Some days, I feel forty-five instead of twenty-five—like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world for decades already.
But I’m grateful for Gracie—my little sister, my only family now. Everything I do, I do for her.
With my phone still in hand, a restless urge itches at me. I should prepare dinner, research new tech jobs, but my thoughts keep circling back. Before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers move, almost on their own.
Chase Knight.
I type his name into Google, my thumb trembling ever so slightly over the screen.
The first link that comes up is his LinkedIn profile. CEO of Knightwell, a firm that’s been making waves in tech. The polished, corporate image I expect—sharp suit, sharper jawline, that smile of his that never quite reaches his eyes. I scroll past it.
I move to the next result:Chase Knight: A New Power in Cybersecurity.It’s an article about his most recent venture—Knightwell’s latest move into the cybersecurity world. The deal he’s been touting to anyone who’ll listen. The one I was supposed to be a part of. It’s the one he just kicked me out of. I scroll through it, my stomach knotting tighter with every word. My algorithms. My work. It’s like seeing the fruit of my labor stolen, claimed under his name.
Then, something else catches my eye:Chase Knight: The Beast of Brooklyn—a headline fromThe New York Times.
I pause, my heart skipping a beat. Beast of Brooklyn. A name that says it all. I click.
The article digs into his past—his rough beginnings in Brooklyn, raised by his Italian grandmother after his father went to prison and his mother disappeared. There’s no sugar-coating it:he didn’t have a chance to be anything but tough. But even with those odds stacked against him, Chase found a way out. He earned a scholarship to Stanford, a business prodigy with nothing but his brains and raw determination to fight for a place in a world that didn’t give people like him a chance.
And when he earned that nickname—The Beast—it was while working at a private equity firm. A hostile takeover, they called it. He didn’t just buy companies; heobliteratedthem. Companies fell at his feet, and his reputation as a cold, calculating powerhouse only solidified. The Braxton acquisition was the defining moment in his career, a ruthless, high-stakes move that made Wall Street cower in fear. The one that earned him that nickname.
Briefly, I close my eyes, pushing back the sour taste in my mouth. I’m not even sure why I’m still reading this. Despite knowing the story, I still scroll. I swipe to the next tab—a photo of him at some gala standing beside a model—leggy, perfect, as always. He’s in his element, the man who never has to try hard. I stare at the photo. He’s wearing that smile again. The one that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking, exactly what he wants from you, like he could crush you in the blink of an eye, and you’d never see it coming.
I linger on it for a moment longer than I should, then swipe the tab away, forcing away the confusing feelings Chase Knight incites. Frankly, I’m annoyed at myself for allowing him headspace.
I hear the scrape of a key in the lock and the slam of the door, and Gracie comes bounding in, her face lit up with joy. It’s easy to tell the game went well.
“We won. Three—zero,” she says, shifting her kit bag on her shoulder, pushing her hair out of her face. “And I scored. Coach said it was a peach of a goal.”
“Nice one, Gracie. There’s no stopping you. UCLA won’t know what’s hit them. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll get dinner ready?”
“Can we get takeout pizza?” She asks, her palms pressed together in a plea.
“Not tonight, Gracie. Maybe at the weekend.” I leave out the depressing fact that money will be tighter. I don’t want to ruin her winning mood.
Gracie is pensive for a moment, studying my face. “You look tired, Vi. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, everything’s fine, just a busy day at work.” I shrug. I’ve never been the best liar, and Grace knows me better than anyone.
“Look, Vi,” she says, chewing her thumbnail. “You don’t have to pretend everything is okay all the time. I know I’m your baby sister, and I’m a moody bitch at times, but I’m old enough to look after myself, and if you need a shoulder to lean on, I’d like to think you could come to me too.”
My eyes well with quickly suppressed tears. My emotions are all over the place today. One moment, I’m hopping mad. The next, I’m ready to curl up in a ball and sob.
“Mom would be super proud of you, Gracie,” I say, standing to pull her in for a hug as she lets her bag drop to the floor.
“And you too, Vi, don’t forget that. Mom would want you to be happy, too.”
“I am.” If only Chase Knight hadn’t dropped a hand grenade on my life, I’d be doing just fine. But I keep that quiet. “Okay, get your stinky self in the shower, and I’ll sort dinner,” I add, playfully smacking her butt.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Gracie says, swatting my hand away and turning towards our tiny bathroom.
“By the way,” she shouts, looking back at me over her shoulder. “After dinner, we’resomaking you a Tinder profile. You need to start dating again before you get donated to a museum.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Over my dead body.”
“We’ll see,” she singsongs as she elbows the bathroom door open. “Plus, your friend Seb said we need to.”
“Don’t listen to Seb. He’s full of shit.” Goddamn Seb. I’m going to kill him. Interfering with my life is his favorite hobby.
