LOGINThe striking, facial structure. Sydney is an absolute, undeniable replica of the woman in the vintage photograph—Tobias’s mother. The almost psychotic protectiveness Tobias has shown toward Sydney from the very first moment he met her. The massive financial safety nets he threw under her, the fact
Before I can even open my mouth to apologize for breaking into his house, Tobias speaks. His voice is incredibly quiet, completely devoid of its usual sharp authority, yet it carries a heavy, haunting weight that pins me right to the carpet. "For years..." he murmurs, his finger continuing its slow
I stand frozen on the gravel path, the engine of Sydney’s departing car roaring in my ears. I watch the taillights of her vehicle bounce over the cemetery threshold, disappearing completely from sight, and with every inch of distance she puts between us, my heart shatters into a million jagged, irre
My throat locks up. I’ve seen Owen angry, I’ve seen him arrogant, and I’ve seen him lethal in a courtroom. But I have never seen him cry like this. "I am so sorry for leaving you in that jail cell, Sydney," he whispers again, his voice cracking completely now as he stares down at my lips. "I know n
The second Owen’s fingers touch the chrome handle of his sleek black sedan, I violently twist out of his reach. I yank myself away from his side, clutching the lapels of his oversized designer suit jacket against my chest like a shield. He freezes, his hand dropping from the door as he whips his he
My stomach completely drops. The press. The paparazzi who were banned from the main service have already spotted the commotion from the outer gates. Long, heavy camera lenses are already poking through the iron bars, the rapid, machine-gun clicking of shutters filling the air as they capture every
The heavy doors to my office creak open, and for a second, I consider firing Miller again. I specifically told him I was in a meeting, which is corporate speak for 'I’m staring at my reflection in a glass of Scotch and wondering how my life became a tabloid headline.' But it’s not Miller. Owen s
I’m sitting at the massive dining table, feeling like a tiny, insignificant dot, when Owen comes into view. My heart does this annoying little leap at the sight of him, one that I try to control, and as he steadily approaches the table, I realize he’s actually going to sit down. Across from me.
"Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?" I’m staring at the revised script pages in my hand, and honestly, if the ink weren't still wet, I’d think I’d accidentally picked up a piece of fanfiction. I look up at the scriptwriter and I can feel the vein in my temple starting to throb. "Arthur,
"Yeah." Deckard? Making tea? The Deckard I know wouldn't know how to boil water if his life depended on it, let alone research herbal blends for a recovering patient. He’s a consumer, not a caretaker. Maybe he really was in love with her? But that's out of the question if he's never touched her an







