ANMELDENElenaMy alarm went off at seven. I turned it off and slept until eleven.I don’t feel guilty about it. The last four days have been nothing but early mornings and late nights, back to back client presentations and extended hours I invented for myself because the alternative was coming home at a reasonable time and sitting inside a house that no longer felt like mine.It worked, mostly. I came home too tired to think, showered, and slept before my brain could betray me with images I didn’t ask for. Not Marcus’s face. Not Kristen on my couch.Not Jaxon on his knees.I sit up. Press my palms into my eyes. Stop.I have successfully avoided thinking about that for three days by staying in constant motion and I am not undoing it now. I also have not responded to his last two messages, have not shown up to either of the sessions I had scheduled, and I plan to continue that streak indefinitely until I figure out what exactly I’m supposed to say to a man whose mouth has been —I get up.I ne
JaxonThe sound pulls me out of sleep before my brain catches up with my body.I’m already reaching under my pillow before my eyes open, and my fingers reaching from my gun. I’m about to grab it and stalk into the area where the noise is coming from, when I remember I brought a guest home. And I figure the clattering is coming from my kitchen.I sit up, run a hand over my face, and grab the nearest thing — sweatpants from the floor, no shirt. I move through the hallway on instinct, quiet, and push the kitchen door open.Roman is eating cereal directly from the box. Silas has somehow, at whatever ungodly hour this is, produced a bowl of pasta and is working through it with the focused devotion of a man who hasn’t eaten in three days.The tension leaves my shoulders. I lean against the doorframe.Roman looks up. “Who pissed in your cereal?”“What the fuck are you two doing here?” I push off the doorframe and move to the fridge. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Jobs? Lives?”“We do have
ElenaThe ceiling is unfamiliar.That’s the first thing I register before my eyes are even fully open — the ceiling is the wrong color, the wrong texture, and the pillow under my head smells like someone else’s home. I reach my hand out slowly, feeling the cool expanse of sheets beside me, and then I sit up.Too fast. The pain behind my eyes detonates immediately and I press my fingers against my temples and breathe through it.Okay. Where the hell am I?I look around the room. Clean. Minimal. It looks like a guest room. Dark curtains. A glass of water on the nightstand that I didn’t put there.And then it comes back. Not all at once — in pieces. The shots. Maya and those two men at the bar. The music. The hands on my waist. The face.Jaxon.I kissed my therapist at a club and then asked him to take me home and he did and then he — oh my god. Oh my god. He got on his knees and — I press both hands over my face and make a sound into my palms that has no name.My therapist. My actual li
Jaxon For some reason I had agreed with Prez when he said going to the club was a good idea. I got in the car and regretted it all the way to the Red lotus club. There was loud music, those annoying changing lights. And women…. Everywhere. Prez takes us to his usual booth, because I guess he’s a regular here. What an idiot. Immediately we sit down someone brings a bottle and a couple of other things. I’m scouring everywhere when my eye catches a familiar figure. Is that…? No fucking way. “Excuse me,” I mutter to Prez as I make my way downstairs. “Where are you going to man? We just got here?” “Yeah, and you might leave without me. Toss me the car keys.” I ask him. “Fuck no! Call your driver to come get you.” He scowls and looks away. Sometimes I think this man is just a baby in a grown man’s body. I wonder how he’s ever serious. “I don’t have a driver. You do!” I remind him. “We just got here, how much have you had to drink already?” He shrugs before tossing me the keys
Elena“Maya.” My voice breaks on the single syllable.“What happened, El?”“It’s- it’s Marcus,” I cry uncontrollably “That son of a bitch! I’m on my way.”She doesn’t ask questions. That’s the thing about Maya — she never needs them. Twenty minutes later she’s at my door, still in her bonnet, coat thrown over her pajamas, and the moment I see her face I fall apart all over again.“He’s been sleeping with Kristen.” The words taste like poison leaving my mouth. “And now, she’s pregnant, Maya.”The silence that follows is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.“Pregnant.” Maya repeats it slowly, like she’s turning the word over, checking it for exits. “Marcus got that woman pregnant.”“Yes.”She sits down next to me on the couch and for a moment she just looks at me, really looks at me and I watch something move behind her eyes before she locks it down.“You can say it,” I whisper. “I told you so. Say it.”“Elena—”“You warned me. You’ve been warning me for years. Say it.”“You’re hurting.”
Marcus"But Marcus, you had a vasectomy! You told me you couldn't have children!" My mother’s laughter erupts, a sharp sound that cuts through Elena’s hysterical sobbing like a blade. It’s a harsh, mocking cackle that fills the foyer, bouncing off the marble walls I paid for. I watch Elena’s face—the raw, ugly grief etched into her features—and I feel a strange sense of detached power. She looks so small standing there, clutching at straws that I burned years ago. "Kristen, darling," my mother says, ignoring Elena’s breakdown as she turns to the woman carrying the Vance legacy. "Go upstairs and rest. Choose any room you like. The master guest suite has the best light, but feel free to explore. You need to keep your strength up for my grandson." Kristen hesitates, her eyes flickering toward Elena with a practiced bit of false modesty. "Marcus? Is that... okay?" "Go," my mother insists, her voice brooks no argument. "The help will bring up your bags. Marcus and I need to handle thi







