Chapter 6

I fled my father’s Upper East Side mansion and went back to my Brooklyn apartment, looking for a door I could shut on all of it. Once I was inside my own place, I stood in front of the photograph that took up the center of my living room wall. My mother is smiling. Eyes still bright with life.

In the quiet I finally let the tears fall. Perfect Esther Newton. The woman whose legacy I could never quite live up to. The space she left behind that my father’s new family had been eager to fill.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered, touching the frame gently. “I’m making such a mess of everything.”

My cheek still stung from the slap. The physical pain was nothing next to the humiliation of being hit in front of Mark and Lila. Five years after my mother’s death and the Newton household was unrecognizable. The home that once held laughter and warmth now felt like a battleground where I was always outnumbered.

My phone buzzed with an incoming call. I thought it was Debby checking on me after our long day of revisions. Ryan Winters’ name flashed on the screen instead. Childhood neighbor. Longtime friend. We did not talk regularly these days, but his timing was almost too good.

“Hey, stranger,” I answered, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

“Freya Newton! Please tell me you’re free tonight.” Ryan’s voice came through loud, full of that old enthusiasm. “I’ve got a potential client who’s perfect for ImpacTouch. Big budget. Looking for something fresh. They specifically asked about boutique agencies.”

I straightened immediately. “Seriously? Who is it?”

“A luxury accessories brand looking to reposition. They’ll be at Blue Sapphire tonight. I can introduce you if you come out.”

On a normal day I might have insisted on a proper meeting at our office. After today’s disaster with my family and the financial pressure Debby had laid out, I was desperate.

“What time?” I asked, already moving toward my closet.

“Meet me there at nine. Wear something that screams I’m successful and worth every penny. I told them you’re the best in the business.”

After hanging up I surveyed my closet with a kind of grim focus. Tonight called for armor, not just clothes. I selected a crimson slip dress with delicate straps that crossed at the back. Bold enough to command attention. Sophisticated enough for business. I paired it with black stilettos and silver statement earrings that had been my mother’s.

As I applied my makeup with care, covering the faint redness on my cheek, I caught myself thinking about Steve Hayes’s gaze during our meeting. His criticism had been cutting. It had also been accurate. I needed this new client. Not just to avoid crawling back to my father. To prove to Steve that ImpacTouch deserved his contract.

By eight-thirty I was in a cab heading toward Manhattan, my professional portfolio tucked into a sleek black clutch. The double hit of work and family had left me raw. I welcomed the chance to put that energy somewhere useful.

Blue Sapphire pulsed with energy when I arrived. The exclusive nightclub lived up to its name. A line stretched around the block. I texted Ryan that I was there, and within minutes he appeared at the entrance, charming the bouncer into ushering me past the velvet rope.

“You look incredible,” Ryan said, kissing my cheek. “Come on. They’re waiting in the VIP section.”

As we wound through the crowd, the flashing lights and thumping bass made everything feel off-balance. I focused on following Ryan’s tall frame through the bodies and ran my elevator pitch in my head.

When we reached the VIP area, Ryan hesitated. The apologetic look he gave me set off alarm bells immediately.

“Ryan,” I said slowly, “where’s this potential client?”

He winced. “So, don’t be mad—”

Before he could finish, I spotted Mark slouched in a booth. His usual polish was gone. An empty tumbler dangled from his fingers. My stomach dropped.

“You lied to me,” I hissed at Ryan, turning to leave.

“He begged me, Freya.” Ryan caught my arm. “He said it was important. Something you needed to know.”

“I know everything I need to know about Mark Bennett,” I snapped, yanking my arm free.

But I was too late. Mark had spotted me and was stumbling in my direction, his eyes glazed from too many drinks.

“Freya!” he called, loud enough to draw stares. “You came. I knew you would.”

“I didn’t come for you,” I said coldly as he reached me. “I was tricked.”

Ryan mumbled an apology and slipped away, leaving me alone with Mark. The coward.

“Baby, you have to let me explain,” Mark slurred, reaching for my hand. “About Lila. It’s not what you think.”

I stepped back. “I saw the photos, Mark. And your concern when she collapsed today said everything.”

“She trapped me,” he insisted, following me as I tried to move toward the exit. “She’s been using the charity events to get close to me. You know how she’s always wanted what’s yours.”

His words hit a nerve. Lila had made a habit of coveting my things since she moved into our home. I still refused to be manipulated.

“So you slept with her because, what, she was too persuasive?” I laughed bitterly. “That’s pathetic even for you.”

Mark’s expression darkened. “Have you forgotten how you pursued me in college? You practically begged me to date you, Freya. You were the one desperate for my attention then.”

The cruel reminder of how naive I used to be stung worse than my father’s slap. I had been that girl once. Starry-eyed. Convinced Mark Bennett was worth any humiliation. But not anymore.

“Let me go, Mark,” I warned as his fingers closed around my arm, his grip painfully tight.

“Do you have someone new?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Is that what this is about? That guy you were with at the hotel? Who is he?”

When I didn’t answer, his anger flared. He pulled me closer, his bourbon-soaked breath hot against my face. “No one will want you like I did, Freya. No one knows what you really are. A desperate little girl playing at business, running a company that’s one client away from bankruptcy.”

I struggled against his grip, panic rising as he leaned in, clearly trying to kiss me despite me pulling away. Just as I prepared to knee him somewhere painful, a strong arm inserted itself between us and shoved Mark back with controlled force.

“Mr. Bennett,” a cool, measured voice cut through the chaos. “I suggest you compose yourself. This behavior is hardly befitting your public image.”

I froze, recognizing that voice immediately. Standing beside me, radiating controlled power in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, was Steve Hayes.