Se connecterMy hatred for Kerry Showers didn't start in the hallways of Jeremy Enterprises. It started seven years ago on a freezing Tuesday morning at the university student market.I was standing behind my rusted fish stall desperately trying to earn enough cash to keep the heat on in our tiny apartment. My fingers were completely numb from handling ice and raw mackerel. Jericho was just a young teenager back then. He relied entirely on me for his next meal. I was utterly exhausted and I smelled strongly of the sea.Kerry walked past my stall wearing a white designer coat, followed by her wealthy friends. She looked like she stepped directly out of a luxury magazine. She stopped and pinched her perfect nose. She loudly complained that the disgusting smell of my inventory was ruining her morning coffee. She looked at my worn out sneakers and my stained apron with disgust."I truly don't understand why the university allows these impoverished locals to sell their garbage on our campus," Kerry ann
The smell of Saint Mercy Hospital always tastes like bleach.I stand silently in the doorway of room 400 and watch my brother sleep. Jericho looks too small in the hospital bed. The heavy pain medication finally dragged him under after a grueling two-hour physical therapy session. His face is exceptionally pale. His jaw is drawn tight with exhaustion. I lean against the cold metal doorframe and feel my heart completely shatter inside my chest.I close my eyes and remember a time before the car crash. Our parents died when I was sixteen; a drunk driver crossed a solid yellow line and ended their lives in a matter of seconds. Jericho was only thirteen at the time, but he immediately stepped up to protect me. Our house used to smell like warm bread and old books before the bank took it away. Jericho promised he would never leave me alone. He worked three part-time jobs in high school just to make sure we had food on the table while I studied for my college entrance exams. He sacrificed h
He stands up.He towers over me, blocking out the light, blocking out the room. Before I can react, he grips my waist and lifts me effortlessly off the floor.I yelp as he sets me onto the edge of the conference table.He steps between my legs immediately, pinning me there. His thighs press against mine, trapping me.“Mr. Shiel—Foxe!” I panic, my hands flying to his chest. “Get off me! This is harassment! I’ll report you!”“Report me to who?” he growls, leaning down until our noses are almost touching. “To June? The man who pimps you out to spy on his fiancée? Do you think he cares about you, Anella? He uses you.”"And you aren't using me right now?" I spit back, finding my fire. I shove his chest as hard as I possibly can, forcing him to take a step back. "You corner me on a table and think you own me. You literally brought me a chocolate truffle on the terrace to apologize for doing this exact thing in the archives. You promised me we were just going to talk. But here you are, treat
The midnight oil burning in the conference room feels like it's literally suffocating us both.The rain in New Greenland is relentless outside. It batters against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the conference room, turning the city lights into smeared streaks of neon blood.It is 10:45 PM.June left three hours ago to have dinner with Kerry. Before he left, he dropped a stack of merger contracts on my desk, thick enough to kill a man, and gave me a simple order: “Don’t let Mr. Shield leave until he signs every single page. I don’t care if you have to chain him to the chair.”So, here I am. Chaining him. Metaphorically.Foxe Shield sits at the head of the long mahogany table. He discarded his jacket hours ago. His charcoal dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are distractingly bulging with muscle. He's reading a clause in the contract with the focus of a predator watching a gazelle, twirling a Montblanc pen between his fingers.He hasn’t spoken in forty minute
June Jeremy is freaking out, and I'm the only thing keeping him together.The new executive floor feels like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. Marlon Showers has spent the afternoon pushing aggressively hostile new stipulations into the merger agreement. He called June four separate times before lunch to make badly-hidden threats about pulling his family assets out of the deal. By four o'clock, the corporate lions are officially circling, and June finally hits his absolute breaking point.He marches out of his office with a terrifying look on his face. He grabs my wrist and pulls me directly back into his executive suite. He slams the door shut and locks the deadbolt.He completely bypasses his team of highly paid corporate lawyers. He tosses his suit jacket onto a chair and angrily unbuttons his collar. The composed boss I know is gone at the moment. In his place is a man breaking under the crushing pressure of a billion-dollar legacy."I can't look at another lawyer today, Anell
▪ Kerry ▪My father's office always smells like expensive scotch and bitter disappointment, two things I've grown intimately familiar with over the last twenty-six years.I sit rigidly in the oversized leather wingback chair across from his desk. I keep my spine perfectly straight and my ankles elegantly crossed. My posture is something designed to hide the fact that my hands are trembling slightly in my lap. I dig my nails into the expensive fabric of my Chanel skirt to anchor myself.Marlon Showers doesn't even bother looking up from the financial ledger open on his desk. He pours himself another generous measure of wine from his crystal decanter. The clinking sound of ice against glass echoes loudly in the spacious room."It's incomprehensible to me, Kerry," my father begins in that highclass drawl that always makes my stomach turn, "how you have managed to wear a ring of such extraordinary value for six entire months without having the bare minimum competence required to extract a







