Step Aside: Dear Ex

Episode8

Thora’s POV

By the time I got home that evening, my face was plastered across every gossip site in the city.

“Billionaire Brothers at War Over One Woman.”

“Thora Greenwood Pregnant Again? Mystery Child Revealed.”

“Palmer Family Secrets Uncovered.”

I couldn’t breathe. Every headline was like a knife.

I slammed my laptop shut, tossed it across the couch, and dragged both hands down my face.

How did my life get here? How did I become a circus show for strangers to laugh at?

Avis peeked from the hallway, clutching her teddy bear. Her eyes were wide, curious.

“Mommy… why were you on TV again?”

My heart cracked. I forced a smile, crouching down to her level. “Don’t worry about that, baby. People just like making stories out of nothing.”

“Are you in trouble?” she whispered.

God. Out of the mouths of children.

I shook my head quickly, hugging her. “No, angel. Mommy’s fine.”

She didn’t believe me. I could feel it in the way her little arms clung to me tighter than usual.

The next morning at Vexler, walking through the lobby felt like walking into a lion’s den.

Eyes followed me. Whispers buzzed in corners. Phones lifted just low enough to look like they weren’t recording.

I wanted to scream. I held myself up straight, instead, and my heels rattling like I was the heiress of the place.

There was a vase of fresh lilies to meet me in my office. No card this time, but I didn’t need one. Quentin had found another way to crawl into my day.

I shoved them into the trash.

A sharp knock rattled my door. “Ms. Greenwood, you’re needed in the boardroom.”

I froze. Needed? Boardroom? That was never a good sign.

The room was already full when I walked in — executives, managers, half of them pretending they weren’t waiting to eat me alive. And at the head of the table…

Luke.

Of course.

He sat with that cool, controlled expression, like yesterday’s scandal hadn’t happened at all. But I caught the faintest twitch in his jaw when our eyes met.

“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Greenwood,” Mr. Vexler said tightly. “We have a… situation.”

The projector lit up. My face. Luke’s arm around my waist. That cursed moment splashed across the screen.

Every angle. Every headline. Every humiliating caption.

Heat crawled up my neck. My stomach twisted.

Get yourself straight, one of the members of the board insisted.

I do not owe anybody an account of my personal life and I flung it out before I could hold myself in.

The room dropped into silent stupor.

I swallowed hard. “What matters is my work. My campaigns have doubled revenue in three months. My image built this company’s recent success. And unless my personal life suddenly stops selling clothes, I suggest we move on.”

Murmurs. Disapproving looks. But no one argued.

Luke drew himself up in his chair, and grinned a little who knows why.

I wanted to strangle him.

After the meeting, I stormed out, heels clicking furiously against the marble floor. Luke followed, of course.

“You handled that well,” he said casually, catching up beside me.

“Shut up.”

“Really, you did. You turned their knives into applause.”

I whirled on him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You don’t get to play savior after you caused this mess. You think I don’t know what you did? That little stunt with the reporter? Claiming me like I was—like I was yours—”

His eyes darkened. “You are mine.”

The words lodged in my chest. Dangerous. Heavy. Too much like ownership, too much like Quentin.

I shoved past him, my pulse hammering. “Don’t you dare put me in chains again. Not you. Not him. Not anyone.”

And then my phone buzzed. Again.

I pulled it out of my bag, about to beat it up the wall.

But this time it wasn’t Quentin.

It was my lawyer.

“Thora,” her voice cracked through the speaker, urgent. “We need to talk. Quentin’s filed a petition for visitation rights with Avis. He’s pushing for custody.”

The hallway spun around me.

I ended the call without answering, my whole body trembling.

Across from me, Luke’s smirk vanished. His eyes searched mine, cautious now.

“What is it?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, voice breaking.

“He’s coming for my daughter.”