Chapter 1Three years as Zachary's right hand. One engagement announcement. Game over.
Zachary's fiancée wants every woman near him gone—including me.
His "generous" consolation prize? A blind date with his older brother.
"Richer than me. Better in bed. Oh, and he's got a kid."
"Interested?"
Oh, I'm interested.
That kid? I'm the one who gave birth to him.
---
I was 22 when I got tangled up with Zachary's older brother, Griffin.
Zachary doesn't know. If he did, he wouldn't treat me like his personal lapdog.
Back then, I was fresh out of college, fumbling through job interviews. I mistook Griffin for another broke applicant after we both bombed the same company.
He looked wrecked. Designer suit covered in dust, tie loosened, sitting on a curb with a sad container of plain grilled chicken and wilted greens.
A stack of documents sat beside him like a corporate tombstone.
I'd just been rejected too, riding that emotional high of self-pity.
So I bought two deluxe BBQ rib platters with extra meat and shoved one at him.
"Eat this instead. That rabbit food won't keep you alive."
I sat three feet away, drowning in visions of my future self. Homeless, waiting for strangers to hand me leftovers.
Too wrapped up in my misery to notice Griffin's face cycling through shock, disbelief, and genuine amusement.
We talked. Swapped names and sob stories.
That was my first mistake. Assuming he was as ordinary as me.
And Griffin? He was thrilled to play pretend.
After that, I kept "running into him."
Every time felt like fate. Even when he confessed his feelings, I thought it was destiny's grand design.
Then came the plot twist that shattered everything.
I was at a luxury mall picking out holiday gifts for my boss's VIP clients when I spotted him.
Hands half-shoved in his pockets, posture lazy and bored, tapping his Italian leather shoe against marble floors.
He was helping some girl pick out jewelry, looking annoyed but indulging her anyway.
When she finalized her choice, he casually waved for the clerk to charge his black card.
The night before, he'd been in my apartment. Our cramped rental.
Whining about his "slave driver boss" while I massaged his temples.
I had two options: keep pretending or demand compensation.
I chose neither.
I called him out and asked for nothing.
He wasn't surprised.
Came clean immediately, invited me to his real home. A private estate worth more money than I could earn in ten lifetimes.
In his study, I saw the truth.
Griffin wasn't some spoiled heir. He worked.
That day we met? He'd been inspecting a major port project that went sideways.
Middle of summer, he'd hauled blueprints and engineers to the construction site, fixing problems in real time while someone scribbled meeting notes into a brick-thick stack.
No one expected the CEO's son to show up, so there was no catered lunch.
He ate that sad chicken salad on the curb, reviewing documents, waiting for damage control reports.
And then I appeared. Too stupid to recognize his expensive watch or custom tailoring.
"Do we have to break up?" he asked.
"Love doesn't matter. It's all about benefit in the end."
I was 24.
Young enough to believe love couldn't survive lies.
"We're not the same," I said.
"We never were."
I didn't cry. Didn't say goodbye.
Just left. Calm as a laid-off employee.
But life had other plans.
A month later, my period didn't come.
I was pregnant.
And my company started mass layoffs targeting expectant mothers.
The boss made it clear: "Pay them off and kick them out. I'm not running a daycare. If this keeps up, I'll stop hiring women entirely."
Before I started showing, I pledged loyalty.
Promised I wouldn't let the pregnancy interfere.
Even requested three days off for an abortion.
My boss loved it. Held me up as the "model employee."
I looked at myself in the mirror and saw livestock.
Not a person.
My coworkers whispered behind my back. I couldn't argue.
I booked the procedure.
On my way to the clinic, Griffin's security intercepted me.
He was overseas.
Flew back that night. Six hours straight.
He wanted me to keep the baby.
The terms he offered were generous.
I agreed.
When she was born, I didn't look at her.
Not once.
Griffin took her immediately, named her Cora. Precious gem.
I figured he loved her.
That was enough.
She didn't need me hovering.
So I left New York and headed to Miami.
Chapter 2
I didn't escape the family after all.
Griffin's younger brother, Zachary, ran operations down south.
I was sending out resumes like crazy. Didn't even register when I clicked apply on an executive assistant posting under his name.
The interview was a breeze. Too easy.
Next thing I knew, I had the job.
Zachary's right-hand woman. Managing his calendar, coffee runs, the occasional client meeting when his senior assistant was MIA.
Most days, I stayed local. No travel.
The work was chaotic but doable. The paycheck? Solid.
Between Griffin's settlement money and this salary, I'd bought my own place outright.
I could've coasted.
Then Zachary's fiancée torched everything.
"Vivienne. Vivienne."
His knuckles rapped against the desk.
"Can't be that hard of a decision. You stalling because you think he's beneath you?"
There was a smile on his face. Venom underneath.
I slid the daily schedule across his desk without looking up.
"Eleven to eleven-thirty, executive board. Noon lunch at Morton's with Leo Thompson—his daughter just got engaged, I have the gift in your car. Two to four, charity golf tournament. Four-thirty, Marcus Reynold wants to take you riding at his ranch, but it overlaps. Pick one. Five o'clock, R&D facility tour with the Crenshaw Group, contract signing after. Dinner at seven, Hillside Estate, ribeyes and Maine lobster. It's ten forty-three. Leo said three department heads need to brief you before the board meeting."
I paused.
"And I'm not going on a blind date with your brother."
Zachary leaned back. The chair creaked under him.
His foot tapped against the floor. He spun slowly.
His eyes stayed locked on me the whole time.
"Huh."
A half-smirk pulled at his mouth. "You're hiding something."
My throat tightened.
"I know him."
Dated felt too generous. No one knew. Not friends, not family. It barely counted.
"Oh, you know him?"
He nodded, casual at first.
Then his foot stopped.
His jaw tensed. His eyes sharpened.
"Wait."
He drew in a sharp breath.
"You fucked him."
I'd dealt with powerful men looking down on me before.
But the way he said it still made my chest ache.
"Yes."
He shot up from his chair, grinning like he'd won the lottery.
He grabbed my arm, practically yanked me to the couch. He poured me tea himself.
"Okay, okay, sit. I need intel."
He leaned in close.
"Who's the mom?"
"Of his kid. We've been trying to figure it out for years."
"He hates children. Like, genuinely can't stand them. So whoever she is? He must've been obsessed to keep that baby."
"You dated him. Spill. Who was his favorite?"
Who was his favorite?
The girl in the jewelry store?
Or just another rotation?
My fingers curled around the teacup.
"I don't know who he loved. But it wasn't me."
Zachary barked out a laugh.
"Damn, still bitter? Griffin's not cheap though."
"Not with everyone else, maybe. I lived in a six-hundred-square-foot walk-up the whole time."
His face froze.
"You lived where?"
The words came out slow. Disbelieving.
"He made you live in a rental?"
My smile felt brittle.
"He didn't make me. I paid for it. He never stayed over."
"Jesus Christ."
He stood up, pacing. He kept glancing back at me.
"Didn't think you were the romantic type, Vivienne. With your face? A penthouse wouldn't have been crazy. Why didn't you bail?"
He was calculating my worth.
Three years ago, I would've thrown the tea in his face.
Now I just softened my expression. Played the game.
"I was young."
I forced lightness into my voice.
"So... about my severance. Any chance you could pad it a little?"
Someone knocked at the door.
They leaned in.
"Mr. Sterling, board meeting in five."
Zachary straightened his tie.
I stepped forward and held the door.
He grabbed his folder and brushed past me.
"You're off the layoff list."
He barely looked back.
"Get back to work."
Chapter 3
Too bad.
I was hoping to milk a bigger payout. Now I'd have to quit myself.
Zachary's fiancée had been the talk of the office lately. Word was she came from old Manhattan money—granddaughter of some Wall Street legend, parents ran a private equity firm.
High status. Higher maintenance.
The second they got engaged, she made her demands crystal clear: every woman working close to Zachary had to go.
Zachary had two senior secretaries. Guy and a girl. His core team.
The woman was too good at her job. He kept her.
The rest of us? Executive assistants, personal aides? Not so lucky.
Even if I didn't get axed, staying would be torture. Who knows when the new Mrs. Sterling would decide I looked suspicious.
I headed back to my desk.
Ran into someone from accounting getting paperwork stamped. When they saw me, their face did that sympathy thing.
"Hey Viv, when you heading out? Let's grab drinks before you go."
I dropped into my chair and face-planted on the desk.
"Next month earliest. Gotta finish the exit process."
"Process? Thought layoffs were immediate?"
"I'm quitting." I sat up. "Mr. Sterling's not firing me. Someone send me a resignation template."
Thank you for the opportunity to grow professionally...
Due to personal circumstances...
I have decided to resign effective...
I clicked send, shoved my keyboard away, and exhaled hard.
Zachary's words kept looping in my head.
He must've been obsessed with her to keep that baby.
I still don't know what Griffin actually felt.
Back when I worked in New York, my apartment was in one of those complexes where everyone's first stop after moving to the city. Whole building full of broke twenty-somethings and sketchy characters.
First time I got stalked. First time someone tried breaking in.
I wasn't sleeping well that night. My phone buzzed and jolted me awake.
The doorbell camera was going off. Someone standing outside my door too long.
Guy on screen wore a ski mask, baseball cap, latex gloves—face hidden, oversized maintenance uniform burying his build.
He was picking my lock. Fast. Way too practiced.
Every few seconds he'd look back and crack a joke with his buddy.
I stood frozen in my living room, then went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I had.
I locked myself in the bedroom, eyes glued to my phone screen, hands shaking so bad I could barely dial 911.
Then I called Griffin.
His voice came through rough, heavy with sleep.
"What's wrong?"
"Someone's breaking into my apartment."
Beat of silence. Rustling—he was moving fast.
When he spoke again, his voice was sharp and awake.
"How many are there? Armed?"
"Two that I can see... no visible weapons. Don't know if they're carrying."
His tone shifted softer.
"Hey. Don't cry. Lock your bedroom door. Stay put."
The camera feed cut to black. Soft creak of my front door opening, then footsteps in the living room getting closer.
Someone started pushing against my bedroom door.
I gripped the knife, but my palm was sweating so much it kept slipping. Legs wouldn't stop shaking.
Suddenly chaos exploded outside. Thuds, crashes, shouting mixed with pained groans, glass shattering, furniture hitting the floor.
"Griffin?"
His voice came through breathless and rough.
"I'm here. Stay inside. Almost done."
I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, wiping sweat off my face with my sleeve.
Eventually someone knocked.
I dragged the dresser away from the door.
My living room looked like a crime scene. Two guys sprawled on the floor—one wasn't moving, the other was moaning. Someone was dragging them out by their ankles.
Griffin wiped blood off his knuckles with his sleeve and pulled me into his chest. His jacket was ice cold from outside, cigarette smoke clinging to the fabric and mixing with his body heat.
He held me so tight I could barely breathe, then bent down and pressed his lips to the top of my head.
A couple guys standing behind him shuffled awkwardly.
"Uh, Griffin... what do we do with them?"
"Check if they've got records. Make sure they get extra years tacked on."
His voice was flat, casual, while his hand cradled the back of my skull.
I pressed my face into his shoulder, voice muffled.
"Are they your friends? Coming all the way out here this late... I should buy them dinner."
"Don't worry about it." His thumb rubbed circles on my back. "Go lie down. I'm staying tonight."
Cops showed up. Griffin lit a cigarette and nudged me toward the bedroom.
I heard muffled voices through the door but it didn't last long.
He climbed into bed behind me, arms locked around my waist.
I was still trembling.
"It's over," he murmured against my hair. "Won't happen again."
I turned over and kissed him hard.
Griffin went still for a second.
Usually he moved fast in bed. I'd gotten used to him undoing his belt in one smooth motion, hand pressing the back of my neck, pushing into me without hesitation.
That night was different.
He caught my wrists and guided them around his neck, then rolled over me slowly and kissed me back.
Late October—the air outside was freezing, but his skin was burning hot.
When his palm cupped my cheek, I actually believed he loved me.
But I've replayed that memory too many times now. It's like chewing on sugarcane pulp—no sweetness left.
When we sat across from each other in his family's estate negotiating terms like a contract, I couldn't lie to myself anymore.
He loved me the way you love a pretty pet. Didn't want to keep it. Didn't want anyone else touching it either.
That's all.
Workday ended. Friday.
Resignation email sent. Earliest I'd hear back was Monday.
I cleared my desk slowly, packing up the little things that made the space mine.
Zachary called Sunday night. Must've just landed—airport noise crackling in the background.
"Vivienne. The personal reason in your resignation letter. What is it?"
"Mr. Sterling, I'm twenty-nine. Time to settle down."
"You're not still worried I'm trying to set you up with my brother, right? Relax."
"That's not it." I kept my voice even. "Met someone through a friend. We're compatible. I was planning to leave around now anyway."
"What's his deal?"
"No deal. Associate professor. State university."
"Huh."
"Alright. Finish your thirty days strong, I'll add a bonus. Consider it a wedding gift."
"Thank you, Mr. Sterling."
"One more thing."
He paused.
"Pick up a gift for a little girl. Something age-appropriate. You're flying back to New York with me next Friday."
A little girl.
My throat closed.
"...Yes, Mr. Sterling."
