Page 33 of Sinful Lies

Same long black hair, same dark eyes. Her skin was so pale you could trace every delicate blue vein along her throat.

When I was little, people used to call me her shadow. Her twin.

And they weren’t wrong.

She was my hero. My anchor. I used to follow her everywhere as a kid, mimicking everything she did—the way she spoke, the way she carried herself, even the way she folded laundry.

I had wanted to be just like her.

When my papa died so suddenly, when I was just four, she hadn’t crumbled.

She’d held on, held us together.

She’d worked until she was bone-tired, dragging us out of the wreckage he’d left behind. She’d never cried in front of us, not once, but we’d heard her. Late at night, her muffled sobs had seeped through the walls.

And now?

Now, I was the one making her cry.

Not picking up on the frost spreading across the table, our waitress—a petite redhead with a smile so sweet it bordered on saccharine—bounced over and set down our plates like she was delivering happiness on porcelain.

“Enjoy!” she chirped.

Chocolate chip pancakes for me, eggs Benedict on salmon toast for Mama.

The diner, usually alive with weekend chaos, was eerily quiet for a late-August Sunday. No families spilling syrup everywhere, no hungover college kids mumbling orders for black coffee.

Just me, my mama, and the waitress.

I dug in right away, shoveling in syrup-drenched bites like my life depended on it, needing the sugar rush to untangle the nerves crawling under my skin.

Across from me, Mama silently picked at her eggs Benedict.

God, Ihatedsilence.

Suddenly desperate to fill the void, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m thinking I’m gonna ask my boss for a promotion.”

Her fork paused mid-air.

“I’ve been working there for three years,” I continued, “and I think it’s time to level up, you know? I want to be the new COO now.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Lazzio’s a royal pain in the ass,” I said, gesturing wildly with my fork, a piece of pancake almost flying off. “But even he knows I’m the one keeping that circus running. So yeah, I’m gonna ask him. And by asking, I mean I’ll remind him that without me, his entire empire would collapse faster than his temper when someone uses the wrong font on a report.”

Mama tilted her head, a bemused smile playing on her lips. “And if he says no?”

I shrugged dramatically. “Then I’ll quit on the spot, obviously. Let him suffer for a day or two while I sip cocktails and binge crime documentaries. Maybe even send him a postcard from my couch—Thinking of you while your company burns to the ground. XOXO, Jade.”

She laughed, finally. “You’re ridiculous, Jadie.”

“And brilliant,” I countered, stabbing another pancake slice triumphantly. “Don’t forget brilliant.”

The day after he bailed me out of jail on my birthday, I walked into my office and found a few things on my desk: a shiny new pair of Louboutins, my bag, the same spa voucher he gets me every year, and a small, unmarked box.

I opened it to find an assortment of bandages, gauze, and antiseptic wipes.

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