Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“Never heard of her.”
“I thought you might say that…”
She fans the photos across the table like they’re nothing, but the moment they come into view, I clench my fist under the table.
The first photo is from the masquerade ball.
We’re deep in the shadows—her body pressed to mine, the gown that stopped time brushing against my leg. The lighting’s soft, but not soft enough to save me. Her mask is tilted just enough to show the curve of her mouth. Her head’s tipped back like she’s waiting for me to take the next step. Like she’d let me do anything.
The second photo from the ball catches a glimpse of her eyes.
I can still remember how they locked on mine—stormy and daring—how that look kept me up more nights than I’ll ever admit.
Another is an image they’ve pulled from my gate’s security cameras. It shows her pulling through my gates in the rain for the first time, headlights cutting through fog. She’s gripping the wheel, jaw set. Still chasing danger. Still not realizing she was already in its jaws.
The final photo stops me cold.
How the hell did they get this?
Autumn is slumped in the back of one of my cars, blood blooming through her clothes on the night of the explosion. With her skin pale and lips parted, I remember not waiting for my men to pull her out.
I pulled her out myself.
It was the first night in years that I felt powerless. The night I knew that I wouldn’t sleep again until I annihilated all threats once and for all.
“These are clearly AI-generated,” I say.
“They’ve been verified by intelligence.” She snatches them back. “But you can keep pretending. Let’s move on.”
“Thank you.”
She flips a page. “Should the fact that your entire family is buried in your backyard concern anyone at all?”
“Not unless someone is planning to dig them up.” I finally stand, pushing back my chair.
“I’m done complying today. If this goes to trial, I’ll be there.”
“You won’t have a choice,” she says, shrugging. “You know, it’s always the men with nothing to lose—the ones without families—who act this way.”
I tense, tempted to serve her the words she deserves once and for all, but I hold back.
“See you in court, Miss Poole.” I smooth my jacket and walk out the side door.
Outside, Chester is waiting, already leaning against the car.
“So? How worried should we be?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten?”
“Fifty.”
End of Episode 5
Bravissima
EPISODE 6
Autumn
Mom
Where did you go, Autumn?
Seattle. Just going to do something quick for a friend.
Okay… When?
Within twelve hours. I’ll be ready for coffee and catching up…
Oh, alright then, hun. I’ll pick you up again. :-)
Islip my phone into my pocket and stare at the Uber driver’s screen from the backseat. Although Adeline assured me that she had everything covered, I don’t want to take any chances on seeing Ryder—not now. Not when my chest still tightens every time I think about the last thing he said.
Seventeen days.
That’s how long it’s been since I left. Since I made the choice not to look back.
I’ve counted them like scars. Seventeen days of silence. Seventeen days of rerunning his words on a loop until they stopped sounding like him.
The closer we get to the city, the more it feels like I’m betraying someone. Maybe myself. I’ve gone back and forth in my mind—debating whether to tell him about Kylie, whether to call and say, “Hey, maybe we both overreacted.” But I can’t. I didn’t overreact at all… and deep down, I know he didn’t either.
“This the place, Miss?” The driver glances back through the rearview mirror.
I nod, staring out the window at Montlake Musical Academy for the Gifted. Roses in shades of purple spill from a trellis, and a sign reads: Welcome Moms!
My heart swells against my ribs. I scan the parking lot for any cars that might belong to Ryder’s men. I don’t spot them, but I know better than to believe they’re not here. This feels too orchestrated. Like a stage dressed in florals and lies.
I step into a hallway lined with soft lighting and polished tile. A table ahead is littered with unclaimed Mom of a Gifted Musician badges. I grab one and follow the smaller purple rose–framed signs toward the theater.
The auditorium is dressed like a miniature Carnegie Hall—velvet chairs in perfect rows, polished wood paneling that glows beneath the stage lights, a gleaming platform backed by thick, ornate curtains—and yet, it’s completely empty.
My pulse ticks like a metronome. I glance over my shoulder, scanning exits, wondering what I missed.
Just then, I nearly collide with a redheaded woman carrying a box of donuts.
“Oh, whoa!” she exclaims, saving them with a quick shuffle. Straightening, she shoots me a look. “May I help you with something, Miss?”
“I thought there was a recital here today.”
“There is.” She smiles, unfazed. “It starts in about forty-five minutes. You’re welcome to explore or take a seat while we get ready.”