Natasha’s lips curled into a faint smirk.
35 vouchers
Noel caught it and shot her a smug look. That was enough. Natasha stood, marched over, and plopped into Thomas’s seat. “This one’s better.”
Now it was Natasha, Thomas, Noel.
Noel’s jaw dropped. “What’s your deal?”
Natasha shrugged. “Just don’t wanna catch your stupid sitting too close.”
“Natasha!” Noel snapped, half–rising.
“Alright, chill, you two,” Madeline said, half–laughing. “You’re not kids anymore.”
Still, their bickering felt oddly familiar, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Natasha, how’s your injury? You okay? Maybe Dr. Richardson can swing by after dinner to check on you.”
Jason Richardson was the family doc.
Andrew softened. “Why not move back home for a bit? We can look out for you.”
Thomas and Noel nodded along, Noel even looking kinda hopeful.
They seemed so genuine, so worried. But Natasha knew the game.
A slap, then a sweet. Just enough warmth to keep her hooked, make it hard to walk away.
Until she and Olivia clashed again–then they’d turn on her, no question.
It made this “family” moment feel cheap.
Olivia glanced at her, smile sweet, eyes sharp. “Yeah, Natasha, this is your home. We’re family. No bad blood lasts forever, right?”
She hit the word “your” hard, and Natasha caught the dig.
Natasha leaned back, smirking. “Speaking of bad blood, y’all forgetting something?”
Noel blinked, lost. “Huh?”
“That whole ‘hired a hitman‘ thing you pinned on me,” she said, voice light but cutting. “Real nice accusation. If I hadn’t pushed for the cops, I’d be stuck with ‘killer‘ on my name for life. Don’t I get a ‘sorry‘ for that?”
Sweeping it under the rug? Not her style.
