Hayes' phone was face-up on the bathroom counter.
I wasn't looking for anything. I was brushing my teeth. The screen lit up with a notification, and I saw the icon. Instagram. An account I didn't recognize.
@tuckerandcole.
I stared at it. The toothbrush hung in my mouth.
I picked up the phone. Unlocked it. He never changed his passcode. It was my birthday.
The account opened. Private. Thirty posts. The first one was from four days ago.
Hayes and Coleson at a park. The boy on a swing. Hayes pushing him, both of them laughing. The caption read: "Best afternoon."
I scrolled.
Hayes and Coleson eating ice cream cones on a bench. Coleson with chocolate smeared on his face.
Hayes and Coleson at a Mariners game. Coleson wearing a hat too big for his head.
Hayes and Coleson building a Lego set on someone's living room floor.
Thirty posts. Four days.
I set the phone down carefully. My hands were steady. I rinsed my mouth. Walked into the bedroom.
Hayes was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off his socks.
"When were you going to tell me?" I said.
He looked up. "Tell you what?"
I held up his phone. The screen showed the Mariners photo.
His face changed. Not guilt. Something else. Defensive.
"Scarlett—"
"Four days," I said. "Thirty posts. You didn't mention any of this."
He stood. "I didn't think I needed to report every time I see him."
"Report?" I kept my voice level. "Hayes, you took him to a baseball game. You spent an entire afternoon building Legos. You didn't say a word."
"Because I knew you'd react like this."
I felt something cold settle in my chest. "React like what?"
"Like I'm doing something wrong." He ran his hand through his hair. That tell. "He's a kid, Scarlett. He didn't ask for any of this. I'm just trying to do the right thing."
"The right thing," I repeated slowly. "And what about us? What about our anniversary? You left me in the rain to go to them. You didn't come home until two in the morning."
"He had a fever."
"He had his mother."
Hayes' jaw tightened. "You're making a child's needs about yourself."
The words landed like a slap.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. The man I'd eaten ramen with in a cramped apartment. The man I'd maxed out credit cards beside. The man who used to know the difference between loyalty and abandonment.
"I'm going to bed," I said quietly.
I turned and walked to the bed. Pulled back the covers. Got in.
Hayes stood there for a long moment. Then he picked up his pillow and left the room.
The guest room door closed down the hall.
I lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling.
The space beside me was cold.
---
Monday morning. I arrived at Apex Ventures at seven-thirty. The lobby was empty except for the early cleaning crew.
I took the elevator to the third floor. Walked past the glass-walled conference rooms. My office was at the end of the hall, next to Hayes'.
I set my bag down. Made coffee. Opened my laptop.
At eight-fifteen, I heard voices in the lobby. Laughter.
I walked to the railing that overlooked the first floor.
Lydia Pierce was sitting at the front reception desk.
She wore a white blouse and a company lanyard around her neck. Her blonde hair was down. She was smiling at Marcus Webb, our head of product, who was signing in at the visitor log.
I stood very still.
My assistant, Jordan, appeared at my elbow. "Ms. Evans, I was just about to call you—"
"When did she start?" I didn't look at him.
"Friday afternoon. Mr. Tucker brought her in. Said she was the new receptionist."
"Did he inform HR?"
Jordan hesitated. "I don't believe so."
I turned and walked to Hayes' office.
His door was open. He was on a call, leaning back in his chair, laughing at something the person on the other end said.
I stepped inside and closed the door.
Not hard. Softly. The kind of soft that makes people look up.
Hayes' smile faded. He said something quick into the phone and hung up.
"Scarlett—"
I walked to his desk. Placed both hands on the edge. Leaned forward slightly.
"You hired her," I said.
He blinked. "Lydia needed work. It's just a receptionist position."
"You hired your ex-girlfriend to work at the company we co-founded. You did not inform me. You did not inform the board. You did not go through HR. You used your CEO authority to install her at the front desk where every client, every investor, every employee who walks through that door will see her first."
Hayes stood. "You're overreacting."
"Am I?"
"It's temporary. She needed something stable. I was helping."
"You were helping," I repeated. My voice was very calm. "Hayes, do you hear yourself?"
"She's a single mother—"
"She is your ex-girlfriend. She is the mother of a child you are suddenly spending every free moment with. And now she is sitting at our front desk, smiling at our employees, wearing our company lanyard."
"This is about jealousy," Hayes said. His voice rose slightly. "You're conflating personal feelings with professional judgment."
I straightened. Looked at him.
"If you cannot see what you are doing," I said quietly, "you are either lying to me or lying to yourself. Neither is acceptable."
I turned and walked to the door.
"Scarlett—"
I opened it. Stepped into the hall. Closed it behind me.
I walked back to my office. Sat down at my desk. Opened my laptop.
My hands were steady.
I pulled up the employee directory. Found Lydia's name. Hired Friday. No interview notes. No HR approval. Just Hayes' signature on a digital authorization form.
I forwarded the file to Baylee Andrews.
Then I looked out the window at the Seattle skyline and thought about the woman sitting downstairs at the front desk.
Smiling.
Like she'd always been there.
Like she belonged.
