Married by midnight

Smoke And Mirrors

The gunshot rang out like a thunderclap.

Sloane's ears roared with the sound.

She dropped to the cold stone floor, heart pounding, eyes wide in terror. For a second, she couldn't tell who had been hit. Grayson had spun toward the sound, shielding her with his body.

Then silence.

Only the hum of electricity from the open vault door.

When she looked up, Grayson was still standing eyes locked on the woman holding the gun.

Alyssa.

Her hands trembled. Her chest heaved.

But the gun hung low now, smoke curling from the barrel.

Grayson's voice was low and lethal. "You fired that near her head."

"I didn't mean to," Alyssa whispered. "I didn't come to hurt her. I just I needed you to listen."

"You could've called," he snapped.

"You would've ignored me. You always do."

Sloane stood slowly, her knees unsteady. "You pointed a gun at me."

"I wasn't going to shoot you," Alyssa said, guilt tightening her features. "I was trying to scare him."

"Well, congratulations," Sloane breathed. "It worked."

Grayson stepped forward. "Put it down, Alyssa."

Alyssa's hand tightened around the grip. "You don't get to control me anymore."

"I'm not trying to."

"Then why the vault?" she snapped. "Why keep the file? Why hoard the truth like it belongs to you?"

Grayson's voice was ice. "Because the truth destroys people. It doesn't just set them free."

Alyssa's eyes flicked to Sloane. "Now she gets to find that out."

Sloane turned toward her. "Why did you really come back?"

Alyssa's eyes filled. "Because I didn't want you to become me. I thought if I gave you proof, if I gave you a reason to run you'd save yourself."

"And you thought threatening me was the way?"

"I didn't mean to threaten you," Alyssa choked. "I just I panicked. I thought he'd stop me. That he'd lie again. I was never good at disappearing, but I was even worse at staying."

Sloane looked between them, breath still ragged.

She didn't know what scared her more: the gun or the ghosts behind their eyes.

Ten minutes later, the three of them sat in the penthouse's upstairs lounge.

The gun lay on the marble coffee table unloaded now. Sloane kept her distance.

Grayson stood by the window, arms folded.

Alyssa sat with her legs pulled up, head bowed.

Sloane was the only one speaking.

"You were engaged. Then she ran. You buried it. And now she's back. And I'm just the innocent i***t who wandered into the sequel."

Grayson turned. "You're not an idiot."

"But I am innocent," she snapped. "I didn't sign up for this. I agreed to a fake marriage not to be dragged into a cover-up and a war between broken hearts."

Alyssa's voice was soft. "It wasn't always fake, you know."

Sloane blinked. "What?"

"He loved me," Alyssa said. "Once."

Sloane's stomach twisted.

She didn't want to hear this.

Didn't want to feel anything about it.

Grayson's silence didn't help.

"Did you?" she asked quietly, looking at him.

He didn't answer right away.

"I did," he finally said.

Of course he did.

He wasn't a robot.

He was human.

Haunted.

Complicated.

And, apparently, still in love with a woman who had just fired a gun in front of him.

Alyssa rose from the couch.

"I'm leaving the city tonight. The flash drive is yours now," she told Sloane. "Do what you want with it."

"And the vault?" Sloane asked.

"Burn it," Alyssa said. "Or don't. Just don't trust it. Whatever Eleanor buried down there it's poison."

She crossed the room, paused by the door.

"Be careful with your heart, Sloane. He doesn't always mean to break things. But he does."

Then she was gone.

Again.

Like a ghost.

Only this time, Sloane wasn't sure she'd come back.

Grayson poured himself a drink once the door shut.

Sloane stood frozen, arms wrapped around herself.

"Say something," he said finally.

She turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me she was alive?"

"I didn't want to bring that pain back into her life. Or mine."

"You were engaged. You buried a vault of secrets. And you didn't think I deserved to know?"

"I didn't think I'd fall for you."

Silence.

Sloane's heart thudded.

He looked at her, vulnerability finally cracking the mask.

"I thought this would be simple. A clean transaction. You needed the job, I needed the appearance. I didn't expect you to stay. I didn't expect to care."

She swallowed. "Do you?"

"I care more than I should."

"And Alyssa?"

He didn't flinch.

"I cared for her. I don't anymore."

"But you loved her."

"I thought I did. Then she vanished, and I realized I loved the idea of her more than the reality."

Sloane's hands trembled at her sides. "And what about me? Am I just another idea?"

"No," he said. "You're the first real thing I've had in years."

It was almost midnight when Sloane returned to her apartment.

The lights were off. Liam wasn't home.

She walked to her room, changed into sweats, and pulled out the flash drive Alyssa had given her earlier that week the one with "proof."

She plugged it into her laptop.

A folder opened:

> ASTOR / MONROE RECORDS PRIVATE COMMUNICATIONS ASTOR FOUNDATION FUNDS

Dozens of documents.

Bank logs. Transcripts. Scanned letters.

One labeled:

>Eleanor_Astor_to_EmilMonroe_Confidential.pdf

She opened it.

The message was chilling.

> Emil,

If Jonathan falls, we both fall. You swore this arrangement would remain in place until Grayson was old enough to redirect the foundation's liquid assets. If the accounts are traced, you know what must be done.

Sloane stared.

This was it.

The proof.

But exposing it would destroy everything: the Astor name, the foundation, Grayson's company.

It would ruin Liam's scholarship the one Astor had just helped fund.

It would ruin everything.

She sank into her chair, hands over her face.

Then her phone buzzed.

A new message.

UNKNOWN: Check your front door.

She froze.

The city was silent outside.

She moved slowly, heart in her throat.

Unlocked the bolt.

Opened the door.

And there on the floor was a manila envelope.

Inside?

Photos.

Of her.

Walking with Liam.

Entering the penthouse.

Even sleeping in her bed.

On the back of the last photo:

> Don't make the mistake Alyssa made. You won't survive it twice.

Somewhere across Manhattan, a man in a dark coat and gloves made a call.

"Yes. She has the drive."

Pause.

"No. She doesn't know the full story."

Another pause.

"Shall I proceed?"

The voice on the other end said one word:

"Yes."