Chapter 29
1126 Words
"The wedding dress still fits. At least something's going right." Hannah's voice drifted from behind the changing screen in her suite.
Atlas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The morning light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the expensive wedding preparations scattered everywhere.
"I need to speak with you alone," he said, his voice deliberately neutral despite the storm raging inside him.
Hannah emerged, still in her silk robe, hair swept up in preparation for her final fitting. "You are speaking to me alone."
"Not here." Atlas glanced pointedly at the ceiling corner where he knew Mercer had installed surveillance. "Somewhere private."
Hannah's eyes widened slightly. She nodded, understanding immediately. "The rose garden. Ten minutes."
Atlas left without another word, his mind still processing Mercer's revelations. Westfield. The name burned in his thoughts like acid. All this time, his rage had been directed at the Finnegans, justified, yes, but manipulated by another man's greed.
The rose garden occupied the farthest corner of the estate, surrounded by high stone walls and dense foliage. Its privacy had made it a favourite spot for Marius, who'd spent hours tending the flowers himself, refusing even gardeners in this sanctuary.
Hannah arrived precisely ten minutes later, her heels clicking on the stone pathway. She'd dressed hurriedly, her blouse not quite aligned with her skirt.
"What's happened? More blackmail?" She glanced around nervously.
"Worse." Atlas gestured to a stone bench. "We need to talk about Westfield."
Hannah sank onto the bench, color draining from her face. "Richard Westfield? What does he have to do with anything?"
"Everything, apparently." Atlas remained standing, too restless to sit. "Did you know Marius died of natural causes?"
The question hit her like a physical blow. "What? But Aaron said..." She trailed off, confusion clear in her eyes.
"What exactly did Aaron tell you about his father's death?"
Hannah swallowed hard. "That it was sudden. Unexpected. A heart attack."
"Not murder? Not poisoning?"
"Murder?" Her genuine shock confirmed what Atlas suspected. "God, no. Who would—" Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Anola's journal. The one you mentioned before."
Atlas nodded grimly. "A forgery, apparently. Created to manipulate me."
"I don't understand." Hannah shook her head. "Manipulate you into what?"
"Into destroying the Finnegan family from within." He began pacing the garden path, restless energy impossible to contain. "Westfield has been buying up Finnegan stock as prices fall. If Aaron's reputation is destroyed before the wedding..."
"The company becomes vulnerable to takeover," Hannah finished, business acumen surfacing through her confusion. "But why would you care about destroying the Finnegans unless..."
Realization dawned slowly, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face with new intensity. She rose from the bench, approaching him cautiously, as if he might bolt.
"Who are you really, James?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or should I call you something else?"
Atlas held her gaze, making the decision in a heartbeat. With deliberate movements, he reached up to the edge of his jaw, finding the nearly invisible seam of his prosthetic mask. He peeled it away slowly, revealing his true face inch by inch.
Hannah gasped, stumbling backward, her hand flying to her throat. "No. It can't be."
Atlas Prime stood before her, the mask discarded. His true features were harder, marked by the years of suffering, but unmistakably the man she had betrayed.
"Hello, Hannah."
She shook her head in disbelief, tears welling in her eyes. "We thought you were dead. They said-"
"They broke every bone in my body and left me in a garbage dump to die." His voice remained unnervingly calm. "I survived."
"All this time... you've been here, watching us, gathering information." Her breathing quickened. "The blackmail, the photos, that was you."
"Yes."
Hannah's hand struck out, slapping him hard across the face. The c***k echoed through the garden.
"You bastard!" She struck again, but this time he caught her wrist.
"Careful," he warned softly. "I'm not the same man you betrayed."
"So what now?" she demanded, tears streaming freely. "You expose the photos? Ruin the wedding? Get your revenge?"
"That was the plan." Atlas released her wrist, stepping back. "Until I learned I was being manipulated by Westfield."
Hannah froze. "What does this mean? For the wedding, for Aaron, for..."
"For us?" Atlas laughed bitterly. "There is no us, Hannah. There never was."
"You slept with me." Her voice hardened. "Was that just part of your revenge too?"
"Yes." The single word cut like a knife.
She flinched but didn't back down. "You're lying. I felt it, Atlas. Whatever else has changed, I know when you're lying."
Atlas turned away, facing the roses Marius had so carefully cultivated. "What I feel doesn't matter. What matters is that Westfield used me, used my pain to further his business agenda."
"And that bothers you more than what we did to you?" Hannah asked incredulously.
"You hurt me." Atlas turned back to her, eyes blazing. "Betrayed me. But at least you did it to my face. Westfield, he made me his puppet without ever showing his hand."
Hannah stepped closer, her initial shock giving way to calculation. "So what will you do now? Go after Westfield instead?"
"Both." Atlas's expression hardened. "Westfield first, then your family. Just not on his timeline."
"And me?" She was close enough now that he could smell her perfume, the same scent she'd worn five years ago.
"You made your choice five years ago." His voice remained cold.
"I was young and stupid," she whispered, close enough now that her breath warmed his skin. "And afraid. Aaron threatened me too, you know. Said if I didn't go along with it, I'd be next."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I expect you to remember how it was between us. Before everything went wrong."
Her hand reached up, hesitantly touching his face, his real face, for the first time in five years. Atlas remained still, fighting the warring impulses to push her away and pull her closer.
"You still want me," she murmured, reading his reaction. "Even after everything."
"Want has nothing to do with trust."
"Then use me," Hannah suggested, her voice dropping lower. "Against both of them. Aaron, Westfield, I know things that could help you."
Atlas searched her face, looking for deception. "Why would you betray Aaron now?"
"Because I never stopped thinking about you." Her fingers traced his jawline. "And because I'm tired of being afraid."
The calculation was clear, she was adapting, surviving, as she always had. But beneath it, Atlas sensed something genuine, a spark of the woman he'd once loved.
"Prove it," he challenged.
Hannah leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. "How?"
"Tell me something I don't know about Aaron or Westfield. Something valuable."
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