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104: MARIE'S CHILDHOOD

Autor: June Estee
last update Última atualização: 2025-10-18 13:11:34

MARIE:

Lockwood

The car ride was too quiet. The woman didn’t talk much, only asked if I needed anything. I didn’t answer. I stared out the window with my arms wrapped around my middle. My fingers pressed into my ribs. I still tasted the bread Mommy gave me, but the warmth of it had turned cold in my chest.

I had cried in the store parking lot. I told her I missed her. I asked if we could go home. She looked me in the eye and said, “This is your home now.”

I didn’t ask again.

When we arrived, the sky was starting to turn a bruised orange. The building looked like a school, tall with rows of windows and a small courtyard out front. A tired metal gate creaked open as the car pulled in.

Inside, the air smelled like old wood, bleach, and something sweet that didn’t cover the sadness underneath. The woman led me down a hallway where the lights buzzed. We passed some kids my age, maybe older. They looked at me like they’d seen too many new faces and didn’t care to learn another one.

“This is
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  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   152: MARIE

    MARIEThe day had been ordinary, almost too ordinary. I had gone to the mall to pick up a few things Sheila asked me to get. I wanted to keep busy, to feel normal, to convince myself that life was finally smoothing out. The mall was crowded, people weaving in and out of stores, the air filled with chatter and the hum of Christmas music even though the holiday was still a day away.And then I heard it.“Marie!”I froze. That voice. That tone. It sent a shockwave straight through me, like someone had reached inside and pressed a finger against a wound I thought had healed. Slowly, I turned, and there he was. Timothy.My husband. My runaway ghost.My breath caught, then anger surged, hot and sharp. “You!” The word tore out of me before I could stop it. “Leave me the fuck alone. Are you back from the dead or something?”He looked exactly the same, yet older. His hair was a little longer, a little messier, but those eyes, those familiar pleading eyes, still had their pull. He raised his ha

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   151: XAVIER STORM

    STORMMarie made it to Sheila’s and, for a while, everything went the way I wanted. Dante reported steady updates: meals shared, walks by the river, quiet afternoons in the small flat that smelled of old perfume. The reports were clean and ordinary, and for the first time in months I allowed myself a thin thread of relief. She was breathing without me, and that should have been enough.But I do not trust quiet. Quiet is often the sound that comes right before a trap snaps shut.Dante called me that afternoon in a voice that had lost its casual tone. “Sir, something happened. Timothy Grant was seen near Sheila’s.”The name was a punch behind the ribs. Timothy Grant. Marie’s runaway husband, a story I had placed under a sheet and folded away because it was messy and dangerous and not mine to untangle. The moment Dante said the name, a cold certainty settled like metal in my gut.“It is Garrick,” I said before I even allowed myself to think. The syllables were flat, like a verdict. Garr

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   150: XAVIER STORM

    STORMI did not sleep well that night. The hospital lights had bled into my head, the steady beep of machines stitched into the fabric of my thoughts. I had booked a room in a hotel close enough to the hospital to be there in minutes but far enough away that its anonymity soothed me. I needed the space to think, to put together the pieces that had splintered in the last ten weeks.By dawn I was restless. The sun tore through the curtains and I found myself thinking of Marie not as a problem to be solved but as a person who had nearly been broken beyond repair. There are moments when power feels hollow; this was one of them. I had built walls to protect what was mine, and yet those walls had kept out the one person I did not want to lose. I had told myself I could control everything. The truth was uglier. I had never been good at handing over freedom to someone else, not without a plan to protect my own interests. The baby we had never met had changed something in me I was not ready to

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   149: XAVIER STORM

    STORMTen weeks after the BBM’s quarterly meeting, the dust was still settling, but in my world, nothing ever stayed quiet for long. Garrick had been arrested, dragged into the spotlight like the criminal he always was, and Roland had been in my custody all this time. He had been waiting for my judgment, but I had not had the time nor the desire to grant him that satisfaction yet. I had fired everyone who colluded with him; their loyalty had been sold too cheap, and in my empire betrayal had only one consequence. Exile, if they were lucky. Ruin, if they weren’t.While they rotted outside my walls, I had the tech team restructure everything. They built me a new procurement and accounting system, one I could oversee from anywhere in the world. They created an app that consolidated my services, my projects, even the monitoring of key departments and their KPI’s. It was power and control neatly folded into the palm of my hand. I no longer needed to be chained to an office or a meeting roo

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   148: MARIE

    MARIEStorm shut the door without answering me that morning and the silence settled like a weight I could not lift. He left me with the question hanging in the air, unclaimed, the space between us stretching wider every hour he was gone. Days bled into weeks and weeks into months. The house was a gilded cage and the ocean outside the windows only reminded me of how small I felt within it.I tried to measure my life in small things to keep from losing the shape of myself altogether. I learned the angles of the beach house, where the light pooled best in the afternoon, how the wooden floor warmed under bare feet at noon, the exact rhythm the refrigerator hummed when it thought no one was listening. I watched the cook move through the kitchen like ritual: palms on the counter, measured pinches of salt, a hum under her breath that seemed to promise continuity. I looked for Sheila like someone groping for a thread at the back of a tapestry, certain it had to be there somewhere. Sometimes I

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   147: XAVIER STORM

    STORMBy the end of the forty-eight hours, I had everything I needed. Evidence, testimonies, financial trails, and enough dirt to bury Garrick, Roland, and the five other staff members Roland had managed to corrupt. Everything was in play. I sat in my office, the morning sun bleeding faint light through the tinted windows, a glass of water at my side. The fatigue was heavy in my bones, but I felt the edge of satisfaction. It had been a long two days, and every second of it had been worth it.Steve walked in, his expression smug, his voice laced with expectation.“Mr. Storm, I hope you are satisfied with our service?”I leaned back in my chair, keeping my tone neutral. “Yeah, I can say so.”Truthfully, I was thrilled. My blood burned with quiet victory. But I wasn’t about to shower him with praise. Over-complimenting men like Steve only made them greedy.“Well,” he pressed, “the forty-eight hours is up, and we’ve given you what you asked for. It’s time we talk about our payment.”I nod

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