Chapter 2 - The Aftershocks
The cool autumn air hit my face like a refreshing wave as I walked away from The Charleston and toward where my car was parked three blocks away. My hands were steady, but my heart hammered against my ribs with the residual adrenaline of a battle twenty years in the making.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
I pulled it out. It was a text message from Erin, my closest friend and confidante: How did it go? Did the grenade go off?
I tapped out a quick reply: The pin is out, the bomb went off, and there's nothing left standing. Call you when I get home.
By the time I unlocked my apartment door in the Back Bay, my phone was ringing continuously.
Caller ID: Mother.
I silenced the ringer, tossed my keys onto the entryway table, and poured myself a glass of sparkling water. I knew what was coming. The frantic apologies, the pleas to understand Melissa’s fragile emotional state, the desperate attempts to glue back together a porcelain doll that had always been cracked at the core.
Twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang.
I walked slowly to the door, peering through the peephole.
It wasn't my mother.
It was Jake.
He stood in the dimly lit hallway, his tie loosened, his jacket unbuttoned, looking exhausted and profoundly shaken.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open, leaning against the frame.
“Jake. It’s past ten o'clock. How did you even find my address?”
“HR emergency contact records,” Jake said quietly, offering a self-deprecating smile. “I had access to employee files for regional reporting. I... I remembered your address from a shipping manifest I signed last month.”
He swallowed hard, looking down at the floor before meeting my eyes.
“Olivia—Ms. Bennett—I came here because I needed to apologize properly. Not just as an employee, but as a human being. What happened tonight... it’s entirely my fault for believing her without checking the facts.”
“Come in, Jake,” I sighed, stepping aside to let him enter.
The apartment was quiet, minimalist, and peaceful—the absolute antithesis of the chaotic, emotionally exhausting household I had grown up in. I motioned for him to sit on the sofa while I poured a glass of water and handed it to him.
“Drink,” I instructed gently.
He took the glass, murmuring a thank-you. “I went straight back to our apartment—her apartment,” he corrected himself bitterly, correcting the slip of the tongue. “I packed my bags while she screamed, cried, and threw a porcelain vase at my head. She told me I was ruining her life, that I was falling for your ‘trap.’”
“She really believes she’s the victim, doesn't she?” I murmured, sitting across from him in an armchair.
“She’s delusional,” Jake said fiercely. “For two years, she fed me this elaborate story about how her family abandoned her for being too successful, how her older sister was a bitter, jealous harpy who lived off your parents' pity. She even showed me edited text messages—screenshots she must have manufactured herself—to ‘prove’ how toxic you were.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “She’s been practicing that kind of manipulation since we were kids. If I got an A on a math test, she told our parents I cheated. If I made friends at school, she told them those friends were a bad influence. She couldn't bear the thought of sharing any spotlight.”
Jake rubbed his temples, looking genuinely sick to his stomach. “And here I was, thinking she was just a sweet, misunderstood girl protecting her peace. When I realized tonight that you were my boss—the executive who fought for my promotion, the person who actually valued my work—I felt like my entire reality had inverted.”
“What happens now, Jake?” I asked quietly. “At Meridian, I mean. Does this change your employment status?”
Jake looked up sharply, panic flashing in his eyes. “Wait. Are you going to fire me? Because of a conflict of interest, or because of what happened with Melissa? I swear to you, my personal life has zero bearing on my performance—!”
“Relax, Jake,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m a professional. You are one of my best account managers. Your personal relationship with my estranged sister has nothing to do with your capability to run the logistics department. Your job is safe.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. “Thank you, Olivia. Truly.”
“That said,” I added, my tone turning businesslike, “since you are no longer with her, I expect complete discretion regarding our professional relationship moving forward. Meridian’s HR department doesn't need workplace drama.”
May you like
“Understood. Absolutely,” Jake said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. He looked back at me with a lingering expression of deep respect. “For what it’s worth... your family missed out on an incredible daughter. And Melissa is going to realize very soon that she just burned down her entire life.”
“She burned it down herself, Jake,” I said softly. “I just stopped holding the bucket of water for her.”
