Chapter 1
When The Truth Blooms
ENYA
“Did you know that he’s a fucking NSA agent?” my sister demands.
The words don’t just land—they detonate.
For a moment, I truly believe the air has been sucked out of my apartment. Something inside my chest folds in on itself, small and sharp and breaking.
I blink at Maggie, unable to make her face come into focus. “Dom works at the Smithsonian, Maggie. He’s not—”
“He’s an agent,” she snaps, slicing through my sentence like she always does. “He was part of the task force investigating Daddy.”
Investigating.
The word slams into me with more force than the rest.
Because Dom has been part of my life—my every day—for six months. Six quiet, golden, impossible months where someone finally made me feel seen. Wanted. Cherished. And now Maggie is telling me I mistook a spotlight for sunlight.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head as if motion can shove denial back into truth. “No, he—he wouldn’t—”
But he would.
And he did.
Because I never asked questions. And because he never gave answers.
“Enya,” Maggie says, voice tight with irritation, “wake up. Your boyfriend—and I use that term generously—was investigating our father.”
The ground tilts.
My hand reaches for the back of Grandma Lucille’s floral loveseat, the one she used to nap on while I braided her silver hair. My fingers dig into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“How do you even know this?” I breathe.
“I’m a lobbyist. I hear things.” She’s pacing now, heels tapping furiously against the hardwood, her navy blazer looking painfully out of place in my soft, cluttered living room. The scent of roses from the shop below drifts upward—warm, safe, familiar—while my entire world fractures around it.
“Investigated for what?” My voice splinters.
She shakes her head like I’m slow. “Espionage, Enya. Daddy’s chief of staff was selling intelligence. Daddy’s name was attached to half the compromised cables. The task force had to clear everyone in his orbit. Including him. Including you, probably.”
I press a hand over my stomach, nausea rising fast.
“But Daddy—he didn’t—”
“He was cleared,” she interrupts. “Completely. Collins is being indicted. It’s over. But you—” Her finger jabs toward me, sharp as a knife point. “You brought an NSA agent right into our family.”
“I didn’t bring an agent,” I croak. “I brought my—my boyfriend to dinner.”
Saying the word hurts.
“Your boyfriend was lying to you every second you were together.” Maggie’s tone softens for exactly one beat—enough to wound me. “Enya, have you even heard from him in the last few days?”
I swallow. No. “He’s in Paris. For an auction—”
She laughs, humorless. “He’s interrogating Collins, Enya. They arrested him two days ago. They probably used your access—your relationship—to get close. God, you’re so na?ve sometimes. You never ask questions. You still think your life is one big Hallmark movie.”
Her contempt slices through my ribs.
But this time, it lodges in something deeper.
Because somewhere inside me—somewhere I don’t want to look—I know I handed Dom everything. My trust. My heart. My body. My every soft, foolish part.
And he turned it into intel.
“Why are you here?” My voice sounds far away.
“To warn you,” she says. “Before reporters dig deeper. Collins is the headline, but the press loves a side story. If they find out you were sleeping with someone on the task force—”
I flinch.
“No one will find out,” I whisper. “No one knew about us.”
She scoffs. “This is D.C. Everyone knows everything. People know who you’re fucking before you do.”
My cheeks burn. Shame and grief twist together, choking.
God. Three days ago, Dom was in my bed. His hands were on my skin. He kissed me like prayers.
And all the while…
He was lying.
“If what you’re saying is true,” I manage, “he’s not coming back, is he?” A hollow laugh escapes me. “He’ll just… disappear.”
“Probably.” Maggie shrugs. “Cut your losses. Stay away from him.” Then, softer—barely—“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No,” I say. “You’re trying to protect the family. That’s different.”
She freezes for half a heartbeat—maybe recognizing the truth—but it passes. It always does.
She straightens. “If he reaches out to you, tell me. The Bureau will probably want a statement.”
“From me? Why?” My voice cracks.
“Because they asked me,” she snaps, frustration bubbling up. “Daddy already briefed me. I’m briefing you. Just tell the truth.” Then, at the door, she adds, “And Enya? I hope this teaches you not to trust the first man who smiles at you.”
When the door closes behind her, a silence settles that feels like ashes.
I move through it slowly, as if my body has forgotten how to be mine. I walk down the stairs, through the back hall, and into Lucille’s Flowers.
I flip the sign to OPEN because I don’t know what else to do. My hands are trembling so violently I have to set them on the counter to steady them.
Finally, I pull out my phone and dial the number I know by heart.
Ring.
Ring.
Then:
“The number you are trying to reach is not in service.”
My breath breaks.
That’s it.
That’s my goodbye.
Not words.
Just disappearance.
I let out a jagged, broken laugh.
I didn’t even deserve the truth.
I didn’t even deserve a goodbye.
And God help me…
I still love him.