---- Chapter 7 Hector Porter POV: Mark, a man who had faced down corporate spies and threats from rival companies without flinching, simply stood there, his jaw tight as Helene berated him. He was a professional, and he took her verbal assault in stoic silence. "That's enough, Helene," | said, my voice sharp. She immediately turned to me, her expression melting into one of distress and helplessness. "Hector, darling, he ruined my dress! And he was so rude." "He did no such thing. You weren't looking where you were going," | said, my patience wearing thin. "Mark, come in Helene, go and change." Mark stepped into the office, carefully closing the door behind him. | saw the flash of pure disgust in his eyes as he looked at Helene before the door clicked shut. The expression confirmed a feeling that had been growing in me for weeks: Almeda had been right about her. Mark had worked for me for ten years. He had respected Almeda, always treating her with a quiet deference. He treated Helene like an annoyance. Helene entered my office a moment later, her demeanor ---- completely transformed. She was now the gentle, caring woman | thought | knew. She carried a bowl of soup, the same coconut soup Geneva used to love. "| brought you lunch, Hector," she said softly. "You've been working too hard." She set the bowl on my desk and picked up the spoon, scooping up a mouthful and holding it towards me. "Here, let me feed you." The gesture was meant to be intimate, a mirror of a thousand moments | had imagined with Geneva. But it felt wrong. Clumsy. Performative. | leaned back in my chair. "| can feed myself, Helene." "Don't be silly," she insisted, pushing the spoon closer. "You need to be taken care of." An image flashed in my mind, unbidden. Almeda, standing in this very office, holding a mug of tea. She never pushed. She would just set it on the corner of my desk and say, "Drink this. You look tired." She knew | wouldn't accept it from her hand, so she gave me the space to accept her care on my own terms. She had understood me in a way Helene never could. The memory was so vivid, so filled with a strange, aching warmth, that it physically hurt. | felt a pang of loss so sharp it stole my breath. "| said no," | snapped, my voice harsher than | intended. ---- Helene froze, the spoon hovering in mid-air. A flicker of fear crossed her face before she quickly composed herself, placing the bowl on the desk. "I'm sorry, Hector," she said, her voice a wounded whisper. "I was just trying to help." She tried to pivot, to use her one remaining weapon. "Jacob is asking for you. He wants to know if | can take him for ice cream after school. He said he wants me to come with you to pick him up." | hesitated. Jacob had been ecstatic to have Helene around. It was the one thing that made Almeda's absence bearable. For his sake, | had to keep the peace. "Fine," | conceded. "We'll go together." A triumphant smile touched her lips before she could hide it. She thought she had me. She thought Jacob was her trump card. For now, perhaps she was right. She left the office, and | finally turned my attention to Mark. "The report?" | asked. He handed me the file. | opened it. Inside were photographs. Almeda, looking tired but determined, standing in front of a dusty, boarded-up storefront. Almeda, laughing with a contractor, her face animated in a way | hadn't seen in years. Almeda, covered in paint, her hair tied up in a messy bun, looking more beautiful and alive than she ever had in my sterile mansion. ---- The name on the storefront lease read: "The Gilded Lily." She was opening a restaurant. She was building a life. Without me. A possessive, unfamiliar rage surged through me. She was supposed to be miserable. She was supposed to come back. "Mark," | said, my voice dangerously low. "There was a tech journalist who did a puff piece on me last month. Get in touch with him. I'm going to give him an exclusive." Mark raised an eyebrow. "Sir?" "A story about me and my new love," | said, the words tasting like poison. "My devoted assistant, Helene Rojas, who has been a loving mother to my son in his time of need. | want pictures. Us picking up Jacob from school. Looking like a happy family. | want it on every newsfeed, every social media platform. | want to make sure Almeda sees it." | wanted to hurt her. | wanted to remind her of what she had thrown away. | wanted her to feel a fraction of the confusing, gnawing emptiness that was now consuming me. | wanted her to react. | needed to know she still cared.