The Summons

The soft morning glow filtered through the massive penthouse windows, casting golden hues over the tangled silk sheets. Claire stirred, her body still buzzing from the night before—raw, electric, and consuming. She reached for Morgan, but the bed beside her was empty, still faintly warm.

Frowning, she sat up, the scent of coffee and something *tense* hanging in the air.

Then she heard it—Morgan's voice.

Low. Sharp. Controlled.

Curious, Claire slid out of bed, pulling on the oversized dress shirt Morgan had tossed aside the night before. Barefoot, she padded down the hallway toward the living room, careful not to be seen.

Morgan stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, back to Claire, one hand gripping a steaming cup of coffee, the other holding her phone to her ear.

"I said I would handle it."

A pause.

"No, I don't need to be reminded how things work."

Another pause. Morgan's jaw tightened.

"Understood."

Then—silence. Morgan exhaled slowly, lowering the phone before setting it onto the sleek glass table with deliberate force. Her fingers lingered on the device, knuckles white.

Claire hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. "What was that all about?"

Morgan turned sharply, clearly caught off guard. Her emerald eyes flickered with something unreadable before her usual mask slid back into place. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Claire's stomach twisted. "That's not an answer."

Morgan sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before leaning against the table. "It was my father."

Claire's brows furrowed. "And?"

Morgan exhaled sharply. "He wants me in Los Angeles. Immediately."

Claire folded her arms, watching the way Morgan avoided her gaze. "And you weren't going to tell me?"

"It's not important," Morgan said, brushing past her, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll be back in a couple of days."

Claire followed her. "Wait—so I'm just supposed to stay here? Alone? After everything we've been through?"

Morgan's back stiffened. She didn't turn around.

Claire took a breath. "Morgan, if you're serious about this—about us—then introduce me to your family."

Silence stretched between them.

Morgan slowly turned, her gaze finally meeting Claire's. There was hesitation, something Claire never saw in her.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Claire frowned. "Why not?"

Morgan's lips parted, but for the first time, she seemed… uncertain.

Claire softened her voice. "I want to know you, Morgan. The real you. And if your father is such a big part of your life, then I want to understand why you're like this—why you're so on edge right now."

Morgan stared at her for a long moment. Then she let out a breath, shaking her head with a humorless smirk.

"You don't know what you're asking for, princess.*

"

Claire stepped closer. "Then show me."

Morgan studied her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she set down her coffee and crossed her arms.

"Fine," she murmured. "Pack your bags. We leave in two hours."

Claire blinked. "Wait, just like that?"

Morgan arched a brow. "You wanted in, didn't you?"

Claire nodded, but something in Morgan's expression sent a chill down her spine.

Morgan's voice dropped lower, colder. "Just remember, Claire… you asked for this."

The private jet cut through the early morning sky, gliding smoothly toward California. Inside, Claire sat curled in one of the plush leather seats, absently stirring the untouched champagne in her glass.

Across from her, Morgan sat stiffly, typing away at her laptop with a relentless focus that felt almost forced. The usual air of effortless control, the commanding presence that made her so magnetic, was absent.

Claire had never seen Morgan uneasy before.

She wasn't meeting Claire's eyes. Wasn't smirking. Wasn't teasing.

Something was wrong.

The hum of the jet's engines filled the silence, stretching between them like an invisible wall.

Claire set her glass down carefully, studying Morgan's sharp, tense posture. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Morgan didn't even pause her typing. "Nothing to worry about."

Claire scoffed. "Morgan."

Still, Morgan kept her eyes on the screen, fingers moving swiftly. "We'll be in and out. A quick appearance. That's all."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't answer my question."

Finally, Morgan exhaled sharply and shut the laptop with a soft click. She leaned back in her seat, pressing her fingers against her temples before finally looking at Claire.

"My father," Morgan said, her voice deceptively calm, "is not a man you want to meet."

There was something in her tone—something edged with warning.

Claire folded her arms. "Then why are we going?"

Morgan's jaw tightened. "Because if I don't, it'll be worse."

Claire frowned. "Worse how?"

Morgan's emerald eyes darkened. "He doesn't take 'no' for an answer."

That sent a chill down Claire's spine.

She hesitated before saying, "Morgan… if this is something you don't want to do, we don't have to."

Morgan let out a low, humorless chuckle, running a hand through her hair. "You think it's that simple?"

Claire's heart clenched at the rare vulnerability in her voice.

She reached across the space between them, placing a hand over Morgan's. "Talk to me."

Morgan was still for a moment, staring down at their hands as if debating whether or not to let Claire in.

Then, in a voice quieter than Claire had ever heard from her, she said, "I don't want him anywhere near you."

Claire's breath hitched.

Morgan finally looked up, her expression carefully composed, but her eyes—God, her eyes—held something raw beneath the surface.

"He controls everything. Everyone. If he doesn't like you, he'll ruin you." Morgan swallowed hard. "And if he does like you? That's worse."

Claire felt a lump form in her throat. "Morgan…"

Morgan shook her head. "You don't understand what he's capable of. The way he breaks people—tears them apart and remakes them in his image."

Claire had never heard Morgan sound afraid before.

She tightened her grip on Morgan's hand. "I don't care who he is. I'm not afraid of him."

Morgan let out a breath, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over Claire's knuckles. "You should be."

Before Claire could respond, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Miss Pierce, we're beginning our descent into Los Angeles."

Morgan sat up straighter, slipping back into the composed, unreadable version of herself—the one that could command a room with a single glance.

She turned to Claire, her expression carefully schooled. "Just stay close to me. And whatever you do…" Her voice dipped lower.

"Do not trust him."

Claire nodded slowly, her heart pounding.

Morgan looked out the window, watching as the city came into view.

A world Claire knew nothing about.

A world Morgan had spent her entire life trying to survive.