Chapter 33 Home Alone
Sarah sat on the floor of the darkened living room, her back against the sofa where, only hours ago, she had felt the warmth of Alex’s hands. Now, the room felt cavernous and cold.
Her entire life seemed to have crashed in one evening.
On the coffee table sat her phone. It remained dark. She had called Mark twelve times. She had sent texts that ranged from begging for a chance to explain to simply asking if he was safe. Each one disappeared into the void. The "read" receipts stayed gray, a confirmation that her son had seen her heart laid bare and decided it wasn't worth his time.
A half-empty bottle of expensive red wine sat beside her. She didn't bother with a glass anymore; she just wanted the sharp, acidic burn to numb the jagged edges of her mind.
Earlier that evening, she had received an email from Henderson. The Veridian board had reached a preliminary decision. With Gary MacIntyre effectively ousted and facing an internal ethics probe, the path for Sarah’s Interior Decor was clear. The contract—the billion-dollar crown jewel of her career—was probably going to be hers.
She should have been popping champagne. But as she stared into the shadows of the foyer, the victory felt like a lead weight tied around her neck. She had won the professional war with Gary. She had saved the company. But the price of the victory was the very thing she had been trying to protect: her son’s respect.
"Is this what it looks like to win?" she whispered to the empty room. Her voice sounded small and brittle.
She had also discovered the truth about Joseph’s threats. A quick, panicked call to her attorney had revealed that Joseph hadn't filed a single thing.
There was no restraining order. There was no legal barrier. Joseph was a coward who had been silenced by the leverage Alex had found. He was too terrified of whatever secrets Alex held to move against them. Alex had been right; he had handled the external threats with a lethal, terrifying efficiency. He had been her shield, just as he promised.
But the shield had been too heavy. In blocking the arrows from Joseph and Gary, Alex had inadvertently crushed the foundation of her home.
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Against her will, her mind drifted back to the moments she had spent with him. She thought about the way he looked at her—not as the powerful CEO Sarah Hayes, but as a woman who deserved to be cherished. She remembered the heat of the bath, the way his hands felt as they moved over her skin with a possessive, dominant certainty that made her feel more alive than she had in decades.
He had brought her a kind of pleasure she didn't know existed, a primal, raw connection that made the rest of the world fade away.
She missed him. Even now, through the haze of her rage and the devastation of Mark's departure, she craved the steady weight of his arms. She wanted him to walk through the door, pull her to her feet, and tell her that he would fix this, too.
“Maybe if he said it many times, I would actually believe him.”
She wanted to melt into him and forget the look on Mark's face.
"You’re a fool, Sarah," she scolded herself, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"He’s a boy. He’s your son’s best friend. This was always going to end badly. I have everything to lose."
She thought about the times she had tried to be the adult. She had tried to make him listen to reason. She had told him, time and again, that they couldn't keep doing this. She had explained the risks, the optics, and the morality of it all. But Alex would just look at her with those dark, intense eyes and tell her that the world didn't matter. He respected her, he adored her, but he refused to let her hide from what they were. He was protective to a fault, guarding her from everyone else while claiming every inch of her for himself.
And she had loved it. That was the bitter truth she couldn't escape. She had complained about his persistence, but she had invited it. She had scolded his arrogance, but she had leaned into the safety it provided. Now, that safety had become a cage.
The house creaked, a floorboard settling somewhere upstairs. Sarah flinched, her heart leaping with the desperate hope that it was Mark sneaking back in. But the silence returned, deeper than before. She looked at the shadows on the wall, imagining Alex standing there. She could almost feel his breath on her neck, hear his voice promising that they would work things out.
"We won't, Alex," she whispered to the ghost of him. "How do we work out the fact that I broke my son’s heart?"
She stood up, her legs feeling unsteady. She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The street was empty. No SUV in the driveway. No dark truck idling at the curb. She was truly, completely alone.
She walked into the kitchen and stared at the marble island. She could still see the water from the broken vase she had knocked over in her rage. She didn't clean it up. She just watched the way the light from the streetlamp outside hit the puddles, turning them into shimmering, silver tears.
"I just wanted to be safe," she told the shadows.
"I just wanted someone to take the weight off my shoulders."
Well, the weight was gone. Gary was ruined. Joseph was silent. And her house was a tomb.
She made her way toward the stairs, thinking she would try to sleep, even if she knew her dreams would be haunted by Mark's pale face and Alex's dark eyes. She reached the bottom step when a sharp, aggressive sound tore through the stillness.
The doorbell.
Sarah froze. Her heart surged into her throat, a wild, frantic hope blooming in her chest. Mark. He forgot his key. He’s come home. He’s realized he can’t stay away.
She didn't care about the wine on her breath or the disheveled state of her robe. She ran to the door, her hands fumbling with the deadbolt. She pulled it open with a gasp, the word "Mark" already forming on her lips.
But it wasn't Mark.
Standing on the porch was a man in a nondescript windbreaker, holding a clipboard and a thick set of legal papers. He looked at Sarah with a bored, clinical expression that made the blood in her veins turn to ice.
"Sarah Hayes?" the man asked.
"Yes," she whispered, her hand gripping the doorframe so hard the wood bit into her palm.
"You've been served," he said. He reached out and pressed a heavy envelope into her hand. "Subpoena for a grand jury testimony regarding the personal injury and professional misconduct case of Gary MacIntyre. Specifically, the circumstances surrounding his 'accidental' fall in the parking garage and your connection to the primary person of interest."
Sarah stared at the papers.
"Have a good night," the man said, turning to walk back to his car.
Sarah stood in the open doorway, the cool night air rushing past her into the empty house. She looked down at the legal document, the ink blurring as her eyes filled with tears.