Novels by Jay Mike

Sera's POVThe study door clicked shut behind me. 11:47 PM. The house had gone quiet an hour ago. Jonathan's snoring drifted through the walls. Even that sounded content.I opened my laptop. The Excel icon stared back at me like an old friend. Numbers. Beautiful, honest numbers."Alright. Let's see what we're really working with."The bank statements loaded first. Checking. Savings. Investment accounts. All joint accounts, because we were partners. Equal partners. That's what we'd said.I started with Jonathan's trust fund paperwork. The Blackwood family fortune. Old railroad money, he'd told me. Generations of wealth. The reason he could pursue "passion projects" while I worked.The document opened. Legal language swam before my eyes, but I found what I was looking for. The distribution date."March 15, 2034."I counted on my fingers. Once. Twice. Three times because my brain wouldn't accept it.Ten years. Ten more years before Jonathan could touch a penny of his family's millions."

Sera's POVMy fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts. Lincoln Elementary. The number I'd called a hundred times. For forgotten lunch money. For early pickups when Oliver had a tummy ache. For volunteering at the book fair.The hallway felt too narrow. I could hear them in the dining room. Oliver's laugh. Vivienne's soft responses. The clink of forks on plates. My family having dinner without me."Lincoln Elementary, this is the front office. How can I help you?""Hi, this is Sera Blackwood. Oliver Blackwood's mother." The word 'mother' stuck in my throat. "I need to verify our emergency contact information.""Oh, Mrs. Blackwood! One moment please."Papers rustled. Keys clicked. My heart did that thing where it forgot how to beat properly."Alright, I have Oliver's file here. What did you need to verify?""Could you tell me who's listed as the primary emergency contact?"More clicking. "Let me see... The primary contact is Vivienne Sterling."The floor tilted. Or maybe I di

Sera's POVThe lasagna was getting cold. I watched the steam disappear from Oliver's untouched plate while he bounced in his chair, clutching something behind his back. Thursday dinners used to be sacred. Just the three of us. But tonight, like every Thursday for the past two months, we were four."Oliver, sweetheart, you need to eat something before it gets cold." I reached across to cut his portion into smaller pieces."But Mommy, I want to show everyone my picture first!" His eyes sparkled with that special kind of excitement that only eight year olds could manage. "Miss Peterson said it was the best one in class!""After dinner, buddy." Jonathan didn't look up from his phone. "You know the rules."Vivienne placed her hand on Jonathan's arm. Just a touch. Light. Like a butterfly landing. "Oh, but he's so excited. Maybe just a quick peek?"Of course. Of course she'd say that.Jonathan's face transformed. The stern father melted away, replaced by someone I barely recognized. "Well, i

Sera's POVThe light turned red. Of course it did. Every light in San Francisco had apparently decided tonight was the night to test my patience. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles looked like tiny white mountains."Come on, come on, come on." I whispered it like a prayer. Like if I said it enough times, the universe might actually listen.Thirty-seven minutes. The dashboard clock glowed those numbers at me like an accusation. Oliver's play started in thirty-seven minutes, and I was still fifteen minutes away. If I hit every green light. If nobody decided to parallel park badly. If the world suddenly decided to be kind.My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I didn't look. Couldn't look. Probably Jonathan with another excuse. Another reason why Vivienne needed to be there. Always Vivienne.The light turned green. Finally.I pressed the gas harder than I should have. The car behind me honked, but I didn't care. Let them honk. Let them think I was some crazy woman weav

Sera's POVThe Monet was fake. I knew it the second Mrs. Whitmore's perfectly manicured fingers lifted the gilt frame, and the light hit wrong. Everything about today felt wrong. My wedding ring caught on my glove as I reached for my loupe, and I wondered if Jonathan even remembered what day it was. Eight years. Eight years since we'd said forever, and here I was, holding my breath while society's finest pretended not to watch me work."Sera, darling, you simply must tell me your secret," Mrs. Whitmore cooed, her voice like honey over broken glass. "How do you manage it all? The career, the husband, that adorable little boy of yours?"I kept my eyes on the painting. Water lilies. Fake water lilies that someone had lovingly crafted to fool collectors with more money than sense. "There's no secret, Mrs. Whitmore. Just good lighting and patience.""Oh, but you're being modest!" Mrs. Pemberton joined us, her pearls clicking against each other like tiny bones. "Jonathan was just telling Ri