When Winn finally pulled into his own driveway, music was floating faintly from the living room. He stepped inside, his gut tightening with unease.
The first thing he saw was her hand draped carelessly off the side of the sofa, pale fingers dangling toward the floor. The second was the near-empty glass of water tipped over on the coffee table, its contents staining the rug. He moved closer, his chest constricting when he spotted the open case of painkillers lying beside her.
His stomach dropped instantly. "Syl! Syl! What did you do? What did you do?" He dropped to his knees, and cradled her limp body in his arms. Her skin felt clammy under his touch. "God, Syl...no!" His vision blurred but he forced his trembling fingers to dig into his pocket.
The phone slipped once, his hand slick with sweat, before he managed to press the numbers. He dialed 911, pressing the phone hard to his ear.
Ivy arrived early the next morning—as usual. It was a nervous habit, one that helped her feel in control of a world that constantly tried to knock her sideways. She smoothed her blouse, took a steadying breath, and turned the corner toward her desk.
Except someone was already sitting there. A woman, glossy hair pulled into a bun. Her nails clicked against the keyboard.
"Hello... can I help you?" The woman asked, lifting her head.
"Hi, I’m Ivy Morales. I am Mr. Kane’s secretary." She said it firmly.
The woman chuckled, low and amused in a way that made Ivy’s cheeks warm instantly. "You must be mistaken. I am Mr. Kane’s secretary." The emphasis on I was sharp.
Ivy felt the sting of humiliation claw at her chest. She straightened her shoulders. "I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding. I was asked to resume back today." She tried to keep her voice even.
Linda arched a brow and leaned back in the chair that Ivy used to occupy. "Oh, honey, misunderstandings don’t happen at this level. If Mr Kane wanted you, he would have told me."
Was this some cruel joke? Had HR misplaced her file? Or—her stomach twisted—had Winn changed his mind?
"I’ll just speak with Mr. Kane directly," Ivy said.
Linda smirked. "Be my guest."
Ivy bit her lip and headed back downstairs. She told herself to breathe. Two more minutes. He’ll come striding in, and this woman will eat her smirk.
But soon the clock on the wall glared at her: 8:05 a.m. Her stomach sank. He’s late. The tiny hairs on her arms prickled as unease coiled tighter around her chest.
The doors slid open, pulling Ivy’s anxious gaze. Relief washed through her for the briefest second, only to vanish when it wasn’t Winn stepping out, but Joey Winsford. He walked with his usual effortless authority.
Ivy got to her feet immediately, smoothing her skirt, instinctively wanting to show him respect. "Good morning, Mr. Winsford," she greeted.
Joey’s sharp eyes flicked to her, curious. "Miss Morales, what are you doing down here?"
"I am waiting for Mr. Kane," she admitted quickly, her hands knotting together in front of her.
Joey’s stride slowed. "He isn’t here yet?"
Ivy shook her head, her pulse quickening at the look that crossed his face. Without another word, he motioned for her to follow with a sharp wave of his hand, already pulling his phone from his suit pocket.
She fell into step beside him as they made their way up the winding staircase to the executive floor. Joey pressed Winn’s number, holding the phone to his ear. She watched his jaw tighten when the call went unanswered. He tried again. Nothing.
"He isn’t picking up. Something is wrong."
Linda was still perched smugly at the desk. She looked up with a sweet smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Winsford," Linda said sweetly, straightening in her chair. The source of this content ɪs novelꜰire.net
"Linda, this is going to be Miss Morales’s desk. She will be Mr. Kane’s personal secretary. You will be mine. Get the janitor to arrange a desk outside my office."
"Yes, Mr. Winsford." Linda’s smile faltered. She gathered her things with a stiff nod.
Ivy exhaled quietly, adjusting herself into the chair that now officially belonged to her. Her fingers traced the edge of the desk.
"Keep trying Winn," Joey instructed. "See if he will pick up. As soon as you get through, let me know. We still haven’t talked about last night."
Winn Kane was pacing the sterile hospital waiting area. His suit jacket had long been discarded onto the nearest chair, his tie loosened, his usually unshakable composure unraveling.
The antiseptic tang in the air clung to his throat, and every time the swinging doors of the emergency wing opened, his heart leapt painfully into his throat.
His mind was a whirlwind—images of Sylvia pale and limp on the sofa, the empty pill bottle rolling carelessly onto the carpet, her breath frighteningly shallow as he called her name.
His mother’s frantic cry snapped him out of his spiral. She came rushing across the waiting area. She grabbed his arms, her eyes wild with tears. "Where is my baby?"
Winn’s throat was raw. "Her stomach is being pumped. They don’t know yet." He had never felt so powerless in his life.
His father arrived just behind, moving slower. Tom Kane’s face was a thundercloud, his fury aimed squarely at Winn. "Where were you? You were supposed to look after her. You said you were going to personally look after her!"
Winn’s chest tightened, shame and rage clashing violently inside him. "I was concerned about her relapsing—not ODing on a couple pills!" he snapped back. He wanted to shout, to shake sense into his father, into himself, into Sylvia. He wanted someone—anyone—to blame, because facing the truth—that he had failed her—was unbearable.
Tom’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Winn thought the man would hit him right there in the middle of the hospital waiting room. Instead, he turned away, running a hand down his face, muttering curses under his breath.