Annika’s tears came out of nowhere. Xavier held her gently, his brow furrowing slightly. She’d gotten way more emotional lately—this was the second time in just two days she’d broken down in front of him.

In the past, Annika hardly ever cried. Even when the Turner family threatened her, she’d only get a little misty-eyed, mumbling apologies over and over but never actually letting a tear fall.

Xavier softly brushed her cheek with his thumb, swiping the tears away as they fell. “What’s going on? Are you still upset about earlier?”

He figured the blowout with Molly must have shaken her. “We’ll head to the manor tomorrow and give her a piece of our mind.”

Annika, eyes still red, shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. Who’s actually going to confront her—you or me?”

“Why don’t we, uh, wreck her garden instead?” he suggested, the corner of his mouth twitching, though he knew he’d never actually destroy his mother’s prized flower beds. “We could tear up all her beloved roses, scatter the petals everywhere. Those blooms are her pride and joy. How does that sound?”

Emma, listening from the side, couldn’t help but be taken aback by how far Xavier would go to cheer Annika up.

When Xavier tried to steer the conversation toward their in-law troubles, Annika felt a wave of exhaustion. She couldn’t bring herself to care about those relationships. Molly had never liked her, right from the start. Annika had bent over backward to win her over for Xavier’s sake, but it had gotten her nowhere. The more she groveled, the less respect Molly gave her.

Xavier kept soothing her. “No more anger, no more sadness, okay? Whatever you bought today, it’s on me.”

Annika looked at him. “I didn’t buy much—just some winter stuff for my dad.”

Xavier let out a soft chuckle. “I had a massage chair shipped from Germany for your dad. It got here this afternoon. We’ll take it over tomorrow. It’s custom-made with head massage functions—should really help with his neurological rehab.”

Annika’s mood slowly started to lift.

Xavier knew her inside out, and he knew her soft spot—her dad. He was her Achilles’ heel. Over the years, Xavier had taken exceptional care of her father. He’d arranged the best specialists, top-tier caregivers, and every single week—no matter how swamped he was—he carved out half a day to meet with the medical team, reviewing Andrew’s progress and mapping out next steps. Hell, last week when he was in South Africa, he still joined the conference call, time difference be damned. The doctors would often reassure Annika, “With Xavier in charge of your dad’s care, you can breathe easy. He just greenlit a million-dollar budget for 24/7 brainwave monitoring and custom drug development tailored to your father’s genetic and cellular profile. It’s leagues ahead of anything else out there.”

Annika couldn’t help but be moved.

Seeing her mood improve, Emma stepped in. “Annika, why don’t you let Xavier drive you home? You’ve had a bit to drink, so just take it easy.”

Annika nodded. “Okay. Drive safe.”

Xavier replied, “I will. I’ll text you when I get home.”

Annika turned, then paused. “Oh wait—I need to use the restroom first.”

Ah, the awkwardness of being stuck alone with your bestie’s husband while she’s in the bathroom.

Emma had never known a minute to drag on so long. She kept stealing glances at the restroom door, willing Annika to come back. The pub was toasty warm, but Xavier’s presence cast an icy chill. He had this unsettling ability to make even the coziest room feel cold.

Emma had barely exchanged a word alone with Xavier since meeting him. As Annika’s best friend, she always kept it strictly boundary-appropriate, steering clear of one-on-one chats. But now…

“Hey, Xavier. You need to be good to Annika, you hear?”

Xavier dropped his gaze, a hint of amusement flickering over his face. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You are,” Emma admitted, “but you’re also really good to Lina. So good, actually, that it kind of makes what you do for Annika feel… less special.”

Xavier stayed silent for a beat. Then, “It’s different. Annika gets why I do what I do.”

“Gets what? That Bowen thing?” Emma frowned. “You know that wasn’t entirely her fault.”

Xavier’s stare went arctic.

Emma felt the temperature drop and shut her mouth. She was, admittedly, a little scared of him, but she couldn’t let it slide—not when it came to Annika. After the accident, Annika would spend night after night at O’Malley’s, drinking herself into a weepy, exhausted mess. One night, blind drunk, she tried to smash an empty bottle against her own head. Emma grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing, trying to hurt yourself?”

“I have to pay for what I did,” Annika sobbed. “Guilt demands a price. It’s only fair.”

“Who even are you blaming?” Emma almost shouted. “Life gets messy—nobody asks for tragedy. You didn’t hurt Bowen. You’re just… you’re just…”

She wanted to say Annika was just unlucky, but it felt like a slap in the face to Bowen, who’d been incredible—one of the best men Emma had ever known.

Annika sniffed, slumping against Emma’s shoulder, voice small. “That day, Xavier and I got into this huge fight, and I just… stormed out. Bowen called, asking where I was. I told him I was wandering down Fifth Avenue. He said he’d come find me. I told him not to, that I just needed to clear my head, and I’d head home in a bit. I promised I’d be fine, told him not to worry…”

“Bowen—he promised he wouldn’t come. He said I deserved some space, even asked me to call him once I got home safe…”

“So why? Why did he end up on Oak Street? Why did he come for me anyway and get himself killed in that crash?”

Emma caught the weirdness right away. Fifth Avenue and Oak Street? They’re nowhere near each other—one’s on the south side, the other’s north. At first, she’d figured maybe Bowen had gotten turned around, driving all over the city looking for Annika. But the man knew exactly where she was, so what was he doing on Oak Street?

“So why would Bowen have gotten into an accident on Oak Street if he was headed to Fifth Avenue to find you?” Emma asked quietly.

Annika was quiet for a long time. Then, barely a whisper: “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

And suddenly, it clicked for Emma. Of course.

Everyone knew Bowen had gone out that night because of Annika. Everyone knew he’d been on his way to her. At this point, it didn’t matter if the accident happened on Oak Street or the moon. The narrative was set in stone.

Even if Bowen hadn’t been driving to Annika at all, it was too late to change the story. Annika couldn’t exactly argue, ‘But I was on Fifth Avenue, and he died on Oak Street, so I’m not responsible.’ Not without sounding like she was deflecting blame onto a dead man.

Annika was shackled by guilt, utterly convinced she’d played a part in Bowen’s death.

It was a lose-lose situation.

Nobody blames the dead. Nobody questions the decisions of someone who’s no longer here. So all the blame, every last ounce of it, landed squarely on Annika’s shoulders.

On the drive back, Annika James was starting to feel sleepy. The wine she'd had at Xavier Parker's place wasn't as fine as the bottles in his cellar, but even the cheap stuff packed a punch. She frowned, swaying slightly in her seat, and complained, "Can't you drive any smoother? Why's it so bumpy?"

Xavier raised an eyebrow and glanced at her, amused by her kinda unreasonable complaint. She was pretty endearing like this.

"The road's full of potholes from all the trucks. Even a Ferrari couldn't glide over 'em."

Annika pointed out the window. "Look at that car, it's not bouncing around, it's just cruising along so smooth."

"You only think it looks smooth from out here. If you were inside, you'd be bouncing up and down, too."

"Nonsense. You're just a crappy driver."

"Yeah, yeah," Xavier grinned, "I'm the second-worst driver in the world."

"Why second?" Annika murmured sleepily, eyes closing. "Who's the worst?"

Of course, it was Annika herself—who once, during a driving lesson, knocked over traffic cones, panicked, and refused to go back, never getting her license.

Xavier said, "My star, my Annika will always be number one."

Whether she heard him or not, Annika dozed off, the gentle motion of the car and the wine lulling her to sleep.

When they got home, Xavier carried her inside. Since she'd overindulged and couldn't exactly shower, he gently undressed her and wiped her down with a warm cloth. The house was warm, and her cool skin felt soothing beneath his fingertips.

A few times, Xavier nearly lost control; it was torture. But he didn't want to make her uncomfortable or wake her, so he held back. Once he'd dressed her and tucked her in, he took a cold shower. When he climbed into bed, he wrapped an arm around her waist. She murmured, "Ah, so cold."

Xavier chuckled softly. After a cold shower, how could he be anything but chilly? Still, he moved away a bit, letting his body warm up before pulling Annika close again.

—

When Annika woke the next morning, Xavier was already gone. The spot beside her was cool, meaning he'd left a while ago. Checking her phone, she saw it was nine o'clock.

She shot up, puzzled why her eight o'clock alarm hadn't gone off. When she checked, it had been turned off. Annika, who prided herself on her reliable memory, was positive she'd set it. After a moment, she called Xavier.

"Did you turn off my alarm?"

"Yeah," Xavier replied, his voice barely audible over the background noise. "I turned it off so you could sleep in."

Annika clenched her fists. "Did it ever occur to you that I set that alarm for a reason? Maybe I actually needed to get up?"

There was a pause before Xavier said, "Oh, sorry. I just thought maybe it was a glitch since you never get up before eleven."

Annika gritted her teeth. "Did you forget we're supposed to visit my dad today?"

"My dear Annika," Xavier sighed, "I haven't forgotten. That's why I came to the office early to handle some things. I've sent Rayan to wait for you at the door. You head there first, and I'll be no more than half an hour late."

Annika instinctively wanted to ask if he'd actually show up, but she held back. Never mind. She hung up, got ready quickly, and opened her closet. From among the high-end coats, she chose a cream wool coat she'd bought herself; it wasn't pricey but was super comfortable and warm. She paired it with cashmere wide-leg pants and a bright blue scarf—her father once told her a pop of bright color in winter gave a lively look.

Once ready, Annika left the house. At the door, she found a food container. The moment she opened it, she recognized the meticulous handiwork of their housekeeper. A note was tucked inside.

"Mrs. Parker, Mr. Parker mentioned you had an early start today, so I packed some breakfast for you. Safe travels."

Annika smiled slightly, folded the note carefully, and put it in her pocket before grabbing the breakfast and getting into Rayan's car.

Inside, a faint cinnamon scent lingered. Annika noticed but didn't comment. Instead, she asked, "Is Xavier really busy today?"

Rayan hesitated, then nodded. "Mostly dealing with PR stuff. It's a busy time."

"Did something happen that needs PR?" Annika asked.

Rayan couldn't say much, so he replied vaguely, "Nothing major. Mr. Parker will deal with it."

Seeing his reluctance, Annika decided not to push, figuring it was company business.

By the time Annika reached the care home, it was ten forty-two. In the hallway outside her father's room, she spotted a familiar woman on the phone, looking a bit annoyed. Seeing Annika, the woman ended the call and faced her.

Annika approached, greeting, "Mom."

Ocean Watkins, Annika's mother, was forty-five but looked well-maintained, exuding an elegance straight out of an old movie. Annika had inherited her mother's beauty and was considered even more striking.

Despite this, her relationship with her mother was nowhere near as close as the one with her father. Ocean and Annika's father, Andrew, divorced when Annika was ten—Andrew's constant involvement with the Parker family was a life Ocean no longer wanted. She chose to leave, and Annika stayed with her father, who continued to send Ocean a generous portion of his income after the divorce.

When Annika was eleven, Ocean remarried and had a son, Timothy. Since then, interactions between Annika and her mother dwindled to birthdays or holidays, often with Timothy in tow. Whenever Annika tried to connect with Ocean, Timothy's cries would draw Ocean away, leaving Annika feeling like an outsider watching her mother dote on another child.

Even now, those memories still stung.

Since Andrew's accident, Ocean rarely visited the care home, so this was the first time Annika had seen her mother here.

"Mom, what brings you here today?" Annika asked first.

Ocean seemed put off. "Are you implying I don't visit your father enough?"

"I didn't mean it that way," Annika replied. She considered saying more, but let it go. "Let's go see Dad."

"Your father's asleep," Ocean said, sitting down on a bench by the room. "I need to talk to you about something. Sit down."

Annika pressed her lips together but complied.

Ocean's gaze swept over Annika's outfit, and she sighed with clear disapproval. "Annika, you're Xavier Parker's wife now, married to the CEO of Parker Group, a figure in high society. Why dress like a teenager? Look at that wool coat—it has no shape. And those pants…" She shook her head. "Annika, you're not a schoolgirl anymore. Dressing isn't just about being comfortable; it's about presenting yourself. In this outfit, who's going to recognize you as Mrs. Parker?"

Annika James barely flinched. By now, she was used to it.

It seemed like Ocean Watkins had never been satisfied with her, not even when she was a child. When Annika was little, Ocean would gripe about her table manners—how she was too rough, too carefree, nowhere near ladylike. Once Annika got older and started school, Ocean was quick to rip into her grades, brushing her off as scatterbrained and only concerned with her looks. She hated Annika’s bangs, always insisting she tie her hair back, and constantly picked apart her style, calling it tacky.

Even after Ocean divorced Andrew James, any run-in brought the same snide remarks.

At first, Annika took it to heart, but her dad, Andrew, was always there to pick her back up.

“Girls don’t have to fit some mold. There’s no rulebook for how a girl—or a boy—should be. Everyone’s got their own vibe, whether they’re quiet or loud. Annika, you just be you.”

“Grades aren’t everything. Our Annika just needs to be kind. And of course you love fashion—you’re stunning, sweetheart.”

“Your bangs? Totally adorable. You’ve got gorgeous, thick hair. Thank God you didn’t get your dad’s bald spot.”

“Wear whatever you want. You’re gorgeous no matter what, even in an old potato sack.”

His constant support patched up the cracks in Annika’s heart, shaping her into someone sunny, confident, and full of life.

“...And another thing,” Ocean rattled on, barely pausing, “why do you look so wiped? You used to always have a smile on your face. You didn’t sleep well last night?”

Annika had no interest in explaining. She knew her mother would never truly get it, or even care.

“Mom, you said you wanted to talk. What’s going on?”

Ocean seemed to feel the distance growing between them. She hesitated, then said, “It’s about your brother.”

Annika dropped her gaze, already guessing what this was about.

“Your brother’s starting high school soon, and I was hoping you could talk to Xavier, ask him to help get Timothy into Greenfield Academy.”

Ocean’s second husband had health issues that ruled out natural conception, so Ocean had Timothy through IVF. Timothy had been fragile from birth—he even came down with myocarditis in elementary school and had to repeat a year. Now, at thirteen, he was finally finishing grade school and prepping for high school. His grades had always been lousy, so he was headed to whatever local school his zoning dictated. But Ocean was dead set on him not ending up in just any school.

“Timothy’s really bright, just a little mischievous right now,” Ocean explained. “It’s not his fault—kids naturally love to play and have fun. Boys mature later than girls, but they catch up fast with the right teachers and the right environment.”

Annika listened in silence, seeing the stark difference between this affectionate mother and the hypercritical one she’d grown up with. So her mother was capable of being warm and understanding. When it came to Timothy, happiness was clearly more important than grades.

Ocean had never shown that kind of affection and understanding toward Annika.

Annika lowered her head again, not answering right away.

Ocean went on, sharing stories of Timothy’s little antics—the same things Annika had done as a kid and gotten scolded for. But now, they were a source of pride for Ocean, all because it was Timothy.

Over the course of twenty-plus years, Annika had slowly come to accept that maybe her mother just didn’t love her the way she’d always hoped.

But now, she still couldn’t wrap her head around why Ocean favored Timothy so much.

She was Ocean’s child, too.

Why did her mother love another kid more than her?

Annika glanced at her watch. 11:20 already. She’d been waiting nearly forty minutes, and Xavier Parker still hadn’t shown up.

“Annika James, are you even listening to me? Why are you being so rude?” Ocean snapped, catching Annika’s distraction.

Annika turned to face her mother. “I don’t want to help.”

Ocean looked stunned. “What?”

“I said,” Annika stood up, “I don’t want Xavier involved. Your son’s problems are yours to handle.”

Ocean blinked, trying to process her daughter’s words. Then she shot to her feet, disbelief written all over her face.

“Annika James, do you even realize what you’re saying? What do you mean, ‘your son’? He’s your brother!” Ocean’s anger boiled over, her voice shaking. “Why are you so—?”

“So what? Are you going to slap another label on me? Tear me down again?” Annika met Ocean’s eyes, calm on the surface but with hurt carefully hidden underneath. “You’ve always been so quick to define me by the worst things. You’ve said things like, ‘Why are you so dumb? Why are you such a disappointment? So manipulative and selfish?’ ... Mom, do you even realize how damaging those words are to a kid?”

Ocean was momentarily speechless, instinctively defensive. “That was years ago. Why are you still holding onto that?”

Annika let out a soft, bitter laugh. Belittling her had clearly become second nature to Ocean.

Annika shrugged. “I’m rude, petty, insignificant, manipulative—and nowhere near as deserving as Timothy. I’m not even fit to be your daughter.”

Ocean stared at Annika, sensing something different in her daughter, something she didn’t recognize. After a beat, Ocean’s voice softened. “Annika, that’s not what I meant. I just... I knew you were sensible, so I was harder on you. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m sorry.”

Watching her mother try to smooth things over, Annika felt a deep, aching sadness.

She remembered the first time Ocean had reached out, after Annika married Xavier, suggesting they grab lunch and go shopping. Annika had still been in mourning for Bowen Flores, just getting through each day. When Ocean called, Annika felt like she’d spotted a flicker of light in all that darkness.

But when Ocean saw her daughter looking so disheveled, all she said was, “Annika, why are you so down? You’re Xavier Parker’s wife now. You represent him—his status, his reputation. I wasn’t around much before, but now that you’re Mrs. Parker, let’s stay in touch. Your uncle misses you, too. Let’s have dinner tonight, and bring Xavier. Your uncle’s company has a project that could use his help.”