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Chapter 49— THE SPECTATOR

Author: Rach's pen
last update Last Updated: 2025-12-31 14:16:48

MAYA’S POV

A month. The days had a strange, awful rhythm.

Leo’s room was next to mine, in the west wing of the penthouse. Clara’s master suite and Liam’s assigned room were in the east wing. The living areas were neutral territory, a no-man’s-land of polished floors and modern art.

The rules were not discussed. They were delivered on crisp legal paper. No private contact. All interactions regarding the child to be conducted in common areas or in the presence of Ms. Finch. Clara’s lawyers were thorough.

She had healed. The sling was gone. She moved with her old grace, the scar on her shoulder hidden under silk and tailoring. The world had a new story: Liam Thorne, the devoted younger brother, standing steadfast by Clara Finch’s side as she recovered from a traumatic, senseless act of violence. They were photographed at benefits, at dinners. A beautiful, resilient couple.

And she was holding up her side of the deal. Daniel’s sudden, aggressive push for custody had hit a wall of legal de
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  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 64— THE TERMS

    CLARA'S POV The playback ended. The silence in my study was profound, a canvas upon which their foolish, feverish plans had just been painted in vivid, pathetic detail. Maya’s speech by the pool had a certain theatrical passion to it. Liam’s capitulation—the raw hope in his voice when he said “It’s worth everything”—was the most interesting part. It confirmed the depth of the infection.Love. It made them so stupid. It made them think in grand, sweeping gestures—sunlight, minefields, everything. It blinded them to the simple, granular machinery of power. To the plumbing and the wiring of control.I felt no hot jealousy. The emotion was colder, more proprietary. A disappointment that something of mine had been so thoroughly spoiled by an outside contaminant. Liam was mine. Our understanding, our partnership, the life I had built around him—it was mine. Maya Surman was a corrosive agent, and she had eaten through to the core.Their plan to run was a gift. It was chaos, and I excel at s

  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 63— THE INVITATION

    MAYA'S POV The guilt of Liam seeing me with James was a live wire in my chest, sparking with every heartbeat for two days. I moved through the mansion like a ghost, but a different kind than before. I was a ghost with a plan. James’s words—solid ground, a shelter—were a mantra. But the shelter felt empty when the storm I wanted to weather was Liam’s.Seeing him in the conservatory, surrendering, telling me to be happy… it wasn’t a release. It was a challenge. He thought he was the only one who could make a sacrifice. He was wrong.I waited for a moment I knew Clara would be absent, locked in her Monday afternoon portfolio reviews downtown. I found Liam not in the shadows this time, but out by the empty pool, its blue cover taut under a brittle autumn sun. He was staring at the still, covered water, his shoulders a tense line under his shirt.“We need to talk,” I said, my voice sounding calmer than I felt.He didn’t turn. “If it’s about the market, don’t. I’m glad you have… solid grou

  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 62— THE LIFELINE

    MAYA'S POV The market was a symphony of chaos I craved. The shout of vendors, the slippery scent of fish on ice, the bright, defiant piles of oranges and peppers—it was the antithesis of the Finch mansion’s sterile, perfumed silence. I spotted James at a small table by a coffee stall, two paper cups steaming between his hands. He didn’t smile when he saw me. His face was set in lines of sober concentration, the easy charm of our dinner replaced by a quiet intensity that made my stomach clutch.“Hey,” I said, sliding onto the bench opposite him.“Maya.” He pushed a cup toward me. “Black, two sugars. Like you used to take it.”A simple, remembered kindness. It should have warmed me. Instead, it felt like a data point. I wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the heat sear my palms. “You said we needed to talk.”He didn’t soften the blow. “The Grove wasn’t luck,” he said, his voice low under the market’s din. “It was a blueprint. Clara’s. The cab that arrived exactly on time. The tabl

  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 61— THE SPLINTER

    MAYA'S POV The orchids on my dresser were too perfect. Their waxy, white petals looked like they’d been carved, not grown. James’s note was sweet. It was the kind of note a woman should cherish. To new beginnings. I tried to feel the fluttering hope it was meant to inspire. All I felt was a hollow echo, and beneath it, a persistent, low-grade dread.The do-over had been everything I’d asked for. Charming company, easy conversation, no visible specters haunting the table. James had been a gentleman, the kiss on my cheek a promise of patience, not pressure. It was what I’d wanted. So why did I feel like I’d betrayed something sacred?The answer was a face, etched in anguish in a restaurant’s shadows. Liam.Sleep was a restless, guilty tide. I dreamed of green silk and cold marble, of a kiss that wasn’t mine to witness.Morning brought the sound of small, thunderous feet. Leo was home, bursting through the west wing door like a sunbeam, trailing the scent of country air and Marta’s cook

  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 60— THE GHOST IN THE HALL

    LIAM'S POV Silence has a weight. Tonight, it presses down on the Finch mansion like water at the bottom of a deep, dark sea. Clara left two hours ago for the Lyceum Foundation dinner, her parting words a masterclass in casual cruelty. “Hold down the fort, darling. I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself.” The click of the door behind her was a period on the sentence of my solitude.Leo is gone. Marta took him to the country house this afternoon, a “special treat” arranged with military precision. The emptiness they left behind isn’t just an absence of sound; it’s an absence of life, of heartbeats.And Maya.Maya is on her do-over.The phrase is a splinter working its way deeper into my mind with every passing minute. Do-over. I see her at La Belle, the emerald silk a shock against her skin, her eyes finding mine in the shadows. That look—a searing connection of shared agony—was ours. It was real, even in its horror. Now, she’s out there with him, with James, trying to overwrite

  • WHICH MAN STAYS?   Chapter 59— THE WILDCARD

    JAMES POVThe text from Maya was a lifeline. After the silent car ride from hell, after watching her walk back into that museum of a house looking shattered, I’d assumed that was it. Door closed. History. The sight of Liam Thorne looming over our table, a storm of possessive agony, had painted a clear, ugly picture I thought I understood.But then: Can we do a do-over of the dinner again?I stared at the words for a full minute, a hopeful warmth cutting through my own frustration. She wanted a redo. She wanted to erase the poisoned night. She was choosing me. It felt like a victory.Then, the miracle. The next morning, an email confirmation from The Grove. For Saturday at eight. Chef’s counter. I laughed aloud in my quiet apartment. I’d been on the waitlist for months. It had to be a sign. Fate, or karma, or just dumb, beautiful luck was aligning. I wrote back to her immediately, the excitement in my words genuine. You read my mind. The Grove, Saturday at 8. A real do-over. No spectat

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