7
JADE
I should still be in the gym, feeling Declan's body pinning me under him, his voice rough in my ear, his body pressed to mine like a silent confession.
Instead, I'm on my way to face a ghost I never invited.
My mother.
Two simple words that transform the heat pooling in my belly to ice in an instant. All the pleasant haze from moments before, Declan's body pressed against mine, the weight of him, the unmistakable evidence of his desire, evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun.
I stride through the house, aware of Declan following a few paces behind. I don't turn to acknowledge him, can't look at him right now. Not when my mind is racing, not when every carefully constructed wall I've built threatens to crumble.
What is she doing here? How did she even find me? Who let her in? I've given clear instructions to my lawyers tomake the allowance payments but never to let her know where I live.
By the time I reach the living room, I'm already shaking with rage.
There she is, perched on the edge of my sofa like she belongs there. Catherine Sinclair, still beautiful at forty-two, still dressed like she's expecting paparazzi, still wearing that expression of calculated concern that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Jade, darling!" She rises, arms outstretched, in some sick parody of maternal affection, moving toward me with practiced grace.
I step back, putting distance between us. "What are you doing here?"
Her smile falters slightly, then reappears with renewed brilliance. "Is that any way to greet your mother? It's been so long, sweetheart."
"Seven years," I correct automatically. "Not long enough."
Her eyes shift to Declan, who's taken a position just behind my right shoulder. Her gaze sweeps over him, assessing, calculating. I know that look. I've seen it a thousand times. She's determining his value, his utility. It makes me sick.
"And who is this handsome gentleman?" she asks, pivoting effortlessly from rejected mother to flirtatious socialite.
"None of your concern," I reply flatly. "How did you get past the gate?"
"Oh, that sweet little assistant of yours let me in. Sophie, is it? Such a helpful girl. I told her I was your mother, and she didn't even question it. You should really train your staff better, darling. When I was responsible for you this would not have happened."
From the corner of my eye, I see Sophie hovering in the hallway, looking miserable. She's new, inexperienced. How would she know? I've never mentioned my mother to her. Never shown her photos. Never warned her about the woman who gave birth to me and then treated me like a meal ticket.
"You need to leave," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the anger building inside me. "Now."
"Jade," she sighs dramatically, "I've come all this way. Can't we at least talk? I heard about what happened in New York. I was worried sick..."
"Worried my income stream might be cut off, and with it your meal ticket?" I interrupt. "Don't pretend you care about my well-being. We both know better."
Her expression hardens for a fraction of a second before the mask of maternal concern returns. "How can you say such things? I'm your mother. Of course I care."
I hear movement behind me and turn to see Ethan and Mateo entering the living room, no doubt drawn by thecommotion. Great. An audience for this particular family drama is exactly what I need.
"Mr. Reid," I say without looking at Declan, my voice ice-cold and formal, "please escort this woman from the premises."
Declan shifts his weight but doesn't immediately move.
"Miss Sinclair..."
"You have a list of authorized visitors, correct?" I interrupt.
"Yes," he confirms, his deep voice carefully neutral.
"Is Catherine Sinclair on that list?"
