The phone on the kitchen counter buzzes insistently, its vibration cutting through the quiet hum of the oven timer. Melissa glances at it while carefully peeling off her baking mitts. Sighing, she picks it up, her fingers brushing over the lit screen.
The number on the display makes her pause, and she chews her bottom lip in contemplation. Messages flash before her eyes as she scrolls:
‘Are you free?’
‘Is your hubby home?’
‘If yes, then doesn’t he have work to do?’
‘Who will look over his company if he’s always home??’
‘Is he not serious about his work??’
‘I meant—can I call?’
‘Please?’
A low chuckle escapes her lips despite herself, but she quickly rolls her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she mutters, tapping the screen to call back.
The call is picked up before the first ring even completes. “Ah! It must be my lucky day! Melissa Bennett actually called me!” a deep, theatrical voice booms from the other end.
“Cut the theatrics, Carter,” Melissa counters, her tone dry as she crosses her free arm over her chest. “I didn’t call you because I wanted to. Your avalanche of desperate texts left me no choice.”
“Desperate? Me?” Carter's mock-offended tone makes her grin despite herself.
“And another thing,” she continues, her voice sharp but teasing. “How dare you question my husband’s dedication to his company when you, Mr. Carter Waylon, are texting me instead of focusing on your work?”
Laughter—a deep, rumbly sound that instantly melts her stern exterior—echoes through the line. “Touché, sis. But seriously, I’m willing to miss out on a few billion if it means I get to talk to my big sister. You’ve been ignoring me for ages!”
“Carter...”
“No, seriously! I mean, if I have to give up my entire career to earn back your attention, I’d do it.”
The sincerity laced in his playful tone strikes a chord. Melissa’s lips twitch into a soft smile as warmth replaces her faux irritation. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs, shaking her head.
“Only for you,” Carter replies, his tone softer now. The connection feels stronger than any words they’ve exchanged in weeks, making Melissa realize just how much she’s missed her little brother.
She sighs, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. She shifts her grip on the phone, her free hand fidgeting with the edge of a baking mitten. Tugging at a loose thread, she corrects him softly, “Carter, I haven’t cut you out of my life.”
His scoff crackles through the line, followed by a light but sharp retort, “Oh really? Then why is this only the sixth time we’ve talked on the phone since you married Andrew? That was, what, four years ago? And don’t even get me started on your texting habits.”
Melissa bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the counter. “You know why it’s like this,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a mix of guilt and resignation. “I don’t want anyone knowing that before I was Melissa Bennett, I was Melissa Waylon. If I keep in touch with you, people might connect the dots.”
Carter’s exasperated chuckle is almost tangible. “And you don’t think it’s a little weird that three months after your wedding, one of Waylon Corp’s trillion-dollar branches suddenly partnered with your husband’s company, Bevenco, and turned it into the city’s biggest success story?”
She frowns, her grip tightening on the mitten. “You promised,” she snaps, irritation mingled with unease. “You swore no one would look into it when you gave it as a wedding gift. You said you made sure of that!”
“I did,” Carter assures her, his tone calming. “And I was right. No one’s found anything. It’s been years, Mel.” His voice softens, dipping into seriousness. “Doesn’t that prove I can protect you? That you can stop hiding behind ‘Beau’ and be who you really are—the firstborn of Axel Waylon?”
Melissa swallows hard, her chest tightening at his words.
Carter presses on, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability, “I might’ve been a powerless kid back then, Mel, but not anymore. I’m the second richest man in the nation now. I can protect you. You don’t have to keep running.”
The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken emotions. She wears a small, bittersweet smile as she replies, “I don’t want that, Carter. I want Andrew to love me for who I am, not for any money or family name. This secret needs to stay buried.”
A soft chuckle comes from the other end of the line, filled with a warmth only her brother could offer. “Alright,” Carter says, his voice low and gentle. “I won’t interfere with how you live. All I want is for you to be the happiest woman alive—you deserve that, Mel. But know this: I’ll always look after you from the sidelines. And if you ever need help—any kind of help—don’t hesitate to call me.”
The sincerity in his tone makes her chest tighten. She exhales softly, her words just above a whisper. “Thank you, Carter.” But then curiosity gnaws at her. “Why were you so insistent with those texts?” she asks, leaning against the counter.
His tone shifts, becoming serious again. “I saw the weather report. A nasty storm is heading your way tonight, Mel. And I know how scared you are of thunder—”
Her spine stiffens, a chill creeping through her despite the warmth of the kitchen. The mere mention of a storm dredges up memories of that tiny dark room, those tight ropes, and the thunderous claps. Still, she forces a small laugh, trying to shake it off. “I’ll be fine, Carter. Andrew will be with me.”
There’s a pause on the other end before he sighs. “Alright. Just...stay safe, okay?”
“I will,” she promises, her voice steady even as her stomach knots slightly.
They exchange a few more words—light, comforting fare—before Carter disconnects the call. Melissa stares at the screen for a moment, then, with a deep breath, she sets the phone down. She chews on her bottom lip, her gaze darting to the window as the dark clouds creep closer, smudging the horizon like a bad omen.
Her fingers drum anxiously against the counter before she grabs her phone again. Scrolling to Andrew’s number, she presses the call icon and waits, her heart thudding in time with the ominous rumble of distant thunder.
Ring... Ring... Ring... The call goes unanswered, ending abruptly with the monotone voice of the automated system instructing her to leave a message.
Her frown deepens as she ends the call and dials again, hope battling frustration. But it’s the same result—another voicemail.
Melissa exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. With a hint of trepidation in her voice, she leaves a message. “Andrew, it’s me. Could you come home early tonight?”
Meanwhile, Andrew’s phone lies on his polished mahogany desk, the voicemail notification blinking insistently. But the sound of her message is drowned out by the fervent noises filling his office.
Andrew leans over the desk, his hands gripping the edge as he presses the red-haired woman further against the cold surface. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room as he continues to pound into her from behind.
