Chapter 19
Best friend
Maya
The moment I step into the lobby, one of the receptionists looks up, and her expression shifts.
Her smile falters. Then she straightens in her chair, her professional mask snapping into place like armor.
“Maya,” she says carefully.
Not Ms. Fisher. Just Maya.
“I need to see Colin,” I say flatly, not wasting any breath on niceties.
Her fingers hover above the keyboard. Not typing—not even pretending to. She just stares at me with that tight, uneasy expression.
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you up,” she says finally.
Her voice is almost apologetic, but it’s nowhere near enough.
I blink. I’m stunned for a second, and then the humiliation just washes over me. I’m actually standing here, doing this, after everything that happened
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“I’m sorry, Maya. I was told—”
“Oh, I bet you were.” A short laugh escapes me. “Let me guess—orders from Mr. Montgomery?”
She doesn’t answer. The discomfort in her eyes says everything.
And then I catch it. That subtle glance toward the corner, a silent cue for the guard by the elevators.
“What?” I snap. “You don’t want me to make a scene? Then call Colin and tell him to let me up.”
My voice trembles. Not from weakness, but from sheer, exhausted fury.
“I worked here. For over six months. And now I can’t even take the elevator up?”
Her face softens, but she still doesn’t speak.
She can’t. She’s following orders. And somehow, that makes me hate her more.
I feel every stare on me. People in the waiting area pretending not to listen; others blatantly watching.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, the heat crawling up my neck.
“Maya, please—”
“Please what?” I snap.
I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I grab my bag tighter and take a step back.
“Tell your boss,” I say, my voice turning ice-cold, “that he doesn’t even have the decency to check to see if I’m still alive after I lost our baby. Not a call. Not a text. Nothing. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks.”
Both receptionists’ eyes widen, and I swear I hear a gasp from across the lobby. The guard takes a cautious step toward me, but I’m already moving.
The lobby falls into a stunned hush. The only sound is the flat scuff of my shoes on the marble, the guard’s footsteps trailing behind me, and the thud of my heart in my ears.
When the doors slide open, the cold morning air hits me. It should feel good, but my blood is running too hot. I stop on the sidewalk, struggling to catch my breath.
I look up at the building. All glass and steel and power, towering as if it owns everything beneath it.
“Two weeks, Colin,” I whisper. “Two fucking weeks, and you couldn’t even call?”
My reflection stares back at me from the glass. Sad eyes, makeup still perfect—as if my world hasn’t just blown apart. I turn away before I break in front of these strangers.
And as I step into the crowd, the only thing I feel is rage.
The cab stops in front of my building—a sudden, jarring halt that yanks me out of the fog I’ve been drifting in since I left Montgomery Clifford.
I hand the driver the cash without even looking at him, my fingers still trembling.
By the time I climb out, my throat burns from holding it all in. The anger, the humiliation, and the disbelief that has become my only constant.
My building lobby is warm and far too bright for the way I feel. I just want to cross it, get upstairs, crawl into bed, and disappear for a few hours. Maybe a few days.
But then I see him. Philip.
He’s standing at the front desk, speaking to the doorman. His posture is as perfect and calm as ever.
My mind can’t process the sight of him here. In my building.
He turns before I can move. And when our eyes lock, something deep inside me caves in on itself.
The expression on his face isn’t surprise. It’s revulsion.
He doesn’t speak at first. He just turns fully toward me, his gaze sliding over me from head to toe with clinical detachment. For a second, I wonder if he even recognizes me. If he can see her in me.
His little Maya.
I have the same eyes as my mother—the ones he used to say reminded him of spring mornings. How can he not see it? How can he look at me and see a stranger?
“You,” he says finally, his voice low. Too smooth. Too even. “You’re going to stay the hell away from my daughter. From my family. You and your sick plan won’t tear us apart.”
The doorman shifts awkwardly, glancing between us.
A few people turn: the two older women who are always gossiping in the lobby; a couple with their kid, who rushes toward the elevator as if I’m contagious; and the guy from two floors below who never misses a chance to flirt with me, even though I shut him down every single time.
I take a slow step forward, my voice shaking.
“What are you doing here? How did you even get my address?”
“You think you’re so clever… worming your way into my son-in-law’s life in the most twisted way imaginable. And you can’t make a simple deduction about how I found out where you live?”
Colin.
I stand a little straighter, forcing my spine to hold what my heart can’t.
“That’s what you have to say to me? After all these years? After the way you left us and never looked back?”
“I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t forced your way into my daughter’s life—dragging up things that should have stayed buried.”
His words hit me where it hurts most. A place I thought was long since numb.
My stomach drops, and I can feel the tears building. “You really don’t remember me?” I whisper.
He tilts his head slightly, his tone unflinching. “Why would I? I don’t even remember your mother anymore.”
Something cracks deep inside me.
“I changed my name for you—just like I said I would,” I say, the tears finally spilling over. “The second I was legally able to. I’m Maya now, not Amaya, because of you. I even dropped my father’s last name.”
I draw in a breath, my throat burning. My chest aches.
“I never forgot you. Not even after what happened to my mom. I loved you like a father. I remembered every word—every promise you made to take care of us. You said you weren’t like the man who gave me his name.
I was there, Philip. I saw the way you held my mother. I heard you tell her you loved her.”
He shakes his head slowly, disgust tightening every line of his face.
“You’re not a little girl anymore. And you are certainly not innocent.”
His voice is cold, with a precision that makes every word hit harder.
“Men say things they don’t mean all the time. And there’s always a certain kind of woman desperate enough to believe them.”
Every word that leaves his mouth is meant to humiliate. To erase the truth and replace it with the version he’d rather tell.
I wipe my face hard, fury burning through the tears.
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that. I know you loved her. You were just too much of a coward to leave your perfect little family. Too afraid to stain your reputation.”
He studies me for a long moment, as if searching my face for something he’s already convinced isn’t there.
Then, with that same maddening calm, he says: “Your mother was nothing but a whore. I paid her in roses, in dresses, that bracelet she paraded around—in hotels and dinners. In pretty words she chose to believe. She was easy to please. She always knew I was married. I never promised her anything. I would never have left Ellen. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. ”
The words gut me. The man I once adored—the one I thought had saved me—is gone, replaced by this stranger who doesn’t even flinch while destroying every good memory I have of him.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Please. Not here. I know you’re angry, but you don’t have to talk about her like that.”
“Oh? And where should I do it?” he asks, still perfectly composed. “At Colin’s company? What’s wrong? You wanted attention before, didn’t you? Why hide now? Privacy suddenly matters to you?”
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
My blood is thundering in my ears.
“Stop—”
“No,” he cuts me off, his tone sharp. “You’ve dragged my family name through the mud. You humiliated my daughter, my son-in-law, my grandchildren. And now you’re ashamed?”
“Philip, please—”
He doesn’t even blink.
The lobby has gone silent, except for the low rumble of his voice and the whisper of people watching, pretending not to.
“Colin will never choose you because you never mattered,” he says. “Just like I never chose your mother.”
“Enough!” My voice breaks as I step closer. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”
Before he can respond, the doorman steps forward, his voice hesitant and tight.
“Ms. Fisher, please… You’re causing a disturbance.”
Then he turns to Philip, trying to sound authoritative. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re not a resident, and if you continue, I’ll call the police.”
Philip doesn’t even glance at him. He adjusts his cuff, straightens his jacket. Every movement controlled, elegant.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says coolly. “I’ve said what I needed to say.”
He takes one deliberate step closer, invading my space. His voice drops lower, which somehow makes it even more vicious.
“You’re nothing but a cautionary tale now, Maya. You never meant a thing to Colin. In a few years, he won’t even remember your name… just like I barely remembered you—or your mother.”
Then he turns, nods once at the doorman, and walks out. Calm. Untouched.
Like he didn’t just gut me right here and leave the mess on display.
The glass doors close behind him, and he doesn’t look back. Not even once
I stay where I am, frozen.
Everyone’s still watching. Pretending they weren’t just entertained by the show.
The doorman clears his throat, gentle but unsure.
“Ms. Fisher… do you need—”
I shake my head.
“Don’t.”
It’s barely a whisper. But it’s the only thing I can force out.