Eloise The knock on the door wasn’t frantic, wasn’t loud. Just firm. I froze where I stood in the kitchen, Max’s half-eaten toast still on the plate in front of me. The morning sun streamed through the windows, but it felt cold. I knew. Before I even opened the door, I knew. “Ms. Eloise Sinclair?” The man in the grey suit, eyes avoiding mine, held out an envelope. “For you.” My fingers felt like ice as I took it. “Served,” he muttered, turning on his heel, gone before I could summon a word. I shut the door, the weight of the envelope burning my palm. Lucian’s name stared up at me from the corner of the document. I sank onto the couch, Max’s chatter from the other room muffled by the blood pounding in my ears. With trembling hands, I opened it. By the time I reached the final page, my vision blurred. Not because it was my first time seeing Lucian perform his madness but what the words the paper contained. Shared custody. Emotional wellbeing at risk, risk of being unstable
Lucian The subtle knock on my office door came precisely at nine, as planned. My lawyer, Carter, stepped inside, sharp suit, sharper eyes, carrying the thick manila envelope like it was a prize. “It’s done,” he said, placing the envelope on my desk. I let my fingers rest on it for a beat, savoring the weight of it. Shared custody. A move long overdue. Carter’s gaze flicked to mine. “I’ve arranged for the papers to be served this morning. She’ll get them before noon.” I nodded, leaning back in my chair, the city low behind me through the glass wall. “Good.” He hesitated. “Lucian, remember, public image is everything. We stick to the script. The devoted father, trying to do right by his son.” I smiled, slow. “I know the game, Carter. I wrote the rules.” He inclined his head. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” As the door clicked shut behind him, I lifted the envelope again, running my thumb along the sealed flap. Eloise. I could already picture the look on her face when the pape
Jennifer The morning sun slanted through the glass walls of my office, catching on the crystal decanter on the side table. I poured myself a splash of bourbon, early, I know, but the burn steadied my hands. Today wasn’t a day for weakness. I glanced over the mock-ups on my desk: the joint venture proposal. My empire’s next move. Lucian and I, two unstoppable forces merging for the ultimate fashion takeover. That’s what the press would say. That’s what they’d be fed. Except Lucian didn’t seem as thrilled anymore. I’d seen it in the meetings, in the careful way he avoided my gaze, in the curt replies to my late-night messages. And last night, when I’d tried to get him on the phone to finalize the launch timeline? Straight to voicemail. I clenched my jaw, staring down at the contract draft like I could will him back into alignment. He was mine. This wasn’t just about business. This was about loyalty. About everything we’d built, everything we deserved. And if he thought he coul
Mike I knew she was lying to me. The moment I saw the way Ava avoided my calls, the way she stammered through our last call conversation, I knew she hadn’t stopped. I sat in my car across from that dingy little café on the east side, the one that looked like it hadn’t seen a decent customer in a decade. My fingers drummed the steering wheel, heart pounding too loud in my ears. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve let this be Ava’s mess. But I couldn’t, not when it was Eloise who’d pay the price. When Ava stepped out of the café, I almost convinced myself I was wrong. That maybe she was meeting an old friend or handling something harmless. But then I saw him. The same guy, the fixer, my investigator had revealed his face to me. Greasy hair, cheap suit, eyes that darted like a rat’s. It’s possible he might not the be the main fixer though. Ava handed him something, a folder. My blood ran cold. Even from where I sat, I knew. I just knew. I waited. Watched the man vanish into t
Eloise The apartment was too quiet. I sat at my drafting table, pencil poised above fresh paper, but the lines wouldn’t come. Ideas flickered at the edges of my mind, fragments of shape, texture, color, but the moment I tried to capture them, they scattered like startled birds. I stared at the blank page until my eyes blurred. Outside, the city pulsed, horns, sirens, voices. Life went on. But in here, in this small cocoon where I should’ve felt safe, I felt nothing but hollow. I was alone. Mike’s face flashed in my mind. His concerned eyes, his soft reassurances. I wanted so badly to believe him. But how could I? The leak of Max’s designs haunted me. Those sketches were sacred, between Max and me, and no one else. No one but Mike had seen them. And Ava… I swallowed hard. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye anymore. Every time we spoke, her voice trembled like something was wrong. I shoved the sketchpad aside and stood, pacing the small space between my table and the windo
Ava I couldn’t stop shaking. My hands trembled as I tried to steady the glass of water against my lips. The rim clinked against my teeth, spilling cold droplets down my chin. I set it down on the kitchen counter and gripped the edge until my knuckles went white. Breathe, Ava. Just breathe. But the air felt too thin, like the walls of my apartment were closing in, suffocating me with the weight of what I’d done. The message sat open on my phone, the words seared into my mind even though I’d read them a dozen times: You’re not done. More sketches. Or the first photo goes public. Tick-tock. No name. No number I could trace. Just the faceless predator Jennifer had sent after me. I stumbled to the sofa, burying my face in my hands. The room blurred behind my tears, the neat space I’d worked so hard to build for myself, now tainted by this mess. I had thought, God, I had hoped, that sending those first sketches would be the end. That they’d take what they wanted, leave me alone, le