Lyla Monroe
Ugh, Jonathan.
I clenched my phone so hard, I thought the screen would crack. Of course it was him. Of course he told my father where I worked. That was the only way Carter Kingsley could’ve found out my workplace—let alone my work email. The company didn’t even have my real name. So it had to be Jonathan.
I hated Jonathan.
He wasn’t even my blood. Just another loyal lapdog to my father. My father saved him from an orphanage when they were young, gave him a home, a name, a place in the Kingsley empire—and now Jonathan acted like he was a Kingsley.
I used to call him my older brother. Now I could barely say his name without gagging.
What the hell did my father want from me? I had run away for a reason. I changed my name, my look, my entire existence just to be free of him. And then I opened the email.
From: Carter Kingsley
My dearest daughter,
It’s time to come home. I’m retiring. I want to spend my last years with my father before he passes.
The island estate in the Maldives is ready, and I want peace.
Your future is here. Not there.
—Dad
My hand trembled. I stared at the screen like it might explode in my palm.
Take over his business? No. No. That wasn’t my life anymore. He couldn’t just yank me back like I was some toy he left behind.
Before I could even respond, another notification popped up.
Luca Steele: Be ready. You’re coming with me to visit my mother today.
Wait. What?
I blinked. That couldn’t be right. I had never visited his mother. He never even talked about her, except for the weekly requests I’d get to schedule flower deliveries or prep his dinner orders for her.
Now he wanted me to go with him? I barely had time to process before another ping.
Luca again.
Also — we need to discuss the Victoria Ames presentation.
It’s in two days. I want every spare second you have focused on it.
—Luca
I finished my lunch in silence, my appetite gone. My stomach churned, but not from food.
After that, I went back to my cubicle and powered through what I could—emails, draft slides, call summaries. The numbers blurred together. It wasn’t even 5 p.m. yet and my mind was already spinning. By 4:52, I was in the bathroom fixing my makeup. Touched up the lipstick. Re-applied the powder. Combed the wig. Straightened the cardigan.
I still looked plain. But at least not like someone who cried in bathroom stalls.
At exactly 5:00, I knocked on Luca’s office door.
He opened it, gave me a once-over, and nodded. Then he said flatly, “Follow me.”
We headed downstairs. A sleek black Range Rover waited outside. He got behind the wheel, and I climbed into the passenger seat, notebook in hand.
On the drive, he talked about the Victoria Ames project, and I took notes like my life depended on it. I even recorded the conversation for reference. His tone was clipped, precise, completely business. I was good at this part—listening, absorbing, executing.
By the time we arrived at the elder care hospital, the sky was darkening. It wasn’t just any hospital—this was a first-class private facility, the kind only billionaires could afford. Everything gleamed. Flowers in crystal vases. Smiling nurses in designer scrubs.
His mother stayed in a special wing, like her own private suite. It looked more like a luxury apartment than a hospital. Marble counters. Hardwood floors. It even had a full kitchen and a cozy dining space.
Luca walked in ahead of me, greeting the staff with a nod before finding his mother. She sat in the kitchen area, dressed in a soft cream cardigan, silver hair brushed back gently.
She looked up and smiled. “Daniel, darling.”
Daniel. Not Luca. She didn’t remember his name.
Luca corrected her and knelt beside her, holding her hand. His voice dropped, gentle and low, the softest I’d ever heard it.
I stood in the corner, quietly observing. Watching him eat and converse like a son who did this every week—even though she barely knew who he was.
Then, suddenly, she looked up and pointed at me. “Who is she?”
I stiffened.
Before I could answer, she added, “She’s a beautiful girl. Very pretty. You have a very beautiful girlfriend. Come eat with us.”
I smiled awkwardly, shaking my head. “Oh no, I’m just—”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Luca cut in.
My eyes snapped to him. What?
His tone didn’t change. It was smooth. Calm. But he looked straight at me when he said it. I couldn’t speak. My mouth went dry. His mother beamed, clapped her hands, and waved me over.
I sat. In silence. Picking at a salad I hadn’t asked for.
“Come here, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for my hand. “You have such kind eyes.”
“You must make sure Luca sleeps more,” she added with a smile. “He overworks himself far too much.”
I nodded, forcing a smile. “I’ll try.”
But inside, I was screaming.
We finally left after an hour.
In the car, silence settled like fog. Until he looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“Don’t take what I said to my mother seriously,” he said.
I blinked. “Okay…”
“She has dementia,” he added. “If she asks who you are, you’re my girlfriend. It calms her mind. That’s all it is.”
I nodded, a hollow feeling settling in my chest. “I understand.”
Of course I did. Why would someone like Luca Steele date someone like Lyla Monroe?
I looked down at my phone, needing a distraction.
Another email.
From: Carter Kingsley
If you do not come willingly, I will come get you.
Your choice.
My breath caught.
Oh God.
