LOGINMarcusI’m navigating my way through a thick group of executives in search of Sarah when a very familiar, deeply unwelcome face steps squarely into my path, cutting me off.“What a spectacular party.”Ruby Robinson comes to a dead stop right in front of me, holding a cocktail glass. I should have known the media elite would find a way in, but I hadn't entirely expected the ruthless woman behind the city's most venomous, popular gossip site to personally attend. Perhaps it was completely ignorant of me not to expect her here. After all, she was the exact reporter who ran that devastating, viral piece on me detailing the long string of high-society women I’d taken on dates across the city in the first place.“Ruby,” I muse, smoothly tucking my hands into my pockets to hide the sudden tension in my posture. I know I have to tread incredibly carefully when speaking with a viper like her. If I piss her off even slightly, she’ll be blasting deeply personal, toxic rumors about me to the enti
MarcusAs we climb the grand marble staircase leading into the venue, an immense wave of pride washes over me with Sarah secure on my arm. She is, without a single shadow of a doubt, the most breathlessly beautiful woman in this entire room. Tonight, I get to officially introduce her to the upper crust of New York society as my Wife. It doesn't get a damn bit better than this. Looking at her, I feel an absolute high that nothing could possibly ruin.Planning a high-profile engagement party in under a single week wasn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but I refused to wait. I was entirely ready for everyone in our circle to know exactly what we are to each other. I was on cloud nine the exact moment she finally told me she’d be my girlfriend; it meant far more to me than I’d ever care to admit out loud, even to myself. From the very first moment I spoke with her in that awful, sterile corporate conference room in Los Angeles, I’d constantly told myself to remain cautious in th
VickyThe lobby of the Michigan Avenue condo was a hushed cathedral of white marble and polished brass, a place designed to make anyone who didn't live there feel like an intruder. I adjusted the thick, tortoiseshell glasses perched on my nose and pulled the edges of my charcoal pashmina shawl tighter around my shoulders, making sure my hair was tucked securely beneath a sensible, low-slung beret. I didn't look like a woman with a mission; I looked like a weary arts reporter hunting for a quote on high-end real estate.I approached the front desk with a practiced, harried sigh. The concierge, a man with a mustache that looked like it had been sculpted with a protractor, glanced up from his ledger."Can I help you, miss?""I certainly hope so," I said, my voice dropped half an octave into a professional, breathless cadence. "I’m with the *Tribune*. I’m doing a deep-dive piece on the Kane development projects, and I was told Mr. Kane was staying here for the season. Did I just miss him?
Christian“What’s up?” Emily says, peeking her head into my private office on Thursday afternoon. “You need me for something?”“Yeah, come in a second, Em. Sit down.”She walks in, probably wondering what on earth I could possibly want with her today. I’ve asked so little of her over the months she's been here. She sits at the reception desk and answers a phone that hardly ever rings. She’s been present for a grand total of five meetings I’ve had with potential investors in this office—two of which were **Genevieve**. I told the others, who came after her, that my current growth fund was completely closed for the quarter, but that I’d be happy to talk with them when I inevitably opened my next round of financing.She hasn’t taken a single line of dictation—if that’s even still a thing in modern business. She hasn’t written a formal corporate letter or even made a pot of coffee for me. Most days, I’ve been paying this nineteen-year-old twenty dollars an hour, four hours a day, simply t
Christian ## Chapter Ninety-Four: Christian“I got it,” Genevieve tells me the second she gets upstairs into my condo, her chest slightly heaving from the quick climb.She hands me the large, unmarked paper bag containing the Grim Reaper costume.“You paid cash for it?” I ask, keeping my voice low and disciplined. “Made absolutely sure you avoided any street-facing cameras near the shop?”“Yes,” she says, her expression completely flat and professional. “No paper trail. No digital footprint whatsoever.”I pull the heavy black fabric out of the bag and shake it out. It’s thick, coarse, and completely devoid of any defining shape. With Genevieve’s help, I pull the oafish robe over my head, letting the dark material drape heavily over my shoulders and fall down to my shins.“How do I look?” I ask, adjusting the fit.“I’ll tell you how you look,” she says, taking a step back to inspect her work. She folds her arms over her chest, a chilling, analytical glint in her eyes. “You look like s
Genevieve GenevieveNobody pays attention to a woman in workout clothes, power walking through a wealthy neighborhood with her headphones securely on—even if nobody recognizes her, and even if she tends to pause on the sidewalk outside a particular house every single day.For men, it’s entirely different. Strange men who linger are instantly flagged as creepy, potential stalkers, or someone the neighborhood watch needs to keep an eye on. But a woman? A woman can walk a regular route every single day, and nobody will ever think twice.From what I can tell, absolutely nobody’s noticed me all these weeks as I've casually passed Sarah’s house. Sometimes I stop briefly—but just for a second—looking down at my phone as if I just received an important text that stopped me in my tracks. I’m just a harmless, ordinary female athlete, after all.Sometimes I drive by her place instead of walking, but a car is different. A car is far more noticeable, more likely to arouse curiosity in an exclusiv
Sarah The elevator chimed softly as it reached the ground floor, but Sarah didn’t move immediately. For a few seconds, she just sat there, shaking, her tears falling freely now, her world rearranging itself into something unrecognizable. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up. By the time the doors
Sarah The sound of ceramic hitting the floor didn’t just break—it shattered into something final, something that seemed to splinter straight through Sarah’s chest as the mug slipped from her fingers and burst into pieces at her feet. For a moment, no one moved. Then Genevieve Sinclair’s gaze drop
SarahSarah Sterling stood on the sidewalk outside the clinic with the late-morning sun warming her face, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. Her fingers trembled around the folded medical report in her hand. She had read the words at least ten times already, each pass making them feel les
Sarah “How much did you take, Sarah?” Julian’s voice was low and flat, stripped of anything warm. He stood on the other side of the kitchen table like a stranger wearing her husband’s face. Sarah’s hand moved instinctively to her stomach. The folded medical report in her purse suddenly felt like







