Chapter 5 – Morgan
5
THAT’S BECAUSE I BLOCKED YOU
MORGAN
3 Months later…
I hustled down the street, my smoothie losing its chill, condensation slipping down the sides. The morning sun already made the day oppressive, but I was focused on dropping off design samples before my meeting at the co-op.
The designer had been late, throwing everything off. While Gwen and Atticus were on their babymoon, I was overseeing the remodeling at their penthouse. I wanted to surprise them with a mural in the baby's room—a little girl with afro puffs who dreamed of being a designer and made clothes for her animal friends. I still couldn't believe I was having a niece.
I'd just rounded the corner when I saw him.
Lance. My heart slammed into my throat.
Fuck me not so gently with a chainsaw.
I hadn't seen him for three months, and I'd blocked all communication, which helped. But what was he doing on my doorstep?
Lance and Micah, Atticus's brother, had been assigned to look after Pendragon Tech while Atticus and Gwen were away. Lance had gone to London, and Micah had stayed in New York. I knew Micah was leaving for London soon, but I hadn't connected that to Lance coming back.
He leaned against my father's door, looking like sin in a perfectly tailored suit. Freshly shaven, his jawline even sharper.
I ducked behind the hedge, gripping my smoothie like a lifeline. My heart raced faster. What was I doing hiding? I needed to face him.
Stand up. Have some pride.
I adjusted my crop top, one of my own designs in pale blue silk. Paired with high-waisted white linen pants, it was chic and effortless. I tugged at my ponytail and squared my shoulders.
Stepping out, I strode toward him with fake confidence.
Teflon. You are Teflon.
I could smell him from several steps away—fresh, masculine, with that faint hint of something spicy and woodsy.
“What are you doing here?”
Lance looked over flatly, his eyes cool. "I would have texted. But my messages and calls don't seem to be reaching you."
"That's because I blocked you," I said smoothly. "Is there a reason for this visit from one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, and my heart squeezed.
The old Lance would have grinned and given as good as he got. This Lance, I didn't know.
"I need the security code for the penthouse to get some files for Atticus."
I crossed my arms, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. "This week, it's my birthday backward." I swallowed. "Do you remember my birthday?"
He lifted a brow. "Really, Morgan?"
"Hey, gotta check." I leaned on sarcasm like a shield. I needed the armor.
"And here I thought we'd be…" His gaze roamed over me, leaving little fires in its wake.
This time, I knew better. This was part of his game. "What? Back to normal? Sorry, this is the new normal. It's what happens after a night of bad sex."
His head snapped up, expression hardening. "Bad sex? Is that what all those orgasms and screaming was about?"
I shrugged. "I mean, it was… fine. Could've been better. Women fake it. Let's just be adults for the group's sake. Maybe it was an off night for you," I said, twisting the knife.
It had been the most incredible sex of my life, which wasn't saying much.
Lance stared, jaw tight. For a second, I thought he'd argue. Then he sniffed the air. "Are you guys having a barbeque?"
I blinked. "What?"
He jerked his chin toward the house. "Smells like someone's grilling."
I frowned. "Unlikely. Dad hates barbecues. Too pedestrian."
He gave a half shrug, expression unreadable. It was like he wanted to say more, but he turned away. "See you around, Spitfire."
I opened my mouth to tell him he no longer got to give me nicknames, but he was already gone.
Jackass.
I watched him walk away, fists clenching around my smoothie cup.
Stand up, Morgan. You've got more pride than this.
I couldn't keep obsessing. I had to move on. Preferably with someone hotter. Lance clearly wasn't my happy ending.
I pushed through the door of my father's house, trying to shake off the lingering rejection. I was just there to drop off design samples before heading to the co-op.
Dad whirled around, his face shutting down. "Morgan," he said curtly. "You're too old to slam doors."
I sighed. "Just dropping off samples, then I'm off."
"Actually, no, you're not."
"If you need me for something, maybe after. Right now, I have designs that need sewing."
"You misunderstand. We need to speak. Your days at the co-op are done."
Dread slithered down my spine. He looked too pleased with himself. "What are you talking about?"
"You won't be going to the co-op. Not now or ever again. I took the liberty of having your designs moved back here last night."
My pulse thundered as I faced him, hands balled into fists. "You gave me eighteen months," I said, voice low but shaking. "That was the deal. Eighteen months to prove I could do this."
He barely blinked. "No, I didn't."
The words hit like a slap, knocking the breath from my lungs. "What? Don't manipulate me. You promised."
"I never promised you anything, Morgan." His tone was flat, dismissive. "You must have misunderstood."
A chill spread through my chest, my mind spinning. He was doing it again. Twisting the truth, making me doubt myself. But I knew what he had said.
"Like hell I misunderstood," I snapped. "Just like I didn't misunderstand when you 'forgot' to submit my early college application. You sat right there, looked me in the eye, and told me you sent it. Then somehow, NYU never got it, and suddenly, I had no choice but to stay here, under your control."
He didn't flinch. "That was for your own good. You weren't ready."
I let out a sharp laugh. "Right. Just like when you 'lost' my passport before my Milan internship. A whole year of planning, gone. And then—what a coincidence—you had a position at Bex Technologies waiting for me."
"I was looking out for you," he said smoothly. "You needed stability."
"No," I hissed, breath coming fast. "You needed control."
Something flickered in his gaze, but he smothered it quickly. "You're being emotional."
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the fury. Not this time. He wasn't going to turn this into some irrational tantrum.
"You know what's really emotional?" I whispered, stepping forward. "The moment I finally see you for exactly who you are."
His smirk was slow, smug. "Why don't you head out to the patio, and you'll see how serious I am."
Something about his tone made my stomach drop.
I turned.
And saw the flames.
Dread settled into my bones, and when I reached the kitchen, the bottom fell out of my stomach. The only thing that kept me from vomiting was the hand over my mouth. Through the window, I could see flames in the courtyard devouring my life's work.
My emerald silk evening gown—the one that won first place at the design showcase. The hand-beaded wedding dress I'd stayed up three nights to finish. The sustainable collection made from reclaimed vintage pieces. All becoming ash.
I ran out but the blast of heat stopped me. The fire crackled, eating through silk and cotton, melting delicate beadwork. The smoke carried the acrid smell of burning synthetic interfacing mixed with scorched natural fibers—the death of thousands of hours of work.
Pain pierced my chest. "How could you do this to me?" My voice cracked, watching three years of my portfolio turn to cinders. Each piece had been a step toward my dream.
"I'm tired of my family thinking that they are in charge. You will fall into line, Morgan."
His voice was so cold.
I stared at him, wondering when things had gotten so bad. For years, I'd hoped the loving father from when I was little would return, but that had just been false hope.
"And if I don't?" I asked, surveying the ashes. "This is diabolical, Dad. You went to the co-op and deliberately took this from me. Why? Because I supported Gwen?"
He narrowed his gaze. "You will not mention your sister's name in this house."
I shook my head. "That's insane."
"What's insane is you thinking that you can do whatever you like. I might not be able to eliminate your trust fund, but I can delay the date you receive it, and I've done that. With a few more years to mature, you'll stop this nonsense."
"You cannot do that to me."
"I can and I have. If you don't like it, you can go. Though I wonder where you will go with no money and no job."
His words hit me like an anvil.
He marched back into the house as if expecting me to follow, but I could only watch my hard work evaporate on a wisp of ash.
"You don't have to stay here."
I whipped around to find my stepmother, Clarissa, standing in the doorway with a small suitcase.
I stared at her, not really seeing her. My body was in shock, knowing that everything I'd worked for, my father had taken from me because he could.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
She glanced at her carry-on. "I woke up this morning and heard him with the lawyer. It was just too much. For years, I've tried to protect you girls from the worst of his behavior, but I failed. Now, all I can do is try to save myself."
Tears pricked my eyes. Clarissa had been a good stepmom. She wasn't my mother, but she had tried. "Do you know where you're going?"
"A friend of mine lives in Portugal. I think it's best to get out of New York for a while and dodge the gossip. I'll stay with her and figure out my next move. Your father will fight any alimony. I have some money saved, but I'll have to be strategic while I fight him on this divorce." She watched me warily. "You can come with me. Don't stay here. Don't give in to these demands. You're better than this."
I turned to glance back at the ashes of my work, wanting to curl into a ball and cry. But I forced myself to stay on my feet. "How could he do this?"
Clarissa licked her lips. "Promise me you will never let a man manipulate you, lie to you. Don't be like me and let a man control you. It might look like love and care at first, but like a thief, the only thing that kind of love does is steal parts of you and bury them until there is nothing left."
In the span of twenty-four hours, my life had turned into utter shit, and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better.
As I hurried down the street toward the co-op, dodging pedestrians and the occasional puddle, I tried to pinpoint where everything had gone wrong.
When you saw Lance yesterday.
That asshole was like a harbinger of doom.
You never should have slept with him.
Yeah, no kidding.
Last night I’d couch-surfed at my friend Devon’s, but his boyfriend was back today, so I’d need to figure out a new plan as they only had a studio, but I had to get through my meeting with Miriam first. That was the priority.
Once I was sitting across from my adviser the news was even bleaker in the harsh light of day.
“I don't know what to tell you, Morgan. There's not a whole lot we can do about this.” Her expression softened. “We got paid for last month, but that was it. I haven’t pressed until now to give you some more time for this month, but I’ll need a payment soon to hold your spot.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I held them off with a herculean effort.
This was not the news I wanted to hear. Miriam was my favorite professor at NYU, and she ran the co-op. If she didn't see a way out of this, then I was really in trouble.
“I don’t understand how he could just walk in there and take all my designs. All my hard work, just gone.”
Her look was sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. And this level of cruelty is unlike anything I’ve seen or heard of before. But since he paid for your spot, he had access. And legally, he still does for the next two weeks.”
“That’s just great.” Not like he could ruin anything else. All my designs were gone. My throat ached, and I feared I would lose the battle and burst into tears. “So that’s it. After all that, I’ve got nothing. In two months, Adele Beekman is coming here for her showcase for new talent, and I don’t have a single design to show, let alone anything for the models to wear. Am I supposed to send them down the runway naked and holding my sketches?”
Miriam cocked her head. “You know, for a more avant-garde show, that might be brilliant. But not for Adele. There is still time to get something together. Your spot in the co-op is paid for the next two weeks. Then, we can transition the payments to you. You might not be able to show your full collection, but you can show something . Quality is better than quantity. I don’t want to see you give up on your dream.”
Give up? Was that what she thought? “I’m not giving up, Miriam. Things are just in flux at the moment, so I need to buy time.” First problem was where would I get the money to pay for the co-op space? I knew Gwen or Atticus would help.
But hadn’t I told her right before the wedding that I would figure this co-op shit out on my own when she’d offered? If I wanted her to see me as an adult, I had to solve my own shit. And I could do this.
Besides, Gwen had had a rough time with her first trimester and had some bleeding. Once they got the all-clear, Atticus had taken her on a prolonged babymoon. No way was I disturbing them. She’d be furious when she found out what Dad had done, and that wouldn’t be good for Gwen or the baby. Micah was an option, but while Big Bro number two would understand my plight, that would negate the being an adult thing. There was another way.
I licked my lips nervously. “Is there some kind of payment plan for the co-op?”
When she spoke, her eyes were soft. ”You can pay weekly if that’s easier for you. And I’ll see if I can buy you a few days.”
“I’ll take anything you can give me.”
I was going to need it.