LOGIN2:47 am, again. I groaned as I rubbed my tired eyes, noticing the brightness from my laptop screen casting harsh shadows across the studio. I should have gone home hours ago, but this client’s deadline was tomorrow, and the dining room rendering still wasn’t quite right. The chandelier needed to be repositioned, the wall color adjusted just a shade warmer. Mrs. Patterson had been very specific about wanting “welcoming but sophisticated,” and after seven years of clawing my way up in this industry, I’d learned that details mattered.My head felt heavy. Just a few minutes, I told myself, folding my arms on the desk, just to let my eyes rest.Within what felt like a second, I was back in my old bedroom at the Steele estate, moonlight streaming through the French windows. The silk sheets felt cool against my flushed skin as I lay there, heart racing. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, but in dreams, the rules didn’t apply.The door opened softly. Dominic stood in the door
Five years from now, she was going to see her husband reunited with his late first wife. if her mind hadn’t been distracted with the silly crush she had on him and other things, she would have known this even before she married him, but when the logical part of her brain whispered, Vivian pretended deafness.Their one sided love story didn’t start the day he proposed a marriage of convenience, factually laying out the advantages to both sides. it started way before then, when his wife of barely a year had left him and he had had come to her- a couple’s therapist- back when she still had her license. But February was when she found out his wife had unexpectedly passed, how . . . tragic.February 3rd 2020.The manager of the supermarket was a pedophile. He in his mid thirties once came to her for couple’s counseling with his 16 year old wife. His complaint before she voted him out, she wasn’t adventurous in bed. But she came to the supermarket anyway, it was the one with the cheapest p
CHAPTER ELEVEN*Brooke, 30*Cole was asleep when I got home. He was in my study, papers of housing rentals and piricings scattered around him. I left him be, heading into the kitchen to cook dinner. I gave my mom three days to call again to inform me of the meeting. Cassidy Lawnson always give three days after an arguement to let both parties “cool down”.I shifted through the pantry, noting the things that needed refilling and restocking. I pulled out my phone, putting on my playlist. I started cooking, letting the music act as my guide. I was flitting around the kitchen, twirling around and singing along. My dad actually taught me this. I remembered watching him. He was simply phenomenal. He was a wonder. The way he incorpoated dance and cooking all the while maintaining amazing safety guidelines. People said the food he created during his dances tasted better, but I could never tell. To me, my dad’s cooking was a sense of home.He was the glue that held our family together. I was
2:47 am, again. I groaned as I rubbed my tired eyes, noticing the brightness from my laptop screen casting harsh shadows across the studio. I should have gone home hours ago, but this client’s deadline was tomorrow, and the dining room rendering still wasn’t quite right. The chandelier needed to be repositioned, the wall color adjusted just a shade warmer. Mrs. Patterson had been very specific about wanting “welcoming but sophisticated,” and after seven years of clawing my way up in this industry, I’d learned that details mattered.My head felt heavy. Just a few minutes, I told myself, folding my arms on the desk, just to let my eyes rest.Within what felt like a second, I was back in my old bedroom at the Steele estate, moonlight streaming through the French windows. The silk sheets felt cool against my flushed skin as I lay there, heart racing. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, but in dreams, the rules didn’t apply.The door opened softly. Dominic stood in the door
Madame Loretto's cane tapped against the floor.Tap. Tap. Tap.Ava remained in third position in the center of the studio, arms extended, while the other dancers moved toward the barres along the walls. The afternoon light filtered through tall windows, illuminating dust and the accumulated residue of rosin and sweat. The air tasted like pine and exhaustion.Tap. Tap. Tap."Your landing, Ms. Chen." Madame Loretto didn't raise her voice. Her voice never rose. That was what made it worse. "The fouetté itself was adequate, your extension acceptable. But the landing." She tapped her cane once more against the hardwood. "The landing was imprecise."Ava kept her arms in position. Her muscles were screaming. Lactic acid burned through her calves and thighs, the kind of burn that came from six hours of repetition, six hours of trying to perfect something that still wasn't perfect."Odette does not tolerate imprecision," Madame Loretto said. "You will remember this when you perform the role, i
I fell asleep at my desk again.I knew it even before I fully woke up, the way your neck tells you before your brain catches up, that dull ache spreading from the base of my skull down between my shoulder blades. My cheek was pressed against the corner of a fabric swatch book, and the imprint of it was probably going to stay on my face for the next twenty minutes. I'd knocked over my pencil cup at some point and a dozen colored pencils had rolled across the blueprints I'd been trying to finish since eleven.It was past two in the morning. The loft was quiet except for the hum of the city seven floors below, that low constant sound that Los Angeles never fully turned off, and the desk lamp I'd forgotten to angle away from my eyes was throwing a warm yellow circle across the scattered fabric samples and paint chips and almost empty coffee mug that had been full when I sat down.I didn't move yet.I knew what was waiting in that place just before full waking, the tail end of the dream I'
The carpet was red, which people always found significant. I had walked red carpets eleven times in five years, and I knew exactly how to do it: the angle of the shoulders, the specific degree of smile that read as warmth without being eager, the way to pause at the right moments so the photograph
Seth opened the door before I finished knocking.He took one look at me standing on his doorstep with my bag and my ruined mascara and the particular expression of someone who has just walked out of a war they'd been losing for three years, and he stepped aside without a word. No questions, no care
The envelope was in my hand when I heard the front door. I didn't move. I stood in the hallway with the investigator's package pressed against my palm and listened to his footsteps cross the foyer, slow and deliberate, the way Darius moved when he already knew something and was deciding how to use
“You heard me.” Her eyes were ice. “Apologize to her now.”“For what?” I looked at Cassia. She stood between my parents with her head down, looking small and fragile, the perfect victim. “For asking why she’s in your house? For asking why she’s—”“For everything,” my father cut in, his voice drippi







