I spent the next hours trying to focus on my coding, but my mind kept wandering. Mia and Matt took turns occupying the forefront of my thoughts. Every time I tried to zero in on lines of code, an image of Matt’s smirk—infuriatingly sexy—poppedinto my head. It was a smirk that both pleased and annoyed me. My cheeks flushed hot when I thought about the way he moved like a damn panther—sleek, confident, every motion calculated for maximum disruption in my otherwise chaotic life. His smile? That was another story; it had this infuriatingly sexy twist. And when he smirked—oh, when he smirked—it was both maddening and intoxicating, stirring up a cocktail of irritation and desire I had no recipe for.
But then there was the way he—nope, not going there. I couldn’t afford to think about the way he owned me in bed, all primal savagery that turned my insides molten. Just the memory sent a crimson tide up my cheeks. Focus, Andy.
The hours dragged on until a sigh escaped me as I pushed away from my laptop. Concentration was futile today. Then Matt sauntered in, home from whatever empire-building antics he got up to. The clock declared it eight on the dot. Dinner was spread out like a banquet fit for a king—or at least a very hungry coder and his billionaire.
“Playing cute little housewife now?” Matt teased as he dropped a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to turn my flush into a full-blown firestorm.
“I’m starving,” I muttered, brushing off his quip with as much dignity as I could muster. “Let’s just eat.”
He chuckled and obliged, uncorking a bottle of wine with an ease that spoke of practice.
I found myself stealing glances at my phone more often than I’d like to admit throughout dinner. Matt caught on, of course he did; nothing gets past Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Smugly.
“Mia won’t be calling,” he said between bites of steak. “They’re probably mid-flight by now.”
I hadn’t considered that—planes, no signal, simple explanation—but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach.
It was late into the night when the doorbell echoed through the penthouse like an alarm bell for my frayed nerves. I was off the couch before it finished its chime. Matt stood to answer the door while I waited with bated breath. When James stepped in, his tall frame filling the doorway, my eyes darted past him to find Mia right behind.
“Mia!” Overjoyed, I rushed forward, arms outstretched.
“Andy!” She met me halfway and we hugged tightly, holding on to each other as if we could bridge all the miles and minutes that had kept us apart.
For a moment, everything else fell away—the worries about Sean’s death, the complications with Matt—it all dissolved in that embrace with my sister.
Mia’s hands cradled my face, her thumbs brushing away the ghost of tears I hadn’t shed. The flicker in her eyes—a tempest of worry and relief—was a punch straight to my gut. “Andy, are you alright?” she asked, voice thick with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Really.” My words came out as a feeble attempt to soothe her fears as I guided her to the plush couch that suddenly seemed like a life raft in the middle of my emotional typhoon. We sank into it, the cushions enveloping us as if they too wanted to protect us from the world outside.
Mia’s voice cut through the silence, firm yet gentle. “Andy, tell me everything. What’s going on?”
I dove into the tale, leaving no stone unturned—the business app I dreamed would be our ticket out of our poverty, Sean gambling away James’ two million investment like it was pocket change at a carnival, and the drug deal that spiraled into Sean’s untimely end. Mia’s face contorted with each revelation, a visual echo of the shock waves rippling through her.
When my verbal deluge finally ebbed away, it was my turn to demand answers. My voice quivered with an undercurrent of fear for my sister and the confusion gnawing at me. “Andwhat about you? Matt’s been tight-lipped about you and Mr. Maxwell.”
“I made a contract with him,” she replied, her voice steady but her hands betraying her as they twisted in her lap.
“For what?”
Her next words hit me like a sucker punch. “For the two million.”
My heart stopped its rhythm for a beat. “Wait. What? Mia?” My voice climbed an octave in disbelief and horror. She winced at my volume, and I dialed it back instantly. “Mia,” I softened my tone. “You signed a contract with him? For my mess?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening like morning dew.
“Why?” I pressed.
“Because you’re my brother,” she said simply. “What else could I do?”
I growled low in my throat, a sound of pure frustration echoing around us. “I’m sorry, Mia. I’ve been such an idiot.” I pulled her into an embrace that was both an apology and a promise—arms wrapped around her like a fortress against our screwed-up world. “I’ll set things right,” I whispered into her hair, hoping against hope.
James chose that moment to interject from across the room. “Is everything alright?”
Matt fixed me with a gaze full of concern and unspoken questions.
“Mr. Maxwell,” I nodded at him with gratitude that felt heavy on my tongue. “Thanks for bringing Mia.”
He smirked—James Maxwell’s trademark move—and it stung more than it should have. “You’ve made your sister cry,” he said with an edge sharper than broken glass.
