Secret Crush
Melody sat cradled against the headboard, the soft weight of Symphony finally in her arms. The baby’s tiny mouth latched gently, nursing with quiet, greedy pulls that made Melody’s heart swell until it hurt.
A small, trembling smile curved her lips as she watched those dark curls, that perfect little face, the flutter of lashes against rose-petal cheeks.
She hummed an old lullaby, low and soothing, rocking ever so slightly despite the pull on her stitches. The soreness in her breasts, the constant throb in her abdomen, the ache in her back… all of it faded into nothing.
None of it mattered anymore.
She had her daughter. Her miracle. Safe in her arms at last.
The door was cracked open just enough for two pairs of eyes to watch from the hallway.
“This bitch,” Ashley murmured, voice dripping venom. “Why did you let her put her filthy hands on Symphony?”
“Oh, I would cut those hands off myself if it were up to me,” Victoria replied, her tone icy and precise. “But Christian ordered it.”
“You could have given the baby formula. Children take it perfectly well.”
“Or hired a wet nurse. But no, my son insists on letting this murderer’s milk go down my grandchild’s throat.”
“You have to do something, Victoria. She killed Ashton. She took Christian from us. And now Symphony? This woman is bleeding the Holt family dry.”
Victoria’s lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded once.
Then she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Enough,” she said sharply.
The nanny, Sally, appeared immediately from the corner where she’d been waiting, moving toward the bed.
“What? She’s not finished yet—” Melody’s voice rose in panic, arms tightening instinctively around Symphony.
Victoria didn’t slow. She crossed the room in three strides and reached down, fingers clamping around Melody’s upper arm like a vice.
“Give her to Sally. Now.”
“No, please, she’s still hungry—” Melody tried to twist away, but the sudden jerk sent fire exploding through her incision. She gasped, vision blurring.
Victoria’s grip only tightened, nails biting through the thin fabric of Melody’s sleeve. With her free hand, she pried at Melody’s arm, forcing it away from the baby’s body.
“You’ve had more than enough time,” Victoria hissed. “You think your milk is some gift to this family? You think you deserve even a second of this?”
Symphony, startled by the commotion, unlatched with a small cry. Milk dribbled from her tiny mouth.
Melody’s own tears spilled instantly. “Please, don’t take her from me—”
Sally, face pale and apologetic, reached in to lift the baby. Victoria shoved Melody’s shoulder hard, forcing her back against the pillows so Sally could take Symphony cleanly.
The moment her daughter’s weight left her arms, Melody let out a broken, animal sound... half sob, half scream. She lunged forward, ignoring the searing tear in her stitches, fingers grasping at air.
Victoria blocked her path, palm slamming against Melody’s chest to push her down again. “Stay where you are.”
Melody collapsed back, clutching her belly as fresh blood seeped warm beneath the gauze. Tears streamed down her face. “She’s my baby… please…”
Ashley stepped into the room now, arms crossed, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “You heard her. The murderer doesn’t get to play mommy.”
Victoria turned to Sally, who cradled a now-wailing Symphony. “Take her to the nursery. And make sure the door is locked this time.”
Sally nodded quickly and hurried out.
Melody’s sobs filled the room, raw, wrenching, uncontrollable. She curled onto her side, arms wrapped around her empty, aching chest, milk still leaking uselessly into her gown.
Victoria looked down at her with cold contempt.
“You will never be her mother,” she said quietly. “You will never be anything in this house except what we allow. Remember that.”
Then both women left, closing the door softly behind them.
Melody lay alone again, the lullaby dying in her throat, her daughter’s cries echoing farther and farther down the hall until they cut off entirely.
Everything hurt now.
Everything.
×××××××
The Holt Enterprises headquarters was silent except for the low hum of the city far below. Christian sat alone in the vast CEO office, Ashton’s old office, bathed in the cold blue glow of multiple screens. Papers and projections were scattered across the desk like battlefield casualties.
The Asian expansion deal was falling apart. A critical clause in the partnership agreement had hit a deadlock... complex regulatory hurdles tangled with valuation disputes. Numbers that didn’t add up. Risks no one else on the team could untangle fast enough.
Only one person ever could.
Melody.
Christian stared at his phone for the third time that night. He picked it up. Thumb hovering over her name, still saved simply as “M.Evans,” never changed. His jaw tightened.
Should I call her?
He set the phone down hard.
No. I can do this myself. I don’t need her help.
He leaned back in the high-backed leather chair, and dragged a hand over his face. A heavy sigh escaped him.
But the memories came anyway, uninvited and sharp.
He remembered the day she’d landed the Meridian Group deal.
.. the one that had put Holt Enterprises on the map in Europe.
Melody had been quiet then, almost invisible in meetings: brilliant, but reserved, always listening more than speaking.
Long black hair pulled into a neat, professional bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She’d presented her strategy that afternoon, calm, precise, flawless, and when the partners signed, the entire room had turned to her in stunned admiration.
After that, everyone saw her.
And so did he.
Christian closed his eyes, the memory pulling him under despite himself.
He’d found himself watching her across tables, waiting for the moment she’d reach up and pull the pins from her hair after a long day.
When she finally did, letting those dark, silky waves tumble down her back, something in his chest would tighten.
Those days quietly became the best ones.
He’d linger in the office just to catch that small ritual, pretending to review files while she packed up.
He’d liked her. More than liked her.
He’d even rehearsed asking her out. Imagining taking her to the quiet Italian place downtown, seeing if that reserved smile would soften just for him.
But then Ashton had come to him one evening, eyes bright in a way Christian hadn’t seen in years.
“I think I’m going to ask Melody out,” Ashton had said, almost shy. “She’s… different. Smart. Real. I really like her, Chris.”
And just like that, Christian had buried it all.
He couldn’t come between his brother and something or someone he wanted. Ashton had always been the golden one, the one who led, the one everyone followed. Christian had spent his life stepping aside, supporting, protecting that light.
So he’d smiled, clapped Ashton on the shoulder, and said, “Go for it. She’d be lucky.”
He’d carried the crush like a secret wound, watching her laugh at Ashton’s jokes, watching her work late into the night, watching her fall asleep at her desk once, cheek against a stack of reports, hair spilling loose like ink.
He’d draped his jacket over her shoulders that night and left before she woke.
Now, in the empty office, Christian opened his eyes and pushed the memories away with force.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
She killed him.
She killed my brother, my idol, my best friend, the one person who always believed in me first.
She’s not that girl anymore.
She’s not the one I watched across the table, grinning in quiet triumph when a deal closed.
He leaned forward, jaw set, and pulled the projections closer.
I’ll fix this myself.
I don’t need her.
But the numbers blurred slightly, and for a long moment, he didn’t move.
×××××××
I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe because it’s the only place I can say it out loud without anyone twisting it into something ugly.
I had a crush on Christian Holt for three years before everything fell apart.
Three whole years of quiet, hopeless, ridiculous longing.
It started small. I was twenty-two, fresh out of grad school, thrilled just to land an interview at Holt Enterprises.
I walked into that conference room nervous, clutching my portfolio, and there he was, younger than I expected, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, watching the room like he already knew every secret in it.
Dark hair falling just a little over his forehead, those deep hazel eyes that seemed to change color depending on the light.
He didn’t say much during the interview, but when I finished my presentation, he nodded once, slow, approving, and said, “Impressive.”
That was it. One word, and I was ruined.
After I got the job, I learned to live with it. I kept my head down, worked harder than anyone, turned numbers into magic because it was safer than looking up too often. But I still noticed everything about him.
The way he rolled up his sleeves when he was thinking hard, revealing strong forearms I had no business staring at.
The quiet laugh he only gave when he thought no one important was listening.
How he always stayed late, long after Ashton had gone home, working through reports with that intense focus that made the whole floor feel electric.
I loved the days he walked past my desk.
He’d pause sometimes to ask about a project.
“How’s the Meridian analysis coming?” he’d say, voice low, and I’d pray my answer sounded steady.
Some days he’d linger, leaning against the partition, and I’d catch the faint scent of his cologne.
.. something clean and woodsy, and my heart would race so hard I was sure he could hear it.
I used to dream about stupid, innocent things: him asking me to stay late to go over numbers, handing me coffee because he noticed I hadn’t eaten, brushing my hair back when it fell in my face.
I imagined him smiling at me the way he smiled at Symphony now.
.. soft, real, like I was something precious.
I never told anyone. Not a soul. It was mine alone... this quiet, aching warmth I carried through every long day.
When Ashton started pursuing me, flowers, invitations, compliments, I turned him down gently, over and over, because my heart was already stupidly, irrevocably taken by the brother who barely looked at me.
Christian never noticed. I thought my secret was safe.
Now I know some secrets destroy you even when they stay hidden.
Because the man I loved in silence for three years is the same man who looked me in the eye and promised to make my life hell.
And he kept that promise.
I still don’t know if the girl who loved him ever really existed… or if she died the day he dragged me out of that jail cell.
—Melody
×××××××