18.0
I didn't want to be alone in that penthouse.
The silence would've chewed me alive. Probably would've killed myself if I had to listen to Margot complaining about me leaving early. So I drove until I was on Sincere's street, the houses packed tight, porch lights burning late.
He opened the door before I even finished knocking. One look at me and his face shifted.
"Damn. What happened?"
"Let me in," I muttered.
He stepped aside, and I dropped onto his couch like the floor had given way under me. He killed the TV, sat opposite, waiting.
I dragged both hands over my face. "You remember Amira?"
His eyes flicked up. "Yeah. Haven't heard that name in a minute."
"She showed up at the announcement party. On the arm of his nephew—Kian. First time I'd met the kid."
Sincere gave me a look. "That's a hell of a way to cross paths again."
"Yeah." My throat tightened. "It was good at first. Strange, but good. I thought maybe..." The words dried out.
He leaned forward. "Brooks. Just say it."
I swallowed hard, the burn sharp all the way down. "She has a daughter."
Sincere waited, but the silence between us stretched until I had to finish.
"She's mine."
His head jerked back. No disbelief, no laughter—just the kind of stare that tells you someone's recalibrating everything they thought they knew.
"Four years old or three," I said, voice hoarse. "I'm assuming it's the last time I slept with her."
Sincere cursed low. "And she never told you?"
"Not once." My hands clenched on my knees. "Not when we ran into each other. Not after the walks, the calls. Not after I..." I bit the rest back. My voice shook anyway. "She kept it like it was nothing. Like I didn't have a right to know."
Sincere sat back, dragged a hand over his jaw.
I kept going, because now that it was out I couldn't stop. "I don't know if i'm expecting too much, but I feel like that's almost common decency to just let me know. I mean she knows me better than probably anyone I'm sure she knows that's something I would want to know."
The room went quiet. The only sound was the hum of his fridge in the kitchen.
Finally, Sincere said, "So what now?"
"I don't know." I laughed, harsh and empty. "Part of me wants to drive back right now and try to see her. Try to see my kid. Fuck, how does that even sound. The other part of me can't even look at her because all I can hear is time gone. All I can see is what I missed."
Sincere leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was low, deliberate. "Brooks, you need to think. This isn't just you and her anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Bryan's nephew already knows and so does Bryan. Bryan knows her as someone who's dating his nephew. Do you think you can suddenly turn up now and be like hey this is my ex and my daughter. I bet when you guys ran into each other you acted like strangers too."
My stomach dropped.
Sincere pressed.
Sincere didn't let me breathe. "Brooks, you and Bryan are tied to each other now. You know how people like him are about their reputation. If this gets out wrong, if the media catches even a whiff before you've figured it out? That's not just ugly. That's ruin. For you. For her.
For that little girl."
I barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. "So what, I just sit on it? Pretend it didn't happen? Pretend she doesn't exist?"
"No." His tone hardened. "But you don't kick the hornet's nest without a plan either. Bryan's a man who's built his whole career on clean hands and clean headlines. You come crashing in saying, 'That's my daughter'? He's not gonna see a father. He's gonna see scandal. He's gonna see liability."
I paced his living room, chest tight, vision blurring at the edges. "And what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Just keep bleeding quietly so I can protect everyone else."
"You've got to think two steps ahead," Sincere said. "Yeah, it's not fair. Yeah, she should've told you. But you showing up swinging isn't gonna fix what's already broken. It's just gonna hand your enemies a story they'll never let go of."
I stopped cold, staring at the carpet like it might open up and swallow me whole.
Sincere leaned back, shaking his head once. "You gotta start thinking bigger, bro. Think about your mom. How you think she's gonna take this?"
My jaw tightened. "She'll tear me apart."
"Exactly. She's built her whole damn life on control, on keeping the family name spotless. You show up with a four-year-old out the blue? She's not gonna see a kid. She's gonna see mess."
I rubbed at my temples, heat crawling up my neck.
"But here's the thing," Sincere went on, voice low, sharp. "You can't make a move based on how she's gonna react. Or your dad. Or Margot. You gotta decide what you want. Because Amira? she's not gonna let you put her back in a closet, not after all this time especially with a kid in the mix."
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound ugly in my own ears. "So what, I just forget it happened?"
"Nah. But you don't let rage or outside opinions get to you." He nodded toward the hall. "Crash here tonight. Clear your head. Then tomorrow? Reach out. Don't come at her swinging. Come at her steady. See if she'll actually sit down and talk this through with you."
I sat back hard against the couch cushions, chest tight, staring past him at nothing.
Sincere didn't blink. "You want to see your kid? Then start playing it smart. You already lost four years."
The couch was too short, the blanket Sincere tossed me too thin, but it didn't matter. I wasn't sleeping.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, every nerve in my body still wired. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Amira's face when I pressed her, the way she wouldn't say it out loud, the way tears poured down her face.
I shifted, jaw aching from how tight I'd been clenching it. My mother's voice kept running through my head—sharp, cutting, the way she'd ask how I could be so careless, how I could drag the family into this.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, let it drop back onto the couch cushion.
Sincere was in the back room, door closed, but I could still feel his words hanging in the air. You already lost four years.
That thought burned more than any headline, any scandal, any fallout.
Sleep never came. Just the hollow weight of a house that wasn't mine, a life I suddenly didn't recognize, and the sick knowledge that morning would be worse.
The front door shut behind me with a soft click. Morning air bit colder than I expected, sharp in my lungs. Sincere's place was quiet, blinds drawn, the kind of stillness I hadn't felt in my own apartment in years.
Monte was already parked out front, idling in the sedan. He stepped out when he saw me, crisp as always. "Morning, boss."
I gave him a nod and slid into the backseat. My body felt like it had been hollowed out and left to run on habit. Monte didn't say anything more—just the hum of the car, the muted city traffic around us.
My phone lit up. Mom.
I considered letting it ring, but Monte's eyes flicked up to the mirror. He'd know I ignored it. And the fallout would be worse. I swiped.
Her voice cut in, sharp, no pleasantries. "Why did Margot call me last night saying you left dinner early? And you didn't go home?"
I pressed two fingers to my temple. "I wasn't feeling well."
"That's not an answer, Brooks." The steel in her tone was practiced, honed. "Bryan made excuses for you, but it was sloppy. People notice. You can't afford that—not now."
I stared out the window. Houses blurred by. My chest tightened. The words sat on my tongue, burning. I have a daughter. You have a granddaughter. But I swallowed it back down.
Mom kept going. "Margot is embarrassed. She said you didn't even take her home. I won't tolerate you making her look like a fool. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am." My voice came out flat.
"You get ahead of this, Brooks. Today. No more disappearing acts. No more sulking. You don't show weakness."
The line went dead before I could respond.
Monte glanced at me through the mirror, but he didn't ask. He never did. The silence in the car pressed heavy, the weight of everything unsaid clawing at me.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and forced my jaw tight. If I opened my mouth, even once, the truth would come tearing out—and I wasn't ready for the war that would start when it did.
"You alright?" His tone was low, even, like he was testing the water.
I slid the phone face down on the seat beside me. "Fine."
He didn't buy it, I could tell. His gaze lingered a half second too long before shifting back to the road. Monte had been driving me long enough to know the difference between quiet and pressure-cooked silence.
"Alright," he said finally. Simple, nothing pushed.
But that single word landed heavier than anything my mother just said. Because Monte wasn't wrong. I wasn't good.
I leaned my head back, stared at the ceiling of the car, jaw locked. The urge to tell someone—anyone—was tearing through me, but if I opened my mouth, it wouldn't stop. I'd end up spilling everything, and then it wouldn't be my truth anymore. It would be everyone's weapon.
So I said nothing.
The city kept moving around us, horns, crosswalks, morning light cutting through the windshield. My chest burned with the weight of what I held down.
The conference room was all glass and steel, perched above the city like a crown. Long table, twelve seats, every one filled with donors, aides, Bryan at the head, Margot across from me, folders spread open with polling numbers and district maps.
"Suburban turnout is going to decide the whole damn thing," Bryan was saying, stabbing his finger at a highlighted line. "The union endorsements help, but if we don't shore up our ground game, they'll eat us alive."
I nodded, steady, shoulders squared. I could do this in my sleep—nod at the right times, offer a clipped remark, look like I was built for this.