Martian slapped him across the face so hard he hit the wall.
Before Jonathan could recover, Martian was on him, grabbing him by the collar and the back of the neck and yanking him close until they were nose to nose.
"Do you even know who that girl was?"
Jonathan blinked. "She—she signed up—"
"She was collateral, you idiot." Martian's voice dropped to a growl. "Susie's collateral. For a million-dollar debt, plus five years' worth of interest. That girl wasn't just some pretty prize. She was our insurance."
He shoved Jonathan back against the wall.
"If she dies, we lose our leverage. If Susie doesn't pay, we don't pressure her. Can't touch her without something to twist. And now?" He shoved a finger in Jonathan's face. "Now that girl's gone. Bought. Hidden away with a woman who shoots people in the foot like it's foreplay."
"I—I can fix it," Jonathan stammered. "I'll talk to Brandi. She listens to me. I'll tell her—say it's business. Try to get her to bring Melinda back. Or meet us halfway. I can convince her. Maybe we can use her—Brandi's money, her name, something on su—"
Martian growled and pushed him away like he was filth on his hands. "You get her in this office. You make her think this is about an investment opportunity or some shit. Get her here, with the girl."
Jonathan nodded frantically, rubbing his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do that."
Martian turned his back, walking toward the window with slow, heavy steps.
"Because if we lose that money, Jonathan," he said without looking, "you'll be collateral next."
Jonathan's breath caught.
Martian didn't repeat himself.
He didn't have to.
—
Brandi carried the last of the bags, white shopping bags with gold handles, each one filled to the brim with soft pastels, crisp linen, new shoes, and accessories Melinda had picked out in half-whispers. Or, more accurately, things Brandi had pointed at, suggested, and insisted Melinda try on until she gave the faintest nod.
Ten bags. Maybe more.
Melinda gave her a faint smile as they stepped onto the sidewalk outside the boutique. Her new sundress—a soft cream cotton with a delicate floral hem—shifted in the breeze, and the heel on her feet were already broken in from pacing circles in the dressing room.
Brandi didn't care about the cost. She could've bought out the entire street if it meant Melinda might smile for real.
But that outburst at the restaurant... Brandi had seen the way it hollowed her out. Since then, Melinda had barely spoken, her voice reduced to fragments and murmurs. Broken things. Brandi knew she was terrified. Knew she just wanted to go home.
And she would.
Just not yet.
Not while Susie still had her claws in. Not while Melinda didn't know the truth.
Brandi opened the car trunk and started stacking the bags, lost in thought.
When she turned back, Melinda wasn't there.
Her heart stopped cold.
She spotted her a few storefronts down, walking slowly. Not running. Wandering. Her head was tilted as if trying to listen for something distant and familiar. She didn't look back.
Brandi called her name.
Melinda didn't run. She just stood at the corner like she was about to cross—like she knew exactly where she was going, and had no idea what to do with it. She'd been all around the
Brandi was beside her in seconds, gently wrapping her fingers around Melinda's elbow. People had started to notice—the girl in the sundress, the woman in slacks and designer heels, catching up with her like a mother with a runaway child.
"Come on," Brandi whispered, her voice as even as she could make it. "Please."
Melinda didn't fight. Just turned and let herself be guided back to the car.
By the time Brandi was behind the wheel again, Melinda had her face buried in her hands, sobbing into her palms like she was trying not to make a sound.
Brandi didn't reach for her this time. She just rested her wrist on the steering wheel and stared ahead, voice soft.
"There's a production of Romeo and Juliet tonight. Limited run. Sophie Okonedo's playing Juliet. I thought we could—go."
Melinda only nodded, her breath hitching in her chest as she wiped at her face.
—
The playhouse was lavish, art deco wrapped in velvet and gold. The warmth inside wasn't just from the lighting—it was the kind of old money glamour that made even the seats feel like secrets. Their spot was private but close, near the stage, in a pair of thick red-cushioned chairs that made them sit shoulder to shoulder.
The orchestra began tuning.
Brandi leaned in, her breath grazing Melinda's ear.
"What would you like for dinner?"
Melinda didn't look at her. "I don't want whatever expensive shit you're trying to feed me."
Brandi nodded once. "Fair. But you have to eat. I'm not going to let you starve."
"It doesn't matter," Melinda whispered. "It's not like I can go anywhere else."
Brandi's lips parted to respond—but the curtains swept open, and the first notes from the orchestra filled the theater.
So she didn't speak.
She only leaned back in her seat, her eyes not on the stage, but on Melinda.
Who sat still, tear stained cheeks lit by the soft gold house lights.
Watching tragedy begin.
Already living her own.
—
Brandi gently cradled Melinda's sleeping form in her arms as they exited the theater. The night air was cool against her skin, scented faintly with rain that hadn't come yet. She moved slowly, mindful. Melinda looked peaceful like this—finally. Her expression, usually twisted with panic or tension, had softened into something almost childlike. Still. Quiet.
Brandi opened the back door of her Maserati with her elbow and carefully laid Melinda down across the backseat. Her fingers lingered—longer than they should've—tucking a stray hair behind Melinda's ear, letting her hand graze the softness of her cheek.
That was when Melinda's eyes snapped open.
She gasped, jerking upright. Her hands pushed at Brandi instinctively, her breathing sharp and ragged.
"Hey—hey, no, it's okay," Brandi said quickly, stepping back with both hands up. "Mel, look—look where we are."
Melinda blinked, disoriented, her breath catching. Brandi stepped aside, gesturing toward the building.
They were still in front of the playhouse. The golden lighting spilled across the parking lot. A few guests were still lingering nearby.
"You're safe," Brandi said softly. "We're still here. I didn't take you anywhere."
Melinda's heart rate seemed to settle as she glanced around. Her shoulders slowly dropped. Her eyes glossed again, and her hand instinctively moved to her stomach as it let out a loud growl.
Brandi tilted her head with the smallest smile. "Come on."
Melinda hesitated, but let herself be guided back into the car, this time sliding into the passenger seat. Brandi climbed in beside her and started the engine.
The road unfurled quietly beneath them, the city slipping past in neon streaks. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, in a voice so low it barely registered, Melinda asked, "Will I ever be just... me again? Not something you own?"
Brandi's grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but she didn't raise her voice. "You were never something I owned, Melinda. You were someone I wanted. Without a doubt."
She glanced at her, voice quieter now. "But I'm not going through that again, what happened before when I saw the women I had in my life like that..."
Melinda frowned. "What happened before?", Brandi didn't answer
"You don't realize it," Brandi said, "but you didn't belong to yourself before this either."
Melinda blinked. "What're you talking about?"
"Susie," Brandi muttered.
"She had you wrapped so tight around her finger you couldn't breathe without her saying so."
Melinda flushed, the heat crawling into her face. "She's my boss. Of course, I did what she asked. I'm supposed to... support her. Be loyal. She needs me."
"She needs you?" Brandi laughed once, dry. "She used you, She's using you."
Melinda's head snapped toward her, defensive. "You keep saying that. Why? What is it you think you know?"
"I know what it looks like when someone's holding onto something too tightly because they've already screwed up," Brandi said, eyes locked on the road. "I know when someone's afraid they've done something that can't be undone. I know it when I see it."
She looked at Melinda then—really looked at her.
"Susie doesn't just like you. She's not just being territorial. She's being desperate. And desperate people are dangerous."
Melinda didn't respond at first. Her brows were drawn together. Her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something—but didn't know how to shape it.
"...And you?" she asked finally. "What are you?"
Brandi's jaw twitched.
"I'm someone who's trying really hard to prove I'm not the villain in your story," she said. "Even if I entered the worst possible page."
They drove on, the silence now less suffocating.
—
Susie sat back down in her chair, the cold light of her office casting long shadows over the desk. The investment packet trembled slightly in her hands. She'd read it twice already—but she scanned it again, desperate for a loophole. Something. Anything.
Nothing.
The terms were crystal clear. The funds she'd funneled through Melinda's credentials wouldn't be eligible for withdrawal until the end of the month—no exceptions. And if she touched them early, if they flagged anything out of sync, it would trigger an audit. One she'd never survive. Melinda's absence would leave only one clear person to have done it.
Her.
She leaned back, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.
The voice of the man on the phone echoed in her memory. "I haven't touched your girl. Not yet."
Maybe he hadn't. Maybe Brandi had, and it didn't have anything to do with him.
Susie hadn't missed the panic in Melinda's voice. The pure, raw terror. The crash. The slamming doors. And then, Brandi answered.
Her nails dug into the arms of her chair.
Melinda was trapped somewhere. Whether willingly or not didn't matter. She wasn't safe. And Susie had put her there.
She got up slowly and crossed the office, stopping at the door. Her hand rested against the glass as she stared out at the desk just across the floor.
Melinda's desk.
Still pristine, still empty. The bouquet of deep red roses Brandi had sent days earlier sat on the edge—lush but beginning to wilt. The petals curled at the edges like they were trying to hold onto beauty that had already begun to die.
Susie's throat tightened.
She remembered Melinda smiling, laughing softly under her breath, when she read the card aloud. She remembered the phone call. The glances toward the elevator every time it dinged. The way her voice had changed when she said Brandi's name.
Susie turned away.
Just as she stepped back to her desk, Eric slipped through the open door.
He smiled—too quickly. "Hey, Ms. Bowden? I was wondering if Melinda needed anything. She's not here today."
Susie's jaw locked. "No, she's not."
"She never misses work," Eric added. "So, I thought maybe something happened? I mean, I saw her the other day in the break room and—"
Susie cut him off, waving a hand impatiently. She didn't have time for his cheap flirtation or shallow concern. She hadn't had time for anything today.
"I've got too much on my plate," she said sharply. "Melinda's... unavailable. But I need someone to pick up the slack."
Eric blinked, surprised but eager.
"Log in to her work computer," Susie continued, already turning away, "Her password is Carter92. Schedule a meeting with Brandi Brentford. First thing tomorrow morning. Tell her it's urgent—about her Hillsdale investment opportunity."
Eric nodded quickly, grin spreading again. "Of course. I'll take care of it."
Susie didn't say another word.
She just sat back down, staring blankly at her inbox while Eric slipped away, the door clicking shut behind him.
He moved too confidently, that smile a little too smug.
But Susie didn't see it.
She was too busy staring at the screen, wishing she could turn back time.
Wishing she hadn't tied Melinda to her downfall.
—
Melinda chuckled softly, her laughter light and carefree, when Brandi made a joke about the waitress who had been too obvious in her attempts to flirt with her. "I swear, she practically threw your food down like she couldn't stand the sight of you," Brandi had said with a grin. "And then she muttered something about you being 'ugly,' but it was obvious she was just embarrassed. She stuttered, and couldn't get away fast enough."
Melinda burst out laughing, trying to suppress the sound but unable to help herself. The absurdity of it all, the way the waitress had tried so hard to mask her discomfort, made it even more comical. But as Melinda caught a glimpse of Brandi's gaze, the laughter caught in her throat.
Brandi wasn't angry. It wasn't the kind of look that someone gives when they're frustrated or annoyed. It was softer—gentler, almost as if there was more affection in it than Melinda was ready for. The warmth in Brandi's eyes seemed to reach out to her in a way that unsettled her.
Brandi leaned in closer, her voice soft as she began to ask questions. "So... tell me about yourself, Melinda. What do you like to do? What makes you happy? Did you like the play?"
It was a strange shift, one that felt almost too intimate. Melinda blinked, unsure of how to respond. She had never had someone ask her these kinds of questions, at least not in a way that felt genuine. The alcohol in her system made her feel dizzy, but the sense of vulnerability she felt under Brandi's attention made it even worse.
Then Brandi's hand brushed against hers, her fingers lingering just a little too long, caressing the back of Melinda's hand in a soft, almost languid motion. Melinda couldn't help but notice how different the touch felt compared to the sharpness of their previous encounters. It was all slow, deliberate, and maybe a little too intimate.
By the time the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, the restaurant had grown busier, more alive with chatter and laughter. Melinda nursed yet another glass of wine, not caring that her head felt fuzzy and her thoughts were swirling. Brandi, with her soft insistence, had ordered anything Melinda dared to glance at on the menu. Melinda found herself eating with a hunger she couldn't explain, her mouth moving before her brain could catch up. It was strange, being in this place, with someone who seemed so familiar but was also an enigma.
Everything was spinning—her thoughts, the conversation, the warm feelings building up inside her as Brandi continued to ask more about her. About the things she liked, the things that made her who she was. It was intoxicating, in more ways than one. The night had slipped away from them in a haze of wine, food, and conversation, and somewhere along the way, Melinda had started to feel... well, not quite at ease, but almost happy.
But there was always that knot in her stomach, that sense of unease that she couldn't quite shake off. Something about Brandi unsettled her. She had promised to be kind, promised not to hurt her, but how could Melinda ignore the way Brandi had yelled at her, just hours ago? How quickly Brandi could change, flip from tenderness to coldness. How could someone act like that and still look at her like she was the only one in the room?
"So, what happened with the last woman?" Melinda asked, half-joking, her voice a little slurred but still filled with curiosity. The question had been on her mind since they started talking. Brandi's eyes flickered, a shadow crossing her face for a brief moment. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her glass as she avoided Melinda's gaze.
Before she could respond, Brandi's phone rang, breaking the moment. She excused herself and slipped outside, leaving Melinda at the table, the buzzing of the restaurant around her now louder than ever. Melinda watched her go, and for a moment, she thought about making a run for it. She had no phone, no wallet, no way to protect herself if she did manage to get away. And even if she did leave, where would she go? She couldn't go home, to work, she'd go to Susie...
But then, just as quickly, the idea of escaping felt like a distant dream. What would she even do if she ran? She had no answers, just a growing knot of fear.
She tried to stand, her legs wobbly from the wine. Everything rushed to her head. The room tilted, and before she could stop herself, she almost toppled over. A few people nearby reached out to help, but she waved them off, determined to make it to the bathroom alone. She needed space, needed to breathe.
By the time she stumbled to the bathroom, her stomach had turned. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet, the alcohol working its way up her throat. She threw up violently, her body shuddering with each wave. It felt like a release, like everything was just coming out in a rush.
But before she could gather herself, she felt a hand on her hair, gently pulling it back. It was Brandi. "You're okay," she said softly, her voice surprisingly calm. "It's alright. Maybe we should skip dessert."
Melinda's body trembled with laughter, though it was far from joyful. She leaned back against the wall, still trying to steady her breath. Brandi's presence, her soothing words, they were both comforting and disconcerting.
"Maybe we should," Melinda muttered drunkenly, her voice barely above a whisper, before turning back to the toilet again.
As she heaved again, she couldn't help but feel a strange relief. She couldn't shake the feeling that this night, this situation, was leading somewhere she wasn't sure she didn't want to go.
—
Melinda stayed in the bathroom, slumped against the toilet, her stomach twisting in sharper, meaner waves than before. She groaned as another surge of nausea hit, barely holding herself up as she vomited again, this time harder, harsher, like her body was punishing her for the evening. Her arms trembled beneath her. Her knees ached. Everything felt too loud, too hot, too bright.
Outside the bathroom, Brandi flagged down the waitress, quietly paid the bill with a generous tip, and returned a few minutes later to find Melinda curled up by the tiled wall, asleep—mercifully, no vomit on the new dress she had picked for her. Brandi snorted, amused despite herself. "Unbelievable," she murmured, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind her.
She crouched down and easily lifted Melinda into a sitting position. Melinda didn't protest. She didn't even open her eyes. She just groaned softly, her head lolling forward until Brandi gently braced her under the arms and hoisted her toward the sink.
Melinda sagged into her grip like a rag doll, moaning in protest but not fighting it. Brandi pressed her hips into Melinda's back, steadying her against the porcelain, one hand on her waist while the other grabbed a wad of paper towels and ran them under cold water. She began dabbing at Melinda's flushed face, wiping her forehead, cheeks, and jaw with cool, careful strokes.
Melinda murmured something unintelligible and then shifted, leaning into her. Her head tilted back slightly as her hands reached clumsily behind her, fingertips fumbling at Brandi's locs and jaw. Her lips curled into a sleepy, loopy smile as she caught sight of the two of them in the mirror.
"You're so warm," she slurred. "And you're a lightweight" Brandi retorted not to be mean though rather pay along with the version of Melinda she knew was finally relaxed, but she kept herself reserved
"Your abs feel really good on my back. And your skin's soft. You're like... helpful. Really helpful."
Brandi huffed a small laugh, caught between flattered and exasperated. "You're not making sense," she said gently, brushing some hair out of Melinda's face.
Melinda turned her head lazily, eyes half-lidded, lips already puckered as she tilted up to try and kiss her. Brandi leaned back just in time, catching her before she could tip forward completely.
"Whoa," Brandi said, bracing her arms under Melinda's shoulders. "Okay. No. Not like this."
Melinda whimpered as her legs started to give again, her weight slumping forward. Brandi caught her without hesitation, pulling her close. "Alright, alright—time to get out of here before you end up passed out on the bathroom floor."
Moving carefully, Brandi adjusted her grip, wrapping an arm firmly around Melinda's waist and guiding her toward the door. Melinda grunted but followed, dragging her feet but managing to shuffle forward. She couldn't hold herself upright, though, not fully, so she leaned heavily into Brandi, head resting on her shoulder, her breath warm and slow.
They made it through the restaurant with only a few curious glances. Brandi opened the car door and guided Melinda into the passenger seat. Melinda's head lolled back, eyes already fluttering closed. Brandi buckled her in before circling to the driver's side, starting the engine as jazz murmured low from the speakers.
As she pulled out of the lot, she glanced at Melinda, who was nearly out cold now, her face slack and peaceful.
"You'll wake up alone tomorrow," Brandi said softly, more to herself than to Melinda. "But I'll come back. I have to talk to some people first. The people who put us in this mess."
Melinda stirred at the sound of her voice, head rolling toward her, eyes slitting open for a second. She shook her head lazily, a tiny frown creasing her brow.
Brandi smiled. "Yeah, I know. You don't like that."
Melinda didn't answer. Her head dropped again, and this time, she was fully out. Brandi chuckled and turned her eyes back to the road, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
Brandi's phone buzzed in the cupholder, breaking through the quiet hum of tires and jazz.
She glanced down—then again, her brows pinching.
Melinda's desk number.
She looked at the woman slumped in the passenger seat, mouth parted in sleep, her hair tousled across her cheek. Brandi didn't know whether to be impressed or worried that she'd memorized Melinda's desk number. Or if someone else was sitting at her desk right now.
She pressed the answer.
"Brentford."
There was a pause, then a younger man's voice filtered through, unpolished and overeager. "Hi, uh—yes, hi. This is Eric, from Hillsdale. I work... Well, I work near Melinda Carter's desk. I was asked to reach out. I understand you and her have a good rapport, so I'll do my best to meet her standard"
"D-amned right"
At the sound of his voice, Melinda stirred with a groan, her head rolling toward the sound, eyes fluttering beneath her lashes.
"...my job?" she mumbled. "Is that... give me the phone..."
She reached weakly for the device in Brandi's hand, but Brandi gently swatted her fingers away. Melinda tried again, slower, more insistent.
"Eric's not — touch my stuff. not supposed to... my job?!..."
Eric continued, clearly oblivious to the drama in the car. "I was told to schedule a sit-down between you, Ms. Brentford and Ms. Bowden. She'd like to discuss your potential role in Hillsdale investment—if you're still interested?"
Melinda tried one last time to grab the phone, hand shaking, but Brandi caught her wrist and patted it back onto her lap. "Shh," she murmured. "Later."
Melinda slumped back, lips still moving faintly, her voice barely a whisper.
"...he's weird... perv... ask me out... fuckin' loser...HA!"
Brandi smirked. "What's the meeting about, exactly?" she asked Eric.
"Oh, uh, I wasn't told. I just—uh, Ms. Bowden said to ask for your earliest availability."
Brandi's jaw tightened. Her mind raced. A move from Susie? A trap?
She stared at the road, the light ahead turning red. She eased the car to a stop.
"I can do at one o'clock," Brandi said after a pause, her voice crisp. "Depending on how my morning plays out."
"Great! That's great. Thanks," Eric said quickly before hanging up.
Brandi dropped the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh.
Beside her, Melinda mumbled, "I need to go back to work... she already replaced me..."
Her voice cracked into a sob.
Brandi turned to her, frowning. "Hey, no—hey, Melinda..."
But Melinda didn't respond. She was too far gone in a drunken sea of tears and panic.
And for the first time, real fear pricked Brandi's throat.
She was walking into Susie's domain tomorrow.
A domain where Melinda's name was tied to reports, forged investments, meant to pay off a criminal.
Did she expect her to bring Melinda, allow Melinda to be the scapegoat for whatever Susie had done?
If Susie had evidence, if she'd already moved her pieces... gotten the police to come after her, saved Melinda.
Brandi gritted her teeth.
She couldn't let Melinda go back. If she stepped foot in that office again, she'd never come back. Susie would drown her in guilt, love, manipulation, get Melinda to talk about the auction and what Brandy did, twist it.
Ruin Melinda and her.
Brandi's mansion came into view, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. One of the maids was waiting at the open door, light flooding the front steps. The guest bedroom was already lit.
Brandi parked and carefully exited the car. She came around to Melinda's side and gently pulled the door open.
Melinda groaned but didn't resist as Brandi gathered her into her arms. Brandi carried her like something precious, something fragile.
Inside, she laid Melinda gently on the bed. She slipped off her heels, adjusted the blanket. Her fingers hovered near the zipper of her dress, but she pulled back. That wasn't her boundary to cross.
She turned to leave.
But then—Melinda's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
"Wha—?"
With surprising strength, Melinda tugged her down. Brandi stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the bed—just as Melinda curled onto her chest like a cat finding its place in the sun.
She snored softly a moment later.
Brandi's arms hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to rest them. Then slowly, she curled them around Melinda's waist, holding her gently—secure, warm, and close.
Her heartbeat slowed.
And she let her head fall back against the pillow.
This was... something. Not the date she wanted. Not the freedom Melinda deserved. But it was something.
Still, unease crept in as her thoughts drifted to Martian. To the real man running the auction. To Susie. The meetings with them both tomorrow. Suisse seemed ready to bargain, Jonathan when he called sounded desperate.
And ask her to bring Melinda too... she wouldn't.