Of course. I couldn’t be trusted with anything important. I was Jude’s—someone who had let her career fade the moment she married the man who nearly took her life.
I spent the morning entering information into spreadsheets, cross-referencing addresses and phone numbers, and trying not to feel like a fraud. Typing with one hand was slow, and I used my hip to hold folders open while filing. The work was mind-numbing but necessary, and I threw myself into it with the same determination I once applied to hiding bruises and making excuses.
At least this time, my effort was producing something useful.
“How are you settling in?”
I looked up to find a man in his thirties standing beside my desk, coffee cup in hand and genuine curiosity on his face. He was tall and lean, with sandy hair and the kind of easy smile that made you want to trust him immediately.
“Still figuring things out,” I admitted. “This is all pretty new to me.”
“David Martinez,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m one of the senior analysts here. And you must be Willa. Kieran mentioned you would be helping out for a while.”
I smiled and extended my left hand for the shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. Kieran said you had a background in marketing, right?”
I didn’t expect Kieran to share that much about me. “Yes, though I wasn’t sure how relevant that would be to security work.”
“Are you kidding?” he said. “Half of what we do is marketing. We’re selling peace of mind to people who can afford to buy it. Understanding how to position services, how to communicate value—that’s invaluable in this business.”
For the first time since I started working there, I felt like someone saw me as more than a temporary problem to be managed—more than the hollow version of myself I’d become after marrying Dex. David asked intelligent questions about my previous work and seemed genuinely interested in my opinions about client communication strategies.
“You know,” he said as he prepared to leave, “I’m working on a presentation for a potential client next week. If you’re interested, I could use someone with a marketing background to help refine the messaging.”
“Really?” I tried not to sound too eager, but the prospect of doing actual, meaningful work was intoxicating.
“Really. I’ll talk to Kieran about it.”
But when David approached Kieran about involving me in the project, I watched from across the office as Kieran’s expression went cold and closed off. Their conversation was brief, professional, and final. David returned to my desk looking apologetic and slightly confused.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Kieran thinks it would be better if you stick to administrative tasks for now. He’s concerned about putting too much pressure on you while you’re still recovering.”
The disappointment was sharp and unexpected. I had always known I was only here because Kieran felt obligated to take care of me, but having it confirmed so plainly still hurt. It landed heavier than I anticipated, settling somewhere deep in my chest where logic offered no relief.
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. “I understand.”
But I didn’t understand. Not really. I understood that Kieran saw me as fragile, as temporary, as someone who needed to be protected from any real responsibility. I understood that no matter how capable I proved myself to be, I would always be Jude’s little sister in his eyes—someone to be sheltered, notsomeone to be trusted. That distinction followed me everywhere, quiet but unyielding.
That afternoon, I was filing contracts when I overheard a conversation between two senior associates about a Fortune 500 client who was considering switching security firms.
“The problem is perception,” one of them was saying. “They think we’re too small, too regional. They want a firm with national reach.”
“But our track record is flawless. We’ve never had a security breach, never lost a client to an actual threat.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s about image, about feeling like they’re getting the prestige that matches what they’re paying.”
I found myself thinking about the conversation long after I left the office that evening. Back in Kieran’s penthouse, eating dinner prepared by his housekeeper while he worked late, I turned the problem over in my mind. The quiet hum of the apartment only sharpened my focus.
This was exactly the kind of challenge I dealt with in my marketing career, helping clients understand that value and perception weren’t always the same thing, that sometimes you had to change the story you were telling before you could change the results you were getting.
I stayed up late that night, researching Cross Security’s public presence, analyzing their website, and reading industry publications on trends in corporate security. By morning, I had a dozen ideas for how they could reposition themselves to compete with larger firms without losing the personal touch that made them valuable. The work energized me in a way I hadn’t felt in months.
I wrote everything up in a brief proposal, complete with specific recommendations and implementation strategies. It wasn’t perfect. I was working with limited information and no access to their client data, but it was solid, professional work. Itproved, at least to myself, that I was capable of more than filing and data entry.
I left the proposal on Kieran’s desk before he arrived that morning, along with a note explaining that I had overheard the conversation and thought I might be able to help.
When he called me into his office two hours later, I expected interest—maybe even appreciation for taking initiative.
