Max Voss stood on a yacht’s deck, the sea sparkling under the sun. His toy car rolled in his hand, his eyes wide with wonder. The yacht, Damien’s pride, rocked gently. Max looked up, his voice small. “Is Sarah really gonna be my mom?” Damien, in a crisp white shirt, knelt beside him. “She’s special, Max,” he said, his grin sly like a fox. Max’s heart fluttered, confused but warm. He liked Sarah, but her smiles felt funny sometimes. Damien stood, his phone buzzing with Sarah’s text: *Brakes plan is set.* He smirked, his cocaine empire fueling his bold moves. “Max, you’re our star,” Damien said, ruffling his son’s hair. The boy nodded, clutching his car, blind to his dad’s dark world. Sarah joined them, her silver dress glinting, her smile tight. “Max, you’re perfect for our wedding,” she said, her voice sweet but cold. Max beamed, his trust pure. “Will there be boats at the weddin

The city lights were like, twinkling super hard outside the penthouse windows, throwing weird shadows all over Sarah’s arms as she paced around, clutching her phone like it was her lifeline. The silence was so heavy, it felt like a million pins poking her ears. Vince’s voice kept looping in her head, all shaky and pathetic. “The car was messed up. The tools broke.” She couldn’t stop thinking about it, like her brain was stuck on repeat, and it was driving her *nuts*. She kept walking back and forth from the fancy marble bar to the glass balcony doors, her heels clicking like some annoying clock she wanted to smash. On the coffee table, her tablet was playing this fundraiser video on loop—Sophia looking all perfect, handing out popsicles to kids with sticky hands, her laugh blasting through the speakers like it was mocking Sarah. That laugh? It hit Sarah like a punch. Sophia was supposed to b

The penthouse lights dimmed as Kara moved to the panel, lowering them just enough to let the city skyline glow in full, harsh and brilliant behind the tall windows. A click of the door. The photographer, Julian, stepped in, a short, wiry man with sleek black equipment bags slung across his chest, his eyes scanning the room with professional detachment. “Ms. Chen,” Julian greeted, dipping his head, already assembling the tripod with practiced speed. “We’ll keep this quick, promise.” “Make sure it’s perfect,” Sarah said, her voice low but sharp, a glass blade. “No bad angles.” “Of course.” Julian lifted his camera, adjusting the lens, angling toward the corner where the skyline’s lights slashed across the windows like neon veins. Sarah stepped into place, the silver gown catching the glow, sequins glinting like a thousand tiny mirrors. She raised her chin, letting the gown settle,

Max Voss shifted from foot to foot near the front pew, his small hands gripping the satin ring pillow so hard the edges wrinkled under his fingers. His bow tie itched, and the weight of the cathedral’s hush pressed on his thin shoulders, making him wish he could disappear into the sea of candles and flowers. He looked at Sarah, his aunt in a shimmering gown, standing beside Damien as the priest adjusted his glasses, preparing to guide them through the vows. Max’s chest tightened. Sarah’s smile looked too big, too sharp, like the edges of the glass sculpture she had in her office that he was never allowed to touch. Lucy felt Max’s eyes dart to her. She caught his gaze, gave him a small nod, and mouthed, *You’re okay,* though her own jaw was tight. She was dressed in a simple pale blue dress, her hair pinned back, looking like the softer version of Sarah but with none of the coldness in her eyes.