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“Are you bragging or trying to sell me real estate?”
“Are you in the market? Because if everything goes south, it might be for sale soon.” He says it as a joke, but it reminds me that with each sunrise, we’re getting closer to the deadline.
I watch the boats on the river, a sailboat gliding smoothly through the waves, a ferry trailing not far behind. It feels odd to be sharing breakfast like this. We didn't sleep together, but we definitely shared something last night. Something deeper.
“The day I found you in the hallway outside my office. That was your mother.”
His words pull me back into the moment. “You heard all of it, didn’t you?”
Sebastian frowns. “Enough.”
My cheeks heat up. “And you never said a word.”
“It wasn’t my business. I told myself that for nine hours. You know you don’t owe her anything, right?”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I snap defensively, quickly realizing I’m repeating my comment from last night. I’d been on the defensive then, too.
“You’re right. People in glass houses and all that. But it’s easier to see the impact from the outside. Last night, I saw firsthand how it affects you.”
It’s hard to stay angry when Sebastian looks genuinely concerned. This man drove me to the Bronx at two in the morning, stayed with me, and asked for nothing.
“It’s complicated.” I sigh heavily.
“Family always is.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it feels like we’ve found common ground. But then, true to form, Sebastian folds the paper with a crisp snap and stands up, pushing the moment of connection aside.
“I need to get going. I’ll be in meetings all day,” he says, striding out of the room without looking back.
I’m grateful for the exit. We were heading in a direction that takes an extreme detour from our agreement. I can’t go down that road. I’ve seen where it ends.
It ends with a woman like my mother, broken over a man who was never really there.
18
SEBASTIAN
My mind is spinning with thoughts of Isabella and what happened last night.
There were no fireworks, no screams of passion, no driving each other wild. And yet, in some ways, it felt much more intimate, important. I saw a side of Isabella Medina I didn’t know was there. The woman who confidently stares down billion-dollar hedge fund managers looked broken and exhausted in a way I understood so intimately, and for a moment, it felt like I was watching myself.
The sight of Isabella bearing the burden of a mother who so clearly uses and manipulates her, who exploits her kindness and devotion as a daughter, brought up a cold, sharp anger.
Isabella was right, I’m in no position to talk. But to see how shattered she looked, how drained and beaten down, yet still willing to care for her mother… I wouldn’t have been able to do the same for my father. For the first time, I saw why Isabella is so fiercely independent, why she believes she doesn’t need a shoulder to lean on. It’s because she’s so busy holding everyone else up.
I still don’t know what moved me to pull her into my arms. I wasn’t thinking clearly, save for the single thought that I wanted to be the one to protect the woman who protects everyone else. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness resulting from the awakening of some protective side I didn’t know was there. A mistake that will not be repeated.
I push all of it aside as I sit at my mahogany desk and watch the world I’ve spent all these years stabilizing go up in a digital bonfire.
The notification pings are relentless. The Wall Street Journal, CNBC, AP—they all have similar headlines about “The Leaked King Memo.”
It isn’t just a leak. It’s a killing blow. Someone within the King Corporation didn’t just hand over secrets to a rival. They handed over the blueprints for our execution.
I scroll through, my eyes stinging. It’s worse than the initial reports suggested. The memo outlines a persistent architectural vulnerability in our flagship security suite, the very software we sell to half the Fortune 500.
It says we knew.
Except we didn’t.
