MARRIED TO THE MAN MY EX CALLS UNCLE

"It's not personal, Miss Sullivan."

Maya kept her hands folded in her lap so the hiring manager wouldn't see them shake. "You said that already."

Mr. Halloway shuffled the papers in front of him like they might rearrange themselves into a different answer. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "The position's been put on hold. Indefinitely."

"Indefinitely," she repeated. "Yesterday you told me I was the strongest candidate you'd interviewed all quarter."

"Things change."

"Things don't change overnight, Mr. Halloway. Not without a reason." She leaned forward. "What happened between yesterday and today?"

He glanced at the door like he wished someone would walk through it and save him. "I got a call this morning. From someone I couldn't ignore."

Maya's stomach dropped, but she kept her voice level. "A call from who?"

"I really can't say." He straightened his tie, a nervous habit she'd clocked the moment she sat down. "Carter business isn't my business. I just do what I'm told."

The name landed like a slap.

Maya sat back slowly. Three interviews. Three offers that had seemed locked in, warm handshakes and promises of start dates — and three sudden, unexplained reversals, all within two months. She'd told herself the first one was bad luck. The second, a coincidence. She wasn't stupid enough to believe in a third.

"I haven't spoken to a Carter in two years," she said.

"Then I guess someone's still speaking about you." Halloway winced the second it left his mouth, like he'd said more than he meant to. He stood, signaling the interview was over whether she wanted it to be or not. "I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you more."

"I'm sure you do."

She gathered her bag and walked out with her spine straight, because that was the only thing she had left to control. The lobby was too bright, too clean, mirrors on every wall reflecting a woman who looked composed and felt anything but. She made it to the sidewalk before the fury finally cracked through — hot and humiliating, blooming in her chest until her eyes stung.

Her phone buzzed in her bag.

She dug it out, half-expecting a text from Viv asking how the interview went. Instead: an unknown number, New York area code.

She silenced it and kept walking.

It rang again immediately.

Maya stopped on the corner, staring at the screen like it might explain itself. Whoever it was, they weren't giving up. Her thumb hovered over decline a second time — and then something in her, some reckless splinter of the fury still burning in her chest, made her answer instead.

"Whoever this is," she said, voice tight, "I've had a very bad morning, and I am not in the mood."

There was a pause. Long enough that she almost hung up.

Then a man's voice came through, low and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world and knew she didn't.

"Hello, Maya." He said her name the way someone might handle something they already owned. "We need to talk."

---

Maya's grip tightened on the phone. "Who is this?"

"You'll want to sit down for this conversation. Are you somewhere private?"

"I'm on a public street corner in the middle of Manhattan, so no. And I didn't ask for a consultation on my location. I asked who this is."

Another pause — not hesitation, she realized. Deliberation. Like he was choosing his next words the way a chess player considered a board three moves ahead.

"My name is Elias Carter."

The world seemed to tilt half an inch to the left.

She'd heard that name before, always from Damien, always with a strange note in his voice she'd never been able to place — somewhere between fear and reverence, the tone people used for hurricanes and gods. She'd never met the man. She'd never wanted to.

"I don't know who gave you my number," Maya said, "but I want you to lose it. I'm done with your family. I was done two years ago."

"I'm aware."

"Then you'll understand when I say I have nothing to say to you." Her voice climbed, sharper than she intended, loud enough that a woman passing with a stroller glanced over. Maya lowered it, teeth clenched. "You people have already cost me enough. Three jobs, Mr. Carter. Three. Do you have any idea what that's like, watching your life fall apart and not knowing why?"

"I know exactly what that's like," he said, and something in the flatness of it made her believe him. "Which is why I'm calling. Not to make it worse."

"Forgive me if I don't take that on faith."

"I'm aware of your employment difficulties. I'm also aware I could make them disappear with one phone call." He said it without arrogance, just fact, the way someone might mention the weather. "That's not a threat. It's an offer."

Maya let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "An offer. From a Carter. Because that's worked out so well for me before."

"You think I'm calling to threaten you," Elias said. "I'm calling because someone else already is — and you don't even know it yet."

The words landed somewhere cold in her chest.

"I don't know you," she said, quieter now.

"No." A beat. "But I know you. Better than you'd like."

Her pulse ticked up. She wanted to ask what that meant — how a stranger could know her at all, let alone better than she'd like — but some instinct, old and well-earned, told her not to hand him the satisfaction of her curiosity.

"I want proof," she said instead. "Proof that this isn't just another Carter mind game before I agree to anything, including hearing you out."

"Fair enough."

He gave her an address — Carter Industries, top floor — and a time, six o'clock that evening, spoken with the crisp efficiency of a man dictating a memo rather than extending an invitation.

"Come alone," he added. "And Maya—"

"What?"

"Whatever you've heard about this family, about me — I'd ask you to leave it at the door. Just for one hour."

The line went dead before she could tell him exactly what she thought of that request.

Maya stood frozen on the corner, phone still pressed to her ear even after the call ended, the dial tone humming faintly against her cheek. Pedestrians moved around her like water around a stone. She lowered the phone slowly and stared at the screen — at the address glowing back at her, stark and impossible to ignore.

Her hands were shaking again. But this time it wasn't only fear.

Some small, traitorous part of her — the part that had spent two years rebuilding a life from the wreckage the Carters left behind — wanted to go. Wanted to know what a man who could sabotage three job offers with a single phone call could possibly want from her. Wanted, more than she was willing to admit standing on a street corner in the fading afternoon light, to finally understand why her past refused to let her go.

She shoved the phone into her bag and started walking, faster than before, her heels striking the pavement in a rhythm that sounded almost like a countdown.

Six o'clock.

She had five hours to decide whether walking into Carter Industries was the bravest thing she'd ever done, or the last mistake she'd ever make.