Mag-log in“Kelsey came to my office,” I said.Sebastian didn’t react right away.The basil was still between his fingers, one leaf half-pulled from the stem, a tiny innocent green thing that looked deeply unfortunate to be caught between us. He looked down at his hand for a second, then raised an eyebrow. Just slightly. A small movement that, five years ago, could have meant a hundred different things. Annoyed. Interested. Testing me. Holding back something inappropriate.Now I didn’t know what it meant.Or I did, and I didn’t want to give myself the dignity of being right.“What did she say?” he asked quietly.The water in the pot was already boiling. Small bubbles broke across the surface like someone was politely applauding our disaster.I dropped the pasta into the water, mostly so I had a reason not to look at him right away. “A lot.”“Jas.” My name came out low.I picked up the wooden spoon. Stirred the pasta. One turn. Two. Three. If I kept counting, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about
I pressed my lips together.Sebastian automatically steadied Poppy’s back when she nearly tipped over reaching for the roll of toy bandages. The movement was small. Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d done it. One hand behind Poppy, steady, certain, like he’d been doing it for four years instead of just a few weeks.Poppy didn’t stop talking. “Hold the flashlight, Daddy. Doctor can’t operate if the father isn’t useful.”Sebastian immediately turned on the flashlight and aimed it at Bunny. “Like this?”“Not in Bunny’s eyes! He’s already suffering!”“Sorry.”“You have to be more gentle. Bunny has anxiety.”“I’ll improve my technique.”“Good.”I stood there with my bag hanging from my shoulder, my chest full of questions that had been shouting like a crowd of protesters a few minutes ago and had suddenly lost their megaphones.All of this was too normal.“Mommy!” Poppy finally saw me.She turned so fast the little crown she had somehow acquired slipped sideways toward her temple. Her whole
I lasted until almost noon.Lasted, in this case, meant I didn’t call Sebastian, didn’t pound on Luca’s door demanding scan results that technically weren’t finished yet, and didn’t cancel my entire life by email.Then I stood, picked up my bag, and gave Daniella a list of instructions far too long for someone who was only leaving for a few hours.“If Luca sends the results, forward them to my phone, but not through regular email. If Montreux follows up, tell them I’m unavailable until this afternoon. If Adrian calls the office, tell him I’m with Poppy.”Daniella looked at me over the top of her tablet. “And if Sebastian calls?”My hand stopped on the strap of my bag. I tilted my head. “Why is everyone today obsessed with men who aren’t here?”“Because he feels very here.”I hated how accurate that was.“If Sebastian calls,” I said, opening my office door, “tell him I’m on my way to his place.”Daniella raised an eyebrow.“What?”“Nothing.”“Your face says otherwise.”“My face is tryi
“He’s not supposed to know,” I said.Luca didn’t answer right away.He just looked at me, then at the photocopy inside the gray folder, then at the glass doors Adrian had just walked through. He stayed quiet in a way that made me want to throw something small at his head, maybe the coffee lid, maybe my dignity.“Don’t jump straight to accusations,” he said finally.“You’re talking to me like I’m a four-year-old holding glitter.” I snorted.“You’re more dangerous.”“Thank you.”“That wasn’t a compliment.”“I’m taking it anyway.”Luca breathed out through his nose, then closed the folder. “We wait for the full scan results. Watermark. The R-LEG/FND-09/7A-JR code. Lobby CCTV. Old access trace. Then we draw conclusions.”“You do realize you just told Jasmine Belsky to look at fire and not touch it?”“I do.”“That’s beautiful optimism. Wrong, but beautiful.”Daniella came back from the meeting room looking like someone who had just postponed a multimillion-euro call without crying, then st
He stood just inside the door with his navy coat open, white shirt without a tie, dark brown hair slightly mussed by the wind outside. In one hand, he carried a cardboard coffee tray with two cups. In the other, a small paper bag from the café I usually ordered almond croissants from when I wanted to pretend breakfast was a form of self-care instead of carbohydrates layered with denial.His expression changed the second he saw us.Me. Luca. Daniella. The gray folder. The photocopy on the table.For a man who claimed he was more comfortable talking to systems than people, Adrian read a room far too quickly.“Hey,” he said quietly.His voice didn’t rise. Didn’t demand. Didn’t sound an alarm. And somehow, that was harder to deal with than if he had immediately asked who died.“Adrian,” I said.He walked over carefully. “I brought you coffee,” he said, lifting the carrier slightly. “The right kind. Not the one that tastes like tax punishment.”“You came to bribe me with caffeine?”“I just
He picked up the photocopy, not by the corners with the disgust of a normal person, but like it was evidence that might contain hair, fibers, DNA, and a family curse. His eyes moved quickly over the text. No expression. If Luca had ever played poker, the gambling world should be terrified.“What did she say?” he asked.“Short version, or the version that makes me sound like I need a drink before noon?”“Full version.” Luca looked at me flatly.I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair. “Kelsey claims she’s three months pregnant. A boy. Sebastian’s. She claims the Romano family is protecting her because she’s his wife and carrying a Romano son. She called Poppy an inheritance problem that showed up after the family already had a ‘cleaner solution.’”Daniella made a small sound in her throat.Luca didn’t interrupt. But his eyes, usually as calm as a steel door, paused for a fraction of a second at three months.I saw it.Of course I saw it.I was raised in a house where everyone lied ov







