Chapter 4

Later that afternoon, Mike came by my office. He closed the door quietly behind him.

"Just wanted to give you an update," he said, his usual gruffness softened a bit. "Your brother refused to pay for the jacket, so we called the cops as instructed. They gave him a ticket for disorderly conduct. And HR has officially terminated his internship."

Liam had been working a menial internship in the mailroom, a position I had begged a favor to get for him, hoping some responsibility might do him good. It was the source of his entitlement in the lobby-the feeling that he "belonged" there.

"Are you sure about this, Chloe?" Mike asked, his tone more personal now. "I know he's family. If you want to smooth it over, I can probably talk to HR..."

"Thank you, Mike, but no," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "My only mistake was getting him that internship in the first place. He's a grown man. It's time he faced the consequences of his actions."

Mike nodded slowly, a look of understanding on his face. "Alright. Just wanted to check. You let me know if he causes any more trouble."

He left, and I felt a sense of finality. The last professional tie was cut.

Of course, my phone started ringing almost immediately. It was Liam. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. And again. On the fifth try, I answered and put the phone on speaker, continuing to type an email.

"...a cold-hearted bitch! After everything I've done for you!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with rage.

I couldn't help but let out a short, sharp laugh. "Everything you've done for me? That's hilarious, Liam. Is that all? I'm in the middle of something."

His sputtering indignation was cut short when I hung up on him. I blocked his number.

The rest of the week was blissfully, unnervingly quiet. For the first time in years, my evenings weren't spent fielding panicked calls or transferring emergency funds. Instead, Daniel and I rediscovered each other. We cooked dinner together, laughing as we fumbled with a new pasta recipe. We went for long walks in the park, holding hands, talking about everything and nothing. We watched old movies on the couch, and I fell asleep with my head on his chest, feeling a sense of peace I thought I had lost forever.

It was a glimpse of the life we were supposed to have, the life I had almost thrown away.

"It's so good to have you back," Daniel said one evening, his arms wrapped around me as we stood on our small balcony, looking out at the city lights. "Just you. No drama."

"I'm not going anywhere," I promised, leaning into him.

But even in the calm, a small part of me remained on high alert. I knew my brother. His ego was a fragile, monstrous thing. Being publicly humiliated and cut off wouldn't make him reflect and grow. It would make him fester. It would make him desperate. And a desperate Liam was a dangerous Liam.

The peace felt wonderful, but I knew it was just the eye of the storm. Late on Friday night, as we were getting ready for bed, my phone lit up with a text message from a number I didn't recognize.

It was a single photo. A picture of my front door.

There was no text, no explanation. Just the silent, ominous image. The storm was coming.