Chapter 2

Poppy

The present.

I hate that I remember every detail of that night, like the song that was playing in the distance, the feeling of Andrew's soft sheets under my skin, the pattern of the gilded scrolls on that fucking picture frame of him on his nightstand.

I hate.

I hated it for a very long time.

I blamed myself because part of my actions and non-actions were to blame. It ' s true.

I hated so much until one day, I wanted to change; I needed to rewrite my past. That ' s when I decided to start a new chapter. I gave up on a brother who had given up on me a long time ago. I wanted to date again and make a new memory. By that time, I did want to have sex; I needed it like I needed my next breath. I needed a new memory, even if it was with a stranger. I was determined not to let my entire life be haunted by what Andrew did to me.

He had moved on, and so could I.

But the past plagued me, haunting me every time I went out on a date. That is until Julian, because the first time he looked at me, it was like he saw the shadow of the woman I was. Instead of looking away, he stared right at me, provoking me to get the fuck up and start trying to trust again.

I believe inside every person is a monster lurking; in desperate times, we do terrible things. We preach we want world peace but then justify world wars. We make inventions that can save billions but also kill millions. Humans are good and evil combined.

It ' s impossible to find an angel here on earth; therefore, I just needed to find a man who had learned to cage his beast and not let it run freely as Andrew did.

I finally found that man; I feel Julian ' s eyes on me, wrapping around me like a life vest, trying to keep me afloat when all I want to do was sink. I feel his fingers curling tighter around mine, refusing to let my hand slip from his.

So I threw up all over his boardroom table when I realized that all along Andrew had, in fact, been keeping tabs on me; I ' ve brought a mess, literally, on Julian ' s doorstep and have interrupted his work life with my problems, yet here he is with his Calvary trying to defend me.

I don ' t deserve a man like Julian Sterling.

A throat clears again, " Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt you, Poppy?" Daniel asks. Dan, as in Julian ' s uncle. He joined the party, and fortunately, we moved it to Julian ' s office since the boardroom was now covered in vomit.

Julian ' s fingers pulse against mine, silently trying to coax me to speak. I can ' t speak, nor can I tell him what happened. If I tell him what Andrew did, he ' ll never look at me the same again; he will never want to touch me freely, and I ' ll lose the best thing I ever had, truly being loved and cherished.

Plus, it ' s not like there is anything we could do. It ' s a game of ‘ he said, she said ' at this point. That and there is still the matter of what else happened at that party, what happened after Andrew violated me. You see, that wasn ' t the worst part of the night. It was the spark that ignited a chain of events that forever changed me and killed my brother Peter.

I never really got to mourn the loss of my virginity or feel the sorrow that it was stolen from me. Peter ' s death consumed me, and Henry ' s departure from my life left an emptiness that devoured what was left.

Henry.

He ' s also why I can ' t talk about that party. Clearly, Andrew wasn ' t kidding; he would kill Henry if I so much as whispered what I overheard.

Andrew still traps me. I ' ll never escape.

"Poppy." When Daniel speaks, it's like someone turned up the volume in the room just a notch. Suddenly, I'm all ears and, unfortunately, all nerves too.

I sneak a glance at him. There's something about spotting the family traits he shares with Julian—like that hair, dark brownish black with streaks of silver. Not just any silver, mind you, but the distinguished, 'I've-seen-shit' kind of silver that somehow makes him look more runway-ready than retirement-home chic. His skin's got that sun-kissed glow, similar to Julian's, stretched over what's clearly a gym membership well-used. Muscles and mind are both in top form. Then there's the vibe he gives off. While Julian is my personal human-sized teddy bear making me feel all safe and loved, Daniel is more... let's call it 'walking, talking lie detector with a black belt.'

He's lounging in his chair with an ease that screams, 'You'll talk to me one way or another,' one leg casually thrown over the other. Those eyes, sharp enough to probably cut diamonds, sweep the room. It's like he's doing one of those security scans you see in spy movies, except I half expect him to start narrating, "Subject appears relaxed, but heartbeat suggests consumption of three or more espresso shots."

His fingers tap out this secret Morse code on the armrest, probably spelling 'I know what you did last summer' or something equally CIA-ish.

The way Daniel owns the room without making a big show of it is kind of like a magic trick. One minute, you're aware of this imposing figure, and the next, he's blended into the wallpaper. I wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly pulled a "Now you see me, now you don't" act. Honestly, if being inconspicuous were an Olympic sport, Daniel would be the reigning gold medalist, leaving us mere mortals wondering if we actually saw him or just imagined it.

Julian sweeps his fingers over my wrist, forcing my eyes back down, and then I realize he ' s feeling my pulse.

" When did you start doing freaky spy shit?" I hiss as I jerk my wrist away. Clearly, I ' m lashing out because I am panicking! Daniel and Julian can ' t find out about Andrew.

I stand abruptly and look at my watch. " Julian, your next meeting with the engineers starts in fifteen minutes."

Everyone looks at me like I just pied my own face.

"Poppy," Harper says, her playful voice now full of concern. The look she is giving me is like that of a parent about to send their child to rehab.

I'm deflecting. I know it, and so do they. I can't bear to think about the cameras or the violation. I don't want to. Running away seems easier than facing this.

I angrily exhale, trying to make it sound more like I ' m a dragon and not a petrified woman trying to bury her past. " I ' m at work, and clearly, this has nothing to do with Julian, so let ' s leave it at that. I ' ll figure this out myself." Meanwhile, I've already solved the puzzle.

" Oh, shoot. I forgot to check on Levi ' s research analysis of the market trends. Julian, I wanted to show you those reports before you met with the engineers." I ramble.

I shake my head, plaster on a ditzy smirk, and look at Harper, " Levi is my receptionist. I know it ' s crazy, but this floor has its own reception, too. Levi is doing a student internship. I have to grade him." She glances at Julian with more concern.

I try to add some peppiness to my voice so they don't scent out my fear."You know, Levi had a date with a girl; he got punched in the face trying to help her. It ' s a cute story, well, not cute because he got punched, but…" I wave my hand, " I ' ll tell you that part later. I kind of helped him plan the date. That was weeks ago, and I never got to ask him more about it. That ' s awful of me." I babble on, and it feels good. I hope it makes them forget this interrogation. " Let me go do that now."

" Sit. Down," Harper commands, suddenly donning her 'mom' demeanor as if she's slipped into a fitted pair of mom jeans.

I bounce from foot to foot. "It burns more calories standing. Speaking of which, did you ever get that standing desk you wanted?" I divert, trying to lighten the mood. Then, my eyes shift to Julian, who is silently communicating with his uncle; they exchange a wordless ballet of glances and subtle nods.

Oh God, I'm blowing this. I should just cooperate. I reluctantly yield and sink into my seat.

Harper's eyes narrow into suspicion, morphing into the human equivalent of a bloodhound that's just caught a whiff of something interesting. The determination in her gaze suggests she's about to launch into full-on interrogation mode, and here I am, mentally calculating the nearest exit strategies.

I glance over her shoulder, half-expecting the walls themselves to offer me an escape route. Is it just me, or are they inching closer, slowly closing in as if they're part of some sinister plot to trap me in this conversation? Or maybe I'm just hallucinating, the stress manifesting as claustrophobic architecture.

The room suddenly feels a tad too warm, and a bead of sweat daring to make its presence known starts to bubble on my brow. Harper's relentless scrutiny has this uncanny ability to make the air thicker, the space smaller, and my comfort zone a distant memory. Why can't I get the sexual jokester version of her right now?

" There were thirteen cameras inside your apartment. Your brand-new apartment!" She pauses to let her words simmer. There ' s no need for the heat to sink in. I ' ve been burned before; my skin is so thick now I ' m trying to use it as a defense shield.

" Poppy, someone was so invested in watching you that they sent a man inside your home to install cameras," Harper repeats, her voice laced with fear and frustration. Chills erupt down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. She stands and crowds my space, grabbing my hands, her grip tight and desperate. "You gotta talk to me, Pops. Tell me what ' s going on. No one goes to this extent for nothing." Her eyes are wide, almost frantic. The pain in her voice makes my lungs quiver and her entire body tense with anxiety. " Why would someone want to watch you?" She presses in a stern tone.

I lick my lips nervously and cast a glance at Daniel. He's perched like an owl in a tree, observing the room with an almost eerie calm. For a moment, I half expect him to start rotating his head 360 degrees, his gaze piercing through me as if he's contemplating my place in the natural order—prey, perhaps? Or maybe he's just plotting my murder in his head. You know, a typical uncle protecting his nephew from a crazy girlfriend.

I muster up my most innocent shrug, " I ' m a likable person." Yeah, because that's going to cut it.

" Cut the fucking shit, Poppy. What the hell is going on?" Harper's voice cuts through the room like a knife. She suddenly stands and slaps her palms on the conference table, sending a jolt through me. It's the kind of sound that says negotiations have failed and ended. War is coming.

My next exhale feels like I'm deflating, a balloon of denial letting out its last pathetic wheeze. I ' m a terrible liar. It's not that I've had a lot of practice at deception; it's more about creatively navigating around the truth. Yes, there's a hairline difference, but it's there. I never lied about my past; I just covered it up and buried it so deep Harper never sensed it. At the time, we had Peter's death to mourn, but now I have nothing to pivot our emotions to.

I feel exactly as I did days after the party: trapped. It's an uncomfortably familiar sensation. I can ' t mourn or consider what I just found out because I have to find a way to escape it and move their eyes away from the truth. I can ' t freak out over Harper's bombshell—multiple cameras in my apartment. Processing this nightmare is a luxury I can't afford when every instinct is screaming at me to find the nearest exit, literal or metaphorical. Keeping my cool is the only option; even if inside, I'm a chaotic mess scrambling for a semblance of control.

Whatever is scrawled across my face might as well be in neon lights because Harper reads it like her favorite mystery novel.

" Holy shit!" She gasps, her eyes widening as if she's just stumbled upon the plot twist of the century. " You know who is doing this, don ' t you? You ' re covering up for them."

The way she says it, it's not even a question—it's a revelation. An 'aha' moment that would make any detective proud, except this detective is my friend, and this isn't a case we're solving—it's my life unraveling.

Hyperventilating would be considered slower than what my heart is pumping right now. " I ' m gonna go." I glance at Julian because he ' s my boss, but his eyes look hurt.

" You will sit the fuck down," Harper growls as she grabs me by the shoulders. " I will take off my bra and use it to restrain you to that chair." She gently pushes me back down into the seat. I fall into it like jello on a hot Dallas day.

Kent claps his hands and leans back in his chair, " Take it off, Siren," he cheers. "I didn't realize you were into bondage."

" Enough!" Daniel silences Kent as if he were a small boy again.

I don ' t know what to do. I feel so broken yet surrounded by people holding glue, wanting to put me back together again desperately. The problem is I can ' t be assembled again because not every part of me is here; some parts are buried with my parents and brother, and others are being held captive by Andrew. You can try to patch me up and make me look whole again, but those gaping holes? They're just biding their time, waiting for the slightest pressure to tear them wide open and let my happiness bleed out again.