Todos los capítulos de In-Love with More than One: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

JACKParker Simon would rather walk away than be the reason we fall apart. I know in my gut that’s why she left us behind. She’s too good of a person for it to be anything else.But she’s wrong. This was never about her. It’s Vivian.Vivian Thatcher, the queen of calculated chaos, who builds her empire one puppet string at a time. Who carved loyalty into her son with knives and demanded he bleed polished apologies when she stabs him in the back.This is her fault. Not Parker. Never Parker.And I’m not letting her control me too.I walk into Gavin’s office late, still steaming from the way the town hall prep went down. It’s almost time for the livestreamed meeting, and every speech sounds like it was designed by Vivian’s ghost. Hollow. Sanitized.I barely make it three feet into the room before Gavin says, “We need to talk about Edison.”I stop. “What about him?”“He’s taking over as CHRO. Effective immediately.”I stare at him. “You’re joking.”“I’m not.”“He’s a suit. He’s been ridin

GAVINThe boardroom smells like tension and cologne and power, rotting at the edges.Twelve people sit around the table, most of them too angry to pretend they’re calm. Edison is seated three spots down from me, hands folded on the table like he’s hosting a goddamn brunch.“Jack resigning during a livestream,” someone says, loud and sharp, “was a PR disaster.”“He didn’t even go through proper channels,” another board member adds. “It looked spontaneous. Desperate.”“It was desperate,” Edison cuts in smoothly, eyes on me. “He panicked. Got emotional. You let this entire…situation fester for too long.”I breathe through my nose. Don’t blink. Don’t flinch.“You want to explain how it got this far?” someone else snaps.“We’ve had more drama in the last month than we had in the last five years,” another voice chimes in. “Sex scandals, HR complaints, public resignations⁠—”“Unstable leadership,” Edison says, almost pleasantly. “And let’s be honest, things weren’t this chaotic when Vivian w

HARRISONI can’t stop checking the door.It’s not because I’m anxious—at least not in the obvious way. It’s more like my body’s learned the habit. Years of waiting for bad news to walk through that frame, for someone to enter a room and quietly decide I’m no longer useful. That’s what happens when you grow up scraping for space in other people’s shadows—you learn to study exits, anticipate tone shifts, sense when the rug is about to be yanked out from under you.Today, Gavin’s holding the rug.The boardroom is full. All twelve seats. A few junior partners are standing along the walls, eyes wide, probably wondering why they were asked to observe an unscheduled closed-door meeting with paper folders stacked neatly in front of each nameplate. I’m seated two down from Gavin at the head of the table. Jack’s beside me. Despite his public resignation, he’s here—collared shirt rolled at the sleeves.When I asked him why he showed, he said, “Gavin shouldn’t have to say this shit twice.”Fair e

PARKERI’ve read the same job posting three times and still can’t tell you what the company even does.My laptop’s open on the kitchen counter. The afternoon sunlight’s coming in at the wrong angle through the blinds, striping the laminate floor like bars. There’s a cold cup of coffee next to my elbow, half-drunk and bitter. And me? I’m still in a sweatshirt I stole from Phil when I was nineteen, hair in a messy bun, glasses sliding down my nose because I can’t be bothered with contacts today.The twins are at school. I packed their lunches. Made sure Lyra’s backpack had her library book, even though she swears the librarian is out to get her. Kissed Levi’s forehead even though he squirmed and said he’s “too big” for that now. And then I came back here. To this silence. To this low, grinding ache in my chest that won’t let me breathe deep.I’ve cleaned the kitchen twice. Sorted the mail. Reorganized the spice rack alphabetically. And still, every few minutes, I catch myself placing a

JACKWe’re still catching our breath.The couch cushions are askew, a pillow on the floor, Parker’s hair wild from where Gavin had his fingers in it. There’s a print of her palm on the fogged window behind us, and somewhere in this room is a pair of my socks—no idea when I kicked them off.Parker slips out from between us, grabbing the oversized shirt she’d tossed earlier. It’s Harrison’s. She buttons it with one hand while reaching for her hair tie with the other, a little off-balance and grinning like she can’t quite believe we’re really here.Gavin leans against the back of the couch, watching her like she’s the whole world, while Harrison closes his eyes, arms folded behind his head like he’s finally letting himself exhale.Parker tucks her hair into a messy bun and stretches with a groan. “You three exhaust me.”Jackpot. I grin. “You didn’t look too tired five minutes ago.”She laughs and then disappears into the kitchen. I hear cabinets open, the quiet sound of her starting a po