She’s too young and completely off-limits. But watching her walk away, I threw my promise in the trash, grabbed her waist, and... ---------- Chapter 1: Rock Bottom The email came at 9:47 AM. *Subject: Termination of Employment - Effective Immediately* Leighton Hayes stared at her phone screen, reading the words three times before they actually sank in. Fired. They were letting her go. Budget cuts, the email said. Last hired, first fired. She'd only been at the startup for eight months. Her hands shook as she shoved her few personal items into her bag. A coffee mug Chloe had given her. The succulent plant was already half dead. Her backup phone charger. The other designers wouldn't even look at her as security walked her out. Twenty-three years old and unemployed. Great. She sat in her car in the parking lot for ten minutes, just breathing. Trying not to cry. Failing. Her phone buzzed. A text from her landlord. *The rent is 5 days late. Please make the payment by 5 PM today, or I will have to start the eviction process.* Leighton let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Of course. Of course, this was happening on the same day. She checked her bank account. $847.32. Rent was $1,200. Even if she paid everything she had, she'd still be short. And she'd just lost her income. Her finger hovered over Chloe's contact for a full minute before she finally pressed call. "Leigh! I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch?" The sound of her best friend's cheerful voice made something crack open in Leighton's chest. "I got fired," she said, and then the tears came for real. "What? Those assholes! Leigh, oh my god. Where are you?" "In the parking lot. And my landlord just texted. I'm being evicted." "Today? Everything's happening today?" "Apparently the universe thinks I can handle it." Leighton wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara was definitely everywhere. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called and dumped this on you." "Don't be stupid. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?" "Chloe, you're at work." "And? This is an emergency. Send me your location." Forty minutes later, Leighton was sitting in Chloe's car, clutching a coffee she couldn't afford but Chloe had insisted on buying anyway. "You're moving in with me," Chloe announced. "I can't ask you to do that." "You're not asking. I'm telling you." Chloe turned to face her, dark eyes serious. "You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since we were eight years old. You really think I'm going to let you be homeless?" "I'll figure something out. I just need a few days to..." "To what? Sleep in your car? Leigh, be real." Chloe grabbed her hand. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion." "But your place is tiny. Where would I even sleep?" Chloe bit her lip, a tell-tale sign she was about to say something Leighton wouldn't like. "Okay, so technically, I don't live in my apartment anymore." "What?" "I moved in with Noah two months ago." Leighton's stomach dropped. "Noah. Your brother Noah." "Do I have another brother I don't know about?" Noah Knight. Even thinking his name made her feel like she was sixteen again, watching him from across the room at Chloe's birthday party, too nervous to say more than two words to him. She'd had a crush on him since she was eight years old. The first time Chloe brought her home for a playdate, eleven-year-old Noah had helped her reach a glass from the top shelf. He'd smiled at her, and she'd been done for. Fifteen years later, and she still got butterflies thinking about him. Which was pathetic. He probably didn't even remember her. "I can't live with your brother." "Why not? The place is huge. Like, stupid huge. He won't even notice you're there." Chloe started the car. "He's barely home anyway. Always working or traveling or whatever billionaires do." "Chloe..." "Two weeks. Just give me two weeks to help you find a job and get back on your feet. Please?" Leighton closed her eyes. She had $847 to her name. No job. No apartment. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford right now. "Two weeks," she agreed quietly. "Yes! Okay, we need to get your stuff from your apartment before your psycho landlord throws it all out." It took less than an hour to pack up Leighton's entire life. One suitcase of clothes. A box of art supplies. Her laptop. That was it. Everything she owned fit in Chloe's trunk with room to spare. "Travel light, live free," Chloe said cheerfully, but Leighton could see the pity in her eyes. The drive to Noah's house took thirty minutes, moving from the city into an area where the houses got bigger and farther apart. When Chloe finally turned through an iron gate, Leighton's mouth fell open. "This isn't a house. This is a compound." "I told you it was big." Big didn't cover it. The mansion was all modern lines and huge windows, surrounded by perfectly landscaped gardens. There was a fountain. An actual fountain in the driveway. "Chloe, I can't stay here." "Too late. We're already here." Chloe parked and popped the trunk. "Come on. I'll give you the tour." Leighton grabbed her suitcase with shaking hands. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. But what choice did she have? The inside was even more intimidating than the outside. Everything was white, chrome, and appeared very expensive. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch anything in case you broke it. "Noah?" Chloe called out. "You home?" Please say no, Leighton thought. Please don't be home. Footsteps on the stairs. And then there he was. Noah Knight looked exactly like she remembered, except somehow more. Taller. Broader. Those same dark eyes, sharp jawline, the kind of face that made you forget how to form sentences. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, his dark hair tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked at Chloe first, then his gaze moved to Leighton. She waited for recognition. A smile. Something. His eyes passed over her like she was part of the furniture. "Who's this?" he asked Chloe. Something twisted in Leighton's chest. She'd known he probably wouldn't remember her. She'd been nobody. Just his little sister's friend. But it still hurt. "This is Leighton. My best friend? She's been over like a thousand times growing up?" "Right." Noah's expression didn't change. Still blank. Still uninterested. "And she's here because...?" "She's moving in for a bit. Just temporarily." "Excuse me?" The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. "You're doing what?" "She lost her job and her apartment today. She needs a place to crash." Chloe's voice had that stubborn edge that Leighton knew well. "We have like fifteen guest rooms. She can take one." "Did it occur to you to ask me first?" "It's my house too." "That you live rent-free." Noah crossed his arms. "You can't just move people in without discussing it with me." Leighton wanted to disappear. To melt into the expensive floor and never exist again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Both of them looked at her like they'd forgotten she could speak. "Chloe, this was a bad idea. Can you just take me to a motel or something?" "No," Chloe said firmly. "Yes," Noah said at the same time. They glared at each other. Leighton had seen them do this a hundred times growing up. Knight sibling standoffs that could last for hours. "Two weeks," Chloe said. "That's all I'm asking. Two weeks for her to get back on her feet. Then she'll be gone." Noah's jaw clenched. He looked at Leighton again, really looked at her this time. She probably looked like a mess. Mascara-stained face. Wrinkled clothes. Holding a suitcase like a shield. "Two weeks," he said finally. "Maximum. And she stays out of my way." "Thank you," Leighton said, even though everything in her screamed to run. He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back up the stairs without another word. "Well," Chloe said brightly. "That went better than expected." "He hates me." "He doesn't hate you. He's just... Noah. He'll warm up." Chloe grabbed her suitcase. "Come on. Let me show you to your room." The guest room was bigger than Leighton's entire apartment had been. King-size bed. Private bathroom. A view of the gardens. It was beautiful. And it made her want to cry all over again. "I'm going to fix this," Chloe promised. "Two weeks from now, you'll have a new job and a new place, and this will all just be a bad memory." After Chloe left, Leighton sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. This morning she'd woken up with a job and an apartment. Now she had neither. Now she was living in Noah Knight's house. The boy she'd loved from a distance for fifteen years. The man who didn't even remember her name. Her phone buzzed. A notification from LinkedIn. Someone had viewed her profile. She opened it and started updating her resume. Two weeks. She could do this. She'd stay invisible. Stay out of Noah's way. Find a new job. Get out. She could definitely do this. Probably. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She should probably find the kitchen. But that meant risking running into Noah again. Seeing that cold, blank expression when he looked at her. Later, she decided. She'd explore later. When she was sure he wasn't around. Leighton lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Day one in Noah Knight's house. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Chapter 2: The Ice King Leighton spent the next morning hiding in her room like a coward. She updated her resume. Applied to twelve jobs. Scrolled through apartment listings she couldn't afford. Anything to avoid going downstairs and risking another encounter with Noah. Her phone rang just after noon. Chloe. "Hey, want to grab lunch? I'm off early today." "Sure. Where should I meet you?" "I'm literally downstairs. Come down." Right. Because Chloe lived here too. Leighton had almost forgotten in her panic to avoid Noah. She changed out of her pajamas into jeans and a sweater, then made her way downstairs. This time in daylight, the house was even more impressive. And intimidating. Huge windows let in natural light that made everything gleam. The art on the walls probably cost more than she'd make in a year. She found Chloe in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "Finally! I'm starving. Want to go to that Thai place you love?" "I can't really afford to eat out right now." "My treat. Don't argue." Chloe grabbed her purse. "Come on." They were halfway to the door when Noah appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone, talking in a clipped tone about quarterly reports and market projections. He wore a suit today, all sharp lines and expensive fabric. He glanced down at them. His eyes passed over Leighton without a flicker of recognition. Again. "We're going out," Chloe called up. "Want anything?" He shook his head, already walking away, still talking into his phone. "See?" Chloe said once they were in her car. "He's barely aware you exist. This is going to be fine." Leighton forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine." Lunch helped. Chloe always knew how to make her laugh, and for an hour, she almost forgot about the disaster her life had become. Almost forgot about living in a mansion with a man who looked at her like she was invisible. When they got back, Chloe had to run to a meeting. "I'll be back around seven. We can watch a movie or something." She squeezed Leighton's hand. "It's going to work out. I promise." Leighton nodded and headed back to her room. But somewhere on the second floor, she took a wrong turn. The hallway looked the same as the one her room was in. Same carpet, same lights, same closed doors. But when she tried the door she thought was hers, it didn't open. She tried the handle again. Locked. Wait. Her door didn't lock from the outside. Did it? She stepped back and looked around. This wasn't the right hallway at all. Nothing looked familiar. "Great," she muttered. "Lost in a house. That's a new low." She backtracked, trying to retrace her steps. Took another turn. This hallway had different art on the walls. Still wrong. How did anyone navigate this place? She tried another direction. The hallway opened into a sitting area she didn't recognize. More wrong turns. A bathroom. A linen closet. Another locked door. Twenty minutes later, she was completely turned around. Nothing looked familiar. Every hallway seemed identical. She pulled out her phone to text Chloe, then remembered she was in her meeting. Leighton stared at her contacts. She could call someone. Except she didn't know anyone else here. Her only other option was... No. Absolutely not. She was not texting Noah Knight to ask for directions in his own house. She'd figure it out herself. Another wrong turn led her to a set of double doors. Maybe they led to a wing she recognized? She pushed one open carefully. It was an office. A massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, a huge desk covered in monitors, and bookshelves lining the walls. And Noah, sitting at the desk, watching her. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to... I got lost." He leaned back in his chair. "Lost." "Your house is really big." "You've been here for less than twenty-four hours and you're already wandering into rooms you shouldn't be in." Her face burned. "I wasn't wandering. I was trying to find my room. All the hallways look the same." He stood up, and even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his irritation. He walked around the desk toward her, and she had to resist the urge to step back. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Those dark eyes that were currently looking at her like she was the world's biggest inconvenience. "Which room did Chloe put you in?" "The one with the blue bedding? And the view of the gardens?" "East wing, third door on the right." "Okay. Thanks. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely behind her. "You're going the wrong way." Of course, she was. He moved past her into the hallway, and she had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly, taking turns without hesitation. She tried to memorize the route, but it was hopeless. Everything still looked identical to her. They passed a slightly open door. Through it, she glimpsed a huge bedroom. King-size bed, dark furniture, everything perfectly neat. His room, probably. "That's my room," he said without looking back, like he knew where her eyes had gone. "Don't go in there." "I wouldn't." "You got lost trying to find your own room. I'm not confident in your sense of direction." Was he making fun of her? She couldn't tell. His voice was flat, emotionless. He stopped at a door. "This one." It was her room. She recognized the blue bedding through the open door. "Thank you." He nodded once, already turning away. "Noah?" He stopped but didn't turn around. It was becoming a pattern with him. Never fully facing her. Always ready to leave. "I really am sorry. For being here. For being in the way. I know you didn't want me here." Now he did turn, his dark eyes meeting hers. "It's not personal." "It feels pretty personal." "I don't know you. You're Chloe's friend. That's all." The words shouldn't have stung. She barely knew him either. But they did. Because she'd spent fifteen years knowing exactly who he was. Watching him. Wanting him to look at her the way he was looking at her now. Except now that he was looking, there was nothing in his eyes but cold disinterest. "Two weeks," she said quietly. "Then I'll be gone and you can have your house back." Something flickered across his face. She couldn't read it. Then it was gone, and his expression was smooth again. "See that you do." He walked away, and this time she didn't call after him. She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it. Her hands were shaking. From embarrassment, from anger, from something else she didn't want to name. This version of Noah was nothing like the one she'd built up in her head. That Noah had been kind. Warm. Someone who would smile at her and make her feel like she mattered. Real Noah was ice. Sharp edges and closed doors and eyes that looked through her instead of at her. She needed to let go of the fantasy. The childhood crush. All of it. He didn't want her here. He'd made that perfectly clear. Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. *Meeting ran late. Won't be back until 9. You okay?* *I'm fine. Got lost trying to find my room but I figured it out* *LOL this house is ridiculous. Noah gave me a map when I first moved in* *There's a MAP?* *I'll find it for you tomorrow. Hang in there* Leighton set her phone down and looked around the room. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything she'd never have on her own. And she'd never felt more out of place in her life. She pulled up her laptop and applied to more jobs. Anything to speed up her exit. Graphic designer positions. Junior art director roles. Even a few administrative jobs that had nothing to do with her degree. She didn't care. She just needed out. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. Later that night, her stomach growled. She'd skipped dinner, too anxious about navigating the house to risk going downstairs. But she couldn't hide in her room forever. It was past ten. Maybe Noah would be asleep. Or working in his office with the door closed. She crept downstairs, following the route he'd shown her earlier. Or what she thought was the route. Everything looked different in the dark. But she found the kitchen. Small victory. The fridge was still packed with food. She grabbed some leftover pasta from one of the containers and heated it up, eating quickly while standing at the counter. "You really like sneaking around at night." She jumped, nearly dropping her fork. Noah stood in the doorway. No shirt again. Just pajama pants riding low on his hips. Why did he keep doing this to her? "I'm not sneaking. I'm eating." "In the dark. In my kitchen." "I turned the light on." He moved into the room, and she tried very hard not to stare at his chest. In the muscles in his arms. At the tattoo she hadn't noticed before, black ink winding around his ribcage. "You should eat actual meals," he said. "Not just bread and leftovers." "I'm fine." "You're avoiding me." She set her fork down. "You told me to stay out of your way. That's what I'm doing." "By getting lost in my house and breaking into my office?" "I didn't break in. The door was open." "It was closed." "It was open a crack!" The corner of his mouth twitched. For a second, she thought he might smile. But then his expression went flat again. "Two weeks," he said. "Try to stay found until then." He left, taking all the oxygen in the room with him. Leighton dumped the rest of her pasta in the trash, her appetite gone. She trudged back upstairs, somehow finding her room on the first try. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Thirteen more days. She could do this. Probably. Chapter 3: Midnight Collision Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep. She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely. The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night. But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it. She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent. This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories. The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms. The kitchen light was on. She froze at the entrance. Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked up when she appeared. For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here." "It's fine." She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room. But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry. She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test. "There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf." "Thanks." She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked. The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave. "You can eat here." She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen. "I don't want to bother you." "You're already bothering me. Might as well commit." She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away. Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking. "Is that whiskey?" "Scotch. Macallan 25." She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive. She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy. "Did you make this?" "I have a chef who comes three times a week." Of course he did. "Must be nice." He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?" "To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted." His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?" "I didn't mean..." "I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it." "I wasn't attacking you." "Sounded like it." She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude." He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink. "Why graphic design?" he asked. The question surprised her. "What?" "Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?" "I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at." "You must be decent if you got hired out of college." "I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary." "Their loss." The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway. She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen. "What are you working on?" she asked. "Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms." "At one in the morning?" "Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there." She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control. Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "You just did." "Can I ask you another something?" The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead." "Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe." His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in. "Yes." "You acted like you didn't." "I know." "Why?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up." Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant. He stood up, draining the rest of his scotch. "You should finish eating and get some sleep." "Okay," she said quietly. He moved to the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her plate. She turned toward the sink at the same time he turned back, and they collided. The plate slipped from her hands. She grabbed for it, overcorrected, and her elbow hit his glass instead. It shattered on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and scotch. "Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it. I'll..." "Don't touch it." She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable. "You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back." "I can clean it. It's my fault." "Leighton. Move." She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid. She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive." "It was." "How expensive?" "You don't want to know." She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back." "Forget it." "Noah..." "I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass." "A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..." "You're not stupid." "I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage." "It was an accident." "I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff." She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Leighton." She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense. "Stop apologizing for existing." "I'm not..." "You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting." Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..." "The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells." "Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself. The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest. But she was tired of pretending. He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "I don't know yet," he said quietly. Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass. She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling. This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back. She was so screwed. She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing. *Chloe's little friend grew up.* What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both? She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all. Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer. Nothing good, probably. Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons. She just needed to remember that. Chapter 4: Morning After Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total. Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother. She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*. She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear. The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened. She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview. She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess. At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join. The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate. "We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week." Translation: don't call us, we'll call you. Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine. She needed more coffee. On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open. Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag. The gym. She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room. Instead, she moved closer to the door. Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise. She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him. But she couldn't move. He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her. Their eyes locked. Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely. Then he stood up and walked toward the door. She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again. But her feet wouldn't move. He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him. "Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "I heard music. I was just..." "Watching me work out." Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..." "And you stopped to stare." "I'm sorry." "You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't." "I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "How'd your interview go?" The question threw her. "What?" "Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?" "How did you know about that?" "Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?" "It was fine. They said they'd call next week." "That's good." "Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now." "What kind of design do you do?" "Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design." He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder." "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't food." "It has calories." "Leighton." The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time. "I'll eat something," she said. "Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway." Before she could respond, he closed the door. She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell. She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe. She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl. "Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful. "Fine. I think." "That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?" Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing. "Yeah. He's been... fine." "Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you." "No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him." "Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off." "Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough." "You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me." "I will. I promise." They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life. After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.* Yeah. That would go over well. She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower. She tried very hard not to picture that. Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning. Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour. She clicked it open. *Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.* She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper. Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her. She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. *Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N* She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably. She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?* *I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.* *What looks?* *The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.* She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention. Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.* Despite everything, she smiled. *Thanks* She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy. This was bad. This whole situation was bad. But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Chapter 5: House Rules Leighton spent the afternoon in her room, applying to more jobs and trying not to replay Noah's text message over and over in her head. *They're idiots.* Two words shouldn't matter this much. Around five, her stomach reminded her she'd only eaten toast all day. She ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something quick and escape back to her room before anyone noticed. The kitchen was occupied. Noah stood at the island, going through a stack of papers. He'd showered since this morning. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot again. She was starting to think he never wore shoes in the house. He looked up when she entered. "Hey." "Hi." She moved toward the fridge, trying to act casual. Like this morning hadn't happened. Like she hadn't been caught watching him work out like some kind of stalker. "We need to talk." She froze, her hand on the fridge door. "About what?" "Ground rules." "Oh." She turned to face him. "Okay." He set down the papers and crossed his arms. "My office is off-limits. Always. Even if the door's open. Don't go in there unless I specifically invite you." "I already apologized for that." "I know. This is me making sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm. Professional. Like he was running a business meeting. "Second, the gym. Same rule. Don't come in while I'm working out." Her face heated. "I wasn't trying to..." "Third, my bedroom. That should be obvious, but I'm saying it anyway. Stay out." "Are you done?" The words came out sharper than she intended. His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?" "Are you done treating me like a child who doesn't know how to respect boundaries?" "I'm establishing expectations." "You're making a list of all the ways I'm not allowed to exist in your space." She crossed her own arms, mirroring his stance. "I get it. You don't want me here. You've made that pretty clear. But I'm not eight years old anymore, Noah. You don't need to lecture me about not touching your stuff or wandering into rooms I shouldn't." Something flickered in his eyes. He pushed off the island and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. She held her ground, even though every instinct told her to step back. He stopped a foot away. Near enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "No," he said quietly. "You're not eight anymore." The way he said it made her breath catch. His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on her mouth, then lower. Taking in the curve of her neck. The way her t-shirt fit. How her jeans hugged her hips. When his gaze came back to hers, there was heat in it. Dark and dangerous. "That's the problem," he added. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "What's the problem?" she managed. "You. Here. In my house." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Chloe's best friend. Twenty-three years old. Completely off-limits." "I didn't ask to be here." "I know." "And I'm not trying to... I don't..." She struggled to find words. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way until I can leave." "That's another rule." His voice had an edge now. "Stop trying to be invisible. It's not working." "What do you want from me?" "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "That's the problem. I don't know what I want, and that's not something I'm used to." They stood there, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Leighton's skin felt too tight. Her mouth is too dry. She wanted to move closer and run away at the same time. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't know what I want either." His jaw clenched. "Yes, you do." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means I see the way you look at me. Like I'm something you want but know you can't have." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of his soap. "You've been looking at me like that since you were sixteen." Her face burned. "I wasn't..." "You were. At Chloe's birthday party. You wore a blue dress. You stood in the corner all night, watching me." She remembered that party. Remembered the dress. Remembered how she'd felt when Noah had walked in with some blonde model on his arm. Remembered spending the whole night wishing she was brave enough to talk to him. "I had a crush on you," she admitted. "So what? Half the girls in Chloe's school had crushes on you. It didn't mean anything." "Didn't it?" "No. I was a kid. Kids get crushes. They grow out of them." "Did you? Grow out of it?" The question hung between them. She should lie. Should tell him yes, of course, she was over it. That she didn't feel anything when he looked at her. That her heart didn't race when he got close. But she was tired of lying. "I don't know," she said. "Did you grow out of treating every woman like a temporary distraction?" His expression darkened. "That's not fair." "Neither is calling me out for how I look at you when you've been doing the same thing to me since I got here." "I haven't..." "You have. In the kitchen last night. In the gym this morning. Right now." She took a step closer, emboldened by her own anger. "So don't act like I'm the only one feeling something I shouldn't." His hand came up, catching her chin. Tilting her face up to his. "You're right. I have been looking. Want to know what I see?" She couldn't breathe. "What?" "Trouble. The kind I swore I was done with." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she shivered. "The kind that makes me want to break every one of my own rules." "Then maybe you shouldn't make so many rules." For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. His hand tightened on her chin. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Then he let go and stepped back, breaking the spell. "Two more rules," he said, his voice rough. "Stay out of trouble. And stay out of my head." "How am I supposed to do that?" "Figure it out." He grabbed his papers and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen, her whole body trembling. She touched her lips where his thumb had been. Her skin still tingled from his touch. This was bad. This was so much worse than a childhood crush. This was a real attraction. Real chemistry. The kind that could ruin everything. Her phone buzzed. Chloe. *Dinner tomorrow night? I'm bringing Thai food. Miss you!* Guilt crashed over her. Chloe. Her best friend. Who had specifically warned her years ago that Noah was off-limits. Who had saved her from being homeless? Who trusted her? She typed back quickly. *Miss you too. Can't wait.* She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face. She needed to get it together. Needed to stop whatever this was before it went any further. But when she closed her eyes, all she could feel was his thumb on her lip. All she could hear was his voice saying *You're trouble*. And the worst part? She wanted to be. She wanted to be the kind of trouble that made Noah Knight break his own rules. She grabbed a protein bar from the pantry and headed back to her room. As she passed his office, she heard him inside. Talking on the phone. His voice was calm and controlled. Completely different from how he'd sounded in the kitchen. How many versions of himself did he have? The cold businessman who'd told her two weeks maximum. The gym rat who caught her watching. The man who texted her about rejections. The one who'd just touched her face like he wanted to do more. Which one was real? Maybe they all were. Maybe Noah Knight was just as complicated and messed up as she was. That should have been comforting. Instead, it just made her want him more. She locked her door and climbed into bed, even though it was barely six. Tomorrow Chloe would be here. Tomorrow she'd have to pretend everything was fine. That nothing had happened. That she and Noah were just two people sharing a house, nothing more. She could do that. She'd been pretending her whole life. What was one more lie? Chapter 6: The Shirt Incident Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe. *Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!* Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely. *No worries. We'll do it another time.* She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him. This was getting ridiculous. She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions. The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid. She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in. An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer. The machine was still running. She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total. Perfect. Just perfect. She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top. She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything. Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room. Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom. But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know. Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home. She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off. The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy. His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn. Perfect. She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room. Except her room was still freezing. The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done. She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here. She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget. The front door opened. Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead. His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button. "Hi," she said weakly. He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight. "I can explain." "You're wearing my shirt." "My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now." "Don't." The word came out rough. Almost harsh. She froze. "What?" "Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here." "Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..." "How long until your clothes are done?" "An hour, maybe?" He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close. He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white. The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it. "Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence. "Meeting got canceled." "Oh." More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze. She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense. "Stop looking at me like that," she said. "Like what?" "Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking." "I could say the same to you." "I'm not..." "You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me." "I don't want anything from you." "Liar." The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name. "Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear." "Have I?" "You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you." "I don't remember saying that last part." "It was implied." He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles. "You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly. "No." "Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know." She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..." "I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules." Her breath caught. "I'm not..." "Your clothes aren't in the wash." "What?" "You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt." "I was cold." "Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it." "That's not true." "Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next." "Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen." "I know." "So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid." "I know," he said again. But neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave. He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them." "Noah..." "Go, Leighton." It wasn't a request. She went. She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*. She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her. She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened. Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin. She was in so much trouble. Her phone buzzed. Noah. *Keep the shirt.* She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?* *Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.* *Noah, we can't...* *I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.* *What are we doing?* *I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.* She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces. But god, she wanted it anyway. She wanted him anyway. *Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.* His response came immediately. *Then stop.* Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once. She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want. Her life was a mess. akinmutimi4 VIRBEY The Luna who was buried alive Exclusive contract 13/03/2026 But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

His beloved woman suffered a terminal illness, and he indulged her repeated provocations against his wife. Heartbroken, his wife finally gave up, divorcing and vanishing, prompting him to block the whole city in a frantic search for her. ===== Leaving the hospital, Thea Dawson could barely contain her excitement as she clutched the test results and hurried to call her husband, Jerred Willis. "Jerred... I... I need to tell you something." Her voice trembled, her palms damp against the paper in her hand. On the other end of the line, Jerred's response carried an unexpected chill. "Interesting. I have something to say to you, too. Make sure you're back home by seven." Before Thea could reply, the line went dead, leaving her with the flat tone buzzing in her ear. A tightness spread through her ch**t. Something about Jerred's voice was amiss--it was far colder than usual. She drew in a steadying breath and patted her cheeks, forcing a small smile. She urged herself not to think too much about it. Jerred was the CEO of Braptin's largest multinational company; the weight of constant pressure was bound to make him feel frustrated sometimes. His cold tone didn't necessarily mean he was upset with her. When the clock struck seven, Thea was already seated at the perfectly set dining table, her eyes flicking to her watch as each minute dragged. Wanting to ease what she imagined might have been a grueling day for Jerred, she had carefully prepared all of his favorite dishes. Yet, to her surprise, the man who prided himself on punctuality was late today. An hour later, at last, the front door of the house opened. Jerred stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the space with authority. The evening chill clung to his coat as he shrugged it off and passed it to the waiting maid. Thea stood quickly, her smile soft and welcoming. "What kept you so late?" "Got held up with something," he answered curtly. With a folder in hand, he moved toward the table, his stride composed. He then lowered himself into a chair, legs crossing with casual elegance. "You said you wanted a word with me?" His unreadable eyes lingered on Thea, cold and probing, while the untouched food sat between them. His voice was cold as he said, "Go ahead; say it." His icy demeanor made her fingers curl against her lap, and the news of her pr**nancy stuck in her throat. Her lips twitched into a forced smile. "You also said you wanted to tell me something. Why don't you start first?" For a long beat, he didn't answer. His stare remained locked on her, steady and suffocating. Then, in a voice slow and deliberate, he said, "Jaylynn's back." Thea felt those words crash over her like an icy tide, leaving her stunned. The Jaylynn he mentioned was none other than her cousin, Jaylynn Dawson. Jaylynn had grown up alongside Jerred, their deep bond forged from childhood. A year ago, Jaylynn had been the one destined to become Jerred's bride. But for reasons unknown, Jaylynn had vanished the night before the wedding. To shield both families from scandal, the Dawson family had dragged Thea out of her quiet countryside life and thrust her into Jerred's arms instead. Thea had always known Jerred's heart belonged elsewhere. The moment Jaylynn returned, she'd be expected to step aside. She had just never imagined that day would come so abruptly. Her fingers curled around the crumpled pr**nancy test results hidden in her pocket. "So..." Her voice trembled as her eyes flicked to the document on the table. "Is that a divorce agreement you've brought?" "It isn't," Jerred replied, his tone flat. "I'm not filing for divorce--at least not yet." A faint breath escaped Thea's lips, but the brief relief tightened into dread just as quickly. His words carried the weight of inevitability, hinting that her marriage was already counting down to its end. With her ch**t tight, Thea let out a quiet sniffle. "Then what is this document..." "Jaylynn told me she disappeared because she thought she was dying," Jerred said evenly. "She didn't want to burden me with her illness. She didn't come back to rekindle anything between us this time." He then slid the document across the table toward Thea, unfolding it with deliberate precision. "She needs your help." Thea froze for a moment. Her gaze then dropped instinctively to the page. The bold heading made her pulse stutter--it was a bone marrow compatibility report. Her eyes traced the lines until the truth slammed into her ch**t: her bone marrow was a perfect match for Jaylynn's. As her eyes traced the words, a stab of pain shot through her ch**t. She racked her memory, unable to recall ever having such a test. Except... Her throat tightened as she pieced it together. Forcing down the rising pain, she lifted her eyes to Jerred, sorrow etched across her face. "Two months ago, when your assistant said I needed a check-up... was that test for this?" Jerred gave a clipped nod. "That's right. I kept it from you because Jaylynn's return had to remain confidential." Each word that left his lips struck her heart with brutal force. That check-up--the only time in over a year of marriage he had shown even a shred of concern toward her--hadn't been about her at all. She had been elated then, convinced it meant their relationship was finally moving forward. Now, in hindsight, she must've seemed both pathetic and laughable at that time. What she had once believed was a breakthrough in their relationship now revealed itself as nothing more than Jerred arranging a test for the woman he had truly cherished all along... Lifting her head, Thea locked eyes with Jerred across the table he hadn't even noticed she had painstakingly set. "I'm not doing it," she declared, her voice firm. Her fingers drifted protectively to her still-flat belly. The tiny life in there, just two months along, was too fragile and too precious to endure something like this. Jerred was caught off guard by her outright refusal, his expression hardening as his brow knitted together. "I'll arrange for the best medical team. Everything will be handled with precision. You won't be at risk. Jaylynn's situation can't wait." Thea held his gaze, her composure steady despite the storm gathering inside her. After a long, tense silence, she drew a breath and said slowly, "Jerred... I'm pr**nant." Chapter 2 Mommy Will Protect You Jerred's taunt sliced through the room like a bl**e. "You'd spin any excuse just to avoid donating bone marrow to Jaylynn." Silence lingered for a beat before he added with a mocking curl of his lips, "We've been using protection for an entire year. You can't possibly be pr**nant." Thea's face froze. Then, her expression turned into a strained, bitter smile. Her mind flitted back two months, to that day his assistant had dragged her out for the so-called check-up. That night, Jerred had shocked her by waiting for her at home with an extravagant bouquet of scarlet roses. He had dr**k a lot, and their in**macy had been wild. She had reminded him of using protection, but Jerred, reeking of al**hol and grinning wickedly, had leaned close to her ear and murmured, "Tonight, I want to be closer to you." Swept along in the deceptive haze, Thea had believed every gesture from him--the flowers, the sudden tenderness, even the in**mate recklessness--meant he was finally softening toward her. Only now did the truth hit like a bucket of ice water. All of it--the odd check-up, the roses, the intense pa**ion--hadn't been for her at all. It was because Jaylynn had returned. Only Jaylynn could unravel Jerred, the man who was usually so composed and reserved, driving him to act impulsively. He had forgotten about everything the next day because he had been too dr**k. Thea's silence only fed Jerred's conviction that her pr**nancy was nothing more than an excuse to dodge the bone marrow donation. "Thea," he called out, his brows drawing tight as his voice hardened. "I know you've never felt any real bond with Jaylynn, even though she is your cousin." While speaking, he set a sleek black card down on the table, the gold-embossed J gleaming under the light. "There's ten million on this card. Consider it compensation." Thea's eyes lingered on the glittering card, a self-mocking smile breaking across her face. In their year of marriage, every allowance, every so-called gift Jerred had ever offered her had barely amounted to a single million. Yet for the woman he truly cherished, he could toss away ten million as if it meant nothing. "If you want something else instead," he added, his tone flat. "Just name your terms." Jerred pressed on when Thea stayed silent. "If you agree to donate, I'll make sure you're compensated in every way I can." Lifting her gaze, Thea studied Jarred as if he were a stranger. His distant, businesslike tone reduced the moment to nothing more than a cold negotiation. Their shared year--the fleeting tenderness, the fragile warmth--suddenly felt like a story she had invented for herself. Yet the undeniable truth was that she carried his child. Bitterness welled in her ch**t when she thought about that, her lashes lowering as she shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, determination steadied her expression. Her voice came firm as she said, "I don't care how you think of me because of this. I'm not donating my bone marrow." Jerred's brows drew tight, but Thea's gaze only sharpened with a fierce resolve. "If you think I'm heartless or selfish, we can end this marriage." The title of Jerred's wife had never truly belonged to her--and neither had his love. The only thing she could claim without question was the fragile life growing inside her. She would never risk her child's safety for Jaylynn, a woman who meant nothing to her. The atmosphere in the dining room grew heavy, silence pressing down like a storm waiting to break. A sense of unease stirred in Jerred's ch**t; he had a nagging fear that something precious was slipping away from him. For a year, Thea had played the obedient wife--soft-spoken, accommodating, smiling as she accepted every request he tossed her way. Tonight, though, she was transformed into something fierce, bristling with defiance, challenging him at every step, and even daring to throw divorce in his face. Just then, the suffocating quiet was shattered by the abrupt ringing of Jarred's phone. "Jaylynn." He quickly answered the call, his voice shifting at once--gentler, almost tender. "What's wrong?" The house was so quiet that Thea, sitting rigid at the table, could hear the fragile, trembling voice on the other end of the line. "Jerred, I'm in so much pain..." Jaylynn sobbed, her voice breaking. "When I tried to stand, I banged my hand against the metal frame of the bed. The IV came loose, and bl**d's spilling everywhere. Am I not going to make it through the night..." "I'm coming over now." Jarred's reply was urgent. He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, and while murmuring words of comfort into the phone, he strode toward the door. As he reached the doorway, he paused, turning back to glance at Thea, who was still frozen in place. His voice stayed calm, but his words were edged in steel. "Marriage isn't some toy you toss around when you're upset. I'll pretend I didn't hear that talk about divorce. As for the bone marrow donation, I expect you to think it over seriously. I won't be back until later. Don't wait up; just get some rest on your own." With that, he strode out, the heavy door soon slamming shut behind him. The crash of wood meeting frame splintered Thea's ch**t, as if the sound itself had cracked her heart. Her eyes drifted closed, and her trembling hand moved protectively across her belly. "Baby," she whispered softly, voice quivering with fragile strength. "Don't be afraid. Mommy will protect you." Given that Jerred had chosen Jaylynn over her, she decided at that moment that she would never choose him again. Chapter 3 End Your Marriage To Her Now Outside, rain hammered the windows, the steady roar filling the night. Thea lay restless beneath the covers, her body shifting, sleep refusing to come. A year of memories with Jerred replayed in her mind, unbidden and relentless. Their grandfathers were close friends, binding the Dawson and Willis families together. That bond had placed Jerred in her life when she was very young. Even as a boy of eight, Jerred had carried himself with a solemn maturity, dressed sharply in a black suit, aloof and distant from the world around him. At five, Thea had been his opposite--bright, clingy, always tugging at his sleeve, desperate to pull his attention her way. Jerred's innate courtesy never let him brush her aside. He had stayed near, tolerating her chatter, even taking on the quiet role of her protector. One summer afternoon, her reckless play had ended in disaster when she tumbled into a lake, sinking under frigid water. Jerred had leapt in without hesitation, dragging her to shore and forcing breath back into her lungs. When her eyes finally fluttered open through the haze of cold and fear, she thought she was staring at an angel as her eyes landed on Jerred. After her parents' tragic accident, though, she was left in her grandparents' care, and the Dawson family came to see her as a burden. They carried her off to the countryside, and from then on, she had never again returned to Braptin nor crossed paths with Jerred. It wasn't until a year ago that her uncle finally tracked her down in the small, weathered cabin where she had been living all that time. People all assumed she had married Jerred to escape the hardships of life in the countryside and to claw her way into wealth and status. But only Thea knew the truth--how her heart had pounded with joy when she first learned she would become Jerred's bride. Even so, she understood the marriage for what it was: a fleeting dream granted by fate, fragile and short-lived. Now came the moment to wake up from that dream. Outside the house, the storm raged across the night sky, lightning splitting the darkness while thunder rolled like cannon fire. Curled beneath her blanket, Thea pulled the covers tighter around her, her heart gradually calming down. The next morning, it was the shrill buzz of her phone that pulled her from sleep. Jerred's mother's voice cut through Thea's drowsiness like a bl**e, dripping with disdain. "Still in bed at this hour? How did my son end up stuck with someone so lazy like you?" For a full year, Thea had endured Maggie Willis' barbed remarks without a word in return. Her silence had never come from weakness. She had held her tongue because clashing with Maggie would only make Jerred's life harder. As the head of Braptin's most powerful company, he already shouldered enough weight; she had never wanted to add family strife to his burdens. But today, something inside her shifted. She was done enduring something like this. Maggie's scorn only deepened. "If my family hadn't been desperate last year, I'd never have agreed to you marrying my son. You don't deserve to be with him. You'll never be good enough for him--" Thea sat up, her voice calm but edged with steel. "You're right. I've never been worthy of Jerred. But marriage isn't only about one person; it's about both of us." Drawing a steady breath, she continued, "If I'm such a disappointment, then tell your son to divorce me and marry someone you think is worthy. Jerred married me a year ago because he had to, but now, those problems your family was facing are gone, aren't they? He can divorce me." Maggie froze, her tongue knotted. She was stunned by Thea's retort. She couldn't believe that the woman who had always been submissive and quiet now had the guts to snap at her. Was Thea out of her mind? Just then, Thea's voice echoed again, sharp and unyielding. "Did you really call me just to scold me, Maggie? If you have that much free time, maybe use it to convince your son to divorce me. I'm not wasting another second on you. I'm going back to bed. Bye!" She ended the call in one decisive motion, leaving Maggie no chance to reply. Maggie's fury spiked when Thea ended the call, her ch**t heaving. Not only had Thea brushed off her scolding, but she'd also dared to show not the slightest shred of respect toward her. That insolence gnawed at Maggie until her temper boiled over. Seething, she dialed Jerred's number. The instant he answered, she unleashed her rage, exclaiming, "Has your wife lost her mind? I called to wake her up, but she snapped at me instead--told me to tell you to divorce her! Who does she think she is, acting so arrogantly?" In the hospital corridor, Jerred stood motionless, gaze drifting to the rain-washed leaves outside the window. A faint crease deepened between his brows as frustration pricked at him. "Thea really said that?" "She did!" Maggie spat the words like da**ers. "Jerred, I've told you over and over again this past year to divorce her, but you always make excuses to avoid it. Now that she's the one bringing it up, it's the perfect chance. I don't care what excuses you have; you need to end your marriage to her now! Do you have any idea how many people in high society laugh at our family behind our backs just because you married her? You--" "Mom," Jerred interjected, his frown remaining. "The storm last night probably kept Thea awake with all that thunder. She was probably just in a bad mood." He flicked his eyes to the glinting metal watch on his wrist, then added evenly, "It's only seven, and there's nothing urgent today. Why disturb her rest?" As the words left his mouth, his gaze shifted toward the ward's doorway, where a frail figure in a hospital gown stood leaning against the frame. His expression tightened, and he lowered his voice. "Something's come up. I'll hang up now." Sliding the phone into his pocket, he walked toward Jaylynn. "Why are you out of bed?" he asked, his voice edged with concern. Looking pale and weak, Jaylynn offered him a faint smile. "I overheard your mom saying Thea wants a divorce... Is it because of me?" Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at him. "Jerred... Should I never have returned?" Chapter 4 It's Been Some Time Jerred cut Jaylynn off with furrowed brows, saying, "Don't read too much into it. Thea had a spat with my mother; she was just riled up and blurting out whatever came to her mind." He steadied Jaylynn with a firm hand as he guided her back to the hospital bed. His voice was resolute as he said, "I'm not divorcing her for now." At his unyielding tone, a faint shadow crossed Jaylynn's eyes. She lowered her head, her lashes trembling, her voice nasal from crying. "You've already been married for over a year. If word gets out that you divorce the moment I return, everyone will think that I ruined your marriage..." Jerred remained quiet for several seconds before giving a short, final nod. "Yeah. We can talk about that later." The heaviness in Jaylynn's expression lifted slightly at his reply. Once tucked beneath the sheets, she let her gaze drift to the horizon, where sunlight spilled into the room. "I've been trapped in here day after day..." Her eyes slid back to Jerred, her tone softening, almost coaxing. "Could you take me shopping today? I'm about to step back into the public eye; I need new clothes and jewelry." Her hand brushed the brim of her hat as she tilted it back to expose a small patch of newly shaved scalp. Her voice quivered slightly as she admitted, "I can't let anyone see me like this." The sight of her bare scalp softened Jerred's expression, a flicker of sympathy passing through his eyes. "Alright," he murmured, his tone unusually gentle. *** It was the weekend today. After ending her call with Maggie, Thea tried to sink back into sleep, but no matter how she shifted beneath the sheets, rest refused to come. Irritation mounting, she eventually rose, wandering through the house before distracting herself with chores and packing. She had spoken of divorce the night before. Jerred hadn't given her an answer, but she knew in her bones he'd agree to it eventually for Jaylynn. So, she needed to pack up her things and be prepared for it. Determined, she folded clothes neatly into her luggage, her movements sharp with purpose. While she was tidying the dining room, her eyes landed on the black card Jerred had left on the table. With the servants in the house at all hours, she didn't want to leave it there and lose it. Just as Thea slid the card safely into her bag, ready to give it back to Jerred later, her phone buzzed with a call. The name flashing on the screen made her ch**t loosen slightly--it was Brielle Dale, her close friend. "Thea, tell me everything!" Brielle's warm voice quickly came through the line. "Did your husband lose his mind with excitement when he found out about your pr**nancy?" Brielle and Thea had known each other since kindergarten, and after Thea's parents passed, Brielle and her family had been the ones making the long trips to the countryside to keep her from feeling alone. Thea had never kept any secret from Brielle. Thea kept her tone even as she muttered, "Brielle, I've decided to divorce Jerred." On the other end of the line, silence stretched until Brielle's stunned reply slipped out. "What happened? Why are you suddenly saying this?" Only yesterday afternoon, Thea had been humming with anticipation, filling her cart with fresh ingredients to cook Jerred's favorite dishes. Yet now, in less than a day, she wanted to divorce him? Thea sank into a chair, exhaustion pressing down on her. "Jaylynn's back." "Unbelievable!" Brielle's tone hardened, slicing through the air. "She really chose the exact day you find out you're pr**nant to come back?" "Not exactly," Thea said, pressing her fingertips against her throbbing temple. Her voice steadied as she explained the situation. "She's actually been back for two months. I just found out about her return yesterday." It almost felt like fate was giving her a sign. When Jaylynn came back, she co**eived Jerred's baby. And on the very day she learned of her pr**nancy and wanted to share the news with Jarred, she discovered Jaylynn's return. Fate offered her a real family just before her marriage would end. Brielle, unsure how else to console Thea, said in a low voice, "Thea, how about we hit the mall? Let's go shopping." Maybe wandering aisles and trying on clothes could lift Thea's mood. Thea agreed without hesitation. Yet she had never imagined she would run into Jerred and Jaylynn in the mall. When her eyes caught them, she happened to be standing in front of a mirror, trying on a beautiful dress. She had never dared wear something so form-fitting before, always thinking it too bold for her image as Jerred's wife. But Brielle had coaxed her, saying that with divorce around the corner, she no longer needed to play the dutiful wife; it was time for her to try something daring. "That figure of yours is truly gorgeous!" Brielle exclaimed, circling Thea with her phone and snapping photos. Heat rushed to Thea's cheeks at the blunt praise. She was about to laugh it off and tell Brielle to stop when her gaze lifted and landed on Jerred and Jaylynn walking side by side. Jerred cut a sharp figure in a long black coat, his polished demeanor radiating a cold, untouchable authority. At his side, Jaylynn clung to his arm, her frame delicate and frail. Illness had drained the color from her face, yet her every movement remained graceful. A small entourage trailed them--bodyguards laden with shopping bags. The sight stirred a bitter pang in Thea's heart. She couldn't help remembering the time she had asked Jerred to go shopping with her. It had been only a month into their marriage when Brielle had urged her to use the outing to draw closer to Jerred. But Jerred hadn't even paused before refusing, his voice firm, dismissing the idea as a waste of his valuable time. But with Jaylynn, his time seemed hers to use freely. "What's got you staring so hard?" Brielle asked, her brow arched. She caught Thea's lingering stare and followed her line of sight. Her lips then curled into a cold smile. "Talk about bad luck. We're just trying to shop, and we run into them." Her tone was edged with mockery, loud enough to draw curious glances from nearby shoppers. Both Jaylynn and Jerred turned at the sound. Jerred's gaze landed on Thea, and for a split second, his expression shifted. In the sleek, form-fitting dress, she looked breathtaking. He had known her body's every cu**e, ki**ed and to**hed every inch of her, but he had never expected her to look so radiant when she wore a dress cut to flatter her figure so perfectly. The subtle change in Jerred's look didn't escape Jaylynn's notice. A sting of jealousy flared inside her, but she smoothed it over with a practiced smile as she said to Thea, "Fancy seeing you here, Thea. It's been some time." Chapter 5 Her Sudden Defiance Thea's smile came tight and brittle as she focused on Jaylynn's forced warmth. "It really has been some time, Jaylynn." A decade had slipped by since their last meeting--when Jaylynn had dragged her into their aunt's new salon, insisting she be the practice model for erasing the butterfly-shaped birthmark on her ch**t. "So, are you two out shopping?" Jaylynn asked breezily, her arm still looped through Jerred's as if it belonged there. Her smile remained as she gave Thea a slow once-over. "That dress is too extravagant, too daring for someone like you." After a pause, she added with a tilt of her head, "Something simpler, more modest would suit you better." Then, angling her face up toward Jerred towering beside her, she inquired sweetly, "Jerred, don't you agree?" The sweet inflection in her voice made it feel as if she, not Thea, were Jerred's wife. Jerred's gaze traced Thea's b**e shoulders and collarbone, his brow knitting as if the sight unsettled him. "The dress indeed doesn't suit her." In his eyes, Thea--so often quiet and restrained--had no business standing out in something so bold. "Why not?" Brielle countered sharply. She hooked an arm around Thea's shoulders. "She's got the body for it. Why shouldn't she show it off in such a dress?" Her eyes then flicked to Jaylynn, cold and mocking. "Or maybe you'd rather she hide her great figure because you're jealous. After all, you have no cu**es." Jaylynn's face drained of color at that. Her fingers clamped tighter around Jerred's arm, her voice unsteady. "It's true. I've dropped so much weight this year. No matter what I do, I can't..." She faltered, her tone weakening into a whisper. "I can't compare with Thea's figure..." Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned toward Thea, her words breaking into a sob. "But I wasn't jealous, I swear. I just thought the dress didn't match your style. I only meant to give honest advice." Brielle snorted, folding her arms and saying, "What a performance, Jaylynn. Crying right on cue." Her gaze cut into Jaylynn with open disdain. "You know exactly whether that was advice or a smug little jab at Thea." Jaylynn's tears came down in torrents at Brielle's sharp words. "Thea." Jerred's frown deepened, his tone edged with ice. "Tell your friend to watch her mouth." Then, with a gentleness that made Thea's ch**t tighten, Jerred patted Jaylynn's trembling hand. He tried to comfort her, saying, "Don't cry. Don't let this upset you. Your health is already fragile." From where she stood, Thea caught the tender flicker in his eyes--an expression she had never once been on the receiving end of. A jagged stab of pain ripped straight through her ch**t. In the year they'd been married, whether she had been sick, exhausted, or quietly hurting, Jerred's gaze toward her had always been cool, distant, untouched by concern. She had once thought that it was just because of Jerred's reserved nature, that he wasn't good at expressing emotions. But now, seeing how he looked at Jaylynn, she understood everything. The contrast was brutal--love and indifference were separated by nothing more than a moment's gaze. Thea, after wasting a year bleeding love into their marriage, realized she'd been nothing but st**id before. A heat rose in her ch**t, burning away the silence she had usually clung to. She leveled Jerred with a frosty gaze, her voice cutting through the air. "Mr. Willis, you pride yourself on being a seasoned and perceptive businessman. Surely you can hear the contempt dripping from Jaylynn's tone when she speaks to me." Jerred's eyes narrowed, but he offered no reply. Thea continued, "When someone humiliates me and my husband keeps his mouth shut, why can't my friend say something? She's standing up for me. Tell me, why would I stop her?" Her words fell like stones into still water, stilling the murmurs of the onlookers. Brielle's shock froze her in place, her eyes wide. She looked as if she couldn't process what she had just heard. Thea, once as bold and spirited as Brielle, had lost her fire after her parents' deaths, becoming quiet and reserved. Whenever others mocked or bullied Thea and Brielle stood up for her, Thea used to tug at Brielle's sleeve, whispering for her to drop it. She had always claimed it was simpler to swallow her grievances than stir up trouble. But now, Thea stood her ground, her spine straight, her tone cutting through the tension as she voiced her frustration. And the person she confronted wasn't just anyone--it was Jerred, the man she had loved for years. Jerred clearly hadn't foreseen such defiance from Thea, either. He looked at her, irritation sharpening his tone. "Turns out my mother was right about you. You're nothing like yourself today." Before, Thea had always been compliant, taking every slight with quiet patience. Now, she wasn't like that anymore... ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &5&

When they met again, her ex-husband tearfully begged for remarriage. However, the wheelchair-bound tycoon of business lore, rumored to be unable to walk, rose to his feet, clasping her hands tightly, "You are worthy of pursuing her?!" ===== "I've filed for divorce. Four million should set you up for life." Colton Stevens impatiently walked over, his frustration almost palpable. "It's our third wedding anniversary today, can't we at least finish this meal together?" Allison Clarke's face froze for a heartbeat. Her nails dug painfully into her palm as she fought to keep her composure. Colton scoffed, his eyes cold and distant. "Even if we finish this meal together, I'll never love you. Besides, Melany's back. She's proud, and she won't stand for this whole situation." A flicker of softness crossed his face at the mention of Melany Johnson, a warmth that had never been reserved for Allison, no matter how hard she'd tried. She had bent over backward for him, cared for his parents, and sacrificed everything for years. But none of it had earned her more than a passing glance. Melany was the one who held his heart--had always held it. She had walked out on him three years ago, breaking off their engagement and leaving for abroad. Yet now, with a mere word from her, Colton had easily embraced her return and chosen to divorce Allison without a second thought. Allison gripped the table's edge as if trying to steady herself against a sudden gust of wind. "Does your grandpa know about this?" Colton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Don't think you can hide behind Grandpa. He's in the hospital and can't handle any stress. My parents are on board with the divorce. In fact, Melany met with them just today." Allison's heart sank, an icy chill creeping through her veins. She had once been celebrated as a genius perfumer, renowned hacker. For three years, she'd buried every trace of that brilliance, molding herself into the perfect housewife. Just recently, she had secured a rare opportunity with Cobweb--the most elusive intelligence network--hoping to help the Stevens family clinch a crucial deal. A chance like that was nearly impossible to come by. Yet now, it all seemed like a cruel farce. "So, Melany's at your parents' place?" she asked, her voice brittle. "Naturally." Colton smiled, his features softening as if the thought of Melany made everything brighter. "They just had dinner. Melany's always gotten along with my parents. They've been singing her praises all evening -- saying how thoughtful and understanding she is." "And you all knew she was coming back," Allison murmured, her voice thick with disbelief, "but left me in the dark." Her eyes glistened, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. Thoughtful and understanding -- how ridiculous. His parents used to make the same comments about her. Colton shot her an impatient glare. "It wasn't on purpose. The butler just forgot to mention it. Don't start creating drama where there isn't any." He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and for a moment, his expression shifted to one of disdain. Allison had always been delicate, her skin flawless, and her features striking, especially her bright, clear eyes. But none of that mattered. She was boring, and that was all. The ideal housewife, yes--everything he could have wanted in a caretaker for his parents--but living with her was stifling. Allison ironed clothes and prepared meals with precision every day. Her routine was so predictable that Colton never had to wonder what she was doing. She was the picture-perfect housewife--dutiful and entirely devoted to staying home. But he was beyond tired of it. "And whether you accept the fact or not, you're leaving tonight." Colton hesitated, realizing how harsh he sounded. "You can move to Starfish Villas. Take the villa, it's yours." He had done his research on Allison. She came from a modest rural background, dropped out of school early, and hadn't seen much of the world. If it weren't for the fact that she had saved his grandfather's life, she would never have married into the Stevens family. In his mind, offering her the villa seemed more than generous for someone with her humble beginnings. But Allison's face didn't show gratitude. Instead, she offered him a thin, cold smile. "So, she's moving in now?" Allison didn't care about the villa or the four million he offered. She could make far more as a top-tier hacker. What hurt was being discarded after three years of loyalty. Colton sighed and said, "The room on the second floor was always hers. Melany's back and has nowhere else to stay, so I told her she could move in. If you're still here, she'll feel uncomfortable." Her silence was enough to annoy him, assuming she was unhappy with the deal. His frustration grew. "Don't push it. You need to know when enough is enough." He glanced at his watch, clearly counting down the time. "Now that I've lodged my divorce petition, we'll meet in the courthouse in a few days. You'd better make preparations and hire a lawyer..." He did not get to finish. "I know what to do," Allison cut him off, her voice laced with disgust. Her mind wandered back to a childhood memory--when she was blinded and in grave danger. A boy carried her on his back for three days and nights, saving her life. That boy had said his name was Colton Stevens. Now, three years after their marriage, that same boy was forcing her to leave. Time had an uncanny way of warping people into strangers. "I'll go," Allison said, snapping back to the moment. She stood up and looked at Colton firmly with detachment. "From now on, we owe each other nothing." Colton let out a breath, relieved. "Good." As if on cue, the housekeeper, Kaelyn Thorpe, appeared at the top of the stairs, struggling with a suitcase. "Sir, your parents called and said Ms. Clarke needs to leave right away, so I packed her things... Oh no!" Before she could finish, she dramatically yelped and pretended to twist her ankle. Allison's suitcase tumbled down the stairs, spilling her belongings everywhere. Chapter 2 Return "Ms. Clarke, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" Kaelyn hurried down the stairs, her face a picture of exaggerated concern. "Maybe you can just toss everything in a bag for now?" she added, hiding her disdain behind a sweet smile. Kaelyn had always looked down on Allison, seeing her as nothing more than a poor country girl who'd shamelessly latched onto Colton for a better life. Colton frowned in frustration. "You're so clumsy!" he snapped, glancing at the scattered clothes. Allison's suitcase contained so little--a few clothes and hardly any jewelry. She hadn't even spent much of the money he had given her over the years. She lived simply, frugally, and it was a reflection of how she had never tried to take advantage of her status. But love couldn't be forced or faked. "Melany's luggage takes priority. Just toss Allison's things in a storage bag," Colton added dismissively, eyeing the broken suitcase. "I'll have the housekeeper buy you a new one tomorrow." Allison gave a faint, bitter smile. "That suitcase was the one I stole from the kidnappers when we were running for our lives. If it hadn't been for it, we would've drowned back then." For years, she had taken care of that suitcase--just as she had taken care of their marriage. And now, like their relationship, it lay shattered. Colton let out a cold laugh. "That story might fool my grandfather, but it doesn't work on me." The memory of being kidnapped as a child was too vague, and he always doubted that Allison had been with him during that time. Turning to Kaelyn, Colton raised his voice. "Hurry up and pack her things!" "Yes, sir," Kaelyn eagerly began to gather Allison's clothes, but she deliberately stepped on them, dirtying them in the process. With a sickly sweet tone, she mocked, "Ms. Clarke, Mr. Stevens' grandmother always says that people are like clothes. Once a person's clothes are stained, it doesn't matter how much you wash; the marks never truly fade." Allison had always been kind to Kaelyn, even when she didn't have to be. After all, Kaelyn was a distant relative of Colton's grandmother. Years ago, when Kaelyn had made a blunder that nearly put the Stevens family at odds with Kellan Lloyd, the eldest son of the Lloyd family, it was Allison who had smoothed the waters. She had negotiated a deal with Kellan, who was paralyzed, securing the critical land for the Stevens' commercial project. Back then, Kaelyn had been grateful, almost humbled. But now, emboldened by the winds of change within the Stevens family, Kaelyn acted as if she had never bent the knee. It all boiled down to one thing--Colton's grandmother's favor had drifted, and with it, so had the family's attitude. "If clothes get dirty, you're right," Allison said, her eyes flicking to Colton, "they're impossible to clean completely." She shrugged, a casual finality in her voice. "So, I won't be needing them anymore." She had never liked those bland, shapeless things anyway. They had never quite suited her. For the first time, Colton looked at Allison as if seeing her through a new lens--her usual softness was now replaced with a sharp edge. After saying that, Alison turned and walked away. Stepping out of the villa, Allison dialed a familiar number. When the call connected, her voice was calm, almost light. "Rebecca, I'm divorced, and I've moved out of his villa. My house and car are still in Vrining. Mind if I crash at your place for the night?" On the other end of the line, Rebecca Green went from silence to squealing joy within seconds. "Holy crap! You finally divorced that i**ot! Forget crashing--you're staying over for a party! A single's party!" Even from a distance, Allison could hear Rebecca's exaggerated laughter bubbling through the phone. "If the folks at Cobweb find out the founder is back, the servers will explode!" Chapter 3 Cruise Party Inside the villa, Colton's gaze falling on the dining table loaded with food. Frustration flared inside him, especially as his mind flashed back to the memory of Allison just left earlier. Allison had stayed composed, but something about her felt colder, harsher than before--far from the docile, compliant woman he once knew. But the thought slipped away quickly. To him, Allison would always be that dull, submissive housewife. Without him, she'd be nothing. Outside the villa, a sleek Lamborghini pulled up, and a woman stepped out. "Allison, darling!" Rebecca rushed over and wrapped Allison in a warm embrace. "You know, you could live at my place forever if you wanted to!" Rebecca, the only daughter of the Eternity Group's owners, practically owned half the city's skyline. A roof over Allison's head was hardly an issue. "So, what on earth happened tonight?" Rebecca asked, pressing close, her cheek resting against Allison's neck. "You still smell like cooking oil. Don't tell me you were cooking for that m**on again?" Allison felt the familiar tightness in her throat, emotions rising as Rebecca's hug warmed her. "Let's talk in the car," she said. Once inside the Lamborghini, Allison began to recount what had happened this whole day. Her voice remained steady, but Rebecca's temper flared like a spark igniting dry wood. "Can you believe this? Colton got dumped by Melany on their wedding day, and now he's trying to crawl back to her by divorcing you? They're made for each other--two peas in a rotten pod!" Rebecca raged. "And his parents!" Rebecca added, her anger rising like a storm. "You've been looking after them for three years, bending over backward for that family, and this is the thanks you get?" Rebecca continued her tirade, her words like b*llets. "Listen, he's lost his memory of that incident in his childhood, sure, but that doesn't excuse what he's done. You've more than paid your dues over the last three years. There's no point pretending to be the woman he wants anymore. You've wiped that slate clean." Allison slouched in the passenger seat, her gaze distant as the world blurred past her window. "It's done. We're even now." For three years, she'd molded herself into Colton's image of the perfect woman. She'd ditched her heels, pulled her hair back, and settled for modest, boring outfits--ones she didn't even like--all to mirror Melany. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't compete with the woman he truly loved. "Allison, the truth is, the Stevens family doesn't deserve someone like you." Rebecca's voice softened, thick with the weight of emotions as she sensed Allison's exhaustion. "Divorce is a process, but until it's settled, you'll stay with me. You're like a sister to me, anyway." Allison managed a small smile. "Okay." Growing up in an orphanage, Allison had never had any family members. But Rebecca had always treated her better than anyone ever had. Their conversation trailed off as they arrived at an exclusive makeup studio. Rebecca rolled down the window and waved enthusiastically at Mary Brown, a famous makeup artist. "Hey, Mary! Got a little project for you!" Allison rubbed her temples, g**aning softly, "Honestly, I'm wiped. I don't think I can handle makeup tonight." "Oh, come on! You're not planning to keep that whole tired, 'still-waiting-for-him' look, are you?" "Yeah... Definitely not." "Exactly!" Rebecca's face lit up. "Relax and let the pros do their magic. These are top-tier, international artists. Tonight, they're bringing out the version of you the world's been missing!" Thirty minutes later, the transformation was undeniable. Nearly everyone who saw her in the mirror was momentarily stunned. Allison's naturally striking features had always been overshadowed by exhaustion. But now, with just a touch of makeup, she was breathtaking. Her long, feline eyes, accentuated by just the right amount of shadow, were captivating without going overboard. A delicate beauty mark drawn near the corner of her eye added a hint of daring that felt almost rebellious. Even Rebecca couldn't contain her excitement. "This... this is the Allison I remember!" She gestured to a rack of dresses being brought in. "Sweetheart, pick any gown that calls to you. I pulled out all the stops for tonight. We're celebrating your freedom on a luxury yacht. I swear, it's going to be a night you won't forget!" Allison waved it off. "I'm not in the mood." Rebecca watched her closely, sensing she could still be holding onto the past. Time to pull out the big guns! "You know there are going to be international perfumers at this party, right? Including the brains behind Charisma Company! Don't tell me you're not curious to finally meet him." Charisma was the country's most prestigious perfume brand. Allison had crossed paths with the CEO at an international perfumery competition. His creations had been nothing short of art. For the first time in forever, they evoked a feeling of déjà vu, something about them reminding her of her mother's style. But like her, the CEO was an enigma. He'd never showed up in public, even as Charisma shot to global fame. No one knew what he looked like, not even now. "Alright, let's check it out." Allison finally relented, her curiosity piqued. After all, she'd once hacked into Charisma's database, coming up empty-handed. And something in her gut still whispered that this mysterious perfumer could be linked to her mother, somehow... ...... What happens next? Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app) &5&

Chapter 1 The ballroom sparkled with golden lights. Lucia stood near the entrance in her blue dress, the one she bought just for tonight. She kept touching her necklace. The silver one. Marco gave it to her on their first date. People smiled. Friends. Family. Neighbors. They said congratulations. They said everything looked beautiful. She planned it all. Every flower. Every candle. Every tiny detail. "Mrs. Hart, you look so happy," someone said. She was happy. She thought she was. The door opened. Marco walked in with a woman. Young. Maybe twenty-five. Blonde hair. Red dress tight against her body. She held Marco's arm like she owned him. Lucia's smile died. The room got smaller. Hotter. She couldn't breathe right. Marco looked at her. His eyes were cold. Empty. "Everyone, listen up." His voice cut through everything. The music. The laughter. The joy. The room went silent. Everyone turned. Stared at him. At the woman. At Lucia. "This is Margaret," Marco said. No feeling in his voice. Nothing. "I'm leaving Lucia for her." The words punched into Lucia's chest. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. What? "We've been together for two years." Marco's voice stayed calm. Like this was normal. "Margaret is moving into the house. Lucia's things are packed. They're in the garage." Two years. She made his breakfast. Washed his shirts. Slept beside him. Kissed him goodnight. Two years of lies. "Marco." Her voice cracked. "This is our anniversary. Our party. The children..." "The children know," Margaret said. Sweet voice. Too sweet. "They've known for months. They support us." No. Where were they? Ria? Lucas? Monica? There. Corner of the room. All three standing together. Ria stared at her. Sixteen with Marco's eyes. She crossed her arms. "Mom, just sign the papers. You're making this harder than it needs to be." The words cut. Deep. "Ria, baby, I don't..." "Dad's been unhappy for years," Lucas said. Fifteen. Her boy who used to be scared of thunder. "We all knew. Everyone knew except you." Monica giggled. Thirteen. The baby Lucia still tucked in at night sometimes. "Margaret takes us shopping. She actually listens to us. You never do." Lucia's legs shook. The floor tilted. Was she falling? Standing? She didn't know anymore. "I gave you everything." She looked at Marco. The man she loved. The man she believed in. "Everything I had." "You gave too much," Marco said. He pulled papers from his jacket. Divorce papers. "You smothered me. Margaret gives me freedom. She makes me feel like a man again." Margaret smiled. Victory written all over her face. "Sign them." Marco held out a pen. "Here?" Tears filled Lucia's eyes. "Now? In front of everyone?" "You're embarrassing yourself," Ria said. "Just do it already." People watched. Some turned away. Others whispered. Some pulled out phones. Taking pictures. Recording. Her pain as entertainment. Lucia's hand shook. She took the pen. The paper blurred. She couldn't read it. Didn't matter. She signed anyway. Her name looked strange. Broken. Not hers. Marco grabbed the papers. Folded them. Put them away. No thank you. No sorry. Nothing. "Leave now," Margaret said. "Your boxes are labeled. Don't take anything that isn't yours." "That house..." Lucia's voice was barely there. "I made it a home." "It's in my name," Marco said. "Always was. You have no claim." Ria stepped closer. "Mom, seriously. Everyone's uncomfortable. Just leave." "Yeah," Lucas said. "This is awkward." Monica laughed again. High. Cruel. Lucia looked at them. Her babies. She carried them. Fed them. Loved them. They looked at her like trash. "I loved you," she whispered. To all of them. "So much." "Not enough," Marco said. He pulled Margaret close. Kissed her. Right there. In front of Lucia. In front of everyone. Some people gasped. Others cheered. Lucia's feet moved. One step. Another. Through the crowd. Out the door. Rain. Heavy and cold. It soaked her dress in seconds. The special dress. Ruined now. She walked. Didn't know where. Her feet hurt in the heels but she kept going. Past houses with warm lights. Families inside. Real families. The tears came. Hot against her cold face. Her whole body shook. Remember when Ria took her first steps? Right into Lucia's arms. Lucia cried then too. Happy tears. Remember when Lucas learned to ride a bike? He fell. Scraped his knee. Lucia held him. Kissed it better. Remember when Monica drew that picture in kindergarten? Four stick figures holding hands. "That's us, Mommy. Our family." Gone. All of it. She fell. Her knees hit wet concrete. Hands in dirty water. She didn't get up. Couldn't. Thunder. Lightning. The sky was angry. Like her insides. Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out. Message from Marco. "Don't contact the children. Don't contact me. Move on." Move on. Like it was easy. Like she could just forget. Another message. Ria. "Mom, you're so dramatic. We're all happier without you. Accept it." The phone slipped from her hand. Fell into water. Screen went black. She stayed there. On her knees. Water soaking through her dress to her skin. Cold. So cold. Cars passed. No one stopped. She was nothing. Nobody wanted her. Not her husband. Not her children. Nobody. The necklace. She grabbed it. The silver one Marco gave her. Twenty years ago. When he said he loved her. When he promised forever. Lies. She ripped it off. The chain broke. She threw it into the street. Her makeup ran down her face in black streaks. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her dress clung heavy to her body. She tried to stand. Her legs wouldn't work right. They shook. Weak. Finally up. Barely. She looked back at the ballroom. The lights still glowed. Music still played. They were still celebrating. Without her. Celebrating her ending. A sound came from her throat. Half laugh. Half sob. Wrong. Broken. She turned away. Started walking again. Water in her shoes. Each step hurt. Where was she going? Didn't matter. She had nowhere. No home. Marco took it. No family. They chose Margaret. No money. Everything was in Marco's name. Nothing. She had nothing. The street blurred. More tears. Or maybe just the water running into her eyes. Remember their wedding day? Marco said she was beautiful. He said he'd never leave. He promised. Liar. Remember Ria's birth? Sixteen hours of labor. Worth it. Every second. To hold her baby. That baby just told her to leave. Remember Lucas's first word? Mama. He said mama. He reached for her. That boy said everyone knew except her. Like she was stupid. Remember Monica's first day of school? She cried. Didn't want Lucia to go. Held onto her leg. That girl laughed at her. In front of everyone. How? How did they all stop loving her? When did it happen? Was she blind? Stupid? Was she really that bad? Her chest hurt. Actual physical pain. Like something inside was tearing apart. She stopped walking. Middle of the sidewalk. Water pooled around her feet. A woman passed by. Looked at her. Looked away quick. Kept walking. Another person. A man. He crossed the street to avoid her. She was that woman now. The one people avoided. The one they pitied. The one they whispered about. Did you hear? Her husband left her at their anniversary party. For a younger woman. Even her kids don't want her. Poor thing. She didn't want pity. She wanted her life back. Her family. Her home. Her heart. But it was gone. All of it. She started walking again. Had to keep moving. If she stopped she might never start again. The water kept falling. Getting harder. Heavier. Her whole body was numb now. From cold. From pain. From everything. Somewhere a dog barked. A car horn honked. Normal sounds. Normal night. For everyone else. For her, everything ended. She thought about going back. Begging. Maybe if she said sorry. Maybe if she promised to change. Be better. Be whatever Marco wanted. No. She saw his face. Cold. Done with her. She saw Margaret. Smiling. Winning. She saw her children. Looking at her like she was nothing. They didn't want her back. They wanted her gone. She was gone now. Walking in the dark. In the rain. Alone. Her shoes rubbed blisters into her feet. She took them off. Held them in one hand. Kept walking barefoot. The concrete was rough. Cold. Hurt her feet. Good. The pain was good. It meant she was still real. Still here. Still something. Even if that something was broken. She passed a store window. Saw her reflection. Didn't recognize herself. Hair wild. Face streaked. Dress hanging off her body. She looked destroyed. She was destroyed. Somewhere behind her the party continued. Marco and Margaret probably dancing now. Her children probably eating cake. Laughing. Happy. Without her. Like she never mattered at all. The thought made her stomach turn. She bent over. Nothing came up. Just dry heaving. Her body trying to reject reality. She straightened up. Kept walking. Had to keep walking. Didn't know where. Didn't know why. Just knew she couldn't stop. Because if she stopped, if she stood still, she might break into pieces so small no one could ever put her back together. So she walked. Alone. Barefoot. In the rain that wouldn't stop falling. Chapter 2 Lucia didn't plan to walk to the bridge. Her feet just took her there. The river below was black. Angry. Water rushing fast and loud. She gripped the railing. Metal cold. Wet. Slippery. How did she get here? Just walking. Walking. Then the bridge. The water below looked like it could swallow everything. All the hurt. All the pain. Her phone buzzed. Marco. "Where are you? People are asking questions. You're embarrassing me." She stared at the screen. Her fingers shook. Embarrassing him. Another buzz. "Answer me, Lucia. Don't make this worse than it already is." She didn't respond. Her phone kept buzzing. Message after message. "If you're trying to get attention, it won't work. I'm done with your drama. Answer me now." "You're being childish." "Grow up, Lucia." "Think about the children. You're embarrassing them too." The children. But Marco was worried about embarrassing them? She looked at the railing. At the gap between the bars. No job. She stopped working when Ria was born. Marco said they didn't need her income. Said she should focus on the family. So she did. No career. No money of her own. Nothing. Where was she supposed to go? The house was Margaret's. Everything in Marco's name. Her friends? Couple friends. Marco's work friends and their wives. They'd pick his side. Her family? Her parents died five years ago. Car accident. She had no siblings. No one. The river kept rushing below. Her phone buzzed again. "Fine. Don't answer. But you're signing more papers tomorrow. My lawyer will contact you. Don't make this difficult." She turned the phone off. Shoved it in her pocket. Before Marco, there was someone else. Not a boyfriend. A friend. Alexander. Alex. Her best friend since she was seven. They grew up on the same street. Rode bikes together. Did homework together. Told each other everything. When she got engaged to Marco, Alex stopped talking to her. Just like that. One day they were best friends. The next day he was gone. She tried calling. Texting. He never answered. That was eighteen years ago. She hadn't seen him since. Another person who left her. Who would want her now? No job. No skills. No money. Three kids who hated her. No one. She climbed onto the first bar of the railing. Her bare feet slipped. She gripped tighter. The water looked closer. Darker. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Ria with tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb. Lucia used to sing lullabies. Made up songs. That baby told her to leave tonight. Lucas scared of shadows. Loud noises. Dogs. Lucia held him through it all. That boy said everyone knew Marco was unhappy. Except stupid Lucia. Monica. Pink and screaming and perfect when she was born. That girl laughed when Lucia signed the divorce papers. How did she lose them? The rain fell harder. Her dress stuck to her skin. Heavy. She climbed higher. Second bar. Her feet barely fit. She wobbled. The water roared below. What would happen if she jumped? Marco would be relieved. No messy divorce. He'd comfort Margaret. Play the grieving husband. Poor Marco. So tragic. The kids would be fine. They had Margaret. They didn't need Lucia. Nobody did. What was the point? Get a job at a store? Rent a tiny apartment? Start over? Her bones hurt. Her heart hurt. Everything hurt. Maybe it was easier to just stop. She looked down at the water. It didn't look scary anymore. It looked peaceful. Final. She let go with one hand. Held on with just the other. The wind pushed against her. She closed her eyes. Took a breath. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. She let go with the other hand. For a second she just stood there. Balanced. Then her foot slipped. Wet metal. No grip. She was falling. No. Wait. Her arms flailed. Reaching for anything. Just air. The water rushed up. Wrong wrong wrong. She wanted to scream but her throat closed. Falling. Fast. A sound behind her. Footsteps? Running? She didn't have time to look. The wind howled in her ears. Or was that her own breath? Her own terror? Faster. The water below black and waiting. Her dress whipped around her legs. Her hair flew into her face. This was it. Then something grabbed her arm. Hard. A hand. Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist. Squeezed. Held tight. The falling stopped. She hung there. One arm stretched up. The other dangling. Body swinging over the water. The hand pulled. She rose a little. But her wrist was slippery. Wet from the rain. The grip started to slide. No no no. She swung her other arm up. Desperate. Clawing at air. The hand adjusted. Grabbed tighter. Different angle now. Both hands gripping her arm. Pulling. Her shoulder burned. Felt like it might rip out of the socket. But she was rising. Inch by inch. Thunder cracked overhead. Lightning lit up the sky for a second. In that flash she saw the water below. Close. So close. Her feet kicked. Found nothing. Just empty space. The hand kept pulling. Strong. Steady. Not letting go. She scrambled with her feet. Finally touched the railing. Cold metal agai nst her toes. She pushed. The hand pulled. Then she was over. Back on the bridge. She collapsed. Hands and knees on wet concrete. Gasping. Shaking. The hand stayed on her shoulder. Steady. Warm despite everything. Chapter 3 Lucia looked up. Rain poured down his face. Dark hair plastered to his forehead. But those eyes. Brown. Familiar. "Alex?" Her voice came out hoarse. "It's me." He knelt beside her on the wet concrete. "You're okay now." Alexander Kane. Her best friend. The one who vanished eighteen years ago. Here. Saving her. She couldn't process it. Her brain felt foggy. "Can you stand?" he asked. She didn't know. Could she? He helped her up. Her legs shook. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "My car is just over there." He pointed. "Let me take you somewhere dry." She nodded. Couldn't speak. He guided her across the bridge. Each step felt wrong. Like she shouldn't be walking. Shouldn't be breathing. His car was black. Expensive looking. He opened the passenger door. Helped her inside. The seat was leather. Soft. She sank into it. He got in the driver's side. Started the engine. Heat blasted from the vents. "Where do you live?" he asked. "I'll take you home." Home. The word stabbed. "I can't." The words stuck. "Marco. He. The house." She couldn't finish. Alex looked at her. At her ruined dress. Her bare feet. Her destroyed face. "Okay," he said quietly. "You'll come to my place then." She wanted to say no. But where would she go? So she said nothing. He drove. She stared out the window. Buildings passed. Lights blurred. They drove for twenty minutes. Then he turned onto a long driveway. Trees lined both sides. Tall. The driveway went on forever. Then she saw it. A mansion. Actual mansion with columns and big windows and gardens. "You live here?" The words came out small. "Yeah." He parked in front of wide stone steps. "Come on." The front door was huge. Wood with carvings. He pushed it open. Inside was. She didn't have words. Marble floors. A staircase that curved up. Paintings. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "This way." Alex led her through hallways. Past rooms she couldn't look at properly. Her mind was too tired. He stopped at a door. Opened it. "Guest room. The bathroom is through there." He pointed. "Take a hot shower. I'll find you something to wear." She walked in. The room was bigger than the bedroom she used to have. Used to. Past tense. The bed had white sheets. Fluffy pillows. "Lucia." Alex's voice made her turn. "You're safe here. Okay?" He left. Closed the door. She stood there. Dripping water on expensive carpet. The bathroom. Right. She walked through the door. Marble everywhere. A tub big enough to swim in. A shower with glass walls. She turned on the water. Steam filled the space. She peeled off her dress. It fell in a wet heap. She stepped into the shower. The water burned her skin. She didn't care. She stood under the spray until her fingers pruned. When she got out, there were towels. Big. Soft. White. And clothes on the counter. A t-shirt. Sweatpants. Too big for her. Must be Alex's. She put them on. Rolled up the pants. Back in the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed. Stared at her hands. A knock on the door. "Come in," she said. Alex walked in with a tray. A mug. Steam rising from it. "Tea," he said. "Chamomile. My daughter swears by it." Daughter. Alex had a daughter. Eighteen years. People had whole lives in that time. "Thank you." She took the mug. Wrapped her hands around it. He sat in a chair across from the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" "Marco left me." The words tumbled out. "Tonight. At our anniversary party. In front of everyone. He's been with someone else for two years. The kids knew. They wanted him to leave me." Saying it made it real. Made it hurt more. "I'm sorry," Alex said. "Why were you on that bridge?" she asked. He was quiet for a moment. "I was driving home. Saw someone on the railing. I stopped." "You didn't know it was me?" "Not until I grabbed you." He leaned forward. "Lucia, what were you doing?" She couldn't answer that. "I didn't know where else to go," she whispered instead. "You can stay here. As long as you need." "I can't." "Why not?" Because she'd already taken too much from people. Because she was a burden. "Stay," Alex said. "At least for a week. Figure out your next steps." A week. Then what? But she nodded. "Try to sleep," Alex said. He stood. Walked to the door. "I'm down the hall if you need anything." He left. She put the mug on the nightstand. Lay down. Pulled the covers up. The sheets smelled clean. Fresh. Nothing like before. She closed her eyes. Didn't think she'd sleep. But exhaustion pulled her under anyway. When she woke, sunlight streamed through the windows. Bright. Harsh. For a second she didn't know where she was. Then it all came back. She sat up. Her body ached. Her head pounded. A clock on the nightstand said 9:47. Her phone. Where was her phone? She found it on the dresser. Alex must have brought it in. She turned it on. Messages flooded in. Marco. Seventeen of them. She scrolled past those. Then she saw one from an unknown number. She opened it. "Hi Lucia! It's Margaret. Marco gave me your number. Hope you don't mind! Quick question, where do you keep your face products? I want to try your routine. Your skin always looked so glowy!" Lucia stared at the screen. Face products? She hadn't used face products in years. Just soap. Water. Whatever was cheap at the store. But Margaret thought. Margaret assumed. Another message came through. "Also, do you have a specific brand for your hair? It always looked so shiny!" Shiny. Lucia touched her hair. Dry. Frizzy. Damaged from years of cheap shampoo. She wanted to throw the phone. Wanted to scream. But she did nothing. Just turned the phone off. Put it back on the dresser. A knock on the door. "Come in," she said. The door burst open. A girl bounced in. Curly dark hair. Big smile. Energy radiating off her. "Hi! You're awake! Dad said not to bother you but I couldn't wait anymore. I'm Lena!" Lena. Alex's daughter. "Hi," Lucia managed. "Dad said you're staying with us for a bit. That's so cool. We never have guests. Well, we do but they're boring business people. You're different. I can tell." The girl talked fast. Bright. Bubbly. "I'm Lucia," she said. "I know! Dad told me. He said you were friends a long time ago. Like before I was born." Lena sat on the edge of the bed. Uninvited but somehow not intrusive. "How old are you?" Lucia asked. "Fifteen. Well, fifteen and a half." Same age as Lucas. The thought stabbed. "Are you okay?" Lena's smile faded. "You look sad." "I'm fine," Lucia lied. "Dad says that too. When he's not fine. Adults always say they're fine." Smart kid. "I have kids," Lucia said. Didn't know why she said it. "Three of them." "Cool! Where are they?" "They don't want me." Lena's face scrunched up. "That's stupid. Kids always want their moms." If only. "My mom died," Lena said. Casual. "Cancer. I was five. I barely remember her." "I'm sorry." "It's okay. I mean it's not. But I'm okay. Dad made sure." Lena picked at the blanket. "He's really good at taking care of people. Even when he's sad. He was really sad after Mom died." Ten years. Alex's wife died ten years ago. "You live in this huge place," Lucia said. "Just the two of you?" "Yep. Well, and the staff. Maria cooks. Roberto does the gardens." Lena shrugged. "It's a lot of space. Gets lonely sometimes. But Dad works a lot. Building companies. I don't really get it. Just know he's really rich." Extremely wealthy. Looking around, it was obvious. "Must be nice," Lucia said. "Sometimes." Lena's smile came back. "Other times it's weird. People at school treat me different. They want to be my friend because of Dad's money. Not because they like me." "That sounds hard." "It is. But you learn who's real and who's fake pretty fast." Lena stood. "Anyway! Dad said to tell you breakfast is ready when you want." Lucia looked at the clock. Almost ten. "Come down when you're ready!" Lena headed for the door. Turned back. "I'm really glad you're here. The house feels less empty." She left. Lucia got out of bed. Found the bathroom again. Splashed water on her face. Looked in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy. Red. Her face was pale. She looked like a ghost. Stop it. She went downstairs. Followed the sound of voices. The kitchen was huge. White cabinets. Marble counters. An island in the middle. Alex stood at the stove. Lena sat on a stool. They were laughing about something. They looked happy. She stood in the doorway. Suddenly feeling like an intruder. Alex saw her. "Hey. You're up. Hungry?" "I don't know," she said honestly. "Well, I made eggs. And toast. And bacon. And pancakes because Lena insisted." "I always insist," Lena said. "Pancakes are life." Lucia sat on a stool. Alex put a plate in front of her. But she picked up a fork. Took a bite. It tasted like nothing. But she chewed. Swallowed. "So," Alex said. Leaning against the counter. "You can stay here. Week or so. Figure out what you want to do next." Lucia's hands tightened around the fork. "I can't pay you." "I'm not asking you to." Her throat closed up. "I don't have anything." "Then stay until you do." Alex's voice was gentle. "No pressure." Lena grabbed her arm. "Please stay! I've always wanted another girl in this house." Something in Lucia's chest cracked. This girl. This bright girl who didn't know her. Who had no reason to want her here. But she did. "Okay," Lucia whispered. "Great!" Lena squeezed her arm. "This is going to be so fun!" Fun. When was the last time Lucia had fun? She couldn't remember. Alex smiled at her. Small. Understanding. For the first time since Marco walked in with Margaret, something other than pain settled in her chest. Not hope. Not quite. But possibility. Maybe. Chapter 4 Alex stood in his office. Door closed. Locked. He stared at the monitor on his desk. Security footage from the guest room hallway. Lucia was still asleep. He rubbed his face. Hadn't slept. Just watched. Made sure she didn't leave. Didn't hurt herself. His phone buzzed. Thomas. His private investigator. "Confirmed. Marco Lewis filed divorce papers this morning. Moving fast." Alex's jaw clenched. Of course. Lock everything down before Lucia could think straight. He typed back. "Keep monitoring. I want to know everything." He put the phone down. Looked at the monitor again. Lucia. Thirty-three years he'd loved her. Thirty-three years of watching from the shadows. He was seven when he met her. She was seven too. First day of second grade. New kid. Poor kid. His clothes were too big. Hand-me-downs from his older cousin. The other kids laughed. Called him trash. Said he smelled. Then Lucia stood up. Tiny thing with wild hair and a voice that didn't match her size. "Shut up. All of you. He's new and you're being mean." She sat next to him that day. Every day after that. Her family had money. Big house. Nice cars. But she never cared that he had nothing. They were inseparable. Did everything together. Then high school happened. Sixteen years old. She was laughing at something stupid he said. He looked at her and. Oh. Oh no. He fell in love with her that day. Never told her. How could he? She was Lucia Hart. Beautiful. Smart. Rich family. He was Alex Kane. Poor kid with holes in his shoes and a drunk father. So he stayed quiet. Stayed her best friend. Died a little every time she talked about other boys. Then college. Marco showed up. Marco with his car and his clothes and his confidence. Marco who could give her everything Alex couldn't. She fell for him. Fast. Talked about him constantly. Alex listened. Smiled. Pretended his heart wasn't breaking. When she got engaged, he couldn't anymore. Couldn't watch her marry someone else. So he left. Changed his number. Moved cities. Built his company from nothing. Turned heartbreak into empire. And he watched her. Always. Hired Thomas five years after her wedding. Just to check. Make sure she was okay. Reports came. Photos. Updates. Lucia looked content. Three kids. Nice house. He told himself that was enough. She was happy. That mattered. But he kept the reports coming. Couldn't stop. Couldn't let go. Then last week Thomas called. "You need to see this." Photos of Marco. With Margaret. Coming out of hotels. Kissing in parking lots. "How long?" Alex asked. "Two years. Maybe more." His blood boiled. "Find out everything. I want dates. Times. Proof." Thomas delivered. Marco was planning to leave Lucia. Their anniversary party. Public humiliation. Alex tried to stop it. Drove to the venue. But he was too late. People were leaving. Talking. Gossiping. "Did you see her face?" "So embarrassing." He grabbed someone. "Where did Lucia go?" "She ran out. In the rain." He searched. Drove through streets. Panicking. Then he saw her. On the bridge. Climbing the railing. His heart stopped. He ran. Grabbed her wrist just as she fell. And now she was here. In his house. A second chance. He didn't deserve it. But he had her here. That's what mattered. A knock on his office door. "Dad?" Lena. He unlocked the door. She walked in. Looked at him. "You didn't sleep," she said. "I'm fine." "You always say that." She sat across from his desk. "We need to talk about Lucia." "What about her?" "I saw your face this morning. When you looked at her. I've never seen you look at anyone like that. Not even Mom." Alex's chest tightened. "Lena." "Tell me the truth. Who is she?" He sat down. "We were friends. I told you that." "Friends don't look at each other the way you looked at her." Smart kid. Too smart. "She was my best friend. Growing up." "And?" "And I fell in love with her. In high school." Lena leaned forward. "Did you tell her?" "No." "Why not?" "Because I was poor. She was rich. I had nothing." "That's stupid." "Maybe. But that's how it felt." Alex looked at his hands. "Then she met Marco in college. He had everything I didn't." "So you left." "Yeah." "And now she's here." "Yeah." "Do you still love her?" The question hung there. Heavy. "Yeah," Alex whispered. "I never stopped." Lena was quiet. Then. "How did you find her last night? On that bridge?" Alex went cold. "What?" "You just happened to be driving by? That's a pretty big coincidence, Dad." He couldn't lie to her. "I've been keeping track of her. For years. Through an investigator." Lena's eyes widened. "You've been stalking her?" "Not stalking. Making sure she was okay." "Dad. That's literally stalking." "I know. I know it sounds bad. But I needed to know she was safe." "And when you found out about Marco cheating?" "I tried to stop it. Tried to get there before he humiliated her. But I was too late." "So you went looking for her." "Thomas said she left the party. I drove around. Then I saw her on the bridge." Lena stood. Walked to the window. "This is a lot, Dad." "I know." "Does she know? About the investigator? About you watching her?" "No. And she can't know. Not now." "You have to tell her eventually." "I know." "If she finds out on her own, she'll hate you." "I know that too." Alex stood. Walked over to his daughter. "But right now, she needs stability. Not more chaos. Not more betrayal." "You think she'll see it as betrayal?" "Probably." "Do you think she ever loved you? Back then?" The question hurt. He'd asked himself that a thousand times. "I don't know. She never said anything. Never gave any sign." "Or maybe she did love you and you were both too scared to say it." Worse thought. That they could have had something. That he'd wasted years because he was a coward. "Doesn't matter now," Alex said. "She's healing. That's important." "When are you going to tell her?" Lena asked. "About your feelings? About everything?" "Not now." "When?" "I don't know. When she's stronger." "What if she's never ready?" "Then I'll keep it to myself. Like I have for thirty-three years." Lena turned to face him. "That's sad, Dad." "Maybe. But her happiness matters more." "Mom knew, didn't she? About Lucia?" Alex nodded. "Yeah. Sandra knew." "Did she mind?" "She said she didn't. Said she understood. That people carry ghosts. That loving someone unavailable doesn't mean you can't love someone else." "Do you think she was happy? With you?" "I hope so. I tried to make her happy. I really did love her, Lena. Your mom was incredible. Patient. Kind." "But?" "But she wasn't Lucia." The words came out broken. "And that's not fair. To her memory. To you. But it's the truth." Lena walked over. Hugged him. "I'm not mad, Dad. I just want you to be happy. Really happy." "I am happy. I have you." "You know what I mean." He did. "Give it time," he said. "Let Lucia heal. Then maybe." "Promise me you'll tell her. Eventually. About everything." "Lena." "Promise me, Dad. She deserves the truth." He closed his eyes. "I promise. When the time is right." "Good." She pulled back. "Now go shower. You smell like stress." He laughed. First real laugh in days. "I'm serious. Go. I'll make sure Lucia has everything she needs." "Don't tell her anything." "I won't. But you will. Soon." She left. Alex walked back to his desk. Looked at the monitor. Lucia was awake. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking lost. His heart ached. Thirty-three years he'd loved her. Thirty-three years of silence. Maybe Lena was right. Maybe he needed to tell her. But not now. Not when she was broken. He'd wait. Be patient. Be there. And hope. Hope that eventually she might see him as more than just her childhood friend who saved her life. Hope that eventually she might love him back. But even if she didn't. He'd still be here. Still protect her. Because that's what you did when you loved someone. You stayed. Even when it hurt. Even when it was hopeless. You stayed. Chapter 5 Lucia sat on the bed. Her phone in her hand. Staring at the screen. She shouldn't do this. She knew she shouldn't. But her fingers moved anyway. Opening Instagram. Typing in Ria's username. The profile loaded. Public. Of course. Photos filled the screen. Recent ones. From yesterday. Her breath caught. There. A video. Posted three hours ago. She clicked it. Laughter came first. Happy laughter. Then the image loaded. Marco. Margaret. And all three kids. Sitting around a table. Pizza boxes open. Everyone smiling. "Say hi to everyone!" Ria's voice. She was recording. "Hi!" Monica waved at the camera. Big smile. Lucas gave a thumbs up. Grinning. Margaret leaned into Marco. "We're having the best family night!" Family night. Lucia's hands shook. "Margaret makes the best homemade cookies," Monica said. "Way better than Mom's store bought ones." The words stabbed. "And she actually listens when we talk," Ria added. "Like really listens. Not just pretending while looking at her phone." Lucia never looked at her phone during conversations. Never. "Plus she's cool," Lucas said. "She gets us. You know?" Margaret laughed. Kissed Marco's cheek. "These kids are amazing. I'm so lucky." The video ended. Lucia stared at the black screen. Her reflection stared back. Pale. Hollow. She scrolled down. More photos. Margaret braiding Monica's hair. Margaret and Ria shopping. Matching bags. Lucas teaching Margaret how to play video games. All posted today. Captions about how wonderful Margaret was. Not one mention of Lucia. Her chest hurt. Like something inside was tearing. She kept scrolling. Couldn't stop. Another video. Margaret's account. "My new family!" Margaret's voice. Cheerful. Sweet. The camera panned. Marco cooking. The kids setting the table. "I've always wanted kids," Margaret said. "And now I have three perfect ones. Dreams really do come true!" Lucia's phone slipped from her fingers. Fell onto the bed. She couldn't breathe. They replaced her. Two days. Two days and they'd already replaced her. A sound came from her throat. Half sob. Half scream. She grabbed a pillow. Pressed it to her face. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was a bad mother. Maybe Margaret was better. No. No. But look at them. Look how happy they were. The tears came. Loud. Ugly. A knock on the door. Soft. She didn't answer. The door opened anyway. "Lucia?" Alex. She couldn't look at him. "Hey." His voice got closer. "What happened?" She shook her head. The bed dipped. He sat beside her. "Talk to me," he said. She lowered the pillow. Her face was wet. "I looked at their social media," she whispered. "The kids." Alex's jaw tightened. "What did you see?" "They're with Marco. And her. Margaret. They posted videos. They look. They look so." She couldn't say it. Alex picked up her phone. Looked at the screen. His face went hard. "This is cruel," he said. "Maybe it's true." The words came out broken. "Maybe I was a terrible mother. Maybe they're better off." "Stop." "Look at them, Alex. They don't miss me at all." "They're kids being manipulated." "They chose her." "They chose what's easier. That doesn't make you bad." Lucia pulled her knees to her chest. "I should call them. Maybe if I just. If I explain." "Explain what? They don't want to hear it." The bluntness hurt. But it was true. She grabbed her phone. Opened it. Stared at Monica's number. What would she even say? Please love me again? Please remember I'm your mother? Her finger hovered over the call button. "Don't," Alex said quietly. She put the phone down. Face down. Alex was quiet. Then he stood. Walked to the window. "I have an idea," he said. "But you'll probably think I'm insane." She looked up. "What?" He turned to face her. Hesitated. Like he was debating something. "Disappear," he finally said. "What?" "Leave. Go somewhere far. Reinvent yourself. Come back when you're ready." "I can't just leave." "Why not? What's keeping you here?" The question hung there. What was keeping her? Nothing. Nobody wanted her here. "Where would I even go?" she asked. Alex took a breath. "Germany. I have a villa there. Countryside. Quiet. You could stay as long as you need." Germany. Another country. "And do what?" "Learn. Transform." He walked back over. Sat on the bed again. "I can teach you about business. Finance. How money works. You could come back different. Stronger." "Why would I need to know about business?" Alex hesitated again. Like he was afraid to tell her. "Marco is hiding assets offshore," he finally said. Lucia stared at him. "What?" "I had Thomas dig deeper. Marco has accounts in the Cayman Islands. Properties under shell companies. He's been planning this." Her stomach turned. "How long?" "At least five years." Five years. "The affair. The quick wedding. It's all calculated." Alex's voice was steady. "He wants to marry Margaret fast. Lock everything down before you can do anything." "He's going to marry her?" "Already applied for the license. Wedding next month." Next month. Their divorce wasn't even final. "How do you know all this?" she asked. "Thomas is good at his job." "You've been investigating Marco?" "Yes." She should be angry. Should feel violated. But she just felt. Tired. "What else?" "Marco's company. I own shares. Thirty percent." Lucia looked at him. "Thirty?" "I'm the second largest shareholder. Marco doesn't know. The shares are under a holding company." "Why are you telling me this?" Alex looked down at his hands. "Because I can help you. If you want. I can give you leverage. Information. Everything you need to fight back." Fight back. She'd never fought back against anything. "I don't know how to fight," she said. "I'll teach you." "In Germany." "Yes." She stood up. Walked to the window. Looked out at the gardens. Six months in another country. Learning things she didn't understand. Coming back. For what? "What if I come back and nothing changes?" she asked. "What if I'm still nobody? What if they still don't want me?" "Then at least you'll be somebody who chose to fight." "But what if I don't want to fight? What if I just want my kids back?" The words cracked on the way out. Alex stood. Walked over. Stood beside her. "You can't make people love you," he said quietly. "Not even your kids. But you can make them respect you. You can make them regret what they did." "Is that enough?" "I don't know. But it's better than this." She looked at him. Really looked. He looked scared. Like he was afraid she'd say no. Like this mattered to him more than he was saying. "Why do you care so much?" she asked. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away. "Because you deserve better," he finally said. "You always did." The air between them felt charged. "If I do this," she said slowly. "If I go. What happens to me?" "What do you mean?" "I'll be alone. In a foreign country. Learning things I don't understand. What if I can't do it? What if I fail?" "You won't." "You don't know that." "No. But I believe it." She wanted to believe it too. But believing meant hoping. And hoping meant risking more pain. "I'm scared," she whispered. "I know." "What if they're right about me? What if I really am that terrible?" "You're not." "How do you know?" "Because I've known you for thirty-three years. And you've never been terrible. Not once." The words hit something in her chest. She looked back out the window. The sun was setting. Orange and pink. Tomorrow she could leave. Start over. Become someone new. Or she could stay. Keep crying. Keep checking their social media. Keep hurting. She thought about Monica's laugh in that video. Lucas's smile. Ria's happiness. They were fine without her. Better even. Something inside her shifted. Hardened. "Okay," she said. "Okay?" "Yeah. Germany. All of it." Alex's face changed. Relief. "You won't regret this." "I already regret everything else." He almost smiled. She looked down at her phone. Still on the bed. Still showing her kids with someone else. "I want them to see," she said. Voice quiet. "I want them to see me different. Strong. Someone they can't ignore." "They will." "And Marco. I want him to know he made a mistake." "He will." She didn't know if she believed him. But she wanted to. "When do we leave?" she asked. "Two days. I need to arrange some things first." Two days. "What about Lena?" "She's excited. Already packing." Of course she was. Lucia picked up her phone. Looked at it one last time. Then she deleted Instagram. Done watching. Done hurting. "Teach me everything," she said. Looking at Alex. "I want to know how to win." "I will." Outside, the sun disappeared. Darkness came. But for the first time in days, Lucia didn't feel afraid of it. She felt ready for it. Chapter 6 Sleep refused to come. Lucia paced her bedroom, bare feet silent on thick carpet. Each passing minute brought images she couldn't escape. Marco. Margaret. The kids. She paused at the window, pressing her palm against the cool glass. The gardens stretched out below, dark and quiet. Germany. A new identity. The chance to rebuild. Images from the past days swirled in her mind. Marco's cold face at the anniversary party. Margaret's victorious smile. The kids choosing her. Choosing to discard their own mother. She moved to the dresser where she had left her phone. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up again. One call. That's all it would take. One call to Monica. To beg. To plead. Please remember I'm your mother. But what would that accomplish? They'd made their choice. Clearly. Publicly. Cruelly. Lucia set the phone down, turning instead to face the mirror. The woman staring back looked hollow. Defeated. Used up. Is this who she was now? Who she'd always been? A woman so easily replaced? No. Not anymore. The truth hit her with sudden clarity. Marco hadn't just taken her marriage. He'd stolen her children. Poisoned them against her. Made them participants in her destruction. They needed to learn. All of them. That people couldn't be discarded without consequences. Morning found Lucia seated in the kitchen. She had dressed in the borrowed clothes, simple t-shirt and jeans. Her hair hung loose around her face. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Alex approaching. He carried two mugs, steam rising. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, offering her one of the mugs. "No." She accepted the coffee, grateful for its warmth. Alex sat across from her at the island. "Did you think about what we discussed?" Lucia took a deep breath. "I want to leave today." Alex looked at her. "Today?" "Yes. I can't stay here anymore. Every second in this city, I feel like I'm drowning." "We can leave today," Alex said. "I'll make the arrangements." Relief washed through her. "Thank you." "What about your belongings? From the house?" The thought of going back there made her stomach turn. "I don't want anything from that place." "You'll need clothes." "Then I'll get new ones. In Germany. I want a completely fresh start." Alex studied her face. "You're sure?" "I've never been more sure of anything." Lucia's voice was steady. "For seventeen years, I've been living half a life. Being what Marco wanted. What the kids needed. What everyone expected. I forgot how to be just Lucia." "And now?" "Now I want to remember." She set her mug down. "I want to discover who I am without them. And then I want them to see that woman when it's too late." Alex nodded slowly. "It won't be easy." "I don't want easy." Lucia stood, restless energy filling her. "I want to grow. I want to transform. I want..." "Justice," Alex supplied quietly. She met his gaze. "Yes. Is that wrong?" "No." He rose to stand before her. "It's human. They hurt you deliberately. Wanting them to feel consequences doesn't make you a bad person." "Monica laughed," Lucia whispered. "My baby. She laughed when I signed those papers." Alex's hands twitched at his sides. "Children can be cruel." "This wasn't childish thoughtlessness. This was calculated." Her voice hardened. "They participated in destroying me. And they need to learn I won't be destroyed so easily." A smile curved Alex's lips. "There she is. The Lucia I remember. The fighter." "Was I? A fighter?" Lucia searched his face. "Sometimes I can't remember who I was before Marco." "You were magnificent," Alex said simply. "Fierce. The girl who defended me against bullies. Who stood up for what was right." His words sparked something inside her. A memory of the girl she had been. The one with dreams. The one who didn't back down. "I want to be her again," Lucia said. "Not exactly the same. But I want to find that strength. That sense of self." Alex nodded. "Then that's what we'll do. We can leave this afternoon. The villa is ready." "What about my legal situation? The divorce?" "My attorneys can handle everything. Marco won't be able to rush through without proper proceedings." "And my things from the house?" "I could send someone to retrieve them. Marco wouldn't know." The offer tempted her. Her books. Her photos. Small treasures. But something stopped her. "No," she said finally. "Let them go. They're part of the old Lucia. She doesn't exist anymore." Alex studied her. "Some of those things have sentimental value." Lucia thought of the photo albums. The children's artwork. Family souvenirs. Each one a knife now. "The memories aren't in the objects. They're here." She touched her chest. "I'm taking them with me. Both the good and the bad." Alex nodded, respect in his gaze. "I'll tell Lena our plans." "Lena is coming?" "She insisted. She's quite taken with you." The words touched Lucia deeply. This girl who barely knew her cared more than her own children. Footsteps on the stairs. Lena appeared, face brightening when she spotted them. "You're both up early!" Alex turned to his daughter. "Lucia has decided to come with us. We're leaving this afternoon." Lena's eyes widened. "Really? That's amazing!" She rushed forward to hug Lucia. "You won't regret it." Lucia returned the embrace, surprised by how natural it felt. "I'm glad you're coming." "I wouldn't miss it." Lena stepped back. "What about Marco and the kids?" The direct question might have seemed insensitive from anyone else. "I don't know exactly," Lucia admitted. "I know I want consequences. I know I want them to realize what they threw away. But the exact form..." She shook her head. "I need time." Lena nodded. "The best plans aren't rushed. They're crafted carefully." Alex shot his daughter a look. "Lena." "What? I'm just being honest." Lena shrugged. "Lucia deserves justice." "It's alright," Lucia assured Alex. "She's right. I don't want blind revenge. I want them to face the natural consequences of their choices. To realize exactly what they lost." The conversation shifted to practicalities. What Lucia would need. How long they might stay. Managing the divorce remotely. Throughout the discussion, Lucia felt something shifting inside her. Each decision removed another weight from her shoulders. She was choosing her path now. Not following Marco's lead or the kids' needs. For the first time in years, Lucia was putting herself first. After breakfast, she returned to her room. Her few belongings fit into the small bag Alex had given her. The physical reminder of how little she had left was sobering. But also freeing. She was traveling light into her new life. Unburdened. As she zipped the bag, Lucia caught sight of her reflection. The woman gazing back seemed different already. Posture straighter. Eyes clearer. Jaw set with determination. Not yet the woman she would become. But no longer the woman Marco had discarded. This afternoon, she would board a plane to Germany. Would begin remaking herself far from their reach. Would learn about business, about power, about strength. And one day, when she was ready, when she had transformed, she would return. Would face Marco and the children not as the desperate woman they cast aside, but as someone they barely recognized. Someone they underestimated. Someone who survived and emerged stronger. They thought they knew Lucia Hart. Soon, they would meet Lucia Smith. And nothing would ever be the same.

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Four years in prison forged her into steel. Now she’s back—beautiful, brilliant, and utterly untouchable. ===== Chapter 1 Four Years After Her Imprisonment Inside Wront Prison, the July heat hung so heavy that it was hard to breathe. Just as she let her sleeve drop to cover the glaring scar on her arm, Maia Watson -- once known as Maia Morgan -- heard a correctional officer call out, "Maia, someone from the Morgan family is here to pick you up!" Her hand froze midway through the motion. Hearing "Morgan family" again was like tasting something bitter and familiar all at once. She had once been the daughter of the Morgan family. Everything fell apart four years ago, when the police knocked on their door and announced they'd tracked down Richard Morgan and Sandra Morgan's real daughter -- Rosanna Morgan. In the blink of an eye, Maia's identity was ripped away. She was branded a fraud, a fake. Her real parents had died long ago. To keep up appearances, the Morgans made a show of acceptance. They told the world that they still saw Maia as family. But anyone who had watched them for seventeen years would know better. Richard and Sandra had always been preoccupied with business ventures. Maia had been more like a guest in their home than a daughter. Then Rosanna came back, and suddenly, their entire world revolved around her. Then came the incident with Radiant Jewels. Rosanna stole a prized treasure and pinned the blame on Maia. It was an obvious setup, but the Morgans didn't care. They believed Rosanna without question. In fact, they helped her. They made public accusations and did it with such ease that Maia never stood a chance. Radiant Jewels belonged to the Cooper Group. The Coopers weren't just powerful. In Wront, they were practically royalty. The Morgans couldn't risk offending them -- not for someone who wasn't even their real daughter. They erased Maia's name from the Morgan family, told the public that she was taken in from a struggling family called the Watsons, and sent her straight to prison. At the memory, Maia's knuckles tightened until her nails bit into her skin. She had survived four years behind bars for a crime Rosanna committed. And now, that sentence was over. She was finally getting out. ... Just beyond the prison gates, the crowd of reporters buzzed with restless energy. Heat rippled through the air, and impatience showed on every face. Then, at last, the massive gates creaked open. Maia walked out into the sunlight, dressed in the same plain outfit she wore the day she was locked away. The second Sandra caught sight of Maia, her face lit up like she had just spotted a long-lost child. She rushed over, surrounded by a swarm of reporters waving microphones and flashing cameras. Maia watched the entire spectacle and nearly rolled her eyes. "Maia, my dear daughter, I came to bring you home," Sandra said, her voice catching as tears shimmered in her eyes. Even a few of the reporters nearby couldn't help but murmur in sympathy at the emotional performance. Unfazed, Maia stared her down and said coldly, "You must be mistaken, Mrs. Morgan. I'm not your daughter." Sandra stiffened where she stood. She quickly recovered and painted sorrow across her face. "How could you say that, Maia? I was the one who raised you. You lived under my roof for more than ten years. I've never once stopped thinking of you as my daughter." Maia's lips twitched into a cold smirk. "Is that right? Then remind me -- four years ago, when you framed me and cast me out, didn't you call me a Watson? You let me go to prison without a second thought. I stopped being your daughter the day you erased me from your family." Framed? To top it off, they said she wasn't even a Morgan -- she was a Watson? Maia's few words hit like a bomb. Reporters traded stunned looks, then chaos broke loose as they rushed forward, shoving microphones closer, eager to catch every word. With cameras pointed her way, Sandra had no room to lash out. Her face tightened, but she forced down the anger bubbling inside. Right then, a voice sliced through the commotion. "Maia! What kind of lies are you feeding everyone? The treasure from Radiant Jewels was found right in your bag -- you were caught red-handed! How dare you claim you were framed? You spent four years behind bars, and we still dragged ourselves through this heat to pick you up. And this is how you thank us? You sound like someone spitting at the hand that once fed you!" Jarrod Morgan was the one speaking -- the oldest son of Sandra and Richard. Maia had always thought of him as a big brother. But when the truth was twisted against her, he turned on her without hesitation to defend Rosanna, even going as far as shoving her to the floor. She had landed hard. Her arm struck the sharp corner of a table, ripping her skin open and leaving behind a scar that never truly faded. That infamous jewel? Rosanna had slipped it into Maia's bag while she was washing her hands in the restroom. At the time, Maia had genuinely believed that Rosanna meant well. She had seemed warm, honest, and eager to be friends. That was why, when Rosanna offered to help, Maia handed her the bag without a second guess. The thought that someone so soft-spoken and sweet could harbor such petty cruelty had never crossed Maia's mind. The reason behind it was that she saw Maia as a threat. Afraid that Maia might become more beloved in the Morgan family, Rosanna decided to eliminate her. That was the day Maia's eyes were opened to the truth about the Morgan family. Since then, her heart had been hardened by betrayal. "She must still be upset with me. That's why she's twisting everything..." Rosanna clung to Jarrod, her voice trembling as her lashes fluttered through misty eyes. "Maia, I swear I never came back to steal your place in the family. Please don't hate me for this." Tears spilled down her cheeks as her slender frame shook. Jarrod couldn't stand to see her cry. He pulled her close and said, "This isn't on you, Rosanna. Maia stole a life that was rightfully yours for seventeen years. She's the one who did wrong. If she can't admit it, then maybe more time behind bars will teach her." "That's enough!" Sandra gave him a sharp look, flicking her eyes toward the hovering press. With this many cameras rolling, she couldn't afford to lose control. Facing the press, she quickly put on a diplomatic smile. "It's been four years since Maia lived with us. She's clearly still adjusting, and I can understand her emotions. If she can acknowledge her mistakes and show some changes, she'll always be part of my family." Part of her family? Maia let out a laugh that was anything but amused. She arched a brow and looked her dead in the eye. "Mrs. Morgan, didn't you sign off on the paperwork that cut all ties between us? Is that it? You're saying you actually want me back in your family now?" Chapter 2 Her Husband Sandra's face darkened instantly. Back then, in order to cut off any connection with Maia, the Morgans had forced her to sign a severance document -- with a representative from the Cooper Group as witness, just to clear their name from any future accusations. It had been an act of desperation, not dignity. A swarm of reporters rushed in, shoving microphones toward Sandra. "Mrs. Morgan, is this true? You once said you wouldn't abandon Maia, that she was still your daughter even after reuniting with your biological child." Trying to keep her composure, Sandra mustered a smile that barely held. "That's… not true. Of course not." With a sly grin, Maia said, "So, Mrs. Morgan, do you have the nerve to call someone from the Cooper Group and find out if that severance document exists or not?" "Maia, don't go too far! The people from the Cooper Group aren't someone we can just summon at will!" Jarrod shouted, his anger flaring from the sidelines. With a smug tilt of her brow, Maia glanced his way. "So you're admitting you won't call them." Jarrod was left speechless. The image they had worked so hard to maintain was starting to fall apart, and Sandra scrambled to play the sympathy card. Her body shook with a sudden cough, loud and dramatic. Catching on quickly, Rosanna hurried to her mother's side and rubbed her back in gentle circles. "Mom, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Her gaze then shifted to Maia, filled with exaggerated grievance. "She's been worried sick ever since you were locked up. She cries every night, Maia. The doctor warned us that her health is getting worse. And if you still care -- even a little -- for everything she did for you growing up, don't make this harder. Just come back with us." Maia felt nauseated by Rosanna's pretentious act. Come back with them? Those words used to bring comfort to her. But now, they meant nothing anymore. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up with them again. There was no mistaking the resolve etched across her face. "That girl you all knew -- she died four years ago. And the Morgans were the ones who buried her." Maia said her piece, then strode through the crowd and walked away without looking back. The moment she was gone, Sandra dropped to the ground, putting on a show of sobs like her heart had just shattered. She took a dramatic, deep breath before collapsing in a faint. Panic erupted instantly as gasps and shouts filled the scene. Wasting no time, Jarrod lifted Sandra into his arms, while Rosanna trailed right behind him. The second the car doors shut and the cameras were behind them, Sandra's eyes snapped open, and she straightened up without effort. Had she not faked that collapse, everything might've unraveled beyond repair. This whole mess, in her mind, traced back to one person -- Maia. They had shown up at the prison, making a public effort to welcome her back with grace. And how did she respond? By dragging the entire Morgan name through the dirt in front of a crowd. There wasn't a single ounce of gratitude in that girl. "She's outrageous! We gave her everything and she turns on us like this!" Jarrod cursed angrily, gripping the steering wheel. The warmth in Sandra's face vanished, replaced by a sudden chill in her eyes. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "No money. A criminal record that sticks to her like glue. She's got nothing to her name. Without us, she's done. There's no doubt Maia will return -- and when she does, I'll have more than enough ways to handle her!" ... Later that afternoon, Maia stood alone in front of City Hall in Wront, with some documents required for marriage registration in her handbag. There was still time before her appointment, so she leaned casually against a tree, eyes downcast, thoughts drifting far from the present. Back when she first stepped into prison four years ago, the torment seemed relentless, etched into every corner of her memory. one night, when she was nearly beaten within an inch of her life, someone had stepped in to save her. It wasn't a guard. It was a woman -- an inmate with more influence than anyone else. Her cell looked more like a private suite, and even the correctional officers stayed out of her way. Most inmates feared her and kept far out of her path. But for some reason, she had taken an interest in Maia. She offered protection -- but it came with a condition. If Maia wanted that safety, she had to accept a marriage agreement and carry out a task afterward. Back then, trapped in a nightmare with no way out, Maia had no room to refuse. Survival meant sacrifice. Without hesitation, she agreed to the deal and pledged her loyalty to the woman who'd saved her. Fulfilling that promise had become her top priority now that she was free. That meant going through with the marriage agreement she'd accepted in prison. Not far away, a stretch Rolls-Royce Phantom was parked in the shadows. "Is that the one your aunt picked for you to marry, sir?" asked Brad Curtis, Chris Cooper's special assistant. The view through the car window revealed a woman with lowered eyes and a slim frame. Dressed in a plain white shirt and low-rise jeans, she moved with ease. When she stretched, her slim waist showed for just a moment. There was a boldness in her silence. An edge of defiance that didn't ask for approval. Pretty as she was, her past carried a criminal record that couldn't be ignored. Brad couldn't understand why Zoey Cooper had pushed for this match. What could she possibly see in a woman who had served time? Even more puzzling was the fact that Chris hadn't objected. Reclining in the back seat, Chris rested his arm with easy confidence, his rolled-up sleeve showing off a well-toned forearm. His eyes, narrowed slightly, settled on the woman's exposed waist, and an amused glint danced across his face. Without a word, he shoved the car door open and stepped out. "Are you Miss Maia Watson?" Maia turned when she heard someone call her name. She stood still for a second, caught off guard. A man in a fitted black shirt stood before her, tall enough to block the sun from her face. He looked unreal. Handsome in a way that made her pause. Each feature flawless, almost sculpted. Could this really be the illegitimate son of the Cooper family Zoey had mentioned? The one with a bad reputation and a trail of reckless rumors following him? A flicker of discomfort ran through her chest. "Are you... Mr. Chris Cooper?" she asked, uncertain. He gave her a small nod. Her eyes wandered back to him, studying every detail. His clothes were simple, but something refined clung to him. That faint smile hovered on his lips, never quite touching his eyes, leaving just enough mystery to stir her curiosity. "You've been staring for a while now, Miss Watson." Chris let out a soft laugh. Snapping out of it, Maia quickly turned her head, realizing just how obvious she'd been. "My bad… Should we head inside?" she asked, trying to recover. Together, they made their way into City Hall. When they came back out, a marriage certificate rested in Chris' hand. "I'll keep my end of the bargain, Mr. Cooper. Once Zoey's request is fulfilled, I won't stick around. I'll file for divorce right after," Maia said. Feelings weren't part of their arrangement, and she wasn't delusional. Most men wouldn't sign up for a life with someone who had a prison record. Chris tilted his head, casting her a look. Her dark hair danced in the breeze, and while her face was striking, there was something clear and honest in her eyes. Instead of answering her directly, he asked, "Is my aunt doing okay in there?" Thrown off by the change in topic, Maia answered quickly, "She's healthy. Nothing bad has happened to her." After a short pause, she pressed her lips together. Truth be told, Zoey didn't just survive in prison -- she thrived. It was practically her comfort zone. "Glad to hear it." Chris didn't ask anything more. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek credit card, and handed it to her. "Here. A little something to welcome you in." Maia shook her head, hands raised in protest. "That's not necessary. I've got my own money." Sure, they were now legally married, but it was still their first day meeting. And from what Zoey had shared, Chris might've had the Cooper name, but he was treated like an outsider. His standing in the family and at the Cooper Group was practically nonexistent. From what she'd heard, he held no serious job title and spent most days drifting aimlessly. She figured that he probably didn't have much saved up either. The thought of accepting anything from him made her uncomfortable. But Chris didn't waver. He took her hand, placed the card firmly in her palm, and didn't let go. His eyes locked onto hers -- cool, enigmatic, and impossible to read. "We just completed the marriage registration, which technically makes me your husband now. That gives you every right to use my money. Or is it that you're turning it down because you're not ready to admit I'm your husband?" Hearing that word -- husband -- sent a faint flush across Maia's otherwise composed features. "I'm not saying that..." Maia began, trying to explain, but her voice trailed off before she could land on the right words. Without another word, she took the card and gave him a quiet, polite thank you. Seeing her relent, Chris showed a smile of approval. "So, where are you heading? I'll give you a ride." At that moment, a weight settled in Maia's chest. Her plan was to return to the Morgan family home. It wasn't the house she cared about. What mattered was the bracelet -- the last gift to her from her grandmother, Vicki Morgan. Back when Richard and Sandra treated her like an afterthought, Vicki had been the one constant. She had taught Maia everything from table manners to standing tall in a crowd. Though no blood tied them together, Vicki's love had been as real as any grandmother's. Maia knew, without doubt, that if Vicki had still been alive, she would've defended her with everything she had. That thought brought a quiet ache Maia didn't show. Still, she shook it off and gave Chris a calm smile. "There's something I need to handle, Mr. Cooper. I'll be fine on my own." "No problem. Just call if you need anything." He handed her his number, then stayed behind as she walked off. When her silhouette finally disappeared around the corner, he glanced down at the marriage certificate still in his hand. A knowing smile curved his lips. Divorce? Not happening. Nobody could guess how long he'd been waiting for this moment. Chapter 3 Returning To The Morgan Estate Again Maia stood outside Vista Villas, her finger pressing the doorbell of the Morgan estate. She had picked this time carefully -- she remembered how afternoons were usually quiet, each family member off chasing their own distractions. When the door creaked open, it was Tricia Scott, the longtime housekeeper. Her eyes flew wide at the sight. "Is that really you, Miss Morgan? I... I can't believe you're here!" The moment the words spilled out, Tricia covered her mouth with her hand, instantly regretting them. The title belonged to Rosanna now. As far as the Morgans were concerned, Maia didn't exist anymore. And if Rosanna happened to hear how Tricia had spoken to Maia, the fallout would be brutal. With a quiet, measured tone, Maia said, "I'm just here to pick up a few of my things." Then she walked in as if she'd never been gone. Just as she'd expected, the place felt empty -- eerily so. No voices, no footsteps. As she made her way toward the stairs, Tricia rushed after her in a fluster. "Miss... uh, Maia, what exactly are you looking for? I can help you search." "It's alright, Tricia. Everything I need should still be in my room. I'll just be a moment." But before she could take another step, Tricia blocked her path. Her gaze darted everywhere but Maia's face. "Well, um… about that…" A crease formed on Maia's forehead. Something didn't sit right. Her voice lost its calm edge. "Tricia, what happened?" With her shoulders sinking, Tricia finally gave in. A weary sigh escaped her. "Miss Morgan cleared everything out after you were imprisoned. And your old room -- it's not yours anymore. It's just a storage room now." Maia froze. Her eyes grew wide, disbelief settling in. "Everything?" So was the bracelet that Vicki had given her thrown away, too? A slow, regretful nod from Tricia confirmed what Maia had feared. The truth hit Maia hard, sudden and brutal, like a lightning strike. Someone like Rosanna wouldn't have had the guts to toss out her things unless Richard and Sandra were in on it too. Trembling from head to toe, Maia clenched her fists tight. That bracelet had been Vicki's last gift to her -- a symbol of love in a house that had offered her none. Anger swelled inside her, fierce and uncontrollable. She had tried to walk away from the Morgan family, to leave the past buried. But now, all that anger came roaring back. From behind, a voice she hadn't missed in the slightest cut through the room. "I knew you'd show your face again, Maia!" Maia turned to look. Jarrod was there, standing a short distance away, that same smug grin plastered across his face. Rosanna was by Sandra's side, gripping her arm as if playing the dutiful daughter for the cameras no one could see. Without saying another word, Tricia slipped out of the room, sensing the tension. Jarrod closed the space between them, towering slightly over Maia as he looked down with smug contempt. "You were really bold outside the prison this morning. What's the deal now? Sneaking back in like this? Let me guess. With a record like yours, no one's gonna hire you. So you came crawling back. We're the only ones still willing to throw you a scrap, aren't we?" With a lifted brow and a voice filled with sarcasm, he said, "Here's a thought -- admit everything now. Post a public apology to the Morgan family, and maybe we'll let you stick around out of pity. Sound fair?" Jarrod had been simmering with rage ever since that morning. That stunt Maia pulled with the press had bruised the Morgan name, and while he hadn't lashed out then, he was done holding it in. Now that she had walked straight into their home, he planned to crush whatever defiance she still had left from prison. Putting Maia in her place felt long overdue, and now that she had returned to the house, Jarrod believed it was his right to set her straight. An apology, a fresh start, and keeping her distance from Rosanna -- that was all it would take for him to consider letting Maia back into the family. The cost of keeping her around barely made a dent in the Morgan finances. Feeding her and offering shelter was no different from tossing away loose change. Still, even freeloaders usually had the sense to be polite. A bit of humility wasn't too much to expect. But Maia acted like the world owed her a debt. That attitude made his blood boil. When Maia stepped forward, Jarrod lifted a brow and folded his arms, fully expecting her to stop and beg for forgiveness. Instead, she walked right past him without a single glance, heading straight toward Rosanna. His smugness vanished in an instant. Then again, Rosanna was the one Maia had insulted publicly. Maybe this was her way of making things right. But what came out of Maia's mouth next shattered that assumption. "Where are my things, Rosanna?" Rosanna stiffened on the spot. A flicker of surprise passed through her eyes before she painted on a look of pure innocence. "What things? Maia, I have no idea what you're going on about." A cold fire lit up Maia's eyes, the kind that didn't just glare -- it cut. Her stare locked onto Rosanna like a blade, and her tone came out flat, stripped of emotion. "This is the last time I'll ask. Where did you put everything that was in my room?" Instantly, Rosanna's face crumpled into a pitiful expression, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't mean anything by it, Maia. I just… I thought they'd wear out if I left them there too long. I figured I'd replace them once you came back, so I--" Before she could finish, a loud slap cracked through the room, cutting the air like lightning. Chapter 4 It Ends Here Rosanna's cheek flared red with a vivid mark where Maia's hand had struck. Frozen in disbelief, she barely registered Maia's voice cutting through the moment like a whip. "Who gave you the right to go through my things?" Jarrod's expression twisted in shock, his eyes darkening with fury. In a rush, he moved in front of Rosanna, shielding her with his body. One look at her tear-streaked face, swollen from the rising bruise on her cheek, and something snapped inside him. His hands curled into fists. Maia striking Rosanna was enough to make his blood boil. It was clear she had no respect for him whatsoever. If she wouldn't listen, he'd make her. Today, she'd pay for that disrespect. He raised his hand, ready to strike -- but before it could fall, Maia's hand shot up and caught his wrist, stopping him cold. With one swift motion, she shoved him hard. Jarrod stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance. He stared, stunned, at the woman standing before him. The person he saw now felt like a stranger. The Maia he remembered had always trailed after him when he occasionally visited home, like a little shadow. But that version of her no longer existed. Four years behind bars had carved out someone sharper, someone who stood on her own. Where had this strength come from? He couldn't say. Back in her early days in prison, Maia faced constant bullying and abuse -- fresh bruises forming before the old ones even had a chance to fade. Still, she never cried for help. Never lowered her head. One day, pushed too far, she snapped. With pure rage, she sank her teeth into the prison's top dog and wrestled her to the floor. Blow after blow landed on her back, but Maia never let go. Over time, and with Zoey's relentless training, Maia sharpened her instincts and became a fighter no one dared to provoke. Eventually, the threats faded. She'd earned both her place and their fear. Jarrod stayed put, placing himself between Maia and Rosanna, his glare sharp and unwavering. "Maia, you've completely lost it! We're talking about some old clothes and random junk -- nothing worth a fight! And you hit Rosanna over that? Apologize. Now!" Maia's sudden outburst caught Sandra off guard. After a short pause, she wrapped Rosanna in her arms, worry etched across her face. She glared furiously at Maia as she said, "I'm the one who gave permission to throw out your things! Rosanna only meant well. She was going to buy everything back -- new and fresh -- so you wouldn't be haunted by the past! But you? You didn't just reject that. You hit her! After everything, I never thought you'd sink this low. Maia, you've truly disappointed me!" Disappointed? A cold laugh slipped from Maia's lips. That same line had been used four years ago -- right after they framed her. They'd shielded Rosanna back then too. And Maia? She'd been the target. If anyone deserved to feel disappointed, it was Maia. She had already buried every last bit of hope she once held for the Morgan family. Her eyes settled on Sandra -- the woman she used to call "Mom." There was a time Maia loved and respected Sandra, even if Sandra rarely showed she cared. Now, that love twisted into something sharp in her chest. "You've always known I can't stand people touching my belongings," Maia said, her voice tight with restraint. "And still, you let her throw them out. Did you even realize that Vicki's bracelet was among them?" Sandra had always been busy and seldom paid attention to Maia's life, but this particular habit of Maia's was something she knew clearly. But when it came to Rosanna, Sandra's judgment blurred. Years of guilt over being absent in Rosanna's life made her overcompensate. And when Rosanna wanted something, Sandra never said no. For more than ten years, Maia had lived the life that should've been Rosanna's -- or so Sandra believed. So what harm was there in throwing out a few of her things? To Sandra, even if Rosanna had been the one who stole the treasure from Radiant Jewels, she still thought that Maia should've taken the blame. That thought alone washed away any lingering guilt Sandra had ever felt toward her. "Let me remind you of your place, Maia. You're not one of us. You were only raised by us -- nothing more. That keepsake from Vicki? It was always meant for a true Morgan. Even if it were still around, Rosanna would have every right to it. Who do you think you are to lay claim to it? If she wanted to burn it, that would still be her right." A stabbing pain twisted in Maia's chest. She could sever ties with every Morgan in that house -- but not with Vicki. That woman had loved her, protected her, and made her feel like she belonged. And now Maia had failed to guard the one thing that still connected them. The ache in her heart deepened, sharp and unrelenting. From the sidelines, Jarrod let out a cruel laugh. "So that's why you flipped out over some garbage. Let me guess -- you're broke, and you came crawling back here to pawn whatever you could find!" Though he had once seen the bracelet, it looked cheap to him. He never imagined that it held any real value. With a sneer, he pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them at her feet. "This enough for your little trinket? Take the rest -- it's on me. Consider it charity." Maia's eyes burned with anger, rimmed red as she stared down the people she once called family. There had been a time she believed she owed them gratitude. After all, they'd raised her for seventeen years. That belief had led her to help them through their darkest years, without hesitation. But now? That illusion had shattered. What was taken from her -- she would get back. And the Morgans? They had chosen cruelty. It was time they learned that she didn't forgive and forget. Maia let her anger subside. She took the cash Jarrod threw and smiled. Without hesitation, she shredded the money into pieces and threw them straight at his face. "Keep your filthy money. I'd rather have nothing than take anything from you." With that, she turned and walked straight out of the villa, not sparing anyone a second glance. Fury twisted Jarrod's face as he clenched his jaw, burning with humiliation. His finger jabbed toward Maia's back as she disappeared through the doorway. "You'll regret this, you ungrateful bitch! Without us, you're nothing! You'll come crawling back -- I'll make sure of it!" Sandra's face flushed red with anger, her voice rising. "We picked you up from prison this morning, Maia! That was out of the goodness of our hearts! No one forced you to walk away -- you did that yourself. Don't bother returning once you leave. You made your choice. It ends here!" A cold, humorless laugh escaped Maia's lips. Even now, Sandra clung to the story that made her look like the victim. Her audacity was almost laughable. Turning slowly on her heel, Maia leveled the family with a chilling stare. "Drop the act. You're not fooling anyone. You called the press yourselves. Was that supposed to be a warm welcome? Or just a performance to make yourselves look like saints in front of the cameras? You know exactly what you were doing." And with that, she walked away, never once turning back. Behind her, the illusion shattered, leaving the Morgans standing stiff and speechless. Their masks had cracked wide open. Rosanna buried her face in Sandra's shoulder, voice trembling with tears. "This is all my fault. we could've been a real family." Instead of reflecting, Jarrod and Sandra focused on comforting Rosanna, acting like Maia didn't exist. Chapter 5 I Just Wanted To Make Sure You Were Alright Not a minute after stepping out of the Morgan estate, Maia pulled out her phone and made a single call. "Cut off all dealings with the Morgan family. Effective immediately." The call ended, and she slid the phone back into her coat pocket, turning around to give the house behind her one last, lingering look. That place no longer felt familiar. It might as well have belonged to a different lifetime. Everything that tied her to the Morgans was over. From here on, there would be no turning back. Drawing in a slow breath, Maia gathered herself. But just as she turned to walk away, she collided hard into a solid figure. The sudden impact made her stumble, but before she could fall, a hand reached out and caught her firmly by the arm. "Maia?" a deep voice asked. Her head tilted up, and for a rare moment, emotion flickered across her usually unreadable gaze. She hadn't thought her heart could still react like that. Yet somehow, it skipped more than just a beat. Of all people, it was Vince Ward standing in front of her -- the son of Wront's powerful Ward family, her ex-fiancé. Out of instinct, she yanked her arm free and put a few paces of space between them. Vince's brows tightened ever so slightly as he took in her cold, unreadable face. The woman standing there hardly resembled the bright, cheerful girl from the Morgan family Maia used to be. "You... came back," he said softly, choosing his words with care. He didn't say "got out" -- perhaps to spare her dignity -- but the gesture only made her chest tighten with disdain. There had been a time when she loved him out loud, without shame. She had spoiled him, learned to cook just to see him smile, done everything to win his affection. But he had never given her more than silence. He never once claimed her in public, never called her his. Still, she held a firm belief, convinced that kindness would melt the wall he kept so firmly built. And yet, on the day her world collapsed -- when she was framed and wrongly accused -- he stood right there. But he had stood by Rosanna's side, and the disgust and warning in his eyes matched those of the Morgans perfectly. Not a single word of defense had come from Vince when she needed it most. Years ago, it was Rosanna's grandfather who had pulled Vince's father from the wreckage of an accident. That one act of heroism had sealed a marriage promise between two families. Back then, the Morgan family's daughter had been Maia. Now, the daughter was Rosanna. Naturally, the arrangement had fallen onto Rosanna. So Vince siding with Rosanna wasn't surprising -- it was expected. But even now, whenever Maia thought back on it, a soft ache tugged at her heart. She tucked that pain away behind a polite smile, lifting her chin. "You must be here for Rosanna, Mr. Ward. I hear the engagement's coming up. Congratulations." She used to call him "Vince" with warmth, and now, being addressed so formally made him realize that the gap between them had been wider. Something twisted in Vince's chest, sudden and sharp. He stared at her, his voice rough around the edges. "Four years, Maia... and that's all you've got to say?" Back then, Maia would talk his ear off whenever she was near. Now, all he felt from her was a chill and a wall he couldn't get past. Her silence made his frown deepen, the quiet stretching too long. After a beat, he nodded toward the Morgan family villa behind her. "I heard your family came to pick you up today. Why are you already walking away?" Maia replied, "That's none of your business." Though her tone was cool, her eyes -- bright and guarded -- flickered with something unspoken. Those words struck Vince harder than he expected. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." A bitter laugh escaped Maia's lips. "Seems like your concern's pointed in the wrong direction, Mr. Ward. Shouldn't it be aimed at your girlfriend? You're nearly engaged, aren't you? Imagine Rosanna catching you circling around me -- how do you think she'd take that? So, is the plan now to turn your back on the real Morgan daughter just to chase after someone like me -- a woman branded by a criminal past?" No words followed from Vince. There was just silence -- the same kind that had cut through her four years ago. Maia let out a sharp, humorless snort. "Why don't you do us both a favor and stay out of my sight, Mr. Ward?" But Vince's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could take another step. He held on, refusing to let go. His voice dropped to a hush, rough with emotion. His eyes were turning red. "Maia, it's true. Rosanna and I are getting engaged. But things don't have to be any different -- if you're willing, we could still go back to the way things were." &12&

Letting my sister’s 18-year-old best friend live in my house was the biggest mistake of my life. I promised to protect her. But this morning, she stood in my kitchen wearing nothing but my oversized shirt. The collar slipped, exposing her bare shoulder and long legs. My body reacted instantly. She’s too young and completely off-limits. But watching her walk away, I threw my promise in the trash, grabbed her waist, and... ---------- Chapter 1: Rock Bottom The email came at 9:47 AM. *Subject: Termination of Employment - Effective Immediately* Leighton Hayes stared at her phone screen, reading the words three times before they actually sank in. Fired. They were letting her go. Budget cuts, the email said. Last hired, first fired. She'd only been at the startup for eight months. Her hands shook as she shoved her few personal items into her bag. A coffee mug Chloe had given her. The succulent plant was already half dead. Her backup phone charger. The other designers wouldn't even look at her as security walked her out. Twenty-three years old and unemployed. Great. She sat in her car in the parking lot for ten minutes, just breathing. Trying not to cry. Failing. Her phone buzzed. A text from her landlord. *The rent is 5 days late. Please make the payment by 5 PM today, or I will have to start the eviction process.* Leighton let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Of course. Of course, this was happening on the same day. She checked her bank account. $847.32. Rent was $1,200. Even if she paid everything she had, she'd still be short. And she'd just lost her income. Her finger hovered over Chloe's contact for a full minute before she finally pressed call. "Leigh! I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch?" The sound of her best friend's cheerful voice made something crack open in Leighton's chest. "I got fired," she said, and then the tears came for real. "What? Those assholes! Leigh, oh my god. Where are you?" "In the parking lot. And my landlord just texted. I'm being evicted." "Today? Everything's happening today?" "Apparently the universe thinks I can handle it." Leighton wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara was definitely everywhere. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called and dumped this on you." "Don't be stupid. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?" "Chloe, you're at work." "And? This is an emergency. Send me your location." Forty minutes later, Leighton was sitting in Chloe's car, clutching a coffee she couldn't afford but Chloe had insisted on buying anyway. "You're moving in with me," Chloe announced. "I can't ask you to do that." "You're not asking. I'm telling you." Chloe turned to face her, dark eyes serious. "You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since we were eight years old. You really think I'm going to let you be homeless?" "I'll figure something out. I just need a few days to..." "To what? Sleep in your car? Leigh, be real." Chloe grabbed her hand. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion." "But your place is tiny. Where would I even sleep?" Chloe bit her lip, a tell-tale sign she was about to say something Leighton wouldn't like. "Okay, so technically, I don't live in my apartment anymore." "What?" "I moved in with Noah two months ago." Leighton's stomach dropped. "Noah. Your brother Noah." "Do I have another brother I don't know about?" Noah Knight. Even thinking his name made her feel like she was sixteen again, watching him from across the room at Chloe's birthday party, too nervous to say more than two words to him. She'd had a crush on him since she was eight years old. The first time Chloe brought her home for a playdate, eleven-year-old Noah had helped her reach a glass from the top shelf. He'd smiled at her, and she'd been done for. Fifteen years later, and she still got butterflies thinking about him. Which was pathetic. He probably didn't even remember her. "I can't live with your brother." "Why not? The place is huge. Like, stupid huge. He won't even notice you're there." Chloe started the car. "He's barely home anyway. Always working or traveling or whatever billionaires do." "Chloe..." "Two weeks. Just give me two weeks to help you find a job and get back on your feet. Please?" Leighton closed her eyes. She had $847 to her name. No job. No apartment. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford right now. "Two weeks," she agreed quietly. "Yes! Okay, we need to get your stuff from your apartment before your psycho landlord throws it all out." It took less than an hour to pack up Leighton's entire life. One suitcase of clothes. A box of art supplies. Her laptop. That was it. Everything she owned fit in Chloe's trunk with room to spare. "Travel light, live free," Chloe said cheerfully, but Leighton could see the pity in her eyes. The drive to Noah's house took thirty minutes, moving from the city into an area where the houses got bigger and farther apart. When Chloe finally turned through an iron gate, Leighton's mouth fell open. "This isn't a house. This is a compound." "I told you it was big." Big didn't cover it. The mansion was all modern lines and huge windows, surrounded by perfectly landscaped gardens. There was a fountain. An actual fountain in the driveway. "Chloe, I can't stay here." "Too late. We're already here." Chloe parked and popped the trunk. "Come on. I'll give you the tour." Leighton grabbed her suitcase with shaking hands. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. But what choice did she have? The inside was even more intimidating than the outside. Everything was white, chrome, and appeared very expensive. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch anything in case you broke it. "Noah?" Chloe called out. "You home?" Please say no, Leighton thought. Please don't be home. Footsteps on the stairs. And then there he was. Noah Knight looked exactly like she remembered, except somehow more. Taller. Broader. Those same dark eyes, sharp jawline, the kind of face that made you forget how to form sentences. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, his dark hair tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked at Chloe first, then his gaze moved to Leighton. She waited for recognition. A smile. Something. His eyes passed over her like she was part of the furniture. "Who's this?" he asked Chloe. Something twisted in Leighton's chest. She'd known he probably wouldn't remember her. She'd been nobody. Just his little sister's friend. But it still hurt. "This is Leighton. My best friend? She's been over like a thousand times growing up?" "Right." Noah's expression didn't change. Still blank. Still uninterested. "And she's here because...?" "She's moving in for a bit. Just temporarily." "Excuse me?" The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. "You're doing what?" "She lost her job and her apartment today. She needs a place to crash." Chloe's voice had that stubborn edge that Leighton knew well. "We have like fifteen guest rooms. She can take one." "Did it occur to you to ask me first?" "It's my house too." "That you live rent-free." Noah crossed his arms. "You can't just move people in without discussing it with me." Leighton wanted to disappear. To melt into the expensive floor and never exist again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Both of them looked at her like they'd forgotten she could speak. "Chloe, this was a bad idea. Can you just take me to a motel or something?" "No," Chloe said firmly. "Yes," Noah said at the same time. They glared at each other. Leighton had seen them do this a hundred times growing up. Knight sibling standoffs that could last for hours. "Two weeks," Chloe said. "That's all I'm asking. Two weeks for her to get back on her feet. Then she'll be gone." Noah's jaw clenched. He looked at Leighton again, really looked at her this time. She probably looked like a mess. Mascara-stained face. Wrinkled clothes. Holding a suitcase like a shield. "Two weeks," he said finally. "Maximum. And she stays out of my way." "Thank you," Leighton said, even though everything in her screamed to run. He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back up the stairs without another word. "Well," Chloe said brightly. "That went better than expected." "He hates me." "He doesn't hate you. He's just... Noah. He'll warm up." Chloe grabbed her suitcase. "Come on. Let me show you to your room." The guest room was bigger than Leighton's entire apartment had been. King-size bed. Private bathroom. A view of the gardens. It was beautiful. And it made her want to cry all over again. "I'm going to fix this," Chloe promised. "Two weeks from now, you'll have a new job and a new place, and this will all just be a bad memory." After Chloe left, Leighton sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. This morning she'd woken up with a job and an apartment. Now she had neither. Now she was living in Noah Knight's house. The boy she'd loved from a distance for fifteen years. The man who didn't even remember her name. Her phone buzzed. A notification from LinkedIn. Someone had viewed her profile. She opened it and started updating her resume. Two weeks. She could do this. She'd stay invisible. Stay out of Noah's way. Find a new job. Get out. She could definitely do this. Probably. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She should probably find the kitchen. But that meant risking running into Noah again. Seeing that cold, blank expression when he looked at her. Later, she decided. She'd explore later. When she was sure he wasn't around. Leighton lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Day one in Noah Knight's house. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Chapter 2: The Ice King Leighton spent the next morning hiding in her room like a coward. She updated her resume. Applied to twelve jobs. Scrolled through apartment listings she couldn't afford. Anything to avoid going downstairs and risking another encounter with Noah. Her phone rang just after noon. Chloe. "Hey, want to grab lunch? I'm off early today." "Sure. Where should I meet you?" "I'm literally downstairs. Come down." Right. Because Chloe lived here too. Leighton had almost forgotten in her panic to avoid Noah. She changed out of her pajamas into jeans and a sweater, then made her way downstairs. This time in daylight, the house was even more impressive. And intimidating. Huge windows let in natural light that made everything gleam. The art on the walls probably cost more than she'd make in a year. She found Chloe in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "Finally! I'm starving. Want to go to that Thai place you love?" "I can't really afford to eat out right now." "My treat. Don't argue." Chloe grabbed her purse. "Come on." They were halfway to the door when Noah appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone, talking in a clipped tone about quarterly reports and market projections. He wore a suit today, all sharp lines and expensive fabric. He glanced down at them. His eyes passed over Leighton without a flicker of recognition. Again. "We're going out," Chloe called up. "Want anything?" He shook his head, already walking away, still talking into his phone. "See?" Chloe said once they were in her car. "He's barely aware you exist. This is going to be fine." Leighton forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine." Lunch helped. Chloe always knew how to make her laugh, and for an hour, she almost forgot about the disaster her life had become. Almost forgot about living in a mansion with a man who looked at her like she was invisible. When they got back, Chloe had to run to a meeting. "I'll be back around seven. We can watch a movie or something." She squeezed Leighton's hand. "It's going to work out. I promise." Leighton nodded and headed back to her room. But somewhere on the second floor, she took a wrong turn. The hallway looked the same as the one her room was in. Same carpet, same lights, same closed doors. But when she tried the door she thought was hers, it didn't open. She tried the handle again. Locked. Wait. Her door didn't lock from the outside. Did it? She stepped back and looked around. This wasn't the right hallway at all. Nothing looked familiar. "Great," she muttered. "Lost in a house. That's a new low." She backtracked, trying to retrace her steps. Took another turn. This hallway had different art on the walls. Still wrong. How did anyone navigate this place? She tried another direction. The hallway opened into a sitting area she didn't recognize. More wrong turns. A bathroom. A linen closet. Another locked door. Twenty minutes later, she was completely turned around. Nothing looked familiar. Every hallway seemed identical. She pulled out her phone to text Chloe, then remembered she was in her meeting. Leighton stared at her contacts. She could call someone. Except she didn't know anyone else here. Her only other option was... No. Absolutely not. She was not texting Noah Knight to ask for directions in his own house. She'd figure it out herself. Another wrong turn led her to a set of double doors. Maybe they led to a wing she recognized? She pushed one open carefully. It was an office. A massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, a huge desk covered in monitors, and bookshelves lining the walls. And Noah, sitting at the desk, watching her. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to... I got lost." He leaned back in his chair. "Lost." "Your house is really big." "You've been here for less than twenty-four hours and you're already wandering into rooms you shouldn't be in." Her face burned. "I wasn't wandering. I was trying to find my room. All the hallways look the same." He stood up, and even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his irritation. He walked around the desk toward her, and she had to resist the urge to step back. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Those dark eyes that were currently looking at her like she was the world's biggest inconvenience. "Which room did Chloe put you in?" "The one with the blue bedding? And the view of the gardens?" "East wing, third door on the right." "Okay. Thanks. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely behind her. "You're going the wrong way." Of course, she was. He moved past her into the hallway, and she had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly, taking turns without hesitation. She tried to memorize the route, but it was hopeless. Everything still looked identical to her. They passed a slightly open door. Through it, she glimpsed a huge bedroom. King-size bed, dark furniture, everything perfectly neat. His room, probably. "That's my room," he said without looking back, like he knew where her eyes had gone. "Don't go in there." "I wouldn't." "You got lost trying to find your own room. I'm not confident in your sense of direction." Was he making fun of her? She couldn't tell. His voice was flat, emotionless. He stopped at a door. "This one." It was her room. She recognized the blue bedding through the open door. "Thank you." He nodded once, already turning away. "Noah?" He stopped but didn't turn around. It was becoming a pattern with him. Never fully facing her. Always ready to leave. "I really am sorry. For being here. For being in the way. I know you didn't want me here." Now he did turn, his dark eyes meeting hers. "It's not personal." "It feels pretty personal." "I don't know you. You're Chloe's friend. That's all." The words shouldn't have stung. She barely knew him either. But they did. Because she'd spent fifteen years knowing exactly who he was. Watching him. Wanting him to look at her the way he was looking at her now. Except now that he was looking, there was nothing in his eyes but cold disinterest. "Two weeks," she said quietly. "Then I'll be gone and you can have your house back." Something flickered across his face. She couldn't read it. Then it was gone, and his expression was smooth again. "See that you do." He walked away, and this time she didn't call after him. She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it. Her hands were shaking. From embarrassment, from anger, from something else she didn't want to name. This version of Noah was nothing like the one she'd built up in her head. That Noah had been kind. Warm. Someone who would smile at her and make her feel like she mattered. Real Noah was ice. Sharp edges and closed doors and eyes that looked through her instead of at her. She needed to let go of the fantasy. The childhood crush. All of it. He didn't want her here. He'd made that perfectly clear. Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. *Meeting ran late. Won't be back until 9. You okay?* *I'm fine. Got lost trying to find my room but I figured it out* *LOL this house is ridiculous. Noah gave me a map when I first moved in* *There's a MAP?* *I'll find it for you tomorrow. Hang in there* Leighton set her phone down and looked around the room. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything she'd never have on her own. And she'd never felt more out of place in her life. She pulled up her laptop and applied to more jobs. Anything to speed up her exit. Graphic designer positions. Junior art director roles. Even a few administrative jobs that had nothing to do with her degree. She didn't care. She just needed out. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. Later that night, her stomach growled. She'd skipped dinner, too anxious about navigating the house to risk going downstairs. But she couldn't hide in her room forever. It was past ten. Maybe Noah would be asleep. Or working in his office with the door closed. She crept downstairs, following the route he'd shown her earlier. Or what she thought was the route. Everything looked different in the dark. But she found the kitchen. Small victory. The fridge was still packed with food. She grabbed some leftover pasta from one of the containers and heated it up, eating quickly while standing at the counter. "You really like sneaking around at night." She jumped, nearly dropping her fork. Noah stood in the doorway. No shirt again. Just pajama pants riding low on his hips. Why did he keep doing this to her? "I'm not sneaking. I'm eating." "In the dark. In my kitchen." "I turned the light on." He moved into the room, and she tried very hard not to stare at his chest. In the muscles in his arms. At the tattoo she hadn't noticed before, black ink winding around his ribcage. "You should eat actual meals," he said. "Not just bread and leftovers." "I'm fine." "You're avoiding me." She set her fork down. "You told me to stay out of your way. That's what I'm doing." "By getting lost in my house and breaking into my office?" "I didn't break in. The door was open." "It was closed." "It was open a crack!" The corner of his mouth twitched. For a second, she thought he might smile. But then his expression went flat again. "Two weeks," he said. "Try to stay found until then." He left, taking all the oxygen in the room with him. Leighton dumped the rest of her pasta in the trash, her appetite gone. She trudged back upstairs, somehow finding her room on the first try. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Thirteen more days. She could do this. Probably. Chapter 3: Midnight Collision Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep. She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely. The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night. But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it. She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent. This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories. The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms. The kitchen light was on. She froze at the entrance. Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked up when she appeared. For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here." "It's fine." She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room. But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry. She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test. "There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf." "Thanks." She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked. The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave. "You can eat here." She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen. "I don't want to bother you." "You're already bothering me. Might as well commit." She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away. Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking. "Is that whiskey?" "Scotch. Macallan 25." She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive. She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy. "Did you make this?" "I have a chef who comes three times a week." Of course he did. "Must be nice." He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?" "To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted." His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?" "I didn't mean..." "I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it." "I wasn't attacking you." "Sounded like it." She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude." He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink. "Why graphic design?" he asked. The question surprised her. "What?" "Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?" "I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at." "You must be decent if you got hired out of college." "I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary." "Their loss." The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway. She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen. "What are you working on?" she asked. "Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms." "At one in the morning?" "Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there." She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control. Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "You just did." "Can I ask you another something?" The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead." "Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe." His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in. "Yes." "You acted like you didn't." "I know." "Why?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up." Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant. He stood up, draining the rest of his scotch. "You should finish eating and get some sleep." "Okay," she said quietly. He moved to the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her plate. She turned toward the sink at the same time he turned back, and they collided. The plate slipped from her hands. She grabbed for it, overcorrected, and her elbow hit his glass instead. It shattered on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and scotch. "Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it. I'll..." "Don't touch it." She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable. "You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back." "I can clean it. It's my fault." "Leighton. Move." She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid. She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive." "It was." "How expensive?" "You don't want to know." She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back." "Forget it." "Noah..." "I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass." "A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..." "You're not stupid." "I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage." "It was an accident." "I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff." She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Leighton." She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense. "Stop apologizing for existing." "I'm not..." "You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting." Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..." "The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells." "Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself. The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest. But she was tired of pretending. He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "I don't know yet," he said quietly. Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass. She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling. This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back. She was so screwed. She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing. *Chloe's little friend grew up.* What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both? She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all. Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer. Nothing good, probably. Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons. She just needed to remember that. Chapter 4: Morning After Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total. Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother. She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*. She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear. The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened. She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview. She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess. At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join. The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate. "We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week." Translation: don't call us, we'll call you. Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine. She needed more coffee. On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open. Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag. The gym. She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room. Instead, she moved closer to the door. Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise. She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him. But she couldn't move. He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her. Their eyes locked. Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely. Then he stood up and walked toward the door. She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again. But her feet wouldn't move. He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him. "Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "I heard music. I was just..." "Watching me work out." Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..." "And you stopped to stare." "I'm sorry." "You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't." "I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "How'd your interview go?" The question threw her. "What?" "Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?" "How did you know about that?" "Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?" "It was fine. They said they'd call next week." "That's good." "Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now." "What kind of design do you do?" "Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design." He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder." "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't food." "It has calories." "Leighton." The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time. "I'll eat something," she said. "Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway." Before she could respond, he closed the door. She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell. She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe. She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl. "Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful. "Fine. I think." "That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?" Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing. "Yeah. He's been... fine." "Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you." "No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him." "Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off." "Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough." "You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me." "I will. I promise." They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life. After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.* Yeah. That would go over well. She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower. She tried very hard not to picture that. Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning. Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour. She clicked it open. *Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.* She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper. Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her. She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. *Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N* She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably. She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?* *I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.* *What looks?* *The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.* She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention. Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.* Despite everything, she smiled. *Thanks* She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy. This was bad. This whole situation was bad. But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Chapter 5: House Rules Leighton spent the afternoon in her room, applying to more jobs and trying not to replay Noah's text message over and over in her head. *They're idiots.* Two words shouldn't matter this much. Around five, her stomach reminded her she'd only eaten toast all day. She ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something quick and escape back to her room before anyone noticed. The kitchen was occupied. Noah stood at the island, going through a stack of papers. He'd showered since this morning. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot again. She was starting to think he never wore shoes in the house. He looked up when she entered. "Hey." "Hi." She moved toward the fridge, trying to act casual. Like this morning hadn't happened. Like she hadn't been caught watching him work out like some kind of stalker. "We need to talk." She froze, her hand on the fridge door. "About what?" "Ground rules." "Oh." She turned to face him. "Okay." He set down the papers and crossed his arms. "My office is off-limits. Always. Even if the door's open. Don't go in there unless I specifically invite you." "I already apologized for that." "I know. This is me making sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm. Professional. Like he was running a business meeting. "Second, the gym. Same rule. Don't come in while I'm working out." Her face heated. "I wasn't trying to..." "Third, my bedroom. That should be obvious, but I'm saying it anyway. Stay out." "Are you done?" The words came out sharper than she intended. His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?" "Are you done treating me like a child who doesn't know how to respect boundaries?" "I'm establishing expectations." "You're making a list of all the ways I'm not allowed to exist in your space." She crossed her own arms, mirroring his stance. "I get it. You don't want me here. You've made that pretty clear. But I'm not eight years old anymore, Noah. You don't need to lecture me about not touching your stuff or wandering into rooms I shouldn't." Something flickered in his eyes. He pushed off the island and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. She held her ground, even though every instinct told her to step back. He stopped a foot away. Near enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "No," he said quietly. "You're not eight anymore." The way he said it made her breath catch. His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on her mouth, then lower. Taking in the curve of her neck. The way her t-shirt fit. How her jeans hugged her hips. When his gaze came back to hers, there was heat in it. Dark and dangerous. "That's the problem," he added. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "What's the problem?" she managed. "You. Here. In my house." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Chloe's best friend. Twenty-three years old. Completely off-limits." "I didn't ask to be here." "I know." "And I'm not trying to... I don't..." She struggled to find words. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way until I can leave." "That's another rule." His voice had an edge now. "Stop trying to be invisible. It's not working." "What do you want from me?" "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "That's the problem. I don't know what I want, and that's not something I'm used to." They stood there, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Leighton's skin felt too tight. Her mouth is too dry. She wanted to move closer and run away at the same time. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't know what I want either." His jaw clenched. "Yes, you do." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means I see the way you look at me. Like I'm something you want but know you can't have." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of his soap. "You've been looking at me like that since you were sixteen." Her face burned. "I wasn't..." "You were. At Chloe's birthday party. You wore a blue dress. You stood in the corner all night, watching me." She remembered that party. Remembered the dress. Remembered how she'd felt when Noah had walked in with some blonde model on his arm. Remembered spending the whole night wishing she was brave enough to talk to him. "I had a crush on you," she admitted. "So what? Half the girls in Chloe's school had crushes on you. It didn't mean anything." "Didn't it?" "No. I was a kid. Kids get crushes. They grow out of them." "Did you? Grow out of it?" The question hung between them. She should lie. Should tell him yes, of course, she was over it. That she didn't feel anything when he looked at her. That her heart didn't race when he got close. But she was tired of lying. "I don't know," she said. "Did you grow out of treating every woman like a temporary distraction?" His expression darkened. "That's not fair." "Neither is calling me out for how I look at you when you've been doing the same thing to me since I got here." "I haven't..." "You have. In the kitchen last night. In the gym this morning. Right now." She took a step closer, emboldened by her own anger. "So don't act like I'm the only one feeling something I shouldn't." His hand came up, catching her chin. Tilting her face up to his. "You're right. I have been looking. Want to know what I see?" She couldn't breathe. "What?" "Trouble. The kind I swore I was done with." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she shivered. "The kind that makes me want to break every one of my own rules." "Then maybe you shouldn't make so many rules." For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. His hand tightened on her chin. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Then he let go and stepped back, breaking the spell. "Two more rules," he said, his voice rough. "Stay out of trouble. And stay out of my head." "How am I supposed to do that?" "Figure it out." He grabbed his papers and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen, her whole body trembling. She touched her lips where his thumb had been. Her skin still tingled from his touch. This was bad. This was so much worse than a childhood crush. This was a real attraction. Real chemistry. The kind that could ruin everything. Her phone buzzed. Chloe. *Dinner tomorrow night? I'm bringing Thai food. Miss you!* Guilt crashed over her. Chloe. Her best friend. Who had specifically warned her years ago that Noah was off-limits. Who had saved her from being homeless? Who trusted her? She typed back quickly. *Miss you too. Can't wait.* She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face. She needed to get it together. Needed to stop whatever this was before it went any further. But when she closed her eyes, all she could feel was his thumb on her lip. All she could hear was his voice saying *You're trouble*. And the worst part? She wanted to be. She wanted to be the kind of trouble that made Noah Knight break his own rules. She grabbed a protein bar from the pantry and headed back to her room. As she passed his office, she heard him inside. Talking on the phone. His voice was calm and controlled. Completely different from how he'd sounded in the kitchen. How many versions of himself did he have? The cold businessman who'd told her two weeks maximum. The gym rat who caught her watching. The man who texted her about rejections. The one who'd just touched her face like he wanted to do more. Which one was real? Maybe they all were. Maybe Noah Knight was just as complicated and messed up as she was. That should have been comforting. Instead, it just made her want him more. She locked her door and climbed into bed, even though it was barely six. Tomorrow Chloe would be here. Tomorrow she'd have to pretend everything was fine. That nothing had happened. That she and Noah were just two people sharing a house, nothing more. She could do that. She'd been pretending her whole life. What was one more lie? Chapter 6: The Shirt Incident Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe. *Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!* Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely. *No worries. We'll do it another time.* She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him. This was getting ridiculous. She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions. The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid. She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in. An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer. The machine was still running. She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total. Perfect. Just perfect. She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top. She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything. Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room. Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom. But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know. Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home. She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off. The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy. His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn. Perfect. She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room. Except her room was still freezing. The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done. She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here. She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget. The front door opened. Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead. His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button. "Hi," she said weakly. He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight. "I can explain." "You're wearing my shirt." "My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now." "Don't." The word came out rough. Almost harsh. She froze. "What?" "Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here." "Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..." "How long until your clothes are done?" "An hour, maybe?" He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close. He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white. The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it. "Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence. "Meeting got canceled." "Oh." More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze. She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense. "Stop looking at me like that," she said. "Like what?" "Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking." "I could say the same to you." "I'm not..." "You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me." "I don't want anything from you." "Liar." The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name. "Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear." "Have I?" "You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you." "I don't remember saying that last part." "It was implied." He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles. "You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly. "No." "Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know." She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..." "I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules." Her breath caught. "I'm not..." "Your clothes aren't in the wash." "What?" "You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt." "I was cold." "Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it." "That's not true." "Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next." "Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen." "I know." "So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid." "I know," he said again. But neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave. He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them." "Noah..." "Go, Leighton." It wasn't a request. She went. She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*. She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her. She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened. Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin. She was in so much trouble. Her phone buzzed. Noah. *Keep the shirt.* She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?* *Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.* *Noah, we can't...* *I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.* *What are we doing?* *I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.* She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces. But god, she wanted it anyway. She wanted him anyway. *Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.* His response came immediately. *Then stop.* Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once. She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want. Her life was a mess. akinmutimi4 VIRBEY The Luna who was buried alive Exclusive contract 13/03/2026 But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

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