Todos los capítulos de Only the Second Best: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 16

Afternoons at the office usually moved faster than this. It wasn’t the work. SketchUp and AutoCAD still demanded precision, the monitors glowed bright as always, and the steady footsteps from the engineering division down the hall echoed just like every other day.But there was a fog in my head. Heavy. Like waking up from a bad dream and not quite remembering it was just a dream.The studio I worked at sat in one of those small industrial buildings in Beverly Hills, exposed brick walls, monstera plants hanging from the ceiling, and long solid wood tables divided between architects, interior designers, and the creative team. It always smelled like espresso and freshly cut wood.I sat in my favorite corner, at the walnut desk by the window, with two monitors glowing in front of me. I had a beachfront residence project open for a client in Santa Barbara. But after an hour, all I’d done was stare at the blue lines on the screen.My hand reached for my phone. Again.Still no reply from Tia

Night had completely fallen by the time I arrived at the De Russo mansion.I came in through the front doors. The polished marble floor gleamed under the low lights. There wasn’t a sound, except for the soft ticking of the antique clock in the sitting room. The staff had probably already retreated to their quarters.I exhaled and took a deep breath, hoping the stillness of this place would calm the mess in my head after that dinner with Geraldo.But of course, I was hoping for too much."You finally came home."The voice came from down the hallway.Reagan was standing by the fireplace, which wasn’t lit. He was wearing a black T-shirt and dark gray joggers, his hair a little tousled like he’d just showered. A phone was in his hand, and from the look on his face, he hadn’t exactly been waiting for me.I straightened my shoulders. "Don’t start."He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t respond to any of my texts. You took my car and didn’t say you were leaving it at your office

The car cruised slowly down the winding roads of Rancho San Marino Alta, city lights beginning to flicker like scattered jewels across the Los Angeles skyline. Inside the black sedan, meant to be quiet and cool, the air had started to heat up, and not in a good way.“I still can’t believe they said that about Tiara,” I muttered, arms crossed over my chest, eyes locked on the road beyond the window. “In front of strangers, no less.”Reagan, sitting calmly in the passenger seat, lifted a brow. “You’re not a stranger, Tara. You’re my wife.”I turned sharply toward him. “That’s crap. They treated me like some marketable replacement. Like just because I haven’t burned down a kitchen, I’m somehow the better prize.”“Aren’t you?” he replied smoothly. “You’re more stable. More composed. Less dangerous.”I shifted my body to face him fully. “And that makes me more deserving?”He didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the window, his jaw tightening like he was holding something back.“I know y