Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
For three days, the world outside Sunnyside searched for Miles Harrington. The press speculated whether the billionaire had suffered a nervous breakdown, been kidnapped, or fled the country following financial improprieties. Meanwhile, inside Apartment 3B, Miles was living a life he had never imagined.
He learned that Ivy liked her applesauce warm, but Julian would only eat it cold. He learned that changing a diaper on a squirming toddler required the dexterity of a surgeon, and that reading Goodnight Moon four times in a row was mandatory before naptime.
His hands, usually accustomed to signing multi-million-dollar blueprints and holding crystal glassware, were now covered in washable crayon and smeared banana. And yet, for the first time in his thirty-nine years, Miles felt an extraordinary sense of peace.
On the fourth evening, after the twins had finally fallen asleep, Claire and Miles sat on the small balcony overlooking the quiet Queens street. Wrapped in heavy blankets, they shared a single mug of hot tea.
"You can't hide here forever, Miles," Claire said, watching the steam rise into the cold air. "The news is everywhere. They're saying Harrington Urban Design is going to be sold to the Sterling Group if you don't show up by Friday."
"The Sterling Group?" Miles’s eyes narrowed. "That’s Carter Sterling. He’s been trying to dismantle my father's firm for a decade."
"Your mother is cooperating with him," Claire said quietly. "I saw her interviewed on the morning news. She claimed you were 'unstable' and unable to handle the pressure of the upcoming Hudson Yards project."
Miles let out a bitter laugh. "My mother only cares about power and prestige. When I brought you to dinner two years ago, she asked you within five minutes what family lineage you came from. When you told her your father was a carpenter, she treated you like waitstaff."
"She made it clear I didn't belong in your world," Claire admitted, looking at her knuckles. "And when I found out I was pregnant, I knew she would try to take my babies away. She would have used her high-priced lawyers to prove I was an unfit mother because I didn't have millions in the bank. I was terrified, Miles."
Miles moved closer, his shoulder pressing against hers beneath the heavy blanket. "I would never have let her do that."
"You weren't there, Miles!" Claire’s voice broke, the stored-up pain of twenty-one months spilling over. "You were in London, in Singapore, in Dubai! You were everywhere except with me! When I needed you to tell me everything was going to be okay, I got your secretary telling me you were too busy for personal drama!"
"And Rebecca lied to you," Miles said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark register. "I received a preliminary report from Marcus yesterday via a secure burner phone I bought at the bodega downstairs. Rebecca wasn't just acting on her own initiative."
Claire turned to look at him, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"Rebecca was paid two hundred thousand dollars by a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands," Miles revealed, his knuckles white around the tea mug. "The payments started a week before we broke up. Someone was paying her to isolate me, to intercept your calls, and to ensure we split up."
Claire gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Who? Who would do that?"
"The money came from Sterling Enterprises," Miles said, his gray eyes flashing like steel in the dark. "Carter Sterling didn't just want my company. He wanted to break me personally. He knew you were my anchor, Claire. He knew that if he severed my connection to you, I would throw myself into work until I collapsed, leaving the company vulnerable."
A terrible silence descended upon the balcony. Claire stared at Miles, the realization washing over her like cold water. Their breakup hadn't just been a tragedy of neglect and bad timing—it had been a orchestrated strike by a corporate predator.
Before Claire could speak, the sound of glass shattering echoed from the alleyway behind the apartment building.
Miles instantly pulled Claire behind him, his instincts kicking in. "Stay low," he whispered.
May you like
He peered over the balcony railing. Two men in dark coats were tampering with the building’s main electrical breaker box near the rear fire escape. Seconds later, all the lights in Claire’s apartment flickered and went black.
Inside the bedroom, the twins began to cry in the sudden, pitch-black darkness.
