A Lesson She Will Never Forget

The tip of Maeve Harlow’s pen glided across the crisp paper, sealing away a billion-dollar empire with a single, sweeping signature. A bright, hopeful smile stretched across her face as she lifted the pen. She slid the document back into the sleek leather folder.

"On a scale of one to 'please let me slap some sense into you,' this ranks somewhere around full-blown insanity," Nora said. She leaned across the small café table, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at the folder.

Maeve ignored her best friend’s warning. She picked up her iced coffee, taking a calm sip.

"Seriously, Mae," Nora continued, her voice dropping to an urgent hiss. "Do you want me to hit you? Maybe dump this latte on your head? Wake up."

"Five years," Maeve said. She set her cup down on the table. "I tested him for five years, Nora. He passed."

Nora reached over and snatched the folder the second Maeve let it go. "These documents will make him the largest shareholder of your father’s company. Do you even understand the scale of what you are doing right now? We are talking about millions of dollars. Are you hearing yourself?"

"Billions," Maeve corrected, her grin widening. "Worth billions. And Preston stayed with me through all of it. He loved me when he thought I was just a broke, orphaned intern struggling to pay rent. That kind of devotion deserves a reward. It deserves everything. Don't you think so?"

Maeve grabbed her purse and slid out of the booth. She pushed open the café door, stepping out onto the bustling sidewalk. Directly across the street stood the towering glass-and-steel skyscraper. Preston’s building.

Nora jogged to catch up, her heels clicking rapidly against the concrete. "Mae, seriously, stop walking for a second. You need to think this through. You are acting out of pure emotion."

"I already thought it through. Five years of hiding my true identity, Nora. Five years of wearing thrift store clothes and pretending I didn't have a dime to my name. And not once did Preston make me feel like I wasn't enough." Maeve tightened her grip on her purse strap. "It is time I pay him back."

Nora looked down at the leather folder clutched to her chest. "You are handing him the keys to the kingdom."

"Because he earned them," Maeve said. "Tomorrow, I am going to formally introduce him to my father. We can drop this whole charade and get married in secret. That is the dream, alright? Let me have my dream."

They reached the edge of the plaza leading up to the grand entrance of the office building. Before Maeve could take another step, the piercing screech of tires echoed down the block. A sleek black luxury car swerved to the curb, tires smoking slightly as it came to a sudden halt.

The tranquil morning shattered in an instant. A massive wave of people surged from the nearby crosswalks. Reporters shoved their way forward, dragging heavy cameras and thrusting microphones into the air. Camera flashes erupted in a blinding, relentless storm.

A man holding a massive camera lens clipped Maeve’s shoulder. The rough impact sent her stumbling sideways.

"Whoa!" Nora grabbed Maeve by the waist, bracing her feet to keep them both upright.

"What the hell—" Maeve started.

A deafening roar drowned out her voice. Fans pushed past them, waving signs and screaming a single name into the crisp morning air.

"Lyra! Is Lyra in there?"

"Lyra, we love you!"

"Look this way, Lyra!"

Building security rushed out of the glass doors, locking their arms together to create a human barricade, but the sheer weight of the mob kept pushing forward. Caught in the sudden physical crush of the crowd, Maeve and Nora were shoved hard against the building's massive glass panels. The cold surface pressed firmly against Maeve’s spine. A guard shoved a frantic fan backward to maintain the line. The ripple effect knocked Maeve and Nora to the concrete floor.

Maeve grabbed Nora’s arm, hauling her up as another wave of screaming fans surged toward the black car. Her heart pounded against her ribs. What the heck is going on? She turned her head, squinting through the sea of flashing lights just as the car door swung open.

A polished dress shoe stepped onto the pavement. Then, the face she knew better than her own.

Preston Mercer. Her Preston.

But he was not alone. A woman slid out of the backseat and stood beside him. Flawless makeup, cascading blonde hair, a designer dress that clung to her curves. Lyra Vance.

The reporters descended like vultures, shouting over the deafening roars of the fans.

"Mr. Mercer! Is it true you are marrying Lyra Vance?"

Maeve froze. The world around her seemed to mute, leaving only a sharp ringing in her ears.

Preston paused on the pavement. He calmly adjusted the lapel of his expensive coat, offered a polite nod to the cameras, and spoke into the cluster of microphones. "Yes, it is true. We will be holding our engagement ceremony very soon."

Maeve blinked. The breath left her lungs in a hollow rush.

Another reporter thrust a digital recorder near his face. "Is it true she is pregnant?"

Preston looked straight ahead, his expression smooth and practiced. "That is a very personal matter. I hope you can respect our privacy."

Beside him, an aggressive PR handler started passing out thick, embossed envelopes to the pressing crowd. "The ceremony will be held this Saturday at the Sable Crest Hotel. A formal press conference will follow."

That set the crowd off. Fans screamed even louder, pushing against the strained security line. Flashes popped in a blinding strobe effect. The physical pressure of the mob grew suffocating, bodies slamming against one another in a desperate bid to get closer to the famous couple.

Maeve clung to Nora as they were crushed further against the glass doors. A heavy camera smashed into Maeve's collarbone, a sharp sting radiating down her arm. She ignored the pain. She didn't look away from Preston.

He turned his head. His gaze swept over the chaotic sea of faces. His eyes passed directly over Maeve without a single hint of recognition. No pause. No double-take. Just the blank, dismissive look of a man staring at a stranger.

A cold fury ignited in Maeve’s chest. She refused to be sidelined in this crowd.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nora yelled over the noise, trying to pull Maeve away from the crush.

"Did you hear that?" Maeve demanded. The color drained from her cheeks, replaced by a burning flush of anger. That was Preston. That was his voice, clear as day. She wasn't blind, and she wasn't deaf. "He is marrying someone else."

Nora dug her fingers into Maeve’s sleeve. "Mae, stop. Don’t do this right now. Not here."

Maeve yanked her arm free with brutal force. "He is marrying someone else," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "Someone that is not me!"

She lowered her shoulder and forcefully pushed through the mass of bodies. She squeezed past the security line and shoved her way through the heavy lobby doors, leaving the screaming mob behind. Her eyes locked on the bank of elevators at the far end of the marble floor. Preston, Lyra, and his secretary had just stepped inside the center car.

Maeve broke into a run.

A security guard stepped into her path, holding up a thick hand to block her. "Mr. Mercer asked not to be disturbed," the guard said. "He wants to be alone with Miss Vance."

Maeve didn't slow down. "Do you have any idea who I am?" she snapped. Her voice echoed off the high marble ceilings, loud enough to make several people in the lobby turn and stare.

The shout reached the elevator. Preston lifted his head. For one fleeting second, his eyes met hers through the narrowing gap of the doors. His face remained an unreadable mask of stone. He offered no explanation. He said absolutely nothing, letting the metal doors slide shut with a definitive click.

"Oh, hell no." Maeve spun away from the guard. She bolted for the emergency stairwell at the edge of the lobby.

"Maeve! Maeve, stop!" Nora’s voice rang out behind her.

Maeve ignored her. She slammed the heavy fire door open and hit the first step. Her high heels hindered her speed, catching on the concrete. She yanked them off, clutching the stilettos in one hand, and began a grueling sprint up the stairs. Her bare feet slapped against the cold steps. Her breath came in ragged, harsh gasps. The muscles in her calves burned like fire, and her chest felt like it was wrapped in tight iron bands. All that cardio was finally paying off.

"Wait—just wait!" Nora called out. Her voice was weak, echoing up the hollow stairwell.

Maeve glanced over the railing. On the sixth-floor landing, Nora was bent double, leaning heavily against the metal banister, gasping for air.

"Go," Nora wheezed, waving a hand upward. "Just go."

Maeve turned back to the stairs. She pushed through the burning pain in her legs, climbing higher and higher until she reached the heavy door marked with a glowing red number ten.

Her knees buckled slightly as she pushed the heavy door open. She stumbled into the tenth-floor hallway, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. She marched straight down the plush carpet toward Preston’s executive suite.

Two men in dark suits stood flanking the heavy oak door. His personal security. Maeve recognized them immediately. These were the same men who used to nod at her when she brought Preston coffee, the same men who saw her leave his apartment in the early morning hours.

She marched right at them, the discarded heels still gripped tightly in her hand.

"You can't go in," the taller guard said. He stepped forward, blocking her path with his broad shoulders. "You are not allowed on this floor without clearance."

"Does he know I am standing out here?" she demanded, trying to catch her breath.

"We are following instructions," the second guard said, his face devoid of sympathy. "Please step away."

"I am not leaving," Maeve said, planting her feet. "Tell him I am right outside!"

Just as she expected, the guards remained planted like statues.

"Preston!" Maeve screamed. Her voice tore down the silent, luxurious hallway, raw and desperate. "Preston, open the damn door!"

The guards moved in. The taller one reached out, aiming to grab her arm.

"I said do not touch me!" Maeve snapped, physically dodging his grasp and stepping back to maintain her distance.

Before either of the men could lunge again, the heavy oak door swung open with a loud swoosh.

Maeve turned her head, her breath hitching. She braced herself to see Preston.

Instead, Victoria Mercer stepped out into the hallway.

Preston’s mother wore her usual expression of cold, polished disdain. Before Maeve could even process the older woman’s presence, Victoria moved. Her hand lashed out with a terrifying, brutal speed.

A sharp, stinging force cracked across Maeve’s face.

The slap echoed down the corridor like a gunshot. Maeve’s head jerked to the side. She stumbled backward, her grip failing. The high heels slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor borders. Pure shock paralyzed her muscles. The skin of her cheek burned intensely from the physical strike. She raised a trembling hand to her face, her mouth open, but no words came out.

"Hold her down!" Victoria barked at the security guards.

The two men hesitated, glancing between Maeve and the open office door. Maeve stood frozen, the betrayal and the physical strike rendering her immobile.

Then, from inside the office, a voice finally cut through the ringing in Maeve’s ears.

"Mom, what are you doing!?" Preston yelled.

Maeve’s eyes darted toward the sound, but her cheek stung too fiercely for her to form a single word of response.

Victoria didn't flinch at her son's voice. She kept her glaring eyes locked on Maeve, her upper lip curling into a sneer of pure revulsion. "I do not understand why you would ever actually think my son would marry someone of your pathetic status. You are nothing. I said hold her down! Today, I will teach this woman a lesson she will never forget!"