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Chapter 50— THE RULE BREAKER
Last Updated:
2026-01-01 14:57:56
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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
WHICH MAN STAYS? Chapter 58— THE GARDENER
CLARA'S POV The first pale light of dawn is an analyst’s light. It reveals without warmth, stripping the night’s shadows bare. I stand at my study window, watching the city’s slow, gray awakening. The memory of the kiss in the foyer is already a filed datum. Liam’s anguish, the stiff surrender of his body against mine, was the predicted outcome. It satisfies me the way a correct proof satisfies—a confirmation of my own logic.My phone pulses once on the desk, a soft, precise beat. I pick it up and access the secured log. There it is. An outgoing SMS from Maya Valdez’s device, timestamped 23:52.Can we do a do-over of the dinner again?My lips curve. It is not a smile of warmth, but of recognition. This is the pivot. The subject is adapting to the stimulus, moving precisely within the established parameters. The pain, the isolation, the witnessed reclamation—they have not caused her to crumble or to cling futilely. They have caused her to reach, with clear intent, for the designated a
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