Page 34 of Fallen Heir

She wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t press. She’d just sit on the couch beside me like she had so many times before—like she knew I just needed someone to be close. She never made the silence uncomfortable.

Maybe I was weak.

But I needed someone. Just this once.

My fingers hovered over the screen, ready to call her—

And that’s when the headline lit up.

“Jaxson Westbrook’s Mysterious Flame Stuns at Gala.”

A picture of us filled the screen. His hand on my back. My eyes turned just enough to be caught in the light.

God. I looked happy.

But that gala? It was supposed to be for survivors. A face of hope. But the very event meant to protect women like me…Had men likehim.

My chest tightened.

Everything last night had felt perfect—until it wasn’t. Until I walked into a room that reminded me I was never safe. Not really. The sound of his voice. The brush of his suit. The smirk that slithered across his face like a warning.

And just like that—I was back there. On that floor. Bruised. Bleeding. Begging to disappear.

Now the phone was cracked and lifeless, the screen black, reflecting nothing but the guilt in my eyes.

Had it rung again? Had anyone called?

I had no way of knowing.

But deep down… I already knew.

No one had checked on me.

Why would they?

Why wouldhe?

Not after the way I left things last night. Not after bolting like a ghost without a word of explanation.

Jaxson was used to clean exits and composed women—used to confidence, polish, and headlines he could spin.

Not women like me.

Not women who shattered like glass under pressure.

Last night had been mine, sure. But there were a dozen women in Manhattan who could wear a gown and smile for the cameras.

Women who didn’t flinch at shadows.

Maybe I’d even help him find one. Someone safe. Someone whole.

It was already Monday morning.

I just needed to survive this day. Work. Focus. Get through it.

My body was on fire—sore from the awkward position I’d collapsed in on the bathroom floor. Every inch of me ached. My reflection in the mirror didn’t help. Puffy eyes. Pale skin. Hair a tangled mess. I looked exactly how I felt—wrecked. But maybe that worked in my favor. At least I looked like someone who’d been sick.

I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the day, but I knew one thing—I had to stay in my office. Millie would ask questions, and I didn’t have the strength to lie convincingly more than once. I just needed to get through today. Keep my head down. Breathe.