Page 46 of Ruthless Lullaby

MK? As in Maron Korolev?

I read the text again, trying to make sense of it. Why would he be sending me a parcel? And why to New York High of all places?

Before I know it, I'm heading towards my car, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. But as I approach my vehicle, I notice something strange - the door is left unlocked. I pause, frowning in confusion. Did I forget to lock it in my haste? Maybe I've been too distracted by the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

I take a deep breath, taking a mental note to be more responsible next time. All this stress lately - the contract, Maron, my family issues – it is clearly taking its toll.

I slip into the driver's seat, my hands trembling slightly as I grip the steering wheel. I'm grateful nothing was stolen, but this lapse in judgment is a stark reminder of how scattered I've become. I need to get it together, and fast.

Hold on a second, Mindy.

The blue folder.

With Maron's contract in it.

I immediately reach for the glove compartment and open it to check its contents. To my relief, the folder is there, exactly where I put it. I let out a sigh, feeling a small wave of nausea wash over me. I was just being paranoid.

As I navigate the familiar streets, my mind races with possibilities. What could Maron possibly want? Why would he send a parcel to New York High instead of contacting me directly?

It doesn’t take long to find out. Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the reception desk of New York High, signing for the box. Before opening it, I notice a small card hidden under the bow. I take it out, feeling my heart rate pick up as I read the familiar handwriting inside. It's the same handwriting I saw many times when I was still working for Global Media.

"Something to brighten your day. Enjoy. MK"

I can practically hear Maron's deep, infuriatingly smooth voice murmuring the words into my ears. It’s all it takes to get me ridiculously wet.

Seriously, Mindy?

You really have to do something about this libido of yours.

Tucking the card into my pocket, I gather up the mystery box and march out of the building.

Back at my apartment, I stare at the sleek black box sitting on my bed like it's a ticking time bomb. Part of me wants to just shove it in the back of my closet and pretend it never existed, but let's be real - curiosity's always been my Achilles' heel. That, and my libido.

I'm just about to check out Maron's presents when my phone starts buzzing. It's Alexis. I instantly get a knot in my stomach – calls from her don't usually bring good news.

"Lex," I answer, trying not to sound too wary.

"Hey, Mindy." She sounds different than last time. More clear-headed. "I need a quick favor. My car's in the shop and I want to go see Mom at the hospital. Any chance I could borrow yours? Won’t be more than a few hours."

I pause. I’m suddenly torn between hope and skepticism. The last time Alexis borrowed my car, it came back with a mysterious scratch. At the same time, I can’t get myself to refuse. I don’t have the energy to listen to her tearing old scars open, blaming me for things I already feel guilty about. After so many tumultuous days, my peace feels more important.

"Alright. You still have the spare key from last time, right?" I hear myself say before I could think better of it.

"I do. You're a lifesaver, sis. Thanks."

As soon as I hang up, a feeling of unease takes hold. Maybe I should have said no. Then again, I’m sure she got her dose of painkillers because she sounded like her normal self. That’s the thing about my sister’s addiction. Whenever she gets her fix, she can function like a normal human being. But when she doesn’t, she turns into an absolute bitch.

I decide to push away thoughts of my sister and refocus on Maron's gift box.

“Alright Miss Williams, time to find out what’s inside this mystery kit,” I murmur to myself.

I pick up the box, untie the silver ribbon, and lift the lid bracing myself for whatever game Maron's cooked up. It’s when I catch a glimpse of what's inside; I can't help but let out a shriek.

A pair of sky-high heels.

A sexy, delicate lace lingerie set.

Two tiny bottles of high-end perfume, that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

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