Sir your presence is needed."
The voice startled them; a short man hurried into the office. He wasn't a dwarf, exactly, but his stature put him in that neighborhood compact, businesslike, and all sharp edges.
"Now."
"Right away, sir."
Mr. Rogers gave Kayla a small, apologetic smile. "Miss Kornels, I'm afraid I can't help with your accounts. But you can go anywhere to look for work; you'll have to fend for yourself for now." He forced a softer expression. "I'll do what I can."
"Thank you, Mr. Rogers," Kayla said, rising. Her legs felt unsteady as she left the warm, leather-scented comfort of Case Closed Law Firm and stepped out into the chill air. She slid into her car and sat for a long moment, watching traffic blur past the window and thinking. Where to begin? Who could she ask? Friends. Of course her friends.
She dialed Ellen first. The line clicked, then the robotic voice chimed in: "The number you are trying to reach is currently switched off. Please try again later." A soft sneeze sounded on the other end Ellen's voice, or the ghost of it. Kayla frowned, then tried Hailey.
"This is Hailey Baldwin speaking," a smooth voice answered.
"Hailey, thank God " Kayla began, relief warming her chest. "I've been trying to reach Ellen, but she she's not picking up. I need a favor, please. Can you "
Hailey's tone hardened into polite distance. Kayla could hear the invisible line of judgment closing. "Listen, Kayla," Hailey said slowly, "my parents warned me to keep clear of your family for now. The scandal "
Kayla's pulse stuttered. "Please, I just need a loan," she blurted. "I'll pay you back when "
A robotic series of beeps cut her off. Number busy. Number busy. The call dropped.
"Hailey!" she hissed into the handset, but there was no answer. Panic fluttered behind her ribs like caged wings. She tried Amy next, hoping for frayed loyalty if not generosity.
"Amy, can you " Kayla managed.
Amy sighed, the sound like a tired curtain pulled aside. "Kayla, my parents told me "
"Please," Kayla interrupted, desperation searing her voice. "Even a little?"
"Not now." Amy's voice was polite but final. "I can't get involved."
Click. The line went dead.
Each disconnected call shredded something else inside her. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the steering wheel. The world outside the windshield looked like a smear of movement and light. She needed Aaron the one person who always seemed to be at the center of her orbit. If anyone would help, it would be him, she thought, willing herself to hope.
She drove to his house, heart pounding, a foolish faith insisting he'd answer.
A young maid opened the door when she knocked, her expression polite but guarded. She was in a neat uniform, the kind of carefully neutral face servants learn to wear when dealing with the famous.
"Can I help you?" the maid asked.
"Yes. I'm here to see Aaron your boss's son." Kayla tried to smile, to soften the sharpness of her plea.
"He's not around," the maid recited. "He told me to say he's "
"Tell him I'm his girlfriend," Kayla cut in, a plea and a command in one.
The maid hesitated as if caught between roles. "He said " she began.
BAM. The door shut in Kayla's face. The sound cracked like a whip.
Rude, she muttered under her breath, but the hurt felt like a bruise. She swallowed it down and pulled out her phone. Mr. Rogers rang; the line buzzed. When he answered she nearly lunged for his voice.
"Miss Kayla." Mr. Rogers sounded businesslike, but his tone softened when he'd known her. "I have arranged for you to see your parents. Tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. Be there."
Relief bloomed so sudden it made her dizzy. "Thank you thank you so much," she said, gratitude threading each syllable.
"Don't mention it. Be there at nine."
She hung up, smiling despite the frayed edges of her hope. For a moment the world felt salvageable. Then, across the courtyard of Aaron's mansion, she noticed the fountain Aaron, his face tilted for a selfie, phone in hand, sunlight catching his teeth as he grinned into the camera. Beside him, a gaggle of boys struck poses, laughter bubbling.
She dialed. Ring. Ring. Ring. No answer.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Finally: "What's up, babe?"
Where are you? she wanted to demand. Instead she managed, "Aaron, I'm at your house. Your maid wouldn't let me in."
"Sorry, Lemonade," he said, the pet name that used to make her smile but now felt like salt in a wound. "I'm on a plane to Paris."
Kayla's eyes narrowed. She watched his live stream the camera panned across his laughing face, then pulled back to reveal the same fountain she was staring at. He wasn't on a plane; he was posing with friends for likes.
"You're on a plane taking pictures at the fountain?" she snapped into the phone.
"No, baby—surprise! I was trying to surprise you." He sounded amused, as if this were a prank. Kayla felt a cold, hard laugh die in her throat.
"Oh please," she said, the sarcasm sharp. She stepped up to the fountain and let the cool evening mist tickle her cheeks. "The best liar award goes to Aaron Taylor," she announced into the line, the words more of a release than anything else.
He moved toward her in the video as if to claim a kiss for the camera. She stepped back and placed her hands flat against his chest, the gesture both physical and symbolic putting distance where there had been intimacy.
"Don't you dare," she said through clenched teeth. "Don't."
"Aaron," she said finally, rage and grief twisting into one, "it's over between us."
He looked staggered, offended even. "You know better than that. No one will stand by you like I will."
He reached out, plucking a strand of her ginger hair between his fingers, playing with it like a possession.
"Who would want to have anything to do with the daughter of a thief and a murderer?" he sneered, the words casual acids. The smirk on his handsome face made her want to retch.
"How dare you?" she breathed, the urge to strike nearly physical. She raised her hand in reflex, but his grip caught her wrist with iron steadiness.
"Where were you going to slap me, Kayla?" he asked, eyebrow lifted in amused incredulity. His amusement sent a spark of fury through her that threatened to consume her.
"Except you have a death wish," she snapped back, voice low and dangerous. "Dare me, and I won't hesitate."
For a stunned second, he laughed short, nervous. The sound was brittle.
Kayla looked at him really looked at him the boy who had wrapped her in roses and glossy smiles, who had never weathered a storm with her before. Tonight the façade had dropped. Something ugly and long-locked had spilled free in his voice.
"Don't ever come near my house again," he said finally, cold as the fountain water. "I'll sue you for trespassing."
He turned and walked away, his entourage falling into step like obedient shadows.
Kayla stood rooted, the slap of his words biting deeper than any physical blow. She had expected betrayal; she had not expected his cruelty. Her throat closed with the effort of not crying. She would not weep for him he was not worth the salt of her tears.
She straightened her shoulders, spit out the words like a promise: "I will deal with you, Aaron."
She left the fountain behind water shimmering, indifferent to her pain and walked into the darkening street. The city hummed around her, alive and oblivious. She had friends who had abandoned her, a lover who had turned cruel, and a family she might not see without pleading the right case. But Mr. Rogers had given her a thread a time, a place, a chance.
Tomorrow she would stand in front of cold bars and speak to people who had taken everything from her. She had no idea who Kaiden Scott was, or why her father's calm voice had told her to find him. But Kayla was not a child to crumple. The betrayal had carved something new into her an ember of resolve.
When the city swallowed her figure, the words echoed in the empty courtyard: I will deal with you.
The night smelled like overturned crowns and promises. She tucked her head and kept going.