COLD HEARTS & CONTRACTS

‎The Paper Fortress KESTER BENITA ‎Benita Hayes ‎There was dust and dying dreams in the air of my father’s study. ‎I stood at the floor to ceiling windows watching the grey rain smear against the glass blurring the manicured gardens of the Hayes estate. This house had been my refuge for twenty-one years, a place of mahogany and plush carpets. It felt like a waiting room for a funeral now. My own. "Sign it, Benita. For God’s sake, stop looking at the rain and look at the reality." ‎My father’s voice was a ghost of its former self. Richard Hayes, the man who had once commanded boardrooms with a single glance, was now slumped in his leather chair, his face the color of parchment. On the desk between us lay a thick leather folder. The Knight-Hayes Restructuring Agreement. ‎"I’ve seen the audits, Dad," I said, turning slowly. I gripped my tablet so hard my knuckles were white. "The Singapore discrepancies they weren't an accident. Someone moved that money. If we go to the autho

The Breakfast Table Blade Benita Hayes I didn't sleep. Not really. Every time the ancient oak trees outside the window groaned in the wind, I jerked awake, my eyes darting to the silhouette of the man sleeping on the other side of the king-sized bed. Adrian hadn’t crossed the invisible line we’d drawn in the sheets, but his presence was a heavy, magnetic force that made rest impossible. At 6:00 AM sharp, the silent vibration of his phone woke him. He was out of bed and in the shower before I could even find my voice. Now, standing before the vanity mirror, I applied an extra layer of concealer under my eyes. I needed to look like a woman who had spent a blissful night with her new husband, not a prisoner who had been counting the ticks of a grandfather clock. I chose a tailored dress in a shade of forest green—a color that felt like a shield. "Ready?" Adrian stood by the door. He looked impeccable in a charcoal three-piece suit, his dark hair dampened from the shower. He looked

The Glass Mask Benita Hayes The Plaza was a sea of clinking crystal and hushed whispers, but the moment Adrian led me through the gilded doors, the room fell silent. It was a physical sensation, like walking into a vacuum. "Don't look at the cameras," Adrian murmured, his hand resting firmly at the small of my back. "Look at me. Like I’m the only thing in this room that matters." "That’s a tall order for a Tuesday, Adrian," I whispered back, my heart hammering against my ribs. We were led to a central table—the "throne" of the dining room. I felt the eyes of the city’s elite boring into us. They were looking for the cracks. They wanted to see the "bought bride" and the "ruthless heir" in their natural habitat of misery. I reached for my wine glass, but my hand shook just enough for the crystal to chime against the table. Adrian immediately covered my hand with his. His palm was warm, solid, and completely steady. "Adrian! I thought you were in Geneva." A woman in a dress the

The Lingering HeatBenita HayesMy lips still burned.I sat frozen on the plush velvet stool of the vanity table, my fingers pressed lightly against my mouth as if I could physically hold back the memory of what had happened just hours ago. The morning light was beginning to bleed through the heavy slate-grey curtains of the primary suite, casting long, sharp shadows across the charcoal carpet. In the reflection of the triple-panel mirror, I didn't look like the composed, professional auditor who had walked into this house yesterday. My hair—a wild, unruly halo of dark curls—was a chaotic mess around my shoulders, my cheeks were flushed a dangerous shade of rose, and my eyes looked wide, startled, and entirely too vulnerable.It hadn't been a theatrical kiss. I knew what acting felt like; I had spent my entire life watching my stepmother, Veronica, perform the role of the grieving widow or the doting wife for the high-society cameras. Acting was light. It was a calculated brush of the