Page 26 of What Comes Around

“Thank you,” I said softly.

When the call ended, I stepped onto my balcony and let the city air wash over me. The past was finally starting to move.

I watched the traffic far below for a moment, then reached for my phone again. This call was easier. I dialed my uncle Marc.

“Ma petite étoile,” he said warmly when he answered. “You finally remembered your poor uncle exists?”

I smiled despite myself. “Bonsoir, oncle. How are you?”

“Better now,” he replied. “And Chicago? Still trying to convince you it is more beautiful than Paris?”

“It still is,” I said lightly. “And still pretending it isn’t trying to eat me alive.”

He chuckled. “And work? Are you making men in suits nervous?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.”

“Good,” he said approvingly.

He asked about my apartment, about Amy, about whether I was eating properly, about whether I was sleeping enough. He always asked those things, as if he still felt responsible for the girl I had been instead of the woman I had become.

Then I inhaled slowly and said, “There are updates.”

His tone changed immediately. “Sur ta mère?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, then the sound of him exhaling slowly. “Alors… tell me.”

I told him everything. About the DNA. About the unknown woman. About Elena. About Marissa being monitored. He did not interrupt. When I finished, he exhaled again, slower this time.

“C’est enfin en mouvement,” he murmured. “After all these years.”

“I didn’t want to be alone with it,” I admitted.

“You never were alone,” he said gently. “Tu ne l’as jamais été.”

We spoke about smaller things after that. His garden in Provence. My grandma who still thought I was too thin. His belief that I worked too much and lived too little.

Before we hung up, his voice softened.

“Quoi qu’il arrive, tu as ta famille. Toujours.” No matter what happens, you have your family. Always.

“Je sais,” I whispered.

Chapter 9: Sin City

I had been working at Sinclair for four months, and Knox had begun taking me with him to more and more initial meetings. Early‑stage pitches, high‑level proposals that hadn’t yet earned the right to fail publicly. I didn’t speak much in those rooms unless he asked me to, but I listened. I watched. I took notes. I learned the rhythm of power.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped being invisible.

Slowly, without meaning to, I began appearing in the background of more business photos than I realized. Standing behind Knox at a signing. Sitting a few chairs away during negotiations. Walking beside him through glass corridors.

Amy noticed before I did. She always did. That girl had digital tentacles everywhere.

She sent me a link with no explanation.

I opened the article and scrolled. The comments were already alive.