He Came Back Running (Maya and Mason) novel Chapter 3

The alarm screamed at 6:00 a.m. sharp, a shrill, unforgiving sound that drilled straight into my skull

“Damn it,” I hissed, slapping the phone silent before it could cycle into its second round. My head throbbed part hangover from too much crying, part exhaustion from staring at the ceiling until four in the morning replaying every cruel syllable Mason had dropped in the hallway like casual change

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the coffered ceiling of our… his penthouse bedroom. The sheets on his side were still pristine, untouched. He hadn’t come home last night. Probably hadn’t even bothered to lie about where he was going

Eight years

Eight years of waking up hoping today would be the day he looked at me and saw something worth keeping.

And yesterday he’d finally told me the truth: I was boring. In every way that mattered.

The words still burned behind my ribs like swallowed glass

I dragged myself upright, ignoring the spin in my head, and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. My reflection in the full-length mirror across the room looked like a stranger, puffy eyes, dull skin, hair tangled from restless turning. I hated how small I looked. How defeated.

My phone buzzed again.

I glanced at the screen. My personal assistant, Lila.

I answered on the third ring, forcing brightness into my voice. “Morning, Lila.”

“Happy anniversary, boss!” Her cheer was almost painful. “Eight years! That’s huge. I left a bottle of that vintage Barolo you like on your desk, don’t tell Mr. Mason I spoiled the surprise.”

I closed my eyes for a second. “Thank you, Lila. That’s… really sweet”

She didn’t notice the crack in my tone. “Also, quick heads-up, your schedule got a last-minute shake-up. You’re meeting with the new head of project coordination at nine. Mason pushed the change through late yesterday.”

My stomach dropped

“New head?” I repeated slowly. “I’m sorry, head of what?”

“Project coordination for the New York expansion. The whole coastal logistics corridor. You’ve been running point on that for eighteen months.” She sounded confused that I needed reminding.

“Mason reassigned the coordinator role. Said it needed ‘fresh leadership.’ You’re still on the steering committee, obviously, but the day-to-day lead is someone else now.”

Fresh leadership.

The phrase landed like a slap.

I’d spent countless nights hunched over spreadsheets, negotiating with authorities, smoothing egos at every stakeholder meeting. I’d taken the blame when weather delays pushed timelines, absorbed the stress when budgets ballooned. I’d earned that coordinator title, not through nepotism, not through marriage, but through sheer, relentless work

And now, on our anniversary, Mason had quietly stripped it away.

“She’s waiting in the coordination suite,” Lila whispered, falling into step beside me. “I tried to stall, but Mason’s instructions were very specific. Immediate handover meeting”

I nodded once. “It’s fine”

It wasn’t fine.

The coordination suite was on the thirty-second floor, glass walls, panoramic view of the harbor, the room where I’d presented the original feasibility study that got the entire project greenlit. My name had been on every slide deck. My signature on every milestone approval.

Now Selina sat at the head of the long teak table, legs crossed, looking radiant in a soft blush-pink dress that skimmed her still-flat stomach. Her hair was swept into an elegant low bun, makeup flawless, a tablet open in front of her like she’d already claimed the throne.

She looked up as I entered

A flicker of something crossed her face…..guilt? Triumph? It vanished too quickly to read.

“Maya,” she said

I didn’t smile. “Selina”

Lila hovered near the door, clearly unsure whether to stay or flee