LOGINSloane yanked her gaze away from Tyler Cross and his dark suit and his insufferable stare and told herself to breathe.
She was fine. She was absolutely fine. This was Richard Pierce's birthday party, not a trap. She would smile, drink one glass of champagne, and leave before anything went sideways.
She scanned the room again — habit, survival instinct — looking for the one face that could destroy everything.
No sign of Declan.
He's not comi
"You think I'd save you?"Declan's voice was cold granite. He looked down at her on the floor — pale, shaking, one hand clutching her chest, the other wrapped around his ankle like she was drowning and he was the only solid thing in the world — and his expression didn't change.Sloane's hand fell away.He's not going to help. The thought was distant, muffled, like everything else. Her lungs weren't working properly. Each inhale arrived half-assembled — enough to keep her conscious, not enough to stop the blackness creeping at the edges.He wants me gone. He's wanted me gone since—The children.The thought cut through everything else like a knife through water.Cole. Cassidy. Jax. Juliet. Ava. Dash.Six faces. Six pairs of dark eyes. Six small bodies waiting for her to come home.She couldn't die on the floor of The Langham Chicago. She couldn't.
"I didn't lie." Sloane's voice shook. She pressed her back against the hotel room door and faced him. "I found out about my mother and your family after I came back to Chicago. I had no idea she'd married into yours. When I realized — that's why I tried to resign. That's why I kept trying to leave."Declan's black eyes were bottomless. Still. Burning."Do you want me to take it off for you?""Listen to me—" She stepped forward. "Claire is not what the gossip says. None of that story is true. She met Richard after — it was all a misunderstanding, it was—"He dropped the cigarette.Ground it out.Stood up.Something in his face had crossed a line she didn't recognize — past cold, past controlled, into something rawer and darker that made the back of her neck prickle."Declan—"She turned for the door.She almost made it.His hand
Sloane yanked her gaze away from Tyler Cross and his dark suit and his insufferable stare and told herself to breathe.She was fine. She was absolutely fine. This was Richard Pierce's birthday party, not a trap. She would smile, drink one glass of champagne, and leave before anything went sideways.She scanned the room again — habit, survival instinct — looking for the one face that could destroy everything.No sign of Declan.He's not coming, Claire had said. He hasn't attended a family event in over a decade.Sloane exhaled.She really needed to stop scaring herself."Elder Sister!"Something small and projectile-shaped hit her side.She looked down.Jamie Cross, resplendent in a tiny suit that made him look like a four-year-old businessman, had attached himself to her waist and was looking up at her with those devastating dark eyes."Jamie." She felt her he
"People who don't know the truth always talk the loudest," Claire said.She was turning a champagne flute in her hands, staring at the boutique window with the look of a woman who had made peace with something ugly a long time ago. "Richard's first wife — she struggled with depression long before I came along. I met him after she was already gone. But grief needs a villain, and I was the easiest target."Sloane said nothing. Let the silence hold."Even without me, there would have been someone else. He was alone. He was—" Claire stopped. Exhaled. "I was just the one who was there." She looked at Sloane. "I'm not asking you to approve of my choices. I just need you to know the truth."The truth. Sloane turned the word over in her mouth like a stone.She'd built her whole life around protecting one. She wasn't sure she had the right to judge anyone else for the ones they'd buried."Try the dress," was all she said.
Boka was exactly the kind of restaurant that made Sloane feel the gap between her life and Claire Bowen's like a physical distance — the white tablecloths, the lighting calibrated for beauty, the sommelier who materialized at the table like a ghost.She sat across from her mother and felt the familiar cocktail of old grief and new anger and something underneath both of them that she refused to examine too closely.Claire set a card on the table before the first course arrived.Sloane looked at it. Looked at her."It won't make up for anything," Claire said. Her voice was careful. Measured. The voice of a woman who had rehearsed this moment. "I know that. Years of — I know it can't be bought back." She pushed the card closer. "But I want you to have it. I want things to be easier for you."Sloane looked at the card.There's money in there, the practical part of her brain said immediately. Real money. For formula and s
"I want to call you my sister!"The words hit Sloane like cold water."I'm not your sister." She kept her voice gentle. Steady. Poured every ounce of control she owned into those five words.Jamie's face collapsed.His bottom lip trembled. His eyes flooded. He stood there in the forty-second floor hallway of PIERCE Tower — this small, innocent, catastrophically well-meaning child — and let out a sob that echoed off every wall."Nobody wants me." His voice cracked. "Not my brother. Not my sister. Nobody."He turned and ran.Three steps in, he caught his foot on absolutely nothing and went down hard — sat on the floor, looked at his own palms, and howled.His driver materialized from nowhere, scooped him up like a football, and disappeared into the elevator before the echoes faded.The hallway went very quiet.Sloane turned around.Declan stood in the office doorway.
Three years later."Breakfast! Now or never!"Sloane set the last of the six bottles on the kitchen table, stepped back, and braced herself.The bedroom door exploded open.Six children hit the hallway at full sprint, a stampede of tiny feet and shrieking voices, and Sloane had approximately two se
The city never slept. Neither did its pain.Chicago's skyline bled neon through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ember Lounge, but Sloane Carter wasn't looking at any of it. She was staring at the ring of condensation her glass left on the bar, counting drinks the way other women counted regrets.Se
That hand.Sloane stared at Declan's fingers locked around her wrist and couldn't stop thinking about it — the same hand that had snapped a grown man's wrist like a dry twig thirty seconds ago. Cool skin. Ironclad grip. Not a tremor of hesitation.This man is dangerous."Hello again, Miss Carter."
The second the revolving doors of PIERCE Tower spat her back onto the sidewalk, Sloane tipped her head toward the gray Chicago sky and let out a breath that was one syllable away from a scream.What have I done?She'd just accepted a job — been hand-picked — by the man whose DNA her six children we







