The master suite was thick with the scent of steam and cedarwood soap. Gunner was on his knees on the cold marble floor, the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled to his elbows, though the effort hadn't saved him. The front of his shirt was already darkened with heavy splashes of water.
"More bubbles!" Hunter shouted. The boy clapped his hands against the surface of the water, sending a spray of suds into the air. A glob of foam landed squarely on Gunner's cheek.
"Stop splashing. You're making a mess," Gunner reprimanded. His tone was firm, but his eyes remained soft as he looked at his son.
On a small wooden stool nearby, his phone sat on speaker. A distant voice drifted through the steam: "Mr. Westbrook... are you still there?"
"No more bubbles. All done!" Gunner said to Hunter, ignoring the phone for a heartbeat as he scooped up a fresh pile of suds and stacked them like a crown on the boy's head.
He focused back on the device, his voice shifting to a far more upbeat, melodic register than he'd ever use in a boardroom. "Speak!"
Gunner picked up a rubber cup and began pouring warm water over Hunter's shoulders, watching the bubbles slide back into the depths of the tub.
"Miss Kane is back in Springbrook," Fletcher reported. "She returned a few hours ago."
Gunner paused, the cup hovering mid-air. He thought of the auction happening tonight—the Hill's elite gathered to flaunt their capital and swap art pieces like tax-sheltered trading cards.
"Where is she now?"
"Mrs. Kane is currently at the Wilson estate. Lower section of the Hill, nearest to the—"
Gunner cut him off, a slow, amused smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She was close. Far closer than he'd expected. If he found a reason to drop in on Carrie tonight, the evening would become significantly more interesting.
"I know where Carrie's home is," Gunner said, his eyes narrowing as he tried to come up with a reason for an unprovoked visit.
"Keep watch. Let me know the moment she leaves and where she goes."
He slid his thumb over the heavy titanium ring on his finger, ending the call. Then, Gunner hauled a protesting, dripping Hunter out of the tub and swaddled him in a thick, oversized towel.
"Story! Big dragons, Daddy!" Hunter demanded, his voice muffled by the plush fabric. He struggled to free his arms, finally popping his hands out and curling his small fingers into dramatic claws. "Rrrr-roar!"
Gunner chuckled, the sound low and genuine. He began drying the boy off with a vigor that turned Hunter into a giggling, squirming mess. "The dragons book, huh? The ones that fly over the mountains and eat all the little boys who don't go to sleep?"
"No, Daddy!" Hunter corrected, making more "roaring" noises—a series of huffs and growls that echoed off the marble walls.
"I see. Daddy's mistake." Gunner scooped the bundle of towel and toddler into his arms, tickling Hunter's ribs until the boy's laughter turned into high-pitched shrieks of delight. "Let's get you dressed, Dragon Lord."
Gunner walked out of the bathroom, through the vast, dimly lit master bedroom, and stepped into the East Wing hallway. He stopped short when he saw a familiar figure.
Natalia was standing there, dressed in silk pajamas, but her face was still a mask of perfectly applied makeup. Behind her stood a maid, head bowed, carrying a wicker basket filled with wine and assorted snacks.
"Where are you going?" Gunner asked.
Natalia didn't look at him at first. Her eyes fixed on the bundle in Gunner's arms. A soft, genuine light touched her expression for a fleeting second. "Did you just finish your bath?" she said, her voice sweet and melodic as she reached out to stroke Hunter's cheek. "So cute and red."
"Auntie! Up, up!" Hunter chirped, lurching toward her with his arms outstretched.
Natalia instinctively held his outstretched palms, her smile tightening. "No, sweetie. Auntie has to go. Auntie go bye-bye."
Internally, Natalia felt the familiar twist of the knife. Seeing Hunter was a double-edged sword. He was the most adorable member of their family, a burst of chaotic energy, but he was also a living countdown. He was the heir. He was the "plus-one" on Gunner's scoreboard.
She knew the grim reality of the Westbrook lineage: if she had been the one to come home pregnant, the family wouldn't be celebrating. She would have been sent to a "retreat" in Irth, the child tucked away or erased to protect the optics of the pristine corporate princess. Hunter was a representation of the inequality she breathed every day—a legacy she was being outpaced in.
"Hello?" Gunner's voice broke her thoughts. "Are you going to answer me?"
Natalia shifted her gaze to him, glad for the chance to be annoying. "Out. Does it matter?"
Gunner looked her over, then glanced at the basket. Natalia's circle was famously small, and only one person still lived on the Hill who would welcome her in pajamas: Carrie. He adjusted his hold on Hunter, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He knew something his sister didn't—Vivian was already there.
"You might want to bring more wine," Gunner said dryly as he started to walk past her.
"What do you mean?" Natalia called after him, but he didn't look back. She huffed, turning on her heel and signaling the maid to follow.
The door to the Wilson home opened the moment Natalia stepped onto the porch. The house manager greeted her warmly, but Natalia brushed past, handing the basket off without a glance. "Where is she?"
"The theater room, ma'am."
Natalia navigated the halls with the ease of someone who had spent her childhood playing there. As she neared the home theater, she heard the light chime of laughter. When she stepped inside, her eyes landed on Vivian lounging on the massive, square-shaped couch that took up most of the room.
Irritation bloomed instantly. She looked at Carrie first. "This is a surprise."
A deeply unwelcome surprise.
Natalia's mind raced back to Gunner and his parting comment: bring more wine. How did he know? Was there a relationship between her brother and the "disappointment" of the Kane family that she didn't know about?
"The more the merrier, right?" Carrie said, giving Natalia a look that practically begged for a ceasefire. She looked exhausted, like she couldn't handle World War III in her house.
Natalia smoothed her pajamas and took a seat on the plush cushions. "We're all friends, after all."
Vivian didn't buy it for a second. In her mind, Natalia was the ultimate elitist—someone who looked down her nose at anyone who didn't fit the mold. Vivian kept her face deceptively neutral.
"I'm definitely glad that you're here," Vivian said, keeping the sarcasm out of her voice but letting it pool in her eyes. "It makes this visit so much better." The excessive amount of sugar in her tone was its own truth.
"Are you two really fighting like this because of a man?" Carrie asked, shaking her head.
"Don't be gross!" Vivian scoffed. "I don't fight for, or over, a man." Definitely not one that Natalia would hold in high esteem.
"I'm married!" Natalia added. "What the hell man are you talking about?"
"Brennan." Carrie shrugged. Every time Natalia had an issue with Vivian, it always seemed to involve some celebrity.
"That's business! Not boys!"
"He has the equipment, anyway," she mocked, "—girl power sisters. Let's move the fuck on," Carrie laughed, the tension breaking just enough for the others to join in. "We're already bonding, over trash men." It was annoying to Carrie to have to plan two separate occasions just to hang out with the women closest to her.
They settled in, but the silence didn't last. Natalia looked at Carrie, the question burning. "Speaking of trash men... where is your disappointing one? Hopefully off with call girls so you don't have to pay him anything in a divorce."
Vivian couldn't stand how Natalia didn't mince words. She hated Peter, Carrie's husband, too, but Natalia was always so blunt in her approach.
"What?" Natalia said, seeing their faces. "Tell me I'm lying."
"Oh my God." Vivian closed her eyes in astonishment and shook her head.
Carrie let out a long, shaky breath. "I didn't exactly want to bring this up right now, but... I'll tell you two first. I want to divorce Peter."
"Finally!" Natalia cheered. She quickly grabbed a bottle of champagne and three glasses, filling each before coming back to sit next to the girls, excited by the news.
"Are you okay? Are you sure?" Vivian asked softly. She knew what Carrie had endured. Peter was "the help" who had made it past the veil, and the older generation on the Hill never let Carrie forget it. It didn't help that Carrie was alone since her parents passed away four years ago.
"Why now?" Natalia asked, her voice upbeat, the celebratory tone never waning as she handed each woman a glass.
"It's not a good reason," Carrie admitted, her chest feeling heavy. "It's not like he cheated. He's just... an— I don't want anyone judging me anymore. I'm tired of people reminding me he's just an employee. I wish I loved him still... but I don't need him anymore. When I plan my future, he's not there."
Carrie couldn't tell them that he had planned to get her pregnant without her consent, or that they constantly fought over money—specifically that she wasn't funding every venture he thought up. She had finally come to terms with the fact that they both used each other, but she didn't need anything from him anymore. There was no point in carrying on.
Vivian nodded, knowing that many relationships had died for less. Usefulness, as they say, was next to godliness. And Peter was out of time. "I understand. It's not worth it to step outside the ecosystem. We don't gain anything."
Yet, internally, Natalia felt a rare spark of conflict. She didn't hate Peter because he was poor; she hated him because he was a creep who had exploited Carrie's kindness. Her own husband, Harrison, was "lower class" too—but she loved him. She had married him within two months of meeting him because she knew the Hill would try to tear them apart if she waited.
"Is that really it?" Natalia asked. "The big reason you want to divorce him is because he's not from our class? Like my husband?"
"Oh Nat, don't go there," Carrie sighed. "You love Harrison. Your family is at the top of the Hill. I'm closest to the exit. I'm the 'poor' part of the Hill who married even poorer. I'm judged every day. You can take a risk on love because your family status gives you permission. I don't have that luxury."
Natalia felt a pang of guilt. The Hill was organized by net worth—the higher up you were, the more unshakeable you were.
"Whatever the reason, we are with you one hundred percent," Vivian said, giving Natalia a hard look.
Carrie was already dreading having to explain the dissolution of her marriage to every nosy person who decided to ask.
Lifting her glass, Natalia tapped her manicured nail against the rim. "A toast. To new beginnings and greater success." She refused to let the awkward energy linger.
"Cheers."
"Promise me you won't say anything," Carrie pleaded. "I haven't told him yet."
"You don't even need to ask," Natalia promised.
"Should we put the movie on?" Vivian wondered.
Carrie took a long swig, then pointed her glass at Vivian, wanting to redirect the conversation flow away from herself. "I spilled my guts. Your turn. What the hell is going on between you and Gunner?"
Vivian looked to Natalia for help, but Natalia just leaned in. "Don't look at me. I want to know too." Natalia was already worried Vivian might become a prolonged fixture in her life.
"There is nothing going on! Nada. Zip," Vivian insisted. "This is how gossip starts," she reprimanded, pointing between Carrie and herself.
"He was staring at you for most of the night," Natalia pointed out.
"And the coat? Protecting your chastity?" Carrie laughed, her hand covering her mouth in a silent scream of excitement. "A little late, but adorable."
"Were you guys kissing at the bar? Because it really looked like it. And if so... ew," Natalia added.
"It's creepy how much attention you were paying," Vivian laughed, setting her glass aside. "We don't even talk."
"As if sex requires a conversation," Carrie laughed, only for Vivian to slap her leg. "Fine!"
"Do you want to talk?" Natalia asked quickly. She hoped Vivian would instantly deny wanting her brother's B-grade pickup lines.
Vivian blinked unsure of what to say. "Oh my god, you totally want him—"
"I never said—" It was as if her moment of indecision had spurred on a narrative she had no control over.
"He's so good looking! His big muscular arms, and I mean have you seen—" She couldn't help imagining his sculpted body in her mind.
"Can you not?" Natalia cut Carrie off. "Ew." She wanted to vomit. Every time Carrie spoke about her brother, it was disgusting. The last thing she wanted to talk about was anyone's attraction to him.
Natalia thought of Hunter again. The idea of Vivian and Gunner was a threat. Vivian was from a "good" family; if she and Gunner actually bonded, it would solidify his position even more. She couldn't afford to let him get even the slightest bit more ahead of her.
"He just asked me a question," Vivian said.
Both women leaned in like hawks. "What question?"
"He asked me what I plan to do in the future. Like, my career plans."
Natalia's blood ran cold. "Project Cobalt." Gunner wasn't flirting; he was scouting. He was trying to figure out if Vivian would take over KVC as CEO, trying to secure an alliance before Natalia could even get a foot in the door.
"He's a dog," Natalia said, her voice dropping into a warning tone. "He probably just wants to get in your pants. He is so typical."
She felt a slight twinge of guilt—Gunner wasn't a creep, but he was a competitor. If she couldn't mend the fence with Vivian herself, she would damn sure burn down the one Gunner was trying to build.
Carrie looked down at the champagne glass in her hand, the bubbles catching the light of the theater screen. A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit her—not from the alcohol, but from the realization that she felt light. She was about to dismantle a man's life, a man she had promised to cherish, and yet the primary emotion thrumming in her veins wasn't grief. It was relief. It was a terrifying level of peace.
'I'm a monster,' she thought, her throat tightening. She knew she should be crying for him, for them, but all she could think about was how comfortable the house would be when he was gone. The guilt was a physical weight, pressing against her ribs until she couldn't breathe.
"We need more," Carrie said abruptly, her voice thick and airy as she hoisted the half-full bottle. "We need more champagne. I'll... I'll be back." She couldn't believe it, she finally said it out loud. Divorce.
She turned and fled the room, her pace just short of a run.
Vivian watched the door swing shut, her brow furrowed. She glanced at Natalia, her eyes narrowing. "Did you really need to make this about you?" Vivian assumed Carrie's sour mood had to be from the tallies earlier.
Tactless comments.
Natalia didn't even look up from her phone, which she had pulled out to check a message. She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, please. She's just overwhelmed by the logistics. You heard her; it wasn't about emotions. His usefulness ran out."
Vivian leaned back, her gaze lingering on the closed door before snapping back to Natalia. "So smug, aren't you? Thinking it's all just business and 'dead weight'?" Normally, Vivian avoided conflict, but Natalia had earned a little bit of venom.
"Because it is," Natalia snapped, finally locking eyes with her. "If the foundation is weak, the building falls. It's basic, Vivian."
Vivian tilted her head, a cold, knowing smile playing on her lips. "And Harrison?"
"We're rock solid." Natalia straightened her posture, her chin lifting with a familiar, practiced arrogance. "We don't have those cracks. We're the exception to your little 'ecosystem' rules."
Vivian let out a short, dry laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't expect you to be naive. It's going to be fun paying attention to you for the next few years." She turned to face Natalia fully, the coy smile on her face growing with each word. "You've been married—what? A few months. It's easy to be a revolutionary when you're still counting your anniversaries in months."
She leaned closer, the flickering blue light of the theater screen making her look like a predator in the shadows. "Us plutocrats... we're slow-acting poison." She swirled the champagne in her glass, the golden liquid glimmering in the dim light. "We can't help it. I'm curious what the champagne will taste like when you announce your divorce. You and I can pretend we didn't see it coming."
She tipped her glass toward Natalia as if offering a toast, then finished the rest of the bubbles, her smile still firmly in place.
Natalia's fingers tightened around her glass, her knuckles turning white. For a split second, a flash of genuine irritation—perhaps even a flicker of something darker—crossed her face. But she quickly smoothed it over, her mask of perfection sliding back into place.
"I'll expect a glorious toast at our five-year wedding anniversary," Natalia scoffed, her voice dripping with condescension. "I don't blame you for your negativity, though. Bitter, self-righteous losers always love to hate on someone else's happiness."
"Poor little Natalia," Vivian countered. "You'll be the second divorcee among the kids on the Hill. Whatever will they say?"
"You're going to have an arranged marriage with more emphasis on business than your actual relationship," Natalia shot back. "You will have some sad, lonely little existence. But I guess you'll be used to it."
Natalia almost felt as if she had gone too far the moment the words left her lips. Mentioning the fact that Vivian was well known to have been more or less abandoned by her parents—always being shipped off somewhere—was a low blow. But she quickly hardened her heart; the line had been crossed the moment Vivian spoke of Harrison and her marriage.
"I'm not naive to my future, and yet it will outlast this little experiment you're playing," Vivian mocked, her voice steady despite the jab. "But cheers, to a few wasted years!"
Natalia felt her blood boil. She was ready to scream and claw the woman's eyes out.
The sound of the door handle turning signaled Carrie's return. Both women snapped back into their positions, their expressions flattening into masks of neutral friendship just as the door creaked open.
"Ready for the movie?" Carrie's voice lifted with excitement, now that she had finally calmed down.
Author's note:
Updates every Saturday!