Jessica sat very still after Michael left.The office was too neat, too polished, too quiet. Her reflection in the glass wall looked like a ghost—eyes wide and glassy, her body stiff in the chair as though moving might shatter her into pieces.On the desk sat the recorder. Useless now.Her hand hovered over it but never touched. What was the point? Michael had pressed delete right in front of her, smiling as though he’d cut the strings that held her together.Her mother-in-law’s voice was gone.That soft tone—gentle even in pain, forgiving even in her warnings—it was gone. Deleted with one press of his finger.Jessica bit down hard on the inside of her cheek until blood filled her mouth. She had to taste something real. If she didn’t, she would collapse, maybe scream, maybe beg for it back, and she refused to give Michael that victory.Her hand shook anyway. Suddenly, she grabbed the recorder, holding it up tight against her chest, clutching it as if holding on tight would bring the v

Jessica's hands continued to tremble.Long after her office building emptied for the evening, Jessica remained in her office. The city was brightly lit, and the bright glass wall stood strong and impervious to the bustling city. The recorder lay idle on the desk, recording no sounds. The little light blinked like a heartbeat in the dark.Michael’s voice bled through her headphones again:“Adrian Cole won’t be a problem. If he resurfaces, he dies.”She stopped the playback. Yanked the headphones off. Pressed her palms against her face until her skin stung.It wasn’t just her anymore. Michael wasn’t only after her reputation, her company, her life—he wanted Adrian erased.And the thought of it hit something deep, raw. Adrian didn’t even know she was carrying his child. He didn’t know Michael had dug his claws this far.For a long minute, Jessica just sat there, her chest heaving. Then she forced her shaking hands onto the keyboard.She typed a short message to her father’s old legal con

The venue glittered under bright white lights, a cathedral of glass with surface that screamed power. The kind of place Jessica used to stride right in there, head up high. Her heels hitting the marble floors, sounding like war drums.Tonight, she stood at the very back. Her coat hid her whole shape. Palms all sweaty inside those tight fists. She snuck in quiet. No invite. No name tag. Just one more shadow mixing with the investors, journalists and corporate wolves starving for whatever big news was coming.And Adrian Cole was the revelation.The stage belonged to him—his presence filling it without effort. The giant screen above projected his image, sharp jaw, controlled expression, voice steady as he unveiled a machine that pulsed like something alive. A prototype, years ahead of the industry.Jessica’s chest tightened. He looked untouchable.Not the man who once slept beside her, his arm draped heavy across her waist. Not the man whose silence had cut her deeper than Michael’s crue

Jessica had stopped answering calls. The phone kept ringing. Board members wanted explanations right away. Reporters were after any little scrap they could get. Lawyers kept pushing for meetings. But she just let it buzz until it went quiet every single time. Even the notifications popping up on her screen, they felt like knives now, stabbing at her with all these reminders of what was slipping right through her fingers. The Benson Group was her legacy. It was her shield, her prison in a way. It was all unraveling way faster than she could even try to hold it togetherMichael had vanished after the recordings went public. Vanished as though the city had swallowed him whole. No smug texts. No drunken rants. Not even the cruel satisfaction she expected him to flaunt when the media turned its eye on her instead.Silence.And silence was worse than his voice. For the first time in months. Jessica was alone. No enemy staring her down. No sharp words to throw back at. Just her own face star

Jessica just sat there in all that quiet longer than she could even track. Time kind of leaked away through the old cracks in the restored house. It only brought along the sound of her own breaths. Shallow ones. The journal stayed open right there on her lap. Its pages sort of whispered under the faint weight of some life that wasn't even hers. But she had helped wound it, all the same.Her hands trembled as she traced the writing slanted, hurried, worn with grief. Adrian’s mother’s words weren’t polished confessions. They were jagged scars pressed into paper. Regret. Hope. Fear. A desperate plea to shield her son from more hurt.Every line pulled at Jessica’s chest like a hook.And then…..boots on the path outside.She froze. The sound was deliberate, steady, unhurried. Her breath caught when the key turned in the lock.The door opened.Adrian stepped inside.––He looked different under the yellow wash of the lamp. His suit jacket hung over one arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up,