The room was pitch black, save for the sliver of moonlight cutting across the duvet.
Marcus was lying on his side, his eyes fixed on the outline of Lily’s face.
She had been staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, her body stiff as a board.
“You are very loud when you think,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into the darkness.
Lily didn’t turn.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” He turned well towards her.
“Who called you tonight?”
She finally shifted, looking at him.
His face was uncomfortably patient, the kind of stillness that forced the truth out of her like water from a squeezed sponge.
She swallowed hard.
“E…Ethan”.
“What did he want?” Marcus frowned.
“He called to tell me Vivian is pregnant,” she said, the words tasting like copper.
“And that it didn’t change anything for him.
He was drunk, Marcus.
I guess though”
Marcus was silent for a long time.
He didn’t offer a platitude.
He didn’t tell her it would be okay.
He simply reached out and covered her hand with his, his palm warm and calloused against her cooling skin.
He swallowed hard too.
That man must be so pathetic and stupid.
“How are you feeling?
“I guess I’m fine.”
“Lily.”
She let out a long, shuddering breath.
“I don’t know how I feel.
I know that I am tired of not knowing.
I am tired of standing in the middle of everything, trying to hold it all together while it rips me apart.” She blinked her eyes repeatedly in order for the tear that was about to rip her apart to go.
“It’s ok…You can just pour it out.
You have to stop trying to hold everything together.” Marcus said.
He sat up and pulled her against him, and this time, she didn’t fight the gravity of it.
She buried her face in his shoulder, her hands fisted in his shirt, desperate to feel something other than the cold weight of the truth.
“Like I said, you don’t have to hold it all tonight,” he whispered.
He moved his hand to her hair, then down to the small of her back, his touch deliberate and grounding.
Lily looked up at him.
She saw the question in his eyes, a flicker of hesitation, not because he was unsure of her, but because he was waiting for her to be sure of herself.
She pulled him into a kiss that was so passionate.
He hesitated.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
“I’m sure,” she said.
It wasn’t a question anymore.
It was a choice.
She wanted this.
She had been waiting for the world to stop punishing her for existing, and here, in the dark, she had found a sanctuary.
She guided his hand to her waist, the friction of her skin against his palms igniting a heat she hadn’t felt in years.
“Come on Marcus, I am starved.”
He kissed her, slow and deep, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that was tempered by a terrifying level of care.
She arched into him, her legs tangling with his, her body shedding the armor she wore for the world.
Every touch was slow, deliberate, a reclamation of her own skin.
He took down her gown slowly waiting for a little hesitation from her but there were no signs of that.
Marcus’s hands were steady as he reached for the sleeves of her dress.
He pulled the fabric down slowly, baring her shoulders, and began to press soft, wet kisses along the line of her collarbone.
Lily leaned back, her breath catching as his lips trailed down to the curve of her neck.
“Urggh.” She moaned.
He didn’t rush.
He reached behind her, his fingers moving with practiced ease to unbuckle her bra.
When the clasp gave way, he peeled the lace back gently, revealing her skin.
As the fabric fell, her breasts spilled free into his waiting hands.
He didn’t grip or pull; he just cupped her weight, his thumbs grazing her skin in slow, rhythmic circles.
Lily let out a ragged, shaky exhale, her head falling back against his shoulder.
His touch was warm and heavy, grounding her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
He lowered his head, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak of her breast, and she groaned, her fingers digging into his arms to pull him closer.
Marcus shifted, his hands moving to her waist as he helped her settle against the edge of the mattress.
He pushed her dress higher, bunching the fabric at her hips, and his touch was heavy and firm.
When he finally pushed inside her, it was slow, a deep and steady pressure that forced a sharp gasp from her lungs.
Lily wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing the friction.
“AHH”.
He moved with a measured pace, his hands gripping her hips to keep her exactly where he wanted her.
Every time he pushed forward, her body arched to meet him, needing the weight of him against her.
He was watching her face, tracking the way her eyes fluttered shut and the way her breath turned into shallow, uneven hitches.
There was no hurry, only the slow, steady hum of two people finally choosing each other.
Afterward, the room felt different.
The air was heavy, warm, and quiet.
She lay with her head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear, her body feeling loose and strangely light.
It was the first time in years the frantic, buzzing hum in her brain had gone quiet.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the peace like a knife.
She squinted at the screen: Claire Sinclair.
Ethan’s sister.
She sat up, pulling a sheet over her chest, and answered.
“Lily.
I am sorry to call late,” Claire said.
“I heard about what happened with your father’s case.
The files.
All of it.”
“How did you hear?”
“I have been paying attention.
I spoke to my brother.
He is pretending he doesn’t know the full scope of what his father has done, but I think he is closer to the truth than he’s letting on.”
“Oh, Claire, stop.
You don’t have to put yourself in that position.”
“I am already in that position,” Claire said, her voice turning sharp.
“I grew up in that house.
Richard has been taking from this family his whole life and calling it a strategy.
He never cared about any of us, not Ethan, not me, not my mother.
He cares about power.
He just keeps cheating on my mother.
I want to help you bring him down.”
“Okay,” Lily said, her heart accelerating.
“Thank you.”
“I am traveling for a short project next week, so I will be out of reach.
But when I come back, I want to sit down with you properly.”
“Oh..oh..yeah that would be fine.”
Lily hung up and looked at Marcus.
He was watching her, his brow furrowed.
“Who was that?”
“Calm down”.
Lily chuckled.
“Ethan’s sister.
She wants to help.”
“The same family that…,”
“Come on…not all of them are Richard,” Lily interrupted.
“Claire never was.
She’s been good since I married Ethan, it’s just that she had been distant.”
“Ok then, since you said so, who am I to judge?” He laughed and held her.
“Care for another round?”
“You flirt!” She laughed and hit him with the pillows while slipping into the bed duvet.
“Yes”.
The next morning, Lily sat at her desk, her mind already racing through the legal strategy, when her phone rang.
A private number.
She answered it without thinking.
“Good morning, Ms.
Chen,” Richard’s voice purred, slick and confident.
“What do you want from me Sinclair?”
“Nothing much, Ms Chen.
Just a simple request.” He said, coldly.
“Hmmm.”
“I am going to keep this brief.
Whatever you think you are building against me.
Can you drop it?
The past is the past.
You have a new man, a new company, a new life.
Be smart and stay in it.
Do you like how your company is bleeding of customers?.”
Lily felt her hand flatten against the mahogany desk, her knuckles white.
She looked out the window, at the gray city sprawling beneath her.
This man is an idiot!
“You had my parents killed,” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register.
“You stole my joy….the joy of having parents.
You stole three years of my life, and you are calling me to say the past is the past?”
“I think you should be careful about making accusations you cannot…,”
“I have not even started, Richard,” Lily said.
“Enjoy your morning.”
She ended the call, her pulse hammering in her ears like a drum.
She grabbed her phone again and dialed Zara.
“Zara, can you come in?
I need…,”
There was silence.
Just the low, humming drone of an open line.
She pulled the phone away, looked at the screen, and saw it was still connected.
She put it back to her ear.
“Zara?”
Lily stood up, pacing toward the window.
The line was still open.
She could hear faint, ambient sound, the rush of wind, the distant whine of a car engine.
Zara was outside.
Zara was walking, phone in hand, not saying a word.
“Zara,” Lily said, her voice hard.
“What is going on?”
There was still nothing.
Just three agonizing seconds of pure, dead air.
Then, the line cut.
Lily stared at her screen, the light flickering out.
The call had been connected for four full minutes.
But she heard nothing from Zara.