Chapter 13
1012 Words
Sydney’s teacup clattered back into the saucer, a sharp sound in the quiet of the living room.
“What did you say?” Her voice was low, too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm.
Tonia blinked, startled by the reaction. “Max… he’s getting married. To Cindy Bailey. It’s in two weeks.”
“Forced marriage,” Sydney said flatly, setting the cup down with deliberate care. “Or did he finally decide to play house?”
Tonia frowned. “Sydney, watch your tongue. Max knows what he’s doing. It’s a business arrangement. Good for the family name, good for the company.”
Sydney stood, pacing to the window that overlooked the gardens. Outside, the Anderson estate looked perfect—manicured lawns, fountains, walls that kept everything out. And kept everything in.
“Business arrangement,” she repeated bitterly. “That’s what you called it ten years ago too, when his father died and you told him not to dig.”
Tonia’s face hardened. “Don’t bring that up.”
But it was too late. The past was already in the room with them.
*Meanwhile, at the Bailey apartment*
Cindy stood in front of the mirror, Megan holding up a cream lace gown against her.
“You look stunning,” Megan said, but her voice lacked its usual brightness. “If Max would show up for one fitting, he’d see that.”
Cindy forced a laugh, tugging at the fabric. “He’s busy. Real estate doesn’t sleep.”
Megan set the gown down. “Cindy… are you sure about this? I mean, really sure? You don’t have to go through with it if—”
“I don’t have a choice,” Cindy cut in, softer now. She picked up the envelope from the dresser. Inside were the signed surgery forms for her mother. “If I walk away, Mom doesn’t get the operation. Two weeks, Megan. I just need to get through two weeks.”
Megan’s eyes welled up. “And what about after? When the surgery’s done? Will he let you go?”
Cindy didn’t answer. She didn’t know.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
You think the truth will save you? It won’t. I have what you hid.
Her blood ran cold.
“Megan,” she whispered, “did you send this?”
Megan looked at the screen and shook her head. “No. Who is it?”
Cindy deleted the message, hands shaking. The shadows weren’t done with her yet.
*Anderson Tower, 42nd Floor*
Max stared at the blueprint spread across his desk but saw none of it.
Sydney was back. Two weeks before the wedding.
Stephan Royce’s deal could wait. His mother’s casual mention of “Cindy Bailey” couldn’t.
He picked up his phone and dialed his private investigator.
“Anything new on the Bailey case?”
“Nothing concrete, sir. But I found a witness who wasn’t in the original police report. Says she saw someone else near the warehouse the night of the fire.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “Get them in here. Today.”
He hung up and leaned back, rubbing his temples. If Cindy was innocent, then he’d spent ten years building a cage around the wrong person. And he’d just married her.
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Anderson, Ms. Sydney is here. Says it’s urgent.”
He sighed. “Send her up.”
The door opened, and Sydney walked in like she owned the place. Because she did, in a way.
“You’re marrying her,” she said without preamble.
“I am,” Max replied evenly.
“Why? Because of the fire? Because you still want revenge?”
“Because her mother needs surgery. Because I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
Sydney laughed, sharp and humorless. “You’re a monster, Max. You always were. You think marrying her makes it better?”
Max stood, walking around the desk until he was face to face with her. “I don’t expect you to understand. Stay out of it, Sydney.”
“Or what? You’ll ruin another life to protect your pride?”
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed again. The PI.
“Speak.”
“Sir, the witness… she’s dead. Car accident an hour ago. Looks staged.”
The room went silent.
Someone didn’t want the truth coming out. And they were willing to kill for it.
Max looked at Sydney, and for the first time, she saw something other than coldness in his eyes. Fear.
“Get security on my wife,” he said quietly. “Now.”
*Later that night*
Cindy couldn’t sleep. Her mother’s face in the hospital bed kept flashing behind her eyes. The anonymous text kept repeating.
A knock at the door made her sit up. Megan was already asleep in the guest room.
She opened the door to find Max standing there, tie loosened, jacket over his shoulder. He looked tired. Dangerous.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Cindy stepped aside, letting him in. The apartment felt smaller with him in it.
“I got a message,” she said before he could speak. “Someone knows about the fire. They said I hid something.”
Max studied her face. “Did you?”
Cindy met his gaze, unflinching. “No. And if you don’t believe me, then we’re done here.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he pulled an envelope from his jacket and handed it to her.
“Read it. Don’t tell anyone.”
Inside was a police report—redacted, but clear enough. A witness statement placing someone else at the scene. Someone with the Anderson name.
Cindy looked up, stunned.
“Why are you showing me this now?”
“Because someone tried to kill the witness today,” Max said. “And if I’m wrong about you, then I owe you more than an apology.”
Outside, a car idled on the street below. Watching. Waiting.
The war wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
- Writer
