My Boss’s Hidden Heir (Elara and Marcus) novel Chapter 2

Two Pink Lines

It had been a week since Elara slept with the devil.

Christmas wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The holiday was meant for family dinners and bad movies, not sterile hospital hallways that smelled like bleach and something darker she couldn’t name. But here she was, Day seven of her vacation, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside her mother’s bed, pretending everything would be fine.

Her phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus.

*Subject: Q4 Report – Revisions Needed*

She opened the attachment. Forty-three pages of financial projections that needed reformatting by tomorrow. On Christmas week. Because Marcus Thorne didn’t believe in holidays, only deadlines.

“You’re working again,” her mother said softly.

Elara looked up. Her mother’s face had that grey pallor that came with stage three cancer, her cheeks hollow, but her eyes were still sharp. Still watching everything.

“Just a quick edit.” Elara locked her phone and forced a smile. “Nothing major.”

“You work too hard, baby.”

“The job pays well, Mama. Really well.” The lie tasted bitter. Her savings account had $3,000 left after this month’s payment to Victor. The chemo her mother needed cost $80,000. “I’ve got it covered. The treatment, everything. You just focus on getting better.”

Her mother’s thin hand reached out, wrapping around Elara’s wrist. “I don’t want you sacrificing your life for me.”

“I’m not sacrificing anything.” Elara squeezed back gently, careful of the IV line. “You took care of me my whole life. It’s my turn now.”

“Has your father come by?”

The question landed like a stone in still water.

“No.” Elara kept her voice neutral. “Haven’t seen him all week.”

“Elara…”

“And I’m praying it stays that way.” She couldn’t hide the edge in her tone. “Luca showing up only means he needs money or he’s running from someone he owes. Either way, it’s trouble we don’t need right now.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with that particular sadness that came from loving a man who kept breaking her heart. “He’s still your father.”

“He’s a gambling addict who put us in this mess.” Elara stood, smoothing down her jeans. “I need to head home, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Earlier if you need me.”

“You’re a good girl, Elara. Too good for all this.”

Elara kissed her mother’s forehead, tasting the salt of unshed tears she refused to let fall. “Get some rest, Mama. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

The taxi ride home was quiet. Elara stared out the window at the Christmas lights strung across brownstones, families visible through warm windows, living lives that didn’t involve debt collectors and dying mothers and mistakes made in fire exits.

She pulled out her phone, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Mimi had posted pictures from her campus in London, surrounded by friends at some holiday party. Elara double-tapped the image, feeling the distance between them like a physical ache.

The next post was one of those viral memes. A girl holding up twelve fingers with the caption: *Period check. 12/12 months DONE. We survived besties.*

Elara’s thumb froze mid-scroll.

Twelve months.

When was the last time she’d gotten hers?

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify