trophobia it would qualify more as a pantry with a delusion of grandeur. In fact, the one responsible for i

hates me," Sophia sai

retorted, breezing into the kitchen. "She pushes on Sophia and grab

liar home. The old armchair their father had kept sat in the mid

ed by an old tabloid Emma wrote for. The tabloid shrie

rize material but, hey, it p

rning?" Emma asked, glancing b

chipped mug. "But he grumbled about how it's all ju

ical fees would slowly drain the family dry. He had been a stubborn man all his life, but the illness had made

," Emma said, her

h, Em. Work, Dad, and keeping this whole place afloat ... I don't want you to burn out." Emma smi

n arguing with Emma, their father slowly ambled into the kitchen. "Morning,

ket voice. He eyed the food with suspicion. "Thi

le smoothies," Emm

him for a moment before she felt her chest tightening. The once strong body

ma replied and grabbed her bag. She didn't mention that her "work"

he would have ever planned to be there; it was going to be some generic fact-finding mission gathering evid

suade the receptionist into spilling any juicy details, fate (or possibly bad luck) had

ere he was. Adrian

ir of control that was absolute in itself enough to generate its own gravitational pull. But what threw

r brain kicked into overdrive. Sa

rted. Brilliant, Emma.

witched, almost

w can I h

nd said, "Actually, I came here hoping to ask you some questions concerning the recent alle

ggers at Emma since her arrival gasped au

," he said, in

answered, res

while, weighing options. Fina

ike the answers, don't you?"

art racing; this was not how she

glass and chrome, with baristas who could have moonlighted as runway models. Emma fel

ite feeling out of her depth, ord

in his chair, "what exactly do yo

k out a notepad from her bag, flipping it to the p

ta through the new app without proper consent," she s

sed a brow

to admit, though they were of dub

a to confront me head-on?" he aske

ed. "Figured, might as well give it a sho

unexpected sound. Adria

y," he said. "You're fu

he said. "E

earch a little bit before throwing a

though, whether it was out of embarrassment

Cross somehow struck her as more fascinating than the cold, robotic businessman she had imagined; there seemed

ulder. She gently straightened it, feeling a very sore heart at the sight of s

rk?" Sophia

ated. "Int

eresting; as in you got a lead? Or inter

"Don't get any ideas

ith you, everythin

ought that clung to her mind. Adrian Cross was no longer simply a story; he had become a p

ere destined to intertwine i