Too Late, Mr. Forbes: Watch Me Shine

"Move."

Hayden Simmons let the heavy oak door of the Forbes Estate slam shut behind her. The biting Manhattan wind swept into the grand foyer, but it was nothing compared to the ice in her veins.

Beulah Hubbard, the head housekeeper, stood at the base of the sweeping staircase. Her eyes raked over Hayden's pale face and wind-blown hair. A sneer twisted Beulah's thin lips.

"I didn't think you'd have the nerve to show your face here again," Beulah said.

Hayden didn't blink. She walked straight toward the stairs, her boots clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Beulah stepped into her path, blocking the first step. "Mr. Forbes isn't here to protect you today. Why don't you just-"

"I said, move." Hayden's voice was dead flat. She stared directly into the older woman's eyes.

Beulah's mouth snapped shut. She took a half-step back, her shoulders stiffening.

Hayden didn't wait for another word. She bypassed the frozen housekeeper and took the stairs two at a time. Her chest was tight, her lungs burning as she marched down the long, carpeted hallway toward the master suite.

She pushed the bedroom door open.

The scent of August's cedar and bergamot cologne hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. Her throat constricted. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth and walked straight into the massive walk-in closet.

She ignored the rows of Chanel jackets and custom Dior gowns. She went straight for the back corner, dragging out the battered black suitcase she had brought with her seven years ago.

She unzipped it. The metal teeth parted with a loud rasp. She started pulling her old, faded sweaters and plain jeans from the bottom drawers, tossing them inside.

The bedroom door crashed open.

The sound of wood slamming against the wall made Hayden jump. She spun around. The sudden light from the hallway blinded her for a second, but she didn't need to see his face to know who it was.

August Forbes stood in the doorway.

Cold air radiated off his dark wool overcoat. His chest heaved once. His dark eyes locked onto the open suitcase on the floor, and the air in the room instantly evaporated.

He crossed the room in three massive strides. His leather shoes sank into the plush rug, heavy and predatory.

Hayden stumbled backward. Her spine hit the hard wood of the closet door. There was nowhere else to go.

August's hand shot out. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist like a steel vice. He yanked her forward, his grip bruising her skin instantly.

"Let go of me!" Hayden gasped, twisting her arm.

August stepped into her space, using his broad chest to pin her against the closet door. His weight was crushing.

He lowered his head. His warm breath hit the shell of her ear. His gaze swept over the battered suitcase on the floor, his pupils contracting for a fraction of a second before the vulnerability was swallowed by a mask of cold mockery. He lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with a tension he couldn't quite hide. "Is this your new game? Playing the runaway to see if I'll chase you?"

"We are done, August." Hayden ground her teeth together. "It's over."

The muscle in his jaw ticked. His free hand snapped up, his thumb and fingers gripping her chin so hard her teeth clicked together. He forced her head up to look at him.

"You don't get to decide when we are done," he snarled.

He crushed his mouth against hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. His lips were hard, his teeth scraping against hers, forcing her mouth open. He stole her breath, suffocating her with his dominance.

Panic flared in Hayden's chest. She pushed both hands against his solid chest, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

Her lungs screamed for air. She clamped her jaw down hard.

Her teeth sank into his lower lip.

The sharp metallic taste of blood exploded in her mouth.

August flinched with a sharp hiss. He shoved her away.

Hayden lost her footing. She crashed onto the thick rug, her palms burning from the friction. She sat there, gasping for air, her chest heaving violently.

August stood over her. He lifted his thumb and wiped his mouth. He looked at the smear of bright red blood on his skin. A low, dark laugh rumbled in his chest.

"You come back here, treat my staff like garbage, and now this?" He looked down at her as if she were a rabid animal. "Your arrogance is pathetic, Hayden."

Hayden looked up at his cold, flawless face. Her stomach twisted. He didn't even ask why she was leaving. He didn't care about the brooch. He only cared that she was disobeying him.

August pulled a silk square from his pocket. He wiped his thumb, his face twisted in disgust, as if her blood had contaminated him. He dropped the ruined silk onto the floor, right next to her knee.

"You are going to stay in this room," August ordered, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "You will not leave until my grandfather's centennial gala is over. If you try to walk out those doors, I will make sure you have nothing left."

He turned on his heel. He walked out of the closet, out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Hayden stared at the closed door. The silence in the room was deafening.

She placed her hands flat on the rug and pushed herself up. Her knees trembled slightly, but she locked them into place. She brushed her palms against her jeans.

She walked out of the closet and stopped in front of the vanity mirror. Her face was pale, her lips swollen and slightly bruised.

She pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. She grabbed the heavy Cartier diamond necklace and the Patek Philippe watch. She dumped them onto the glass surface. The jewels clattered loudly.

She reached into her back pocket, pulled out her wallet, and slid out the sleek, heavy black card with August's name on it. She dropped it right on top of the diamonds.

She turned back to the closet. She walked past the designer clothes again and stopped at a garment bag hanging in the far corner.

She unzipped the plastic. Inside hung a simple, unbranded white cotton dress. It was the first thing August had ever bought her, back when they were just college students, back when his eyes held warmth instead of control.

She took it off the hanger. She folded it carefully, pressing the fabric flat, and laid it on top of her old sweaters in the suitcase.

She grabbed the zipper and pulled it shut. The metal teeth locked together with a final, decisive snap.

She gripped the handle, lifted the suitcase, and walked out of the bedroom. She didn't look back. She pulled the door shut behind her.

She carried the suitcase down the sweeping staircase. Halfway down, she saw Beulah walking up, carrying a silver tea tray.

Beulah stopped. Her eyes darted to the suitcase, then back to Hayden's face. A smug, victorious smile spread across the housekeeper's face. She stepped to the side, pressing her back against the banister.

"Good riddance," Beulah whispered, her voice dripping with poison.

Hayden stopped one step above her. She looked down at the older woman. Her heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm.

"I've choked on the rot in this house for seven years," Hayden said, her voice perfectly level. "Enjoy the smell."

Beulah's smile vanished. Her hands gripped the silver tray so hard her knuckles turned white.

Hayden stepped past her. She walked across the foyer, grabbed the handle of the heavy oak door, and pulled it open.

The freezing wind hit her face again, but this time, it felt like oxygen.

She dragged the suitcase down the long, paved driveway. The plastic wheels ground loudly against the asphalt. The towering oak trees on either side of the path cast long, dark shadows over her.

As she neared the massive wrought-iron gates, two security guards stepped out of the booth. They looked at her, then at the suitcase. The taller guard held up his hand.

"Miss Simmons, Mr. Forbes didn't authorize-"

"Are you detaining me against my will?" Hayden cut him off. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "Because false imprisonment is a felony. Open the gate."

The guard hesitated. He looked at his partner. August had told them to keep her inside, but he hadn't given the order to physically restrain her. "We have to call Mr. Pryce first," the guard said, his hand hovering over his radio. Hayden didn't flinch. She held up her phone, the screen already dialed to her attorney's number. "By the time you finish that call, my lawyer will have the police on the line. Let's see if the Forbes family wants 'false imprisonment' trending on the news before the markets open. You decide." The guard swallowed hard, weighing the wrath of his boss against a massive public relations nightmare that would undoubtedly cost him his job anyway. He exchanged another tight look with his partner.

The guard pressed the button. The heavy iron gates slowly groaned open.

Hayden walked through them. She pulled her phone from her pocket and ordered an Uber.

She stood on the curb, the cold seeping through her thin coat. She turned her head and looked back at the sprawling Forbes Estate. It looked like a massive, dark tomb.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. The driver popped the trunk and got out to help her lift the suitcase.

Hayden slid into the backseat. The car smelled faintly of stale smoke and cheap pine air freshener. She closed her eyes and inhaled it deeply.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

She gave him the address of a cheap motel in a rundown neighborhood in lower Manhattan.

The cab pulled away from the curb. Hayden watched the estate shrink in the side mirror until it disappeared completely. Her chest, tight for seven years, finally expanded. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Twenty minutes later, the cab slowed down as it merged onto the main avenue. Hayden looked out the window.

The grand, classical architecture of Columbia University loomed in the distance.

Her fingers tightened around the seatbelt. The rough nylon dug into her skin. She stared at the journalism building until the cab drove past it, her heart pounding a heavy, painful rhythm against her ribs.

The cab stopped at a red light just past the university gates.

Hayden kept her eyes glued to the brick facade of the journalism school. Her stomach hollowed out.

Seven years ago, she had held the acceptance letter for the full-ride investigative journalism program in her hands. She remembered the exact sound the thick paper made when August ripped it in half. You don't need to work, he had said, his hands resting heavily on her shoulders. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of Aniya.

She had traded her voice for her sister's medical bills.

The light turned green. The cab jerked forward, leaving the campus behind.

Hayden pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened her email app and scrolled down to the hidden drafts folder. She tapped on a document she hadn't opened in three years.

Her resume.

Her thumbs flew across the screen. She updated the contact information. Then, she scrolled to the 'Experience' section. She bypassed the name field entirely, refusing to type the pen name she had used in secret. Instead, she created a section labeled 'Independent Investigative Samples.' She listed the titles and brief summaries of the three explosive financial exposés she had published anonymously before August's surveillance had become too tight. If they questioned the authorship, she would prove it in the interview room by breaking down her investigative methodology piece by piece. It was the only way to protect her identity while proving her worth.

She checked the boxes for the top media conglomerates in Manhattan. Her finger hovered over Vanguard Media, the most aggressive, ruthless news outlet in the city.

She pressed send.

She stared at the confirmation screen for a long moment, then made a decision. If August had already moved against her, then Aniya was vulnerable right now-not tomorrow morning, not after she'd settled into some motel. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "Change of plans. Take me to Mount Sinai Hospital first."

The driver nodded and changed lanes at the next intersection.

The cab pulled up to the towering glass entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital.

Hayden paid the driver, grabbed her suitcase, and walked through the sliding doors. The sharp smell of antiseptic and bleach stung her nose. She walked straight to the elevators and hit the button for the ICU step-down unit.

She signed in at the nurse's station. Her palms were sweating. She walked down the quiet corridor and stopped outside room 412.

Through the glass window, she saw her younger sister, Aniya. Aniya's skin was the color of old paper. Clear tubes ran across her cheeks, feeding oxygen into her nose.

Hayden pressed her hand against her chest, right over her heart, waiting for the painful squeezing sensation to pass. She pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly.

Aniya's eyelids fluttered. She turned her head. Her sunken eyes widened when she saw the black suitcase resting against the wall.

"Hayden?" Aniya's voice was a dry rasp. She reached out a trembling hand. "Did he... did he kick you out?"

Hayden walked to the bed and took Aniya's cold, bony hand in both of hers. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a soft smile.

"No, sweetie," Hayden said softly. "I left. I'm getting my own life back."

Before Aniya could answer, the door swung open. Dr. Evans walked in, holding a thick clipboard. He looked at Hayden, his expression tight.

"Miss Simmons," Dr. Evans said, his voice low. "The billing department just notified me. The trust account that covers Aniya's targeted therapy has been frozen. The payment for this month's cycle was declined."

Ice water flooded Hayden's veins. Her breath hitched.

August. He was cutting off Aniya's lifeline to force her back to the estate.

She stood up, placing herself between the doctor and her sister's bed. She kept her face completely blank, refusing to let Aniya see her panic.

"It's a temporary freeze on the account," Hayden said, her voice steady and hard, masking the frantic calculations running through her mind. "Please give me a forty-eight-hour grace period. I will have a partial payment for the emergency fees wired to the hospital by then." She was already mentally scrolling through her options, planning to contact an old informant who owed her a favor, or pawn the vintage watch she had bought with her own money years ago.

Dr. Evans sighed, nodding slowly. "Please do. We can't delay the next dose." He turned and left the room.

A tear slipped down Aniya's cheek, soaking into her pillow. "I'm ruining your life," she whispered. "You have to go back to him because of me."

Hayden leaned down. She wiped the tear away with her thumb, her touch gentle but firm. "Don't you ever say that again. I am never going back to him."

She pulled her phone out to distract her. "Look, I just sent out my resume on the way here- "

She glanced at the screen for the first time since stepping out of the cab. A notification sat waiting from twenty minutes ago. It was an email from Vanguard Media.

Hayden tapped it. Her eyes scanned the brief, sharp text from the HR department. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She looked down at Aniya, a fierce, burning light in her eyes. "I got an interview. Tomorrow morning."