MasukRowan moved a little closer to look at the numbers on the screen.“How much earlier?” Gamma asked, frowning.“Early enough to make me wonder why someone was already taking pictures of my son before Rafael had even seen his face.”Papá took the phone again and checked the date.Rowan looked at me. “Are you sure?”I nodded. “I remember that day. Preschool was still open as usual, then a few days later they had a plumbing problem. I had to bring Max to the office, and...” I stopped for a moment. “That was the day Rafael saw him.”Gamma rubbed his bruised jaw with one hand. “So Moretti was already sending people after Max before he even met him.”“Not necessarily,” Papá said.Gamma turned sharply toward him. “Pa.”“We don't know who sent this photograph. We also don't know whether it's connected to the SUV or the drone.”“Come on. Someone takes a picture of Max from across the street outside his preschool, and then a mysterious SUV shows up near Sasha's house? You're telling me that's a c
I had just opened my mouth to ask Rowan if he'd ever heard of an investigation firm that worked for the Moretti family when my phone buzzed on the kitchen island.Nina.I glanced at the time. A little after nine. Nina didn't usually call this early unless something needed my approval or someone at the office had decided that the word urgent was an acceptable substitute for a personality.“Excuse me,” I said to Rowan and Papá before answering. “Please tell me nobody approved the Brentwood pantry without checking the revised dimensions.”“Sasha?”I stopped reaching for my mug. “What happened?”Nina didn't sound like herself. This was a woman who had once called me sounding considerably more relaxed after one of our contractors accidentally flooded a material storage room containing sixty thousand dollars' worth of supplies.“Something was delivered to the office.”I looked through the glass doors toward the terrace, where two of Rowan's technicians were checking one of the installation
At exactly nine, the gate intercom rang.I was standing by the kitchen window when the monitor lit up, showing Rowan Blackwood at the pedestrian gate with three people dressed in dark clothes. A utility vehicle with a small Blackwood Systems logo was parked outside, loaded with black equipment cases that looked considerably more expensive than all the electronics I'd owned when I first started Aster House.Rowan looked up at the camera. “Morning, Sasha.”I pressed the intercom. “Please tell me you're here to fix the Wi-Fi.”“Your Wi-Fi is fine.”“That's disappointing.”The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Your papá already cleared access with our team.”I turned around.Papá didn't even bother pretending to feel guilty.I opened the gate.A few minutes later, Rowan came in through the side terrace with Papá and the head of our family security. He was wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, and a simple watch that probably cost more than most people's car
I woke up to something hard jabbing me in the cheek.Nothing dangerous enough to worry about, at least not until I opened my eyes and found two red plastic horns about an inch from my face.“Kevin, don’t.”“Mami.”I groaned and pulled the blanket up over my nose.“Mami, wake up.”“No.”“Mami, I’m hungry.”“My condolences.”Something small, warm, and deeply disrespectful of personal space climbed onto my stomach. I opened one eye just as Max dropped his entire chubby body onto my chest, Kevin the triceratops included, now sporting two red Lego pieces taped to his horns and, according to his owner, officially qualified as a military weapon.“Jesus Christ, Max.”“Don’t say Jesus Christ,” he said seriously. “You said that’s a bad word.”“I also said not to jump on people while they’re sleeping.”“I didn’t jump. I climbed.”I stared at him.My son stared right back with those enormous blue eyes that somehow managed to make every accusation against him look like a human rights violation. Hi
It wasn’t the usual Rafael Moretti version of no, either. No polished explanation, no tone that somehow turned every conversation into a board meeting where he’d already decided the outcome and forgotten to tell anyone there was supposed to be a vote.Just... no.I stood beside the bed with my phone pressed to my ear. “Wow. Look at that. Personal growth. Should I send your therapist flowers?”“I want the original footage.”I stared at the wall. “And the moment of growth is officially over.”“Not the screenshot you sent. The original file.”“No.”“Sasha.”“Rafael, I’m not customer service for billionaire paranoia. Press one for legal threats, press two if you’d like to buy someone’s company, press three if your ex-wife is sick of hearing her own name.”He didn’t answer.I could picture him on the other end even though I had no idea where he was. Maybe the penthouse. Maybe the hotel. Maybe Noelle’s place, and the fact that my brain offered up that last possibility without being asked ma
My phone kept buzzing in my hand.I stared at Rafael’s name on the screen until the call finally stopped on its own, then lowered the phone with the kind of petty satisfaction no grown adult should have been allowed to enjoy.Good. Very mature. Truly an inspiring display of self-control.Absolutely not because my pride was sitting on one side of a negotiation table while the tiny devil on my shoulder sat on the other, whispering that answering a call from my ex-husband at eleven at night after accusing him of surveillance was the beginning of several bad decisions that usually ended with lawyers.The screen went dark again.I set the phone on the bed.Two seconds later, it started buzzing again.“Jesus.” I answered and pressed it to my ear before I could change my mind. “You have thirty seconds before I block this number and classify you as part of the wildlife problem.”“Where’s Max?”He didn’t even have the decency to sound offended.No excuse me? No comment on the fact that I’d jus
Max pressed his lips together, then slowly pulled out the chair. He tried to climb up by himself, his chubby knee pushing into the seat cushion, one hand gripping the edge of the table. His face was so serious, as if he were scaling the Pottery Barn version of Everest. Once he managed to sit, he im
My house sat inside a gated community far too expensive for people who still had real-life problems, but Los Angeles had always possessed a slightly cruel sense of humor.At the front gate, the security guard gave a small nod when he saw my car. I lowered the window and offered the minimum required
Five years later.Los Angeles felt like a city built out of glass, sunlight, and people far too confident to ever admit they were confused.I stood in the twenty-third-floor boardroom at Jamesson Holdings, facing a presentation screen the size of a mortal sin, while Noelle Jamesson stared at the ho
The front door closed softly behind us, the quiet click echoing through our mansion in Brera, too beautiful, too silent, too expensive to be the home of a broken marriage.The foyer lights glowed softly over pale marble. The white flowers in the console vase were still fresh. Rafael’s coat had been







