THAT KIND OF LOVE

CHAPTER 8: GUILT TASTE LIKE POISON

MAYA

The morning after Alex assaulted Mark, NYC sunlight cut through the kitchen windows in sharp gold strips.

It should’ve felt warm.

It didn’t.

I sat at the marble kitchen island in my parents house, a place I’d grown up in but never really lived.

The island was white quartz, cold under my elbows.

In front of me sat a bowl of fruit I’d cut myself — mango, pineapple, strawberries.

Red, yellow, orange.

Colors that should make you hungry.

I poked a piece of mango with my fork and watched the juice run down the side of the bowl.

It tasted like cardboard.

Nothing tasted like anything since everything and with that weight in my chest.

The back door clicked.

Heels on tile.

Then the smell of her perfume Chanel

No. 5, the same one she’d worn to

every gala since I was 10.

“Morning, baby girl.”

Mom’s voice was bright, practiced.

She breezed in wearing cream linen

pants and a silk blouse, hair in that

sleek twist she called “effortless” that

took 40 minutes.

She set her Hermès clutch down on the counter with a soft thud.

Her eyes did what they always did — a quick scan.

Plate.

Face.

Posture.

Assessment complete.

I forced a smile. “Morning, Mom.”

She went to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of sparkling water.

The cap hissed when she opened it.

She leaned against the counter,watching me push fruit around.

“You barely touched your breakfast,” she said.

Not a question.

An observation.

Mom missed nothing.

“You look tired. Dark circles.”

The fork stilled in my hand.

“I’m fine just school stress.”

“Oh my baby” she pats my hair.

She took a sip, ice clinking.

Then she set the glass down.

The sound was louder than it

should’ve been.

“Can we talk?”

My stomach tightened.

“Talk about what?”

“About you and Alex.”

She said his name like he was a contract clause.

Careful.

Important.

“How’s it going? Really going. Not the ‘we’re fine’ version you always give.”

I looked up.

She wasn’t smiling now.

She was in “boardroom mom” mode

The one she used when deals were on the line.

“We’re good, Mom. Really good.”

I tried to make it sound casual.

Like I wasn’t lying.

“We’re okay.”

Sometimes I suspect mom hired a private investigator to always check on us.

There is just something dubious about the sudden question.

“Okay.”

She repeated the word, testing it.

Then she walked around the island until she stood beside me.

Close enough that I could smell the perfume and the faint lemon of her hand cream.

She didn’t touch me. She never did when she was serious.

“Maya,”

she said, and my name in her voice always meant something was coming.

“You need to understand something. This isn’t just about you and Alex. It never was.”

I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

She gestured with her glass toward the window, toward the city beyond our gates.

“Bennett Holdings and Blackwood

Logistics have been circling each

other for years. Partners.

Competitors. Allies. That warehouse

complex in Detroit your dad was so

proud of last quarter? Blackwood

fronted 60% of the capital. Alex’s

father, Richard, made that happen

with one phone call.”

I nodded.

I knew this.

I’d heard it a billion times.

“Your father,”

Mom continued, her voice dropping

lower, “he’s built a lot of our current

expansion around that relationship.

Around the idea that the Bennett’s

and Blackwoods are… aligned.

Family, almost.”

She turned back to me.

Her eyes were sharp.

“If Alex walked away from you, Maya,

it wouldn’t just be a breakup. It would

be a message. It would tell every

investor, every partner, that the

alliance is weak.”

The fruit in my bowl suddenly felt sour. “Mom—”

She cut me off, but gently.

“I’m not saying this to pressure you.

I’m saying it because you need to see

the bigger picture. Your dad would

lose his mind. Not because he doesn’t

love you. He does. But because he’s

built this company thinking ten steps

ahead. And Alex is step seven, eight,

nine.”

I gripped the fork until the metal bit into my fingers.

“So that’s what this is? You’re telling me my relationship is a business asset?”

“No, baby.”

She finally touched me then, a light hand on my shoulder.

Her nails were perfect, nude polish.

“I’m telling you that your relationship matters. To all of us. To the company. To your future.”

I pulled away slightly. The air felt too thick.

“I’m not with Alex because it’s

convenient, Mom. I’m not with him

because of Bennett Holdings or

Blackwood or warehouse deals. I’m

with him because I love him. I’ve loved

him since we were 15 and he was an

arrogant jerk who still shared his fries

with me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

“I know you love him. That’s why I’m

talking to you like this. Because love

is easy. Keeping it is the hard part.”

“What does that mean?”

Mom set her glass down and leaned against the island next to me.

She looked out at the pool, blue and still in the morning light.

“Men like Alex… they need to feel

essential. Needed. If he thinks you’d

be fine without him, he’ll start testing

that theory. If he thinks you’re only

there when it’s easy, he’ll leave when

it gets hard.”

She turned to me. “So make sure he

never thinks that. Cook for him. Listen

when he talks about work even if you

don’t understand the numbers. Be the

first person he calls when something

goes wrong. Do whatever it takes,

Maya. Make him feel like he’d be lost

without you.”

The words landed like stones in my chest. Do whatever it takes.

It feels like they’re selling me off to him.

I stared at my fruit.

The mango was browning at the edges now.

“Is that what you did with Dad?”

Mom laughed, but it was soft.

“Your father and I had an

arrangement that worked for us. But

you and Alex… you two are different.

I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do.

But inside, something twisted.

Because she was right about one thing.

I was hiding something from Alex.

The fact that Victor and Harriet

Bennett my parents had blessed our

relationship for reasons that had

nothing to do with me.

The fact that every time his dad and

my dad shook hands at a charity

event, my mom would squeeze my

shoulder like I’d just closed a deal.

A part of me felt like I was using him.

Like I was the reason the two companies got closer.

Like without me, there’d be no reason for them to sit at the same table.

The thought made me sick. It sat in my stomach like poison, spreading.

“Mom, I need to go to my room,”

I said quietly. My voice sounded small even to me.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She kissed the top of my head, her lips cool.

“Think about what I said. Not

because I’m your mother. Because I

want you to be happy. And Alex

makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

I didn’t answer.

I just slid off the stool and left the fruit behind.

The bowl sat there, abandoned, as I walked upstairs.