Monet sat across from Kyle at their favorite restaurant, the soft glow of candlelight flickering between them. She tried to focus on the conversation — the way his warm brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his voice made her feel safe like she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.
But tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air she couldn’t shake, no matter how many times she adjusted in her seat or took a sip of wine. Kyle had always been her steady constant — the man who never asked too much, who treated her with unwavering kindness. He respected her boundaries, encouraged her career, and never rushed her. But tonight, there was urgency in his voice. An edge she wasn’t used to. “I’ve been offered a job in another city,” Kyle said, leaning slightly forward. His voice was calm, but something restless simmered beneath the surface. “It’s a great opportunity. The kind of thing that could take my career to the next level.” He was a pediatric surgeon — calm, dependable, and rarely shaken. But now, he seemed… tense. Monet met his gaze, her heart racing. “That’s great for you,” she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. “It is,” he agreed. Then his gaze softened. “But there’s a catch. It would mean I have to commit fully. To the job… and to you. I know you’ve been wrapped up in the Abbott family, but if we’re going to take this seriously, you have to make a choice.” Monet’s stomach tightened. The warmth of the candlelight faded into the background, and a coldness crept in. She hadn’t realized it until now, but the thought of fully committing to Kyle — of stepping away from her life with the Abbotts — left her feeling hollow. “I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered. “I’ve spent so much time with the kids… with Richard. I can’t just walk away from them.” Kyle’s expression softened, but there was a flicker in his eyes. “Monet,” he said gently, reaching across the table, “I’ve been patient. I’ve always respected your space and time. But I’m about to leave everything behind for this job. I need to know that you’re committed to us. To me.” Monet slowly pulled her hand back, her mind spinning. She had already rejected Richard’s offer to continue part-time — but that didn’t mean she was ready to let go entirely. The Abbotts had become her family in ways she couldn’t explain. Richard, despite his grief and his walls, had become someone she couldn’t simply walk away from. And now here was Kyle, offering her something else — something different. Could she have both? Could she live in both worlds? “I need some time,” she said at last, her voice cracking. “I didn’t expect… this kind of pressure. I just broke the news of the wedding to the kids.” Kyle looked disappointed, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the rim of his wine glass. “I understand. Just know that this job… the life we’re about to build… it won’t wait forever.” Monet nodded, still reeling. She had no answers. Only questions that felt too heavy to carry alone. As they finished their dinner, the quiet between them felt suffocating. Her thoughts were a storm torn between the future Kyle offered and the life she’d already built with the Abbotts. When they stood to leave, Kyle placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Take your time,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” But as Monet stepped into the chilly evening air, her heart weighed down, she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she the one going somewhere? Would she choose the safety of what she knew — Richard and the children — or risk everything for an uncertain future with Kyle? --- “No, I couldn’t work part-time.” Her voice still echoed in Richard’s head — and so did the clear hurt in her eyes, unmasked and undeniable. How had she been hurt by his words? She was the one walking away. She hadn’t even given it a real thought. “I think it'd be best to make the changes now,” she’d said. “I have some candidates I could recommend from the hospital.” As if he and the kids would ever find a replacement. Slow anger churned in Richard’s chest. He took another sip of hard ginger ale. He’d given up alcohol the day Hannah died — the day he realized he had to be both mother and father to his children. “I’m also going to be moving in with Kyle before the wedding.” “Doesn’t that go against all the beliefs you were raised with?” He winced at the memory. That had been a low blow. Even if she was vexing him, he’d had no right. The way her lips parted in shock, those big doe eyes blinking at him — he knew he’d crossed a line. But the kids had walked in before he could apologize. Now, it was almost midnight. He sat alone in the dark on his porch swing, waiting. He told himself it was so he could apologize. But that was a lie. A lie that pulsed in his chest with something far more dangerous. Yes, he was hurt that she was leaving. Especially the kids. Mostly the kids. But he owed her so much. His company had reached new heights because of her. Because he hadn’t had to worry about whether the kids were fed or tucked in, whether their homework was done or their clothes clean. She had been a silent force behind his success. And here he was — sulking — when it should be a bittersweet moment. A sleek Jaguar rolled into the graveled driveway. Kyle’s car. Monet stepped out before he could open the door for her. The streetlight bathed her caramel skin in a soft glow. The sage-green, strapless dress clung to her figure like it was made for her. Richard shook his head hard. The thought had come from nowhere — intrusive, unwelcome. He’d shut that part of his mind down after Hannah died. That part of him was dead. And Monet shouldn’t be the one to revive it. From the shadows of the porch, he watched them. Kyle and Monet hugged and shared a chaste kiss. They made a beautiful couple. Kyle — a bit chubby, reddish hair and boyish charm. Monet — his caramel velvet nymph. Richard clenched his jaw. Monet threw her head back in laughter, her hands on Kyle’s shoulders. His arms encircled her waist, steadying her as she wobbled slightly in her heels. He sealed the moment with a deeper kiss, and Richard’s stomach twisted. He told himself he was waiting to apologize. But the lie sat heavy. He wasn’t just losing a nanny. He was losing the one person who made the house feel like home again. Monet shouldn’t be the one to awaken this part of him — the part that had gone quiet with grief. And yet here he was. Awake. And for the first time in years… afraid.The law office smelled faintly of leather and polished wood, the kind of old wealth and respectability that always felt more like judgment than comfort. Richard sat at one end of the long conference table, his hand drumming lightly against the arm of the chair, though his face betrayed nothing. The hollow in his chest, however, was impossible to mask.He hadn’t meant the word to come out so sharp, so final.No.It had sliced between him and Monet like a blade, and her silence afterward haunted him more than her tears might have. Even now, as he sat beneath the watchful portraits of stern-faced judges along the wall, the echo of her eyes—wide, wounded, unbelieving—tugged at him.Florence sat beside him, her presence a shield of calm. She had insisted on coming, and he was grateful. His grandmother had always had a way of planting her feet firmly when storms threatened to tear him off balance. For that, he was grateful. And yet, gratitude couldn’t lighten the guilt that pressed on him.
Monet hadn’t slept a single wink.Her body had begged for rest, but her mind had kept circling back to his voice, his lips, and the brutal weight of his words. When dawn finally pried open the darkness, her eyes were raw, heavy-lidded, and rimmed in red. She still moved through the house as if on muscle memory—setting the kettle on, laying out the plates, cutting fruit with a hand that trembled slightly.The manor felt too still, as though it held its breath with her.Meredith wandered in first, hair a wild halo, dragging her book bag behind her. She stopped halfway into the kitchen, frowning faintly at Monet.“You’re up early,” she murmured, sliding into her chair.“I’m always up early,” Monet answered softly, smiling as she set down her plate.“Not like this.” Meredith’s gaze lingered—on the pale shadows beneath Monet’s eyes, on the stiffness in her movements. “You didn’t sleep.”Monet forced a small laugh. “You’re becoming far too observant.” Carter came thundering in then, de
Monet’s fingers trembled around the document as if it were a snake that might coil and strike.Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. At last, her voice came, thin and breaking.“They want to take the children from you.”Richard’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. The silence between them swelled, filling the room until it seemed to push against the walls. His chest burned with the effort of holding back—words, rage, fear—it all pressed at the seams of his restraint.Her gaze rose to his, wide and wounded. “From us.”That word—us—was too much. His throat thickened, a knot rising that he forced down with a brutal swallow. He turned away, pacing toward the fire that had long since burned to embers. He pressed his hand against the mantel as though the cold stone could anchor him.“They’re just bluffing,” he said finally, the steel in his voice undercut by something rawer, almost fragile.Monet stood frozen in the center of the study, the papers dangling from her hand. “They’
The office was too still. The radiator hummed faintly, the old clock on the mantel ticked with merciless precision, and yet the silence pressed against Richard like a living thing.The manila folder lay on his desk, untouched, its presence heavier than any brick or stone he’d ever set in place. His hands rested on either side of it, fingers twitching with the instinct to shove it away, to pretend it wasn’t there. But Juliet’s voice clung to his ears, her words replaying with icy clarity.“You would regret marrying that blood-sucking nanny.”His throat tightened. With a sharp breath, he snapped the folder open.Legal papers. Custody filings. Accusations written in cold, black ink.The Pendleton's demanded guardianship of Meredith and Carter. Their reasoning was scathing, Richard was “compromised by grief,” incapable of sound judgment. And Monet—Monet was painted as an opportunist, a manipulative girl who had ingratiated herself with him and the children for her own gain. They argu
The cold chill that coursed through his blood had little to do with the freezing degree of the countryside. Something was coming. He didn’t know how, but he knew it. The air itself seemed to bristle, carrying an omen he couldn’t shake.A brisk, sharp knock disturbed the silence.“Richard, the Pendleton's are outside and demanding to speak to you right now.”Mrs. Haines hovered just inside the doorway, her face a picture of nervousness and unbridled tension.His heart lurched in his chest, uncharacteristically rattled. He had no idea why his life was spiraling into something resembling a melodramatic soap opera, but it was, and here he was, caught in the script.His back went rigid with nerves, but steel hardened his spine. “Send them in.”Mrs. Haines twisted her lips like a nervous schoolgirl, and if not for the fear shadowing her expression, Richard might have laughed.“It’s okay, Mrs. Haines,” he said softly.She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with careful quiet. Her ey
Morning crept into the manor with pale light, soft and brittle as frost. Monet was already awake, though her body begged for rest. Her limbs ached with the weight of a night spent turning over memories she didn’t want but couldn’t silence. She moved through the kitchen on quiet feet, the children still tucked in their beds, the cleaner not yet there for her weekly appointment.The silence was her refuge, and her torment. It let her hide, but it also left her exposed to thought—to the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands at her waist, and the shattering words she had hurled at him afterward like stones she could never gather back.Her gaze snagged on the flowers. Meredith’s bouquet had been placed with pride in a vase at the center of the table, their colors bright against the muted kitchen. The second bouquet—hers—sat shoved into the corner, its white petals already beginning to sag. Only the single red rose stood upright, defiant, bleeding against the pale blooms.Her chest tighten