LOGIN(Julian)The text comes through at nine fifteen.I’m at the bar at the Beverly Wilshire. Drinking alone. Don't tell anyone.I stare at my phone for a full ten seconds.Three weeks of charm offensive.Orchids.A handwritten card after the gala.Several coffees dropped at the Stein M&A reception desk with a note that said only thinking of you.A text every other day that asked nothing, demanded nothing, and made it clear that if she ever wanted company that did not have an agenda, the offer stood.She has finally taken me up on it.Persistence always pays off.I type back, Be there in twenty.I make it in fifteen.She’s in a back booth in a red silk blouse that drapes her frame in a way that would make angels weep.Her hair is down, which is not how she wears it to the office.She honestly is the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I’ve ever met.There’s a half-empty whisky in front of her and a full one beside it, which tells me everything about the pace.I slide in across from her."N
(Chase)It's after midnight when I close the file.I’ve spent days on this.Rebuilding Bauer's offshore structure from the bottom up.The work is slow and unglamorous, but it’s helping to keep me from slowly losing my mind.Giving my hands something to do.If they were idle, I’d be putting a hole through my office wall.I know Sonia’s the one who tampered with Natasha’s medical file.Perhaps not directly, she hardly has the know-how to do something like that, but she’s behind it.I watched her face when I said the word file. That was all I needed.I have no idea what Dr. Bailey was doing there.He wasn’t around yet when Natasha was hospitalized, so he couldn’t have been involved.Dr. Evans is my main suspect as Sonia’s co-conspirator at this point.I push back from the desk and pour another coffee.There’s a right way to do this and a wrong way.The way not to do it is to put my hands around Sonia's throat.Which is deeply unfortunate since that’s the way I most want to do it.But tha
(Clarice)I shouldn’t be here.I tell myself this in the parking structure.I tell myself this in the lift.I tell myself this as I cross the polished floor of the St. Jude's pediatric wing in a wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses that make me look exactly like a woman who’s somewhere she shouldn’t be.I called the hospital and pretended to be Natasha Warren, confirming Lily’s next appointment.It turned out to be today.Sonia is upstairs in her bedroom packing for Paris and refuses to speak to me.I tell myself I’m only here for a quick look.The pediatric atrium has a glass wall that overlooks the courtyard fountain.There’s a row of upholstered chairs facing it for parents who need to pretend, briefly, to be somewhere else.I take one of the chairs at the far end and angle myself toward the corridor.Natasha comes out of the lift at three forty.She comes in with the baby in her arms and a leather bag over one shoulder.She looks exhausted, but she’s pushing through it in that way wo
(Natasha)Liam is staying with me for the weekend and treating it like a press tour.He has two callbacks lined up, a friend's experimental short film to attend, and a printed list of delicatessens he’s hunting with the fervor of a man going to war.On Saturday morning he drags me out of my home office and into the passenger seat of my own car."You're working too hard," he tells me."It's an emergency. We're going to Beverly.""I have a deal closing.""You have a brother visiting and a daughter who already loves him more than you. Move."I let him drive.We’re walking past store windows, Liam mid-monologue about the script he’s writing when he stops mid-sentence and grabs my elbow."Oh my God.""What?""Her."He’s staring through the window of a luxury luggage store.A woman stands at the counter while an assistant shows her a set of Louis Vuitton bags.It’s Sonia."No," I say."Yes. It’s fate Natasha.""Liam, you don’t-"He’s already through the door.I follow because the alternativ
(Clarice)I tell myself to stop.Nat is a closed door.She has been a closed door for twenty years, and one afternoon with James Bailey on my doorstep is not enough to open it again.I press my fingers to my temples and breathe in slowly.Four counts in. Eight counts out.It does nothing.Her face keeps assembling itself behind my eyelids.Not as she must be now, I haven't seen her, but as she was.Six years old. Solemn mouth. The little furrow between her brows that she got from her father.Stop.Sonia is on the edge of the sofa with her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around her shins.She looks like a child who’s been caught and is waiting to see how bad the trouble is going to be.She’s the daughter I raised from infancy to adulthood.She’s the daughter in the room with me right now.She’s the one I have to think about at the moment.In all likelihood, Nat will never forgive me anyway."Sonia."She doesn't look up."Sit properly," I say, surprised by the steadiness in my own
(Sonia)My phone screen is a useless piece of black glass.I tap it again.Still no response from Chase.I spent the entire weekend in Santa Ynez pretending to care about the tasting notes of Syrah with girls I barely tolerate.I was sure that by now Chase would have realized what he was missing.A quiet house. A supportive partner. Not a war zone with Natasha.Instead, absolute silence.He keeps leaving me on read, which is just rude.He could at least make an attempt to make it seem like he’s so busy he doesn’t have time to look at my messages.The Uber drops me at the end of the Shell Cove driveway.I drag my overnight bag up the stone path.The beach house always feels hostile to me. Like it doesn’t want me here.The way Nathanial used to wax lyrical about the family holidays they’d spent here, I expected it to be some kind of oasis.Sure, the ocean’s pretty, but the house only has three bedrooms for goodness’ sake.I push the front door open."Mom?"She’s sitting on the edge of t
(Natasha)Sitting at the kitchen island in my townhouse, I stare blindly at the untouched mug of tea in front of me.Mason paces the length of the room, running a hand through his dark hair."Just give me one week, Natasha," Mason pleads.He stops pacing and looks at me with desperate eyes."Don't
(Natasha)It’s nearly midnight, but I lie awake, staring at the ceiling.My arms ache with an emptiness that steals my breath.Every time my eyes close, Eleanor’s cruel voice echoes in my head, telling me I can’t see my own child.The agony of being separated from my daughter is the worst pain I’ve
(Natasha)My eyes blink open very slowly.The ceiling above me is painted a dull, flat white. My mouth is dry, and my body feels incredibly heavy.Taking a slow breath, I try to piece my memories back together.The last thing I remember is the sharp, agonizing pain in Mason's living room.I slowly
(Natasha)The private jet's tires touch down smoothly on the Los Angeles runway.Looking out the small window, exhaustion wars with a strange sense of victory.The week in Tokyo felt like a fever dream.Working alongside Chase was surprisingly seamless, easily slipping back into old rhythms.We ant







