Chapter 14: Bricks Are Too Classy

When we reached the car, Reagan patted his jacket pocket and came to a stop. “My wallet,” he muttered. “Left it on Grandpa’s side table.”

I rolled my eyes. “Even billionaires forget their cash sometimes.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Wait here. Don’t run off.”

“There’s not a cab in this city fast enough if I actually wanted to run, Reagan.”

He chuckled, then turned and strolled back into the building with that effortless confidence he always carried.

I stayed on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath and letting the night air fill my lungs. A soft breeze drifted past, carrying with it the faint scent of antiseptic from the hospital’s automatic doors. Across the street, an old man in a threadbare coat sat curled against a lamppost, knees pulled to his chest.

I walked over, pulled out my wallet, and handed him a few bills. “Get yourself something decent to eat tonight.”

He looked up, eyes glistening with gratitude. “God bless you, Ma’am.”

I gave him a smile. “Hope your night gets better.”

“It’s a shame that kindness only goes skin-deep.”

The voice hit like shattered glass thrown without warning.

I turned slowly...and of course, there she was.

Madeline Milano stood just a few steps away, her heels silent against the stone pavement. Her long coat draped perfectly over her slim frame, and her blood-red lips curled into a smile far too symmetrical to be sincere.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your little charity performance,” she said, her voice smooth like poison in warm tea.

I didn’t answer. Just stared. The smile had already faded from my face.

She stepped closer, her expensive perfume, some mix of black rose and vintage ambition, floating around her like the fog before a war. Her arms folded neatly across her chest.

“Gretta, darling,” she began, like we were old friends about to chat about houseplants. “I don’t think we’ve had a real chance to talk… since you reappeared like some ghost from the past.”

I stayed silent. One hand slipped into my jacket pocket, the other held onto my phone.

“I don’t know what my father in law told you, or what you and Reagan think you’re trying to pull, but…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“I wasn’t aware there was anything to hide,” I replied flatly.

“Oh, of course not.” She gave a short, polished laugh. “Because this is all so natural, right? You show up out of nowhere, move into his house, pop back into the office, and conveniently reappear just when his grandfather falls ill. Like you never left.”

I shrugged lightly. “Maybe I just missed home.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Or maybe… you know about the inheritance clause.”

My blood turned cold.

She stepped in, voice low. “You do know that the heir to the Milano Empire can’t take the top seat unless he’s married, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “That sounds like the plot of an '80s soap opera.”

“Unfortunately for us, our family’s laws are older than that. And Reagan, spoiled little prince that he is, still wants to claim the throne. Only problem? No wife. Until you showed up.”

A headache began to pulse at my temples.

“So before you get too comfortable, Gretta,” she said, soft but cutting, “just remember you may not be the woman he chose. You’re just the one he needs. For now.”

I didn’t answer. Every curse running through my head was too inappropriate to say out loud.

Madeline held my gaze for a moment, then gave me a sweet smile. “You look beautiful tonight. Tired, but beautiful.”

And with that, she turned and walked back into the hospital like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my chest.

I stayed where I was, frozen, palms sweaty despite the chill in the air.

By the time Reagan came back, wallet in hand and one eyebrow raised, I just gave him a faint smile.

“Who made you want to set the hospital on fire?” he asked casually.

I kept my eyes on the street. “My mom used to say... the richest people with no conscience always speak the most politely while cutting the deepest.”

He nodded, like he understood. “But not all rich people are that bad,” he added.

“Maybe not. But the one I met tonight came pretty damn close.”

We got into the car without saying much. But silence didn’t bring peace. Madeline’s words kept echoing in my head like a voice in an empty hallway:

The woman he needs. For now.

:::

The room was too quiet.

Even the soft ding of my phone felt like a hammer in the middle of the night. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow across the sheets, and the linen blanket wrapped around me with a softness that felt almost insulting. But my mind wouldn’t stop racing—circling Madeline’s voice, her smug smile, the look in Reagan’s eyes when we got back.

I turned onto my side, back facing the door, and reached for my phone.

Caleb – 10:48 PM

Hey, how was your day? You’ve seemed busy lately.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. For some reason, even a simple reply felt like planning a military operation. But finally, I typed:

Me – 10:50 PM

Exhausting. Dust from the site, design revisions, and... emotional noise. But I’m hanging in. You?

The reply came quickly.

Caleb – 10:51 PM

Glad you’re hanging in. I knew you would. Are you back on-site tomorrow?

I sent a short reply, then tucked the chat away like something you close in a drawer you’re not ready to open again. Caleb had always been a calm harbor. But tonight, calm felt... unnerving.

I opened the group chat instead. My two favorite women, equal parts stubborn and socially reckless.

Me – 10:56 PM

Okay. Who wants to hear tonight’s drama episode?

The replies came instantly.

Naomi – 10:56 PM

GIRL. You can’t drop a line like that and then ghost us.

Joy – 10:56 PM

Tell us the story first, then you can die.

I let out a short sigh, then started typing as I sank deeper into a pillow that was way too soft for the frustration I felt.

Me – 10:57 PM

Madeline Milano just called me an heir’s tool. A tool. Like I’m some fancy object on a designer shelf that gets dusted every week.

Naomi – 10:58 PM

She said that to your face?

Me – 10:58 PM

In cocktail language. Champagne in one hand, knife behind the smile.

Joy – 10:59 PM

OMG. When are we throwing a brick-filled purse at her face?

Me – 11:00 PM

Bricks are too classy. We start with flip-flops.

They started sending GIFs, one from Dynasty, one from Real Housewives, all screaming women and flying objects. I let out a soft giggle. Finally.

Naomi – 11:01 PM

But seriously, G. You okay?

I paused. Stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then...

Me – 11:02 PM

I’ll be okay. I’ve survived a divorce, betrayal, and government tender deadlines. This? This is just one more scene.

Joy – 11:03 PM

Don’t stay a side character in someone else’s story too long, Gretta.

Naomi – 11:03 PM

You’re the main character. God’s VIP guest on this earth.

I laughed quietly. Still lying on my side, back to the door. But somehow, my chest felt a little lighter, the weight had been shared, even if only through a screen.

I rested my head against the pillow and turned toward the wide glass window. City lights glowed faintly in the distance, the night sky barely sparkling above.

Then...

Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Getting closer.

I quickly locked my screen and slid the phone beneath my pillow.

That familiar rhythm of breathing. Then the scent I knew too well, Reagan’s skin, sweat, soap, and the faint trace of aftershave too intimate to name.

He didn’t say anything.

But I could feel his eyes on me. Watching my back pretend to sleep.