Page 15 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

Mama won’t understand because I barely understand it myself.

A few years ago, I was thumbing throughForbeswhen I saw it: Storm Sandoval standing on a bluff somewhere that looked like Scotland, with a squall forming in the background. The dark, heavy clouds announced a powerful downpour was coming, but did Storm Sandoval care?

No.

Storm Sandoval can withstand anything and get on top.

That’s when I discovered that his company—the same company he swore was stolen from him—landed a five-billion-dollar valuation, topping his personal net worth in the same neighborhood.

Maybe if I’d seen that article today, I would have been able to flip past it. But with his teething children across from me in the small apartment I shared with my mom right outside Cambridge, all I could feel was burning rage.

How dare he experience near-vulgar monetary success while I’m here alone, dealing with the reality he left behind?

How. Fucking.Dare.He.

So, I made a vow: I would surpass Storm Sandoval by any means necessary.

I wouldn’t let him get the last laugh. I’d be better than him, live better than him, and be the one to step onhishead on the rise to the top.

This singular mission has driven me forward in my pursuit of business success.

Even though I know it’s maladaptive, even harmful at times.

Especially when my children suffer the consequences.

“Yes, ma’am. I hear you,” I reply, my voice flat. “I’m just glad to see you all in a few days.”

There. Let’s end that discussion. I can admit Mama’s right. I don’tneedto be a billionaire. No one does.

But Iwillbe one.

“Well,” Mama says, “You have a good day, baby. I love you.”

I look at the clock on the dash, jumping at the sight because fuck, I’m already late for the fitting.

Late. I’m never late.

“Love you, too, Mama. Kiss the babies for me,” I rush to say with my thumb hovering over the End Call button on the steering wheel.

The silence in my SUV makes the space feel like a tomb, and I shiver, uncomfortable with being alone.

Which is why I avoid being alone at any cost.

My eyes flick to where Raiden and Tempest’s booster seats still lock into the back seats. Legos, Hot Wheels, and a few OMG Dolls scatter around their spots, and my face starts to burn.

Yep, I miss them. And I hate that I’m failing them.

Again.

Luckily, the building Wednesday Designs leases has a valet, so I jump out of my Mercedes and stride across the floor.

Melissa meets me at the elevator.

“Okay, Ms.Rivers, I have a few updates,” she says, pressing the “up” button on the elevator panel without looking away from her iPad screen. “Just three points for now.”

“Keystone’s CEO canceled tomorrow’s meeting—he claims he has COVID, but LinkedIn says he’s at a golf retreat,” she says as we walk into the elevator.

“What?” I snap, frowning. “This is the third time he’s cancelled.” Anger presses against my chest as we ascend to the ninth floor.