The night was cool, but the air around her felt thick, suffocating. She was no longer in her bed but on that street, under the dark, indifferent sky. Rain poured down, each drop hitting her skin like a thousand pinpricks, soaking her through, and filling her ears with the relentless sound of water colliding with asphalt. Tatum's breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes wide as they fixed on the car in front of her. Her parents' car. The headlights illuminated their faces, smiling, oblivious. She tried to scream, to call them back, but her voice was gone. She was frozen.
- Mum? Dad? she cried.
Then it happened—an ear-splitting crash, the violent twist of metal on metal. She saw the glass explode, jagged shards flying out like they were alive. Her parents' faces twisted in fear and pain, and her feet, her legs—she couldn't move. She was pinned there, helpless. Her back was seared with pain, as if the scar had been torn open anew, sending shockwaves down her spine. She felt the twisted metal tearing into her skin, her bones like fragile glass threatening to shatter under pressure. Her back burned, the scar alive, an aching snake from neck to tailbone, crawling under her skin.
Her muscles locked, her arms stiff and numb, and she couldn't escape the helplessness or the horror. Her body, once again, betrayed her. Every attempt to move only deepened the pain, and she could feel the old injury throbbing, holding her prisoner. All she could do was watch as her parents vanished into a blur of rain and wreckage. The agony was paralyzing, bone-deep. Her face twisted in pain, but there was no one to see. No one to hear. The rain pounded down harder, mocking her.
And then, as if in cruel clarity, her parents' faces appeared, close, almost touching her. Their voices whispered—echoes of love, but haunted now, shadowed by the fear she had never seen in them before. And then silence.
Her body jerked awake in her bed, cold sweat clinging to her skin, her muscles stiff and locked in that familiar ache. The scar on her back pulsed like a heartbeat, a silent witness to everything she tried to bury. A hiss escaped her lips as she touched her neck.
- God damn...
But in the quiet of her room, she knew it was still there, a reminder of the pain she carried alone, and why she kept her armour firmly in place.
----------------
Her feet landed squarely on the coffee table as she sipped her coffee, ignoring the deal she had with her boss. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the bitter taste, and she muttered in disappointment:
"Awful service."
"What do you mean?" Kyle shot back, slightly offended.
"The coffee, it tastes like feet," she sighed, massaging her head. "Is the water in that machine spoiled?"
The headache still lingered from last night's scuffle. And yet... who was that person, and how did he know her address? Everything had become personal, way too personal.
The car chase, the home invasion, the fight. She picks up her phone, checking on the last message to the Doctor, her friend as she bit her lip in frustration.
"I made it myself," he added, clearly irritated.
"Ms. Joy, please have the decency to remove your feet from the table—otherwise, there will be consequences," Aiden burst into the office, ignoring for a second that the woman completely forgot about their deal. "Kyle, I need Ms. Barbara's phone number."
Tatum looked at Aiden, then her eyes fell on Kyle, baffled. Since when did he make her coffee? And why would he make it? Was she overthinking it? Did he put something in it? Drugs? Pills? Or worse... laxatives?
Ah, Tate, keep it together! Too many thoughts... my head's killing me!
"Please, next time, let the machine do its job," she said, raising her feet and resting them on the couch.
Kyle rolled his eyes at her arrogance, while Aiden, still standing, eyed her with growing exasperation. Sometimes, he wondered if she was raised by wolves in the forest. Male wolves, at that point.
"Don't you have Ms. Barbara's number saved?" his assistant's question jolted him back to the moment.
"Her personal phone number" he clarified, glancing back at Tatum.
Why is she so pale?
She turned, visibly bored, massaging her head. A small groan slipped out as she gestured half-heartedly at a tiny space next to her.
"You're so persistent! Want to sit? There's plenty of room on the edge over there. Otherwise, I'd ask you, just for today, not to make my headache worse."
Aiden paused, scrutinizing her for a moment before shaking his head. This woman is impossible. He slumped into a chair, biting his lip in frustration. He needed a solution, a way out. He couldn't call Ms. Martinez and regretfully inform her of errors in the contract—they'd lose her confidence, and it would damage the company's reputation. Nor could he terminate the contract outright; she was an investor with huge potential—a once-in-a-lifetime find. And if he didn't cancel, Magnus would keep riding him... even if, technically, the mistakes weren't his fault.
"Damn it," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, his gaze landing on the woman before him.
Tatum looked back at him as if seeing him completely, deeply, as if she could take all his burdens and lock them away in a box, sinking it into the ocean floor. But she didn't. She shook her head quickly, making him look away immediately.
What the hell? Did I just...? Good grief, get a grip, Aiden!
"I'm hungry," she said, standing up.
Of course. When is she not hungry?
"We don't have time for food, Ms. Joy," Kyle's voice rang with barely concealed irritation. "We have more pressing matters to deal with!"
Tatum stopped, sizing him up before tilting her head.
"Did I invite you to join me?"
"What—"
"Did I ask you to come eat with me?"
"No, I—"
"Oh, please. You're depressing," she shot back, exiting the office while massaging her temples.
Kyle froze, one hand raised, while Aiden smirked to himself. He couldn't deny it; her personality intrigued him—intensely, even.
Throughout the day, Aiden and Kyle tried to find a solution to the situation, ultimately deciding to terminate the contract with Ms. Martinez. Frustrated, Aiden dialled Vivienne's number, ready to ask her to connect him with Ms. Barbara's secretary to break the bad news. He let out a heavy sigh:
"Yes, sir?" Vivienne's voice crackled on the other end. "How can I help?"
"I need you to call Lorelai, you know, Barbara's secretary, I need Barbara's, personal phone number" he said, hesitating in thought.
"Shall I tell her about the contract? Have you decided to end it?" Vivienne's quiet voice made him pause.
His finger froze mid-dial when a text came through.
Tatum M. Joy: You could end the contract in America and open a new one in Europe. Italy would be best—it'd be legally advantageous for both. There would be losses, but not as much as you'd lose with this client.
"Sir? You've gone silent!"
"We need to reframe the contract," he replied with a husky voice, coughing for a second, looking out the window.
As a small smile spread across his face, he moved closer to the large windows in his office.
This woman is something else!
"Hey, Kyle, you hungry?" Aiden asked, playing with his phone, a smile in his voice.
Kyle's gaze lifted toward the now rejuvenated boss before him, and as he started to speak, his boss interrupted him once more:
"Looks like Ms. Joy has eaten," Aiden added with a grin, shutting the door behind him, leaving Kyle with more questions than answers.
And he was hungry too. And he also needed to speak to her.