Chapter 3 #2
I walk through the lobby with my shoulders back and head held high before waving the bellhop away and hailing a cab on my own. I use my company card without hesitation and slump back against the seat as the driver swerves into traffic.
After a few minutes of just breathing, I pull out my phone, filter through a few emails and messages, and put it on do not disturb before slipping it back into my bag.
When the cab pulls up to the curb, I thank the driver and step onto the sidewalk without looking up at my apartment building.
It may not be in the ritzy part of the city, but it’s in a much better area than I ever thought I’d be able to afford. My steady pay—which has increased as Mr. Pen’s business grew ever more successful—is the only reason I’m not living in a shithole or shelter hopping with my sisters in tow.
No matter where I live, I’ll always walk with caution. Even now, as I scan my key card to enter the building, I’m aware of my surroundings. Just because I’m a giant doesn’t mean I’m not in danger. I’m still a woman living in the city.
After ensuring the door shuts behind me, I stride through the simple entrance to the wall of mailboxes.
Although the furnishings could use an update, the bones of the building are better than most in my price range.
The cheap vinyl flooring and plain white walls only show slight signs of wear and tear despite their age.
I use the small metal key to open the mailbox assigned to my apartment and grab the stack of mail before shutting and locking the box. Apprehension coils through me as I recognize the logo on the top envelope, but I wait until I’m alone in the elevator to open it.
My hands shake as I unfold the papers. For a moment, I simply stare at the little black dots on the white sheet, unable to focus through the weight of my emotions, but then understanding sweeps through me.
They accepted my sister into the latest clinical trial. She’ll begin receiving experimental treatment in a month.
Joy floods my veins, but I read the letter again to make sure I didn’t misinterpret it.
The elevator dings. My smiling reflection splits as the doors open. I tuck the paper back into the envelope and glide down the hall to my apartment.
It doesn’t matter how expensive the treatment is; my sister is worth it. Just the hope of improvement is enough to buoy me through the trials.
I shoulder my way into my apartment and pause in the tiny entryway. Disappointment washes over me as I take in the empty couch, but I find comfort in the b-rated sci-fi flick on the TV and the messy state of the kitchen and living area. At least my sisters spent time out of their rooms today.
Although we aren’t related by blood, I consider the two women my adopted sisters.
We’ve been through so much together. I would have given up long ago if I didn’t have them in my life.
It doesn’t matter how difficult things are in the future—I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they have a safe, healthy future.
I sigh and take my bag to my room before unlocking my wardrobe, tossing everything except my phone on the built-in shelf, kicking off my shoes, toeing my feet into my house slippers, and hanging up my jacket before locking everything inside.
My new phone charger is no longer on my bedside table. Sadness sits like a rock behind my breastbone. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and tiptoe into the hall.
A peek into the first bedroom reveals both my informally adopted sisters tangled together in the sheets.
Momo’s arm, which is draped over Aisha’s side and clutching the back of her shirt, although thin, looks much healthier than it did a year ago, and Aisha’s clear, steady breathing, although shallow, assures me her heart and lungs are no longer in danger of failure.
Despite their pajamas, I’m not clueless about their relationship. I’m happy they can find comfort in each other and grateful they care about me enough to put clothes on afterward.
One day I’ll be brave enough to congratulate them, but for now, I’ll let them enjoy their secret in peace.
I retreat but leave the door cracked open out of habit before heading to the living room.
After surveying the mess, I grab a trash bag from under the kitchen sink and drop the empty junk food containers and soda cans from the couch and floor into the bag before sweeping my arm over the coffee table and pushing dozens and dozens of candy wrappers into the trash.
Junk food is better than starving. Candy wrappers are infinitely better than needles.
I finish tidying the living room and move to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I tie the trash bag closed and prop it next to the front door to take out before my morning jog.
After checking the bathroom cabinets and confirming all the basics are still in their place, I complete my bedtime routine, retrieve my backup charger from my wardrobe, and drop onto my mattress for a few hours of sleep.
The next morning I drag myself out of bed, complete my Saturday morning run, stop at the corner store to restock the pantry, and scarf down a quick breakfast before sitting on the couch for my daily video call with my sister.
Movement in the bedroom means I woke Aisha and Momo, but while my sister struggles through the most basic of greetings, they don’t emerge.
With my heart in my throat, I grab my purse from my wardrobe, toss my backup charger inside, and lock it before leaving the apartment.
Despite my best efforts, resentment builds in my gut as I spend several hours preparing for the busy week ahead.
While every other person employed by Connor Pen gets a full weekend away from work, I haven’t had an official day off in years.
The last time I called in sick was three years ago, and the fallout from that was so stressful I vowed never to do it again, so now when I’m ill, I medicate and tough it out so issues don’t pile up, which in its own way protects my privacy.
My demanding boss has never asked about my personal life nor infiltrated the few hours I block off for personal use.
I suppose even someone as driven and heartless as Connor Pen understands the need for some time to decompress.
Although my Saturday mornings are as busy as a weekday, I reserve my evenings for myself.
My favorite part of the week, besides visiting my sister on Sunday mornings, is the self-defense class I attend at the old, rundown gym I found a few months before I landed an interview with Mr. Pen about eight years ago.
The ladies in the class have become a second family for me, and since I didn’t have one to begin with, I hold them very dear to my heart.
Which is the only reason I’m skipping the gym and going to a banquet hall instead.
When Audrey asked if I’d be one of her bridesmaids, I accepted without hesitation, even though it means missing a few venting sessions at Mr. Carter’s gym.
I miss the jarring impact of blows hitting the pads as I stand in for the assailants my friends will hopefully never face.
As the largest of the group, it only makes sense that I act as target practice for the ladies.
I also miss sparring with Mr. Carter afterward. Even though I know he’s always been careful with me, he’s the only person who has ever been willing to teach me how to protect myself so I can protect others.
I swing open the glass door and step into the upscale building.
Brook, Audrey’s maid of honor and the leader of the self-defense class, greets me with a side hug and ushers me into the dining room to wait for everyone else.
I stiffen as I recognize a pair of familiar shoulders at the table.
Connor Pen.
Fucking hell, I can’t get away from this jerk at all, can I?
After the way he treated me yesterday and his bold proclamation, I need a much longer break before I interact with him again.
Even the sight of him sends chills down my spine and heat through my veins.
Need pulses low in my belly as I recall the way he picked me up and manhandled me with ease.
I hide my frustration as I realize my folly.
Of course he’s here. Audrey is marrying Brennan Diamond, a mogul in in the financial and business realm.
Rumors say everything he touches turns to gold, and since his specialty lies in acquisitions, I believe them.
Audrey was always beautiful with her bright smile and freckles, but now she positively glows.
They’re having a large wedding—I shudder at the thought—so of course all the groomsmen will be super-successful, business-savvy men.
I may have never seen an invitation for Connor in any of his inboxes, but it was stupid of me to expect him not to be here.
I sigh and shift my purse higher on my shoulder. Having these parts of my world collide is not what I had on my bingo card today, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting him scare me away from being a bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding.
I vow to avoid him as much as possible. In fact, I’ll pretend like I don’t know him at all.
As my friends envelop me in their group, I relax and catch up on the latest updates but can’t shake the feeling of his eyes on me.
His declaration rings in my ears. Fear and fury simmer behind my breastbone. My sister’s treatment is expensive, and so is providing for Momo and Aisha. I can’t give in to Connor Pen and risk losing my job.
I will never be his. Ever. No matter how much my body craves his touch.