Secretly Married to the CEO

I was secretly married to my billionaire boss.

Fallon, I sent you to drop off a file to the CEO. Where the hell is your lipstick? Snacking on the job again? If you don't want to work, then pack your desk! My team leader slammed his hand down, barking right in my face.

I ground my back teeth together, preparing to fight back. The boss's tall frame suddenly appeared in the doorway, his expensive leather shoes echoing with a heavy thud against the floor. He stared coldly at the team leader, loosened his tie a fraction of an inch, and radiated an undeniable, crushing pressure. "I ate it. You got a problem with that?"

Chapter 1

I had my eyes on Silas for a long time.

I followed him to the same high school, the same college, chasing him halfway across the country. I wore holes through the soles of my shoes and still couldn't catch him. I gave up, moved back to my hometown, and accepted my dead-end life.

Then, he dropped out of the sky and became the new CEO of my company.

I secretly thought my chance had finally come. But turns out, he already had a four-year-old kid.

"The new CEO is gorgeous!"

"With a boss like that, I'd work overtime every single night."

"Too bad he's divorced with a kid."

The moment Silas arrived, a fever swept through the women in the office. Hearing them gossip about him every day made a heavy weight settle in my chest. During the years I spent chasing his shadow, he got married, got divorced, and had a child. He lived a full, spectacular life.

And I just stood on the sidelines, acting like a fool for years.

This time, I finally killed that hope.

Over the weekend, my family set up a blind date for me.

When I saw him sitting across the table, I thought there was a glitch in the universe. He looked at me for exactly one second before asking if I wanted to marry him.

Was he out of his mind?

"Why me?" I pressed my hand flat against my chest, feeling my pulse hammer against my ribs. Was I somehow better than the Instagram models waiting in the lobby for him every day?

"You look grounded," he answered flatly.

Thanks a lot.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. A compliment could be grounded, but this felt like being buried alive in dirt.

"Two hundred thousand." He paused, his tone absolute. "Two hundred thousand dollars a year.

A contract marriage. I won't interfere with your personal freedom."

"What makes you think two hundred grand"

I didn't get to finish my sentence. My phone screen lit up.

[Wire transfer received. $200,000.]

A bank notification popped up, confirming a massive wire transfer of two hundred thousand dollars into my account. He casually slid a black, no-limit American Express Centurion card across the table toward me.

I felt like he was insulting me.

If I had to choose between his body and his money, I knew my place. I'd take the cash. Besides, I desperately needed it.

I gritted my teeth and forced out a single word. "Deal."

We got married in a flash. Signing the papers and making it official took less than an hour. He handed me a marriage contract. My only job was to pick his kid up from school every day and play the role of a proper stepmother.

But there was one strict condition. "You cannot disclose our relationship to the public. Especially not at the company."

I got it.

He was paying for a glorified nanny to take care of his child. Two hundred thousand a year to be a nanny wasn't exactly hitting the lottery, but considering I got a front-row seat to look at his face, I forced myself to accept it.

On our first day of marriage, he flew out of town for business.

"I have two mansions, one in East Hills and one in Westlake. Pick one." Right before he left, he sat in the backseat of his car, his expression detached.

"Are are you giving it to me?" My fingers curled tight into my palms. I had never even stepped foot in a mansion before.

Were the property taxes high? I probably couldn't afford the maintenance.

He turned his head and gave me a deadpan look. "To live in."

"Oh. Right." I nodded twice to break the awkward air. Just to live in.

"Westlake, then. I like standing by panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows and watching the sun set over the lake." I kept my face totally straight.

He looked at me but didn't say a word.

Did he change his mind?

"Then East Hills works too," I muttered.

The driver in the front seat couldn't hold back. "Westlake is just the name of the neighborhood, ma'am. There is no actual lake to watch the sunset over. You can see the sunset from the East Hills property too."

Damn it.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I shut my mouth.

Chapter 2

"Westlake. It's closer to the office." He tossed a heavy set of keys onto the leather console.

"When will you be back?" I tried to find some common ground to cut through the thick awkwardness in the car. I immediately regretted opening my mouth. We were in a contract marriage, and the terms were printed in black and whitezero interference in each other's personal lives.

"A week." His voice was completely void of emotion. When I didn't respond, he let out a low sigh. "Don't wait up."

"Right. Got it."

He shot me another look. His eyes practically screamed, You don't get a damn thing.

"Just do your job," he added. "Don't waste your time on me."

I froze in my seat, a hot spark of irritation flaring in my chest. That comment was uncalled for. Did he really think a divorced guy with baggage was some kind of holy grail?

My first time picking up his kid from kindergarten, my palms were actually sweating.

"Brooks, your mom is here." The teacher, having heard my name was Fallon, gave me a long, sweeping once-over.

A little boy wearing a bulky Spider-Man backpack stopped in front of me. He tilted his head up and gave me a deadpan look. "She's not my mom."

The air in the hallway thickened. I reached out to grab his small hand, but he jerked his hand away.

"He's probably just not used to me yet," I forced the corners of my mouth up.

"I know. Brooks looks exactly like you, there's no way you aren't his mother." The teacher flashed a bright, joking smile.

Exactly like me? A cold drop of sweat rolled down my spine.

"Braxton, you liar! Brooks does too have a mom, and you said he didn't!" A little girl yanked a chubby boy by the sleeve and pointed straight at us.

Braxton shot me a highly curious look, then immediately dropped his gaze. His cheeks flushed bright red. "My mom says that's his stepmom."

I blinked, momentarily stunned. I looked down at Brooks. His jaw was locked tight, and he kept his head down, marching straight toward the exit.

Once we got into the SUV

"Brooks, are you hot? Want me to turn the AC up?" I kept my voice incredibly patient.

"I hate you." He fired the words point-blank, shutting down any chance of a conversation.

Alright then.

The second we stepped out of the car, Brooks marched straight into the high-end grocery store. He grabbed toys, junk food, and candy, tossing it all in until the cart was overflowing. He bought more toys in ten minutes than most kids got in an entire semester. The driver informed me he always did this.

I let out a long breath. He wasn't my kid. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

That night, Silas wasn't home. I called him to report on my babysitting duty.

"Why is he angry?" After listening to my rundown, he suddenly threw that question at me.

"I have no idea. Maybe his teacher said we looked alike, and he thinks I'm ugly?" Every time I checked the rearview mirror on the way home, I caught his son staring daggers at me.

"You aren't ugly." Silas went dead silent on the other end of the line for a long time before adding, "Just ignore him."

Not ugly? A tiny, stupid ripple went through my chest.

My first pickup mission was a total bust. Naturally, the following ones ended in complete failure too. But I kept a thick skin.

No matter what Brooks threw at me, I just kept a plastic smile plastered on my face and finished my job. Why would I pick a fight with a kindergartener?

Over the weekend, my coworker Paige dragged me out to the mall. I figured it was a good excuse to buy some loose t-shirts for my mom; they were much easier to change in and out of at the hospital.

In the underground parking garage, parked directly across from the elevator bank, sat a sleek black Bentley. The only reason it caught my eye was because Silas owned the exact same model.

It was him.

The tinted window was rolled halfway down. Through the gap, I saw a woman sitting in the passenger seat.

Chapter 3

An unfamiliar tightness clamped down on my chest.

Paige jabbed her elbow sharply into my ribs. "That's the boss!" she hissed.

So, the two of us shamelessly started eavesdropping.

"What else do you want?" Silas's voice scraped the air, rough and freezing. His eyes were entirely black.

"I don't want a Birkin. I don't want diamonds" The girl threw her arms around his neck, practically climbing into his lap. "I want you."

Paige and I exchanged a wide-eyed look, stunned by the sheer audacity of girls these days.

"Then I'm sorry." Silas peeled her hands off his skin.

"Why? Don't you like me?" The girl's voice pitched up, bordering on a screech.

"I don't like disobedient girls." He shoved her back against the passenger seat, not bothering to be gentle. He tilted his head toward the open door. "Get out."

"I can be good!" Panic stripped away her dignity. She lunged at him, aiming for his mouth.

Right at that exact second, Silas snapped his head up. His gaze locked straight onto mine.

I didn't have time to look away. My breath caught in my throat.

He held my stare for three long seconds. His face was a stone wall.

"Delete my number." He finally broke eye contact and looked down at the girl still clinging to his suit. His jaw clenched tight. "And stop acting cheap."

That was the final blow. The girl grabbed her designer bag, shoved the car door open, and ran out sobbing.

Paige and I frantically mashed the elevator button. Right as the metal doors slid shut, I saw him sitting in the driver's seat, his eyes pinned to me through the glass.

I couldn't read the heavy look in his eyes. It looked like he wanted to explain, or maybe he thought I wasn't worth the breath. I bet entirely on the latter.

"Fallon, wait was that" Paige shoved her phone screen in my face, her hands practically shaking. "Was that the TikToker with ten million followers in the boss's car? I literally worshipped her!"

"She's pretty," I admitted, glancing at the polished photos. I had to give it to himSilas had expensive taste.

"I put her on such a pedestal, and she was practically begging our boss on her knees. Holy crap my illusion is totally shattered."

I let out a dry laugh. "That's how it works. Enough money can warp reality."

"Wait does that mean our future CEO's wife is going to be an influencer? Is she going to strut into the office every day?"

"M-Maybe" I stammered, biting the inside of my cheek. Every time the conversation steered this way, I mentally recited the non-disclosure clause of my prenup like a prayer.

Paige dragged me toward the escalators heading to the second floor. "Makes sense, I guess. Influencers always marry billionaires now. I just didn't expect a guy as rich, gorgeous, and powerful as the boss to go for an internet celebrity"

"Honestly, she'd hit the jackpot. Even stepping in as a stepmom would be a major win"

"Mhm." I forced a nod, playing along.

"You're still single, right? I'll have my mom set you up with someone decent." She paused, giving me a sympathetic look. "Normal girls like us shouldn't even dream about a man like the boss. If we can snag a guy with a steady job and a good temper, that's hitting the jackpot for us."

"Yeah, you're right."

Right on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket. The caller ID flashed on the screen: Jackpot.

Silas?

"Who's that?" Paige asked, catching the ridiculous name and laughing.

"My cousin." I waved her off and stepped away to take the call.

"When are you done shopping?" His voice was the exact same deep, gravelly tone that always managed to make my pulse skip a beat.

"Five."

I heard the metallic clink of his lighter over the line. He paused for a fraction of a second. "Can you take a cab back by yourself? I have to drop someone off." It was phrased as a question, but the absolute authority in his tone made it a command.

"Yeah. Go ahead and drop her off."

Chapter 4

I should have just said "okay." I didn't know why I tacked on that last sentence. It slipped out sounding exactly like a jealous, bitter wife. The realization made my stomach drop.

He paused again, sounding like he was trying to explain. "I have a private event down by the marina tonight."

"I get it."

A private event? Was he bringing that influencer with him, or meeting a new one? A sharp, sour ache expanded behind my ribs. But then reality hit mewe were in a contract marriage. What right did I have to care?

"Yeah." He didn't say another word and ended the call.

My phone buzzed. A bank notification popped up on the screen:

[Wire transfer received. $2,000.]

I stared at the numbers on the screen, my jaw tight. So this was what he meant by liking obedient girls? Obedient enough to turn a blind eye when he was with other women. Good enough to sit quietly, take the cash, and play the role of his paper-doll wife without throwing a tantrum.

If I knew playing nice made him this generous, I would have put on a 24/7 good-girl act.

A few days later, I took time off work and drove down to the rundown side of town. The moment I stepped into her rundown apartment, I saw several empty, cheap bourbon bottles scattered across the stained carpet.

"You're drinking again?" A heavy, suffocating weight pressed down on my lungs. Seeing her like this, I could only let out a defeated sigh.

"You think you're fully grown now? You think you can manage me?" Charlene grabbed a half-empty bottle and hurled it at me.

It clipped my forehead, sending a sharp, stinging pain radiating across my skull. I swallowed the pain, bent down to kick the glass aside, and grabbed her arm, hauling her off the mattress. "Are you done throwing a fit? If you're done, we're going to the hospital."

Every year around May, she spiraled into the bottle. I knew exactly why. She was missing Vivienne again.

"I'm not going. I don't have the cash." She violently yanked her arm out of my grip and stumbled into the cramped bathroom to splash water on her face.

I ordered an Uber, shoved her into the backseat, and dragged her straight to the ER. She stared at the exorbitant medical bill, her hand twitching like she was about to crumple it up, toss it in the trash, and walk out.

"I have it." I shoved my phone screen in her face, showing her the bank balance.

"Did you sell yourself?" Her eyes blew wide, her face dropping into a horrified scowl.

I mentally thanked her for her booming voice. Half the waiting room turned to shoot me weird, judgmental stares. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

"Is it impossible that I actually earned it?"

She shot me a look of pure disbelief. "Hospitals are just a scam to drain your wallet. I'm too stubborn to die. This disease isn't going to kill me."

Heat rushed up my neck. I felt completely humiliated. But I knew exactly why she acted like this. She was terrified of going broke. She wanted to live with dignity and grace, but life just kept beating her into the dirt.

"Tell me how stubborn you are after you get off the operating table." I cut her off, turning my back to handle the paperwork myself.

After a grueling round of pre-op tests, they scheduled her surgery for eight o'clock that night. Once the dust settled, she finally stopped fighting me.

"You're twenty-seven. Just find a decent man and get married. I'm too tired to keep looking after you." Right before the nurses wheeled her through the double doors, she suddenly dropped that on me.

She had never used such a heavy, defeated tone with me before. It sounded like a goodbye.

"Not a chance," I snapped, my chest tight.

"You little brat!" Charlene glared at me, her anger flaring back to life.

"If you're that mad, jump off the operating table and fight me later."

Sitting on the cold, hard plastic bench outside the OR, my thoughts were a tangled mess. Silas was a blind date set up by my grandmother. She told me he was the grandson of an old army buddy of my grandfather's and pushed me to meet him. She had no idea Silas owned a massive corporation, or that his family had filthy, ungodly wealth. I bet his side only agreed to the date as a polite formality.

As for the flash marriage, I had zero intention of telling Charlene. I knew exactly what kind of schemes would start spinning in her head if she found out.

Chapter 5

Charlene's last words echoed in my head. "You have an older sister. She's two years older than you. Her name is Vivienne, and she lives in Beverly Hills. If I don't make it off this table, go check on her for me. Her photo and address are saved in my phone."

That was the first time I had ever seen a picture of my sister. She was stunning. In the photo, she was draped in head-to-toe Gucci, casually holding a Chanel bag I muttered to myself. My deadbeat dad, whoever he was, had serious money.

My grandma once whispered to me that after my parents' divorce, my sister went with my dad, and I stayed with Charlene. Charlene was fiercely selfish. She was terrified I'd turn out to be an ungrateful brat, that she'd spend twenty years raising me only for me to run off with someone else.

So, she drilled it into my head from day one: she made me all by herself. I didn't have a father.

"Everyone else has a dad. Why don't I?"

"Your dad is dead. Fallon, if you don't want your mother anymore, there's the door. Leave!"

Every time I saw her whole body shaking, I caved.

"Dead is dead. Why are you picking a fight with a ghost?" I would say, rubbing her back to calm her down.

The heart stent surgery dragged on way longer than I expected. Sitting in the waiting room felt like wading through wet cement. After about an hour, a doctor called me in. He said the catheter was in, but two arteries were ninety percent blocked. He needed me to pick a surgical plan.

"Both options have their pros, but the price difference is massive. Are you the only family member here?"

"Yes." I didn't understand half the medical jargon. But looking at Charlene lying completely still under those harsh fluorescent lights, a sharp pain clamped down on my chest. "Use the most expensive materials."

I didn't even hesitate. I just signed where the doctor pointed.

My palms were slick with cold sweat. When I gripped the pen, my fingers trembled so badly I could barely form the letters of my own name. Walking back out into the hallway, my feet couldn't feel the floor. This was the first time I had ever made a life-or-death decision. I always thought I was independent. Independent enough to never need anyone. But signing off on my mother's surgery ripped that illusion apart. The isolation was terrifying. It swallowed me whole, leaving me suffocating in this massive, sterile hallway.

What if she actually dies? I forced the thought out of my head.

Her temper was absolute garbage. She smoked, she drank, she gambledshe hit every destructive clich. When she flared up, she'd slap me, scream at me, and tell me to get out. Where was I supposed to go?

But even though she acted nothing like a real mother, she was still the one who shoved her feet into cheap flip-flops and carried me on her back to the clinic when my fever spiked at two in the morning. When the receptionist said they were closed, Charlene stood at the glass doors and screamed at them until a doctor finally agreed to see me.

She acted nothing like a real mother, but when kids bullied me at school, she marched right up to their dads with a lit cigarette clamped between her teeth, ready to throw hands. Thanks to her, even without a dad, no one at school ever dared to lay a finger on me again. Her own life was a complete wreck, but she dragged me up out of the dirt anyway.

So, I wasn't going anywhere. I was going to sit right here and see which one of us outlived the other.

I sat there for a long time. Something cold and wet hit the back of my hand. I reached up and touched my face. My fingertips came away soaked. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

I stood up, needing to find a restroom to scrub my face. As I hurried around the corner, two tall figures walked past me.

"It's barely been a few days, and you dumped her already? Blocked her number too? That's ruthless, man," a doctor in a white lab coat laughed.

"Heh." The man in the tailored suit let out a low, rough scoff but didn't say a word.

"Everyone is taking bets on which influencer will show up next to you. You cycle through them so fast. What kind of girl are you even looking for, Silas?"

"I'm done playing." The man delivered the words with absolute calm.

Chapter 6

That familiar, deep voice scraped against my eardrums. A cold shiver shot down my spine.

Silas?!

My sneakers glued themselves to the linoleum floor. What the hell was he doing here? Eavesdropping was a terrible look, but they were walking too fast for me to duck away. I was trapped in the hallway.

"Done playing?" The doctor stopped, turning to him. "Since when did the great Silas decide to turn over a new leaf?"

Silas didn't say a word. He just let out a low, rough chuckle before dropping a single sentence. "The old man set me up with someone."

"A blind date?" The doctors voice pitched up with pure entertainment. "You're actually going on a blind date?"

Before he could answer, Silas froze dead in his tracks, standing right in front of me. I tipped my head back. His dark eyes locked onto mine. My pulse hammered against my ribs, my fingers going numb at my sides.

The doctor caught the heavy, dead-silent eye contact between us and stopped. "Someone you know?" he asked.

"He's my boss," I blurted out before Silas could open his mouth.

"Oh, an employee."

Silas ignored him entirely. His gaze swept over my face before shifting to the heavy double doors of the operating room behind me. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting on someone in surgery." My jaw tightened. I absolutely refused to tell him it was my mother in there.

His eyes flicked to the neon Surgical Suite sign flashing above the doors. A faint crease formed between his eyebrows. "Are you here alone?"

"Yeah." The pressure in my bladder violently reminded me why I was out in this hallway in the first place. "I need to use the restroom. Excuse me."

"Yeah."

I practically sprinted toward the women's room, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Behind me, the doctor instantly picked their conversation right back up, treating me like a totally insignificant speck of dust. "You have to cover for me at the college reunion tonight. I can't drink. I'm on shift tomorrow."

The heavy restroom door swung shut, cutting off the rest of his words.

When I walked back out, the hallway was completely empty. I dropped back onto the hard plastic waiting chair outside the OR. Their conversation played on a loop in my head. A hollow ache expanded in the center of my chest. Even his old college buddies knew he burned through women like cheap cigarettes. I was nothing but a signature on a piece of paper. What the hell was I even hoping for?

A little while later, the heavy doors finally swung open. The nurses wheeled my mother out. The surgery was a complete success. The crushing weight that had been sitting on my lungs all day finally evaporated.

Later that night, I bought her a bowl of hot oatmeal and fed it to her. The post-op pain kept her entirely quiet; for once, she didn't throw a single insult at me. Once she fell asleep, I went down to the front desk to hire a private, round-the-clock nurse. I had to go back to work tomorrow. I couldn't sit by her bed 24/7.

When the receptionist handed me the portable credit card reader, Silas flashed across my mind. If it wasn't for his money, my hands would be shaking right now. Instead, I slid the black card through the machine without a second thought. The corner of my mouth pulled up into a tight, self-deprecating smirk.

Just as I reached out to press the down button for the elevator, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Did you leave yet?"

It was Silas. My thumb hovered over the screen. Why was he asking? Was he actually still at the hospital?

"Yeah. I'm walking out right now."

"Go down to parking level B2."

Level B2? I didn't waste time trying to figure it out. I stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the underground garage.

The second the metal doors slid open, his sleek black Bentley was sitting right there. The tinted window rolled down smoothly. He tilted his chin, silently ordering me to get in.

I took a deep breath, braced myself, and reached for the heavy handle of the back door.

"Front seat." Two sharp words, completely loaded with absolute, unquestionable authority.

"Right." I swallowed hard, let go of the back handle, and slid into the passenger seat.

We actually rode to the office together every single morning. He always took the passenger seat while I sat in the back. Then, exactly one block away from the corporate building, I would hop out and walk the rest of the way. But him behind the steering wheel, with me sitting shotgun? This was a massive first.

He turned his head, his dark eyes tracking my movements until I clicked the seatbelt into place. Only then did he shift the car into drive, steering the heavy vehicle out of the garage and toward the Westlake mansion.

"Weren't you supposed to be at a college reunion tonight?" I stared at his sharp side profile. I figured he'd be three drinks deep at a bar by now.

"You really enjoy eavesdropping, don't you?" he fired back, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Chapter 7

I gripped the edge of my seat. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop."

He didn't say a word, just shot me a sideways glance.

I risked a look at him. His long fingers tapped a slow, unreadable rhythm against the leather steering wheel.

"College reunions are a waste of time," he offered flatly. That was his entire explanation.

"Oh." I had absolutely no idea what to say next.

"Did your friend's surgery go well?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Need me to say hello to anyone? I know the hospital board."

"No!" I blurted out, shutting it down instantly. I refused to let him know the woman in the OR was Charlene, and I definitely didn't want Charlene finding out about this insane fake marriage.

He looked at me, then dropped the subject entirely.

At the office, I practically never spoke to him. At the mansion, he was barely ever home, or by the time he walked through the door, I was already dead asleep in the guest room. Entire days would pass without us exchanging a single word.

"Fallon, did you go to school around here?" he suddenly asked, slicing through the silence.

"Yeah. Southridge High," I answered honestly. A pathetic part of me was thrilled to say it, because that was his high school too.

"What a coincidence." He raised a dark eyebrow. "We're alumni."

"Yeah. Crazy coincidence," I muttered.

A hollow ache settled in my chest. He had no idea I had busted my ass to get into Southridge specifically for him. But by the time I finally got my acceptance letter, he was already packing his bags for college.

"Have we met before?"

My stomach completely bottomed out. Did he actually remember me?

When I didn't answer, he turned his head, catching my stunned expression, and let out a low laugh. "Probably not. I was only there for my senior year."

He didn't remember me. That was the cold, hard truth. He was only there for one year. He probably saw me exactly once.

But I had seen him a thousand times. I saw the crowds of girls swarming him by the front gates, begging for his number. I saw the cheerleaders running up to the bleachers to hand him ice-cold Gatorade after football practice. I wanted so badly to just walk up and say one word to him, but I never dared to cross that line.

My lips twisted into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. "Probably not."

The car fell silent again.

I stared out the window for a long time before the words finally burned their way out of my throat. "Silas. Let me ask you something."

"Hmm?"

"Did you really pick me because you thought I looked grounded?"

He physically froze. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment before a sudden, genuine laugh broke from his chest. "You actually believed that?"

What kind of answer was that?

Because of that one damn smile, all those buried, messy feelings of my teenage crush flared right back to life, clawing at my insides and ruining my peace of mind.

The next day, the mental torture was practically unbearable. I wanted to march up to him and demand to know what he meant, but he had already flown out of town for another business trip.

I dragged myself into the office with heavy, dark bags under my eyes. The team leader slammed a massive stack of manila folders onto my desk, ordering me to organize the whole pile before clocking out. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing and sorting until my vision blurred. I was so slammed I completely missed my lunch break.

I still had to pick up Brooks. Starving and exhausted, I grabbed a stale bagel from a street cart and basically swallowed it whole on the way to the school. Despite rushing, I pulled up to the kindergarten ten minutes late. Trying to buy my way out of the guilt, I grabbed a stack of action figures from a toy store on the corner.

Brooks stood at the school gates, his jaw locked tight. Once I managed to get him into the SUV, I shoved the toys into his lap, trying to smooth things over.

Right on cue, my phone rang. It was Silas.

"Did you pick him up?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be back in two days." He paused, his voice dropping a fraction. "Is there a designer bag you want?"

A bag? My brain short-circuited for a second.

I was just opening my mouth to refuse

Chapter 8

A hard plastic action figure slammed directly into my face, the sharp edge catching right above my eye.

The blinding pain forced my eye shut. I clamped my hand over the throbbing spot, sucking in a sharp, ragged breath through my teeth. I forced my voice to stay level. "Let me call you back. Brooks is throwing a tantrum."

I ended the call.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The stinging pain above my eye finally ignited a spark of real anger.

"If you weren't here, my mom would come back!" The little boy glared at me, his face flushed a furious, mottled red.

I stared at him, the pieces clicking together. He was acting out because his dad had called me. I usually turned a blind eye to his bratty behavior. As long as he wasn't screaming, I let him get away with murderplaying the stepmom wasn't exactly a walk in the park. But looking at him now, I knew this wasn't going to work.

I lowered my voice, trying to inject some reason into the chaos. "Brooks, this is grown-up business. You're too young to understand."

I had no idea where his mother went, or if she was ever coming back. But Silas had literally paid me a massive salary to sign a marriage certificate and play the role of a stepmother. He clearly had zero intentions of getting back together with his ex.

"I know everything! Stop lying to me! You're the villain! You stole my dad!"

I blinked, dumbfounded. Stole him? From where?

"Even if I wasn't here, your mom isn't coming back." I dropped the harsh truth right in his lap.

He stared at me, dead silent. His bottom lip trembled violently.

A second later, heavy tears spilled over his eyelashes. Watching his little face crumple, a sharp twinge of guilt hit my chest. He was just a kindergartener. I shouldn't have been so ruthless. I reached out to pull him into a hug, but he violently shoved my hands away. He dug frantically into his heavy backpack, ripped something out, and shoved it inches from my face.

"I have a mom! This is my mom! And she's going to come back for me!"

He stubbornly held it up, desperate to prove me wrong. My chest softened. I lowered my gaze to the crumpled photograph.

The air drained from the car. The ambient noise faded into a dull ring.

The woman smiling in the photo was my sister. Vivienne.

I opened my mouth. No sound came out. A thick layer of icy sweat broke out across my spine, freezing my blood.

"This is your mom?" I forced the raspy words past the sandpaper in my throat.

"Yes! And she's a hundred times prettier than you!" He snatched the photo back, clutching it against his chest like a shield.

The fight drained out of my muscles. None of the puzzle pieces fit. How could Brooks be my sister's kid? How the hell was Silas's ex-wife my sister? I clawed for an answer, but my mind went blank. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out my spine.

Back at the mansion, Brooks finally calmed down. The nanny took him upstairs to wash up. I collapsed onto the mattress in the guest room, staring blindly at the ceiling. The heavy machinery in my head started grinding.

I remembered my grandmother whispering that Vivienne had moved to the States with my deadbeat dad. I remembered Charlene, right before getting wheeled into the OR, obsessing over the sister I had never even met. I remembered Silas, locking eyes with me on our very first blind date, immediately sliding a two-hundred-thousand-dollar marriage contract across the table. I remembered the kindergarten teacher laughing, saying Brooks looked exactly like me.

I looked like Vivienne.

A sickening wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. Every single time Silas used that low, gravelly tone with me was he talking to me, or was he talking to her ghost? Every time Charlene got blackout drunk, crying and gripping my hand was she looking at me, or hallucinating her favorite daughter?

Then what the hell was I? A complete accident? A cheap, disposable body double? A shadow?

Reality fractured into a million jagged pieces.

Later that night, my phone screen lit up in the pitch-black room. Silas's name flashed on the screen. My throat tightened with a hundred suffocating questions.

[Is Brooks asleep?]

[Yeah.]

[Did something happen earlier?]

[He just threw a tantrum for a bit.]

[Got it.]

Chapter 9

His late-night texts were strictly limited to checking up on his son. I was nothing more than a high-paid robotic nanny, dutifully reporting my daily logs.

I thought the conversation was dead.

[I am going to a designer handbag expo tomorrow. Send me a picture of the bag you want.]

I stared at the glowing screen for a single second before a dry, bitter laugh ripped from my throat. Look at us. A picture-perfect business transaction. When I played the obedient little wife, he threw cash at me without blinking. When I earned a gold star, I got a Birkin. I was just another number in his long line of women, and the most pathetic part was, I was the cheapest one on the payroll.

[I don't want anything. I'm going to sleep.]

I hit send, my thumb jabbing the glass harder than necessary. For the first time, I served him raw ice. I had spent half my life chasing his shadow, practically begging for crumbs, and ended up with absolutely nothing.

Now I was getting paid to raise his kid with my estranged sister? I was already living in my own personal hell; I wasn't about to keep kissing his ass. Let it all burn. I was done.

I tossed the phone onto the mattress, marched into the bathroom, and twisted the shower knob to scalding. I let the hot water drown out the choked, humiliating sobs tearing out of my throat until my lungs burned. When the tank finally ran cold, I dragged myself into bed, pulled the heavy duvet over my head, and passed out.

The next morning, the alarm went off, and I dragged my exhausted body out of bed. I clocked in at the office. I picked up Brooks. For the next few days, I operated strictly on autopilot, a hollowed-out zombie going through the motions. By the time I drove to the hospital to discharge Charlene, my emotional reserves were entirely bankrupt.

The second her sneakers hit the pavement outside the lobby, her phone rang. One of her dive bar regulars was already begging her to come back and run the poker tables.

"What the hell is that look for? The doctor didn't say I couldn't play cards." She scowled at my rigid posture.

I clamped my jaw shut.

"You want me to quit smoking, quit drinking, and now I can't even touch a deck of cards? Just dig the hole and push me in, Fallon."

Watching the color flush back into her cheeks as she screamed at me, a weird, twisted sense of relief washed over me. She had the energy to fight. That was a good sign.

I pulled out my phone, transferred ten grand straight into her checking account, and looked her dead in the eye. "If you had taken Vivienne instead of me, would you still be living like trash?"

She physically recoiled. The color left her face, her eyes locking onto mine in stunned silence. It took a full ten seconds for her to find her voice, and when she did, it was a screech that echoed across the parking lot. "You ungrateful little bitch! You want to go run off and suck up to your rich daddy too?!" She pointed a shaking finger at the street. "Go! Go on! If I'm such a worthless mother, get out of my sight and don't ever come crawling back!"

Watching her bare her teeth like a cornered animal, a dark laugh almost bubbled up my throat. Even now, she thought this was about the money. She was completely oblivious. She was so terrified I was going to abandon her that she immediately resorted to vicious attacks.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, grabbed her plastic bag of prescription meds, and drove her back to her rundown apartment in absolute silence.

I didn't want to pick up Brooks. I didn't even want to step foot back in that massive, empty Westlake mansion. But I didn't have the cash to buy my way out of the ironclad prenup. So, I strapped my seatbelt on and drove toward the kindergarten, forcing my foot down on the gas pedal.

A few suffocating days later, a cold, hard clarity finally snapped into place.

I walked into a high-end salon downtown and sat in the leather chair. Two hours later, my straight black hair was bleached and dyed a warm, rich chestnut brown, styled into heavy, voluminous waves. I stared at my reflection in the mirror until the stranger looking back at me looked absolutely nothing like the woman in the photograph. Only then did the tight knot in my chest loosen.

During the weekly departmental meeting, Silas walked in again.

"What the hell is up with the CEO lately? Why is he crashing every single one of our team syncs? He never sets foot in the other departments," the Team Leader wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper.

"I bet he has his eye on the new intern," Paige muttered, nudging the girl next to her.

"Oh my god, shut up!" The intern's face flushed a violent shade of crimson, rapidly shaking her head.

"Well, who else could it be? Who is still single?"

"Fallon is single," another coworker joked, throwing a smirk in my direction.

I had been sitting there perfectly content watching the trainwreck unfold, never expecting the crosshairs to swing my way.

"Fallon?" The Team Leader took one look at me and scoffed, shaking his head. "Not a chance. The CEO doesn't go for her type."

Gee, thanks.

"I don't go for his type, either," I snapped back, my tone completely deadpan.

The second the words left my mouth, the entire conference room went dead silent. A tall, imposing figure casually strolled right past my chair. He took the head seat at the table.

Silas.

Chapter 10

A hot flush crept up my neck. How the hell did he hear that? But honestly? A dark, twisted thrill shot through my chest. Let him do whatever he wants. I was officially done playing his game.

Today, my coworker was running the presentation for Silas. The gorgeous girl was pitching her heart out at the front of the room, but his dark, heavy gaze was pinned dead on me.

What the hell was he staring at?

I dropped my head, burying my eyes in my notepad, absolutely refusing to acknowledge him.

The gorgeous coworker wrapped up her pitch. The conference room dropped into dead silence as everyone waited for the CEO's verdict. Instead, he dropped a completely different question.

"What happened to your face?"

I snapped my head up. Every single pair of eyes in the room was locked on me. Reality caught upI had a beige band-aid plastered directly above my eyebrow.

"Slipped while plucking my eyebrows," I answered flatly.

The silence in the room thickened into concrete. Everyone stared at the two of us in pure, unadulterated shock. The gorgeous coworker standing by the projector looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Hmm." He casually tore his gaze away, his expression entirely unreadable. "I have no notes."

The Team Leader let out a massive, shuddering breath, practically sagging in his leather chair.

After the meeting broke up, my coworkers swarmed me, demanding to know what the hell was going on between me and the CEO.

"No idea. How should I know?" I played dumb, brushing them off. I genuinely didn't get it either. He was definitely messing with me, deliberately painting a target on my back in front of the entire department.

"Take this file up to the CEO for his signature." The Team Leader marched up and dropped a heavy manila folder right onto my keyboard. "I am not going near him right now. He's crashing our meetings every single day, and my blood pressure can't take it."

"I'm not doing it. I'm clocking out." I shoved the folder back.

"You're not doing it? You want to clock out, or do you want to clear out your desk?"

Damn it

"Fine." I snatched the folder, ground my back teeth together, and marched up to his corner office.

He was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, his head buried in paperwork. Business as usual. He scrawled his signature across the bottom line. But right as he handed the pen back, he casually dropped a line.

"Nice hair color."

I froze for a split second. "You like it?"

The question seemed to completely throw him off. He paused, his dark eyes flickering over the heavy chestnut waves, before offering a low, "It's fine."

"Good to know. I'll book an appointment to dye it back tomorrow."

He physically stiffened, his hand hovering in mid-air over the desk. I snatched the signed folder and walked straight out the door.

That evening, after dragging Brooks back to the mansion, I found out the kindergarten teacher had assigned an arts and crafts project. I squatted by the glass coffee table, elbow-deep in glue and construction paper. Brooks was sprawled out on the massive leather sectional, totally zoned out watching cartoons.

We had always been at each other's throats, but ever since I hit my breaking point, we established a cold, hard truce. I picked him up every day; he kept his mouth shut, and I didn't say a word to him either. When he wanted to hoard toys, he swiped his dad's black card, and I carried the heavy bags to the SUV. He watched his shows; I did his homework. We had finally struck a twisted, functional balance.

Halfway through gluing a cardboard house, Silas walked through the front door. He kicked off his dress shoes, disappeared upstairs, and came back down in dark sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, walking straight toward the living room.

The second he got close, I stood up and wiped the glue off my hands. "You finish it for him. I'm going to take a shower."

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locking onto me, completely silent.

When I finally stepped out of the steaming bathroom, I found his tall frame leaning heavily against my bedroom doorframe. His dark, consuming gaze hit me like a physical weight, dropping straight down my neck. My heart skipped a violent beat in my chest. I grabbed the door handle, fully intending to slam it shut in his face.

"I'm going to sleep. I'm officially off the clock." I tried to shut him out.

His eyes burned a hot, heavy trail across my bare shoulders, and reality violently crashed over meI was only wearing a thin, white bath towel.

He didn't say a word. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, clamped it between his teeth, and tilted his head to light it. The silver lighter snapped with a sharp click. The cold, untouchable CEO from the boardroom was completely gone, replaced by a dangerous, street-level thug.

"Spit it out." He didn't move an inch. His dark eyes narrowed through the thick plume of smoke, looking like they were trying to peel the skin right off my bones. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "What's with the attitude?"

"No attitude."

"Did Brooks do something?"

"No."

"Is your Team Leader piling on too much work?"

"No."

"Then what the hell is it? You need more cash?" He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his jaw tight. He was rapidly losing his patience.

Need cash?

"I didn't just start needing cash today."

Chapter 11

I had finally decided to stop loving him, and he just thought I was throwing a tantrum. Even if I was, he acted like it had absolutely nothing to do with him. A dull, suffocating ache clamped down on my chest anyway.

He let out a low sigh, the harsh edges of his voice softening just a fraction. "I've been tied up with work lately. If there's something you want, just tell me."

"I don't want anything." I pulled the corner of my mouth into a tight, stiff smile. "It's only for a year anyway. Once the twelve months are up, we'll get a divorce."

"You really love making a mess out of nothing." His patience completely evaporated. He dropped two final, freezing words. "Suit yourself."

He turned his back and walked straight into the master bedroom, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

I shut my own door and collapsed onto the mattress, my fingers curling tight into the bedsheets. Look at that. He didn't give a damn. My little display of rebellion was nothing but a cheap circus act to him, completely failing to make a single ripple in his perfectly structured life. But the sun still came up the next day. You couldn't survive on a pathetic teenage crush forever.

That afternoon, I drove to the kindergarten to pick up Brooks. The second I stepped through the gates, the teacher pulled me aside and told me Brooks had hit another kid.

I froze in my tracks.

"Look at this! Your kid left two massive lumps on my son's head. What are you going to do about it?" A furious mother, rocking blood-red acrylic nails and lethal stiletto heels, marched right up into my personal space.

Brooks stood off to the side, his little fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. His jaw was locked, refusing to say a word. Standing next to the angry mother was a chubby boy. It was Braxton, the exact same kid who had loudly announced I was a stepmom last time.

"What happened?" I squatted down to Brooks's eye level.

He clamped his mouth shut.

"Mommy, it hurts!" Braxton wailed, dialing the theatrics up to an ear-piercing volume.

"You deserved it!" Brooks glared daggers at him, radiating pure, stubborn defiance.

I rubbed my throbbing temples and took a deep, heavy breath.

"Look at this complete lack of manners! He's still cursing at him! How the hell did your parents even raise you?" Braxton's mom raised her hand, fully intending to slap him.

I instinctively looked at Brooks. That comment visibly struck a nerve. His small face flushed a violent, blotchy red, and heavy tears pooled in his eyes, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.

"Watch your mouth." I stood up, shoving Brooks entirely behind my back, completely blocking her line of sight.

"What are you going to do about it? Your kid assaulted mine, and you think you hold the high ground here?" Braxton's mom puffed out her chest, practically ready to throw hands in the middle of the playground.

"Let's all calm down and talk this out, please. Not in front of the children," the teacher rushed over, desperately trying to de-escalate.

I swallowed the sharp insult burning on my tongue. "Fine. I'm going to talk to my kid first. Teacher, please go pull the security footage."

I dragged Brooks over to a quiet corner by the brick wall. I crouched down, meeting his gaze. His tiny body was rigid, standing perfectly straight, his lips sealed shut. I let out a long sigh and gently grabbed his small, tense hand.

"Listen to me. Don't be scared. If you didn't hit him, I don't care how loud his mom screams, she won't touch a single hair on your head.

If you did hit him I'll take the heat for you. You can tell me whenever you're ready to talk."

He wasn't going to crack. I dropped it. If he really threw the punch, I'd swallow my pride, apologize, and pay the medical bills. I was just about to stand back up when a tiny, broken whisper hit my ears.

"I don't have a mom anymore."

The blood froze in my veins. I stared dead at him.

"I don't have a mom anymore," he repeated. The second the words left his mouth, massive, heavy tears spilled over his eyelashes and rolled down his cheeks.

She's dead.

Chapter 12

"Dead?" The word hit my chest like a sledgehammer, instantly dragging up my own childhood memories. Whenever I asked Charlene where my father was, she always told me he was dead.

Besides, Charlene had a garbage temper. If I pushed her too many times, she would literally beat the answer out of me. I eventually learned to keep my mouth shut, hiding under my heavy comforter at night and crying until my lungs burned.

The memory hit me like a physical blow. A sharp sting burned the back of my nose. I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around his small, shaking body.

"Who told you that?" The words scraped out of my throat, choked and raw.

"Braxton." The second the name left his mouth, his final defense crumbled. He buried his face in my shoulder, his small frame heaving with loud, broken sobs.

I held him tight, feeling the violent tremors racking his little spine. No matter how much stubborn armor he put on, he was still just a kindergartener.

"He lied to you." I rubbed his back in slow circles. A sudden realization clicked in my head. "Does he say that all the time? Is that why you hit him?"

He just cried harder, physically unable to speak.

A hot, violent spark of rage ignited in my chest. I scooped him up into my arms, stood up, and marched straight over to the chubby kid.

"Did you tell him his mom is dead?" I stared dead into his eyes.

Braxton flinched like I had struck him, burying his face in his mother's skirt and wailing at the top of his lungs.

"Why the hell are you yelling at my son?" Braxton's mom lunged forward, shoving me hard in the shoulder.

With Brooks in my arms, I lost my balance and stumbled back, the rubber soles of my sneakers skidding against the pavement. I planted my feet hard, locking my knees. "You've done a stellar job raising him. Going around telling other kids their mothers are dead? If his mom is dead, what the hell am I?"

I rubbed my violently throbbing temples and sucked in a deep, heavy breath.

"You birthed him but don't bother raising him, and you expect everyone else to do your job? You want an apology? Over my dead body! You should be thanking your lucky stars I'm not suing you for emotional distress!"

Braxton's mom shot a look at her sobbing kid, then glared at me. The crowd of whispering parents was clearly bruising her ego.

"Watch your mouth!" She lunged at me, her acrylic claws aimed straight for my face.

Oh, hell no. I shoved Brooks directly into the teacher's arms. A fraction of a second before her hand connected with my cheek, I grabbed her wrist mid-air, my fingers digging viciously into her pulse point. She shrieked, swinging her other hand wildly to grab a fistful of my hair.

I didn't even hesitate. I threw down. The fight was absolute, brutal chaos. The teachers physically couldn't pull us apart.

Thirty minutes later.

The principal's office.

Silas sat directly across from me. His dark, bottomless eyes were locked onto my face while the teacher frantically explained the entire brawl.

What the hell is he staring at? I kept my chin tipped high, refusing to break eye contact. I wasn't backing down. I would rather choke than apologize.

Silas let the teacher finish. His voice was a flat, terrifyingly calm absolute. "Pull the security footage. Gather the incident reports.

Hand everything over to my legal team. If there are medical expenses, my office will double the payout." He shifted his gaze, pinning Braxton's mother to her chair. "But if anyone in this school lays a finger on Brooks, or touches my people I will drag you through court until you have absolutely nothing left. We do not compromise."

They played the security footage. The screen clearly showed Brooks hadn't thrown a single punch. Braxton had tried to shove him, missed completely, and tripped over his own feet, slamming his head into the ground.

The blood instantly drained from the woman's face. She stared at her blood-red nails, pivoting to a sickeningly sweet, desperate smile.

"Oh, you know how kids are! Just playing around, right? It's completely normal. There's no need to bring lawyers into this. Right, teacher?"

Under the principal's heavy coordination, Braxton and his mother choked out a full, humiliating apology.

Back at the Westlake mansion, I stormed straight up to the guest room, slamming the door shut. Three heavy knocks hit the wood. I yanked the door open. Silas was standing right there. I instantly shoved my weight against the panel to slam it shut again.

This was a total humiliation. My hair was a literal rat's nest, my blouse was torn halfway off my shoulder, and thick, angry red scratch marks tracked all the way down my neck and across my cheek.

"Open the door." His voice was a low, gravelly vibration against the wood.

"Not a good time. I'm going to sleep." I pressed my shoulder into the heavy oak, absolutely refusing to let him see me looking like a feral alley cat. He had already seen enough in the principal's office. He was probably thoroughly disgusted.

"You were throwing punches like a heavyweight champion an hour ago. Now you're too scared to open a door?" He let out a slow exhale. His voice dropped an octave, rough and dangerously soft. "Open it. Let me look at you."

Chapter 13

I had no choice. I pulled the door open, instantly spinning around and dragging my feet toward the edge of the mattress.

He followed me in. He dragged a heavy wooden chair across the floor, dropped a first-aid kit onto the rug, and just stared at me.

"Chin up," he ordered, his voice dropping low.

I didn't move a muscle.

A second later, two long fingers hooked under my chin, forcing my head up. My gaze collided directly with his dark eyes. My pulse instantly kicked into a chaotic rhythm.

"You can't even win, yet you still throw punches?" He kept his eyes pinned on mine.

"Who says I didn't win? She looks like a trainwreck." I refused to back down. That acrylic-clawed psycho only had the upper hand because of her expensive manicure.

He stared at me. The harsh lines of his face suddenly broke, and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He was definitely mocking me.

My back teeth ground together. I dug my nails into my palms.

Instead of saying another word, he popped the latches on the first-aid kit. He soaked a cotton swab in antiseptic and meticulously started cleaning the scratches on my face.

His touch was incredibly light. His breath brushed warm across my cheek. A hot flush crawled up my neck. I leaned back, trying to put some physical distance between us.

"Does it hurt?" His hand stopped mid-air.

"No."

"Then stop squirming." He reached out, gripping my waist, and hauled me flush against him.

The air evaporated from my lungs. I froze, completely paralyzed. It felt like I was under some twisted spell; whatever he commanded, my body just blindly obeyed.

"Where else did she get you?" He finished bandaging the cuts on my hands and jaw, tossing the bloody cotton swabs aside.

"Here." I blindly yanked the collar of my torn blouse off my shoulder.

He physically stiffened. His dark gaze instantly flared hot and heavy. Reality violently caught up to me. I scrambled to pull the fabric back up, a burning flush instantly engulfing my face. I was only wearing a thin silk camisole underneath the blouse. It wasn't overly scandalous, but it left my entire upper back completely exposed. It was definitely too much.

"I can do it myself," I muttered, my cheeks burning.

"Turn around." The absolute authority in his gravelly voice left zero room for argument.

"It's fine."

"We signed a marriage certificate." The freezing tip of the cotton swab touched my bare skin. "There's no need to be shy."

Shy? I wasn't shy. Why the hell would I be shy? My thoughts scattered.

He gently dabbed the ointment onto the scratch. Then, his hand stopped completely. The room dropped into dead silence. I was just about to open my mouth and ask what was wrong when a horrifying realization hit me.

The tattoo on my back. Oh, god.

"What is this?"

"Uh just, some flowers and vines." My heart hammered violently against my ribs.

"A locust tree flower?"

My lungs completely seized. I was dead.

"Why did you get this tattooed?"

"Just when I was younger, I liked"

When I was younger, I liked him.

"It looks good."

A second later, the freezing tip of his finger slowly traced the exact outline of the petals. A violent shiver ripped down my spine, erupting into a full-body wave of goosebumps.

He pulled his hand back in absolute silence. He finished applying the antiseptic and pulled my collar back over my shoulder. I had no idea what was running through his head. Suddenly, his rough fingers wrapped around my hand, squeezing my fingers.

"Pretty thin." He stared dead at my ring finger, using his own thumb to measure the width.

I snatched my hand back like I'd been burned. I instinctively shrank my shoulders back, my hands gripping the edge of my shirt tightly. His rough thumb gently brushed against the edge of my collarbone. He suddenly let out a low, dangerous chuckle. "Throwing punches, getting ink looks like I married a feral little cat." He stood up, looking down at me from above with dark, heavy eyes. "I'll come back and check on you tomorrow night."

Tomorrow night? My brain spun. What the hell did that mean?

He didn't bother explaining. He grabbed the first-aid kit and walked straight out the door.

Clocking into the office the next day, a heavy weight sat in my chest. I stared blankly at my monitor, completely unable to focus. His words from last night, the feeling of his hands on my skin my resolve was violently starting to crack.

Chapter 14

That's the curse of a secret crush. You swear you're done, you promise yourself you'll never look at him twice for the rest of your life. But the second he shows a sliver of gentleness, the second he drops a line that could be misinterpreted, the gears in my head start grinding all over again.

My mind drifted to the locust tree flower tattooed across my back, and to the teenage boy who inspired it.

It started back in elementary school. One day after the bell rang, I walked over to the cheap dive bar near the trailer park to find Charlene. I waited until the streetlights buzzed on, but she completely refused to leave her barstool. I had no choice but to grip my house key and walk home alone.

A drunk regular from the bar trailed me into a dark alley. The heavy stench of stale beer hit my face as the man lunged, grabbing at my clothes. My heart slammed against my ribs in pure terror. I sank my teeth hard into his arm, tasted copper, and ran for my life.

A group of high schoolers was passing the mouth of the alley. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Only one guy stopped. I sprinted out of the shadows and crashed directly into his chest. He didn't push me away.

"Please, there's a bad guy," I sobbed, my small fists grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

He instantly shifted his weight, pulling me completely behind his back. "Don't be scared," he said, his voice incredibly steady. "I've got you."

The drunk saw the tall high schooler and immediately slunk back into the shadows of the alley.

He walked me all the way back to the trailer park.

"Are you home alone? Where are your parents?" His dark eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown as he scanned the empty, cramped trailer.

"My mom is still at the bar." I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to stop the violent shivering rocking my spine.

He didn't say a word. He just gently rested his hand on my shaking shoulder. "Don't be scared. I'll wait outside until your mom gets back." He pointed toward the massive locust tree planted right by the front door.

He leaned against the rough bark of the locust tree, his face illuminated only by the faint glow of his phone screen. He stood there for hours. Every time a nightmare jerked me awake, I would creep to the window and peer through the blinds. He was still standing there.

The pale moonlight washed over his sharp features, casting a long, dark shadow across the dirt. In my miserable, pitch-black life, that elongated shadow was the only beam of light I had ever seen.

Charlene didn't stumble through the door until the sky started turning gray. When I woke up, the spot under the locust tree was empty. But lying on the floorboards inside the trailer, I found a dropped student ID card. That was how I learned his name was Silas, and he went to Southridge High.

From that exact moment, a stubborn, desperate obsession took root in my chest. I wanted to get into his school. I locked myself in the trailer, ignored the neighborhood kids running wild outside, and studied until my eyes bled. I fought my way into Southridge High, only to stare at the "Outstanding Alumni" bulletin board and realize he had just been accepted to UCLA.

I doubled down. I burned the midnight oil, grinding through textbooks day and night, and managed to claw my way into UCLA. But by the time I set foot on campus, he had already moved on to an MBA program, eventually heading to an Ivy League on the East Coast.

I realized the cold, hard truth: a guy like him was never going to notice a girl like me in a million years. I buried his scratched student ID deep inside the pages of my diary.

But now he had married Vivienne. He had a child with my sister. He would never know I spent my entire youth hiding in his shadow, guarding a pathetic, secret crush that could never see the light of day.

A heavy ache settled in my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. Remembering Brooks sobbing yesterday, screaming that his mother was dead, a cold spike of panic nailed my feet to the floor. If Vivienne was really dead, the news would absolutely destroy Charlene.

I stared at my monitor for hours, agonizing over the missing pieces until the clock finally hit five. I made a hard decision. I was going to force the truth out of him.

When I pulled up to the Westlake mansion, his Bentley was miraculously parked in the driveway. For once, he was actually home.

I marched straight up the stairs and knocked hard on the heavy oak door of his study.

He pulled it open. "What is it?" He stood in the doorway, a faint crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Did you marry me because I look exactly like someone else?" I shoved the fear down my throat and fired the question point-blank.

He froze for a fraction of a second. His features immediately smoothed out into total confusion. "What are you spiraling about now? Be good. I'll come to your room in a minute."

He was dodging the question. Was he feeling guilty? But the twisted knot in my chest pulled agonizingly tight. I absolutely refused to wait another second.

Chapter 15

"If you're just using me as a glorified nanny to pick up your kid, or a cheap body double for someone else, expecting me to sit quietly like an obedient little machinethen I'm out. Find yourself another puppet." I locked my knees, absolutely determined to force an answer out of him.

"Explain yourself. What nanny? What body double?" A rough, gravelly voice suddenly echoed from the shadows behind him.

An elderly man with a head of shock-white hair stepped into the light, leaning heavily on a carved wooden cane. My shoulders violently flinched.

Silas let out a low, exhausted breath, his long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "My grandfather."

Grandfather? My soul practically left my body.

"Say hello to Grandpa." He shot me a sharp, warning glance.

"Hi, Grandpa." I choked the words out, absolutely terrified to do anything else.

"You get married and don't breathe a word to the family? What the hell are you playing at?" The old man slammed the rubber tip of his cane against the hardwood, glaring daggers at Silas.

"I've been busy." Silas dodged the question without batting an eye.

"You make a little money and suddenly you think you can hide my granddaughter-in-law from me?" The old man raised his cane like he was about to beat him over the head with it, but caught sight of my frozen posture and forced his arm down.

"How could I hide anything from you? You're already here." Silas grabbed his grandfather's elbow to steady him. "Watch your blood pressure. You're too old to be throwing a tantrum."

I stood rooted to the carpet.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The old man instantly dropped his voice, flashing me a warm, totally disarming smile. The sheer whiplash of his mood swing actually left Silas staring in pure disbelief.

"Fallon," I managed to whisper.

"Fallon? You're my old army buddy's granddaughter? You little punk, didn't you tell me the date was a bust?" The old man snapped at Silas, then immediately turned his warm smile back on me. "Tell G