I close my eyes, a wave of relief washing through me so strong it almost makes my knees buckle.
Back in the kitchen, Dad watches me.
“Your sisters?” he asks quietly.
I nod.
“Good,” he says, his voice thick. “Something is going on with her, Madi. I can’t do this alone anymore.”
“Neither can I, Dad.”
I hug Mom one last time before I leave, pressing my cheek to her hair and breathing her in.
“I love you,” I tell her.
She holds me tight, her strength surprising me. “I love you too, my strong girl.”
Forty-Eight
By the time I get to the office, I already know today is going to be a problem.
It’s not the emails. I can handle those. It’s not the missed calls lighting up my phone or the assistant hovering at my door with the polite-but-urgent look that means someone important is waiting.
It’s the woman sitting in my reception area.
She’s perched on the edge of the chair, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles are white.
Mia.
My stomach does a slow roll. I haven’t seen her since the deposition rooms and the hushed, angry meetings of last year. When Dr. Sterling—the man Beckett eventually replaced—was fired, it wasn’t just for “professional misconduct.” He was a predator. Mia was one of his victims, a nurse who had the courage to speak up when the hospital’s legal team tried to steamroll her.
They tried to spin the story, so I spent months dismantling their defense, shielding Mia andthe others until Sterling was stripped of his license and his reputation lay in the dirt. We bonded in the trenches during a character assassination attempt.
I slow my steps, already rearranging my face, my posture, my tone. The part of me that walks into burning buildings slips neatly into place.
“Mia, I’d say it’s lovely to see you because it is, but usually when you’re sitting in my office, it’s not for a friendly catch-up.”
Her mouth trembles.
“It’s Lily,” she says.
Lily Morgan. Seventeen when I last saw her. She had been Mia’s rock throughout everything.
“She must be almost nineteen now,” I say gently. “How is she?”
Mia exhales. “Not good.”
I motion toward my office. “Come on.”
The door closes behind us, and the room shifts. It always does. Something about these walls makes people tell the truth. I take off my jacket, hang it on the chair, and sit across from her—not behind the desk. Never behind the desk when it’s personal.
“I know this isn’t what you usually deal with,” she starts. “It’s not a senator or a studio or… God, Madison, I wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t terrified.”
“Tell me.”
She swallows. “Lily’s ex-boyfriend has videos and pictures. He’s threatening to upload them.”
Not another one of these assholes in the world.
