The Hero Was Never Mine

Chapter 6

On Sunday afternoon, Quinn received an unexpected visitor.

She had been reading on the sofa when the intercom rang.

"Hannah?" she asked when her assistant appeared on the screen.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hearst."

"Is something wrong?"

"Mr. Vanderbilt is downstairs."

Quinn sat up so quickly that her book slid to the floor.

"What?"

"Mr. Vanderbilt . He's asking whether you're available."

Quinn stared at the intercom.

"Why?"

"He says he has something for you."

"Something?"

"Those were his exact words."

Quinn looked toward the clock.

Three thirty.

Sunday.

A day when normal people rested, visited family, or did whatever people with healthy boundaries did.

Sebastian apparently delivered mysterious objects to women's apartments.

"Did he say what it was?"

"No."

"Did you ask?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He said it was a surprise."

Quinn closed her eyes.

Of course it was.

She could tell him she was busy.

She could pretend she wasn't home.

She could instruct Hannah to send him away.

All of those options were reasonable.

Unfortunately, curiosity was one of her more persistent flaws.

"Send him up," she said.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Quinn opened the door and found Sebastian standing in the corridor, holding a small paper bag.

He wore dark trousers, a simple sweater, and a coat that looked far too expensive to be casual.

He looked different without a suit.

Younger, somehow.

Less like a corporate executive and more like a man who might actually know how to enjoy a weekend.

Quinn immediately distrusted the effect.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"What are you doing here?"

"That's a warm welcome."

"You arrived unannounced on a Sunday."

"I called."

"You called my assistant."

"She was very helpful."

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"You're avoiding the question."

Sebastian held up the bag.

"I brought you something."

She looked at it suspiciously.

"Is it a contract?"

"No."

"A financial report?"

"No."

"A subpoena?"

He laughed.

"Should I be concerned about your imagination?"

"You have no idea."

He offered her the bag.

She accepted it reluctantly.

Inside was a small box of pastries from the bakery beneath the bookstore.

Quinn stared at them.

Then she looked at him.

"Why?"

"You mentioned during lunch that you wanted to learn to cook."

"I did."

"I thought you might appreciate a reminder that food can be enjoyable without requiring you to prepare it yourself."

She blinked.

That was unexpectedly thoughtful.

It was also infuriatingly specific.

"You remembered that?"

"I have a good memory."

"Apparently."

She looked down at the box again.

There were four pastries inside, carefully arranged.

One chocolate.

One almond.

One fruit tart.

And one small cinnamon roll.

She loved cinnamon rolls.

She had not told him that.

She had not told anyone that.

She looked up sharply.

"How did you know I like these?"

Sebastian seemed surprised by the question.

"I didn't."

"Then why did you bring one?"

"I asked the bakery what people usually order with coffee."

She stared at him.

"You asked a bakery for romantic advice?"

He burst out laughing.

"No. I asked what pastries people liked."

"That's somehow worse."

"Why?"

"Because now I have to admit that your gesture is thoughtful rather than the result of an elaborate strategy."

He smiled.

"I'll try to be less thoughtful next time."

"Please do."

They stood in the doorway, smiling at each other.

The silence stretched.

Then Quinn realized something deeply inconvenient.

She wanted to invite him inside.

Not because he was handsome.

Not because he had brought her pastries.

Not because she was curious about what he might say next.

But because she was enjoying his company.

That was the most dangerous reason of all.

She stepped aside.

"Would you like coffee?"

Sebastian looked at her for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I'm asking anyway."

He smiled.

"Then I'd love some."

Sebastian sat at the kitchen island while Quinn prepared the coffee.

She was very careful not to spill anything.

This was not because she was nervous.

It was because the kitchen was expensive, and she had no desire to explain to the housekeeper why there was coffee on the marble countertop.

"Do you cook?" she asked, pouring water into the coffee maker.

"Occasionally."

Quinn looked over her shoulder.

"Define occasionally."

"When I have time."

"That tells me nothing."

"I can prepare a few dishes."

"Such as?"

"Steak. Pasta. Breakfast."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're suspiciously competent."

"I wasn't aware that cooking was a suspicious activity."

"Not for ordinary people. But you have the appearance of a man who delegates every task that requires human effort."

Sebastian laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't one."

"Then I'll take it as an insult delivered with affection."

Quinn nearly dropped the coffee scoop.

"Affection?"

"Figure of speech."

"Choose your figures of speech more carefully."

He watched her with a smile.

She handed him a cup of coffee and sat across from him.

For several minutes, they talked about ordinary things.

The restaurant they had visited.

The terrible traffic in Manhattan.

The best places to buy books.

The strange habits of wealthy people.

Sebastian admitted that he hated attending formal events but had learned to tolerate them because of his position. Quinn admitted that she sometimes bought books simply because she liked the covers.

"That sounds expensive," he observed.

"You're a billionaire."

"That doesn't mean I enjoy wasting money."

"You spend more on your watches than I spend on books."

"That's different."

"Of course it is."

He smiled.

Then his gaze drifted toward the green notebook on the table.

"What's that?"

Quinn followed his gaze.

"My notebook."

"Do you write in it?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you write?"

"Things."

"Very informative."

She rested her hand on the cover.

"Private things."

Sebastian nodded immediately.

"Fair enough."

He didn't ask to see it.

He didn't try to persuade her to share.

He simply accepted the boundary.

Quinn looked at him for a moment.

"You're surprisingly respectful of privacy."

"Should I be offended?"

"No. I'm just trying to understand you."

He grew quiet.

Then he said, "People often think they understand me before they've spoken to me."

Quinn's heart tightened.

She knew that feeling.

As Tiffany Yang, she had been praised, criticized, and analyzed by strangers who believed that reading her books meant they knew her personally.

Some readers had insisted she was a hopeless romantic.

Others had accused her of being cynical.

A few had written lengthy essays explaining what her fictional characters supposedly revealed about her private life.

None of them had known her.

Not really.

"I understand," she said quietly.

Sebastian looked at her.

"Do you?"

She nodded.

"People decide who you are based on what they see. Then, when you try to change, they assume you're pretending."

He was silent for a moment.

"Is that what's happening to you?"

Quinn looked down at her coffee.

"Perhaps."

"Does it bother you?"

"Of course."

She gave a small, self-conscious laugh.

"I'm not suddenly immune to other people's opinions. I still hate being misunderstood. I still worry about what people say. I still want to be liked."

Quinn listened.

"But I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to control how everyone sees me," she continued. "It's exhausting. And it means I spend more time managing my reputation than actually living."

He nodded slowly.

"That sounds familiar."

She looked up.

"Does it?"

"More than you might think."

For a moment, she wondered what he had experienced.

She knew the details of his fictional past, but knowing the outline of a character's history was not the same as understanding the person who had lived it.

Perhaps Sebastian had spent years being treated as a symbol rather than a human being.

The billionaire heir.

The corporate genius.

The perfect man.

Perhaps people had forgotten that he was allowed to be uncertain, lonely, or afraid.

Quinn wanted to ask him about it.

Instead, she took a sip of coffee.

One step at a time.

They were not close enough for confessions.

And she was not foolish enough to confuse a pleasant afternoon with the beginning of a love story.

An hour later, Sebastian stood near the door, preparing to leave.

"Thank you for the coffee," he said.

"Thank you for the pastries."

"You haven't tried them yet."

"I intend to."

"Then I look forward to hearing your review."

"I'll have my assistant prepare a detailed report."

"Please include recommendations for improvement."

"Naturally."

He smiled.

Then he hesitated.

"Seraphina?"

"Yes?"

"I enjoyed today."

She looked at him.

The words were simple.

No flirtation.

No teasing.

No attempt to turn the afternoon into something it wasn't.

Just honesty.

She felt the familiar, inconvenient warmth in her chest.

"So did I," she admitted.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Sebastian stepped toward the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"At the office?"

"If you're available."

"For business?"

"Of course."

She smiled faintly.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

He left.

Quinn closed the door and leaned against it.

She remained there for several seconds.

Then she walked back to the kitchen, opened the pastry box, and picked up the cinnamon roll.

She took one bite.

It was delicious.

She hated that too.

That night, Quinn opened her green notebook.

She sat beside the window, the city glowing beneath her, and turned to a fresh page.

For several minutes, she stared at the blank paper.

Then she wrote:

I think I'm beginning to understand something about this world.

People are not characters.

She stopped.

The sentence looked strange.

Obvious, perhaps.

But she needed to write it.

They don't exist simply to make someone else's story more interesting. They have their own fears, hopes, disappointments, and dreams. They make choices that don't always fit the roles other people assign them.

She paused, thinking about Astrid.

About Hannah.

About Eric.

About Sebastian.

Then she continued.

I wrote Quinn as a villainess because I needed someone to oppose the heroine. I wrote Sebastian as a hero because I needed someone for the heroine to love. I gave them histories, personalities, and motivations, but I never considered what would happen if they were allowed to become something different.

Her pen hovered over the page.

Perhaps that was my mistake.

She leaned back.

The truth was uncomfortable.

As a writer, she had always believed that she understood her characters because she had created them.

But perhaps creation was not the same as understanding.

Perhaps she had only given them enough depth to serve the story she wanted to tell.

Now she was living among them.

And she was discovering that they were more complicated than the pages she had written.

She turned to the next line.

I don't know what kind of woman Quinn will become.

I don't know whether Sebastian will ever love Astrid the way I intended.

I don't know whether I can change the ending without destroying the story.

She stopped writing.

For a long time, she stared at the words.

Then she added one final sentence.

But for the first time, I want to find out.

She closed the notebook.

Outside, the city continued moving.

Cars crossed the streets. Lights flickered in distant windows. Somewhere, people were falling in love, falling out of love, making mistakes, and beginning again.

Life went on.

Even inside a story.

Quinn stood and walked to the window.

She had spent the past several days trying to escape the future she had written.

But perhaps survival wasn't enough.

Perhaps she needed to build a future worth surviving for.

A future that belonged to her.

A future where she could be more than the villainess.

More than the woman who wasn't chosen.

More than the tragic ending she had once considered necessary.

She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass.

"I'll write a different ending," she whispered.

And somewhere, deep inside her heart, another voice answered.

Just make sure you don't fall in love with the hero.

Quinn closed her eyes.

"That," she said firmly, "is the one thing I won't do."

Unfortunately, the universe had already begun to laugh.

The following Monday, Quinn arrived at Hearst Group to find a message waiting on her desk.

It was from the independent audit firm Sebastian had recommended.

They had reviewed the initial documents and identified several transactions that required further investigation.

One of the payments had been made to a consulting company registered under a name she recognized.

Winthrop Strategic Holdings.

Quinn read the report twice.

Then she picked up her phone and called Hannah.

"Please come to my office."

Hannah arrived less than a minute later.

"Miss Hearst?"

Quinn turned the report toward her.

"I think we've found something."

Hannah read the page.

Her expression changed.

"Is this connected to Mr. Winthrop?"

"I don't know yet."

"But the company is registered under his name."

"Which means we need evidence before making any accusations."

Hannah nodded.

"What should we do?"

Quinn looked at the documents.

She had been so focused on changing her own fate that she had almost forgotten the most important thing.

The future was not going to change simply because she wanted it to.

She would have to work for it.

She would have to make difficult decisions, confront people who might hate her, and accept that doing the right thing could come at a cost.

She might fail.

She might lose the trust of people she cared about.

She might discover that the story was harder to change than she had imagined.

But she would not run.

"First," she said, "we preserve every document. Second, we ask the auditors to trace the payments. Third, we make sure Eric doesn't know how much we've discovered."

Hannah nodded.

"And after that?"

Quinn looked out the window toward the Manhattan skyline.

"After that, we find out how deep this goes."

She turned back to her desk.

For the first time, she felt less like a woman trapped inside a novel and more like someone who could actually shape the life she had been given.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Sebastian.

Adrian: How was your weekend?

Quinn stared at the screen.

Then she typed:

Quinn : Productive. I bought books, drank coffee, and did not cause any scandals.

His response arrived a moment later.

Adrian: I'm impressed.

Seraphina: You should be.

Adrian: Did you try the cinnamon roll?

She smiled before she could stop herself.

Seraphina: Yes.

Adrian: And?

Seraphina: Acceptable.

Adrian: Only acceptable?

Seraphina: I don't give out praise easily.

Adrian: I'll keep that in mind.

She set down her phone.

The smile remained on her face for several seconds longer than it should have.

Then she noticed Hannah watching her.

"What?"

"Nothing, Miss Hearst."

"You're smiling."

"So are you."

Quinn's expression immediately changed.

"I am not."

"Of course not."

Hannah turned toward the door, but Quinn could hear her laughing as she left.

Quinn looked at her phone one last time.

Then she locked it and returned to the audit report.

She had work to do.

A reputation to rebuild.

A family business to protect.

And a future to rewrite.

She would not let Sebastian distract her from any of it.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever.

At least, that was the plan.

*****************

Quinn Hearst had come to a troubling conclusion.

Being a villainess was considerably more exhausting than it looked.

In books, villainesses had a simple job description. They wore beautiful dresses, delivered cutting remarks, made questionable romantic decisions, and occasionally ruined a perfectly good party. They were allowed to be selfish, dramatic, and unreasonable because the story needed someone for the heroine to overcome.

In real life—or whatever this strange, fictional version of real life was—being a villainess involved considerably more paperwork.

It was nine fifteen on Monday morning, and Quinn was staring at three financial reports, two audit summaries, and a message from the legal department requesting clarification about a consulting company that apparently existed only on paper.

She had not even finished her coffee.

"I miss my old life," she whispered.

Then she immediately regretted saying it.

Her old life had deadlines, exhaustion, and the occasional existential crisis over a fictional character refusing to cooperate with her outline. It had also involved a laptop, a quiet apartment, and the freedom to write whatever she wanted.

She had never imagined that she would one day miss those things while living in a penthouse with a wardrobe worth more than her old apartment.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor.

A knock sounded at her office door.

"Come in."

Hannah Brooks entered carrying a tablet and a thin folder.

"Good morning, Miss Hearst."

"Good morning. Please tell me you have wonderful news."

"The auditors have requested additional records from the finance department."

"That isn't wonderful news."

"They've also confirmed that the consulting company received payments from the foundation on at least six occasions over the past eighteen months."

Quinn sat up straighter.

"Six?"

"Six that they've identified so far."

"How much?"

Hannah placed the folder on the desk.

"Approximately eight hundred thousand dollars."

Quinn stared at her.

Eight hundred thousand dollars.

Money that could have repaired the community learning center. Money that could have funded scholarships for students who couldn't afford university. Money that could have purchased books, computers, and educational materials for children who needed them.

Instead, it had disappeared into a company connected to Eric Winthrop.

She closed the folder.

"Have the auditors confirmed who authorized the payments?"

"Not yet. Several approvals appear to have been submitted electronically under different executive accounts."

"Can they verify whether the approvals were legitimate?"

"They're investigating."

Quinn leaned back in her chair.

In the original manuscript, Eric's scheme had been far more elaborate than a handful of questionable payments. He had used several companies to move money through the Hearst Group's accounts, then manipulated the records to make it appear that Quinn had personally authorized the transactions.

The truth had only emerged after the scandal destroyed her reputation.

By then, the damage had been done.

She had to stop that from happening.

"Please tell the auditors not to confront anyone yet," she said. "I want a complete record of every transaction, including the original authorization files and any communications related to the payments."

Hannah nodded.

"I'll inform them."

"And Hannah?"

"Yes?"

"If anyone asks why we're requesting these records, tell them we're conducting a routine review of the foundation's financial controls."

"Even Mr. Winthrop?"

"Especially Mr. Winthrop."

Hannah's expression grew serious.

"Understood."

She turned to leave, but Quinn stopped her.

"One more thing."

Hannah looked back.

"Yes, Miss Winthrop?"

"Do you know whether the foundation has any existing partnerships with local schools?"

"Several. Most are focused on literacy programs and after-school learning."

"Could you prepare a list? Include the schools, the programs we support, their current funding, and any requests that haven't been approved."

"Certainly."

Quinn glanced at the notebook beside her laptop.

"I want to review all of them before the end of the week."

Hannah made a note.

"That should be possible."

"Thank you."

When Hannah left, Quinn turned toward the window.

The Manhattan skyline stretched beyond the glass, bright and imposing beneath the morning sun.

Somewhere in the city, students were sitting in classrooms, trying to learn with outdated books and insufficient resources.

Somewhere, Eric Winthrop was probably preparing for another meeting, convinced that he could manipulate the Hearts family without consequence.

And somewhere, Sebastian was probably being annoyingly competent.

Quinn sighed.

She really needed to stop thinking about him.

Especially when she had far more important things to worry about.

Her phone buzzed.

A message appeared from Hannah.

Hannah: Miss Vale, I forgot to mention that the Everhart Children's Foundation called. Miss Aurelia Everhart would like to arrange a meeting with you this week.

Quinn stared at the screen.

Then she slowly set down her coffee.

"Oh, no."

She knew exactly what this meant.

Astrid.

The heroine.

The woman who was supposed to marry Sebastian, heal his emotional wounds, and live happily ever after with him while Quinn suffered a tragic ending.

And now Astrid wanted to meet her.

Quinn looked toward the ceiling.

"Please tell me this is not the beginning of a friendship."

Her phone buzzed again.

Hannah: She said she would prefer to discuss the literacy partnership in person.

Quinn closed her eyes.

Of course.

Business.

Everything was business.

She could handle business.

She could handle meetings, financial audits, and corporate negotiations.

What she could not handle was the possibility that she might genuinely like the heroine of her own novel.

Because if Astrid was as kind in person as she had written her to be, Quinn would have no reason to dislike her.

And if she had no reason to dislike her, she would have to confront the uncomfortable truth that she had spent years writing a woman as a villain simply because she needed someone to lose.

Quinn picked up her phone.

Quinn : Please arrange the meeting for Wednesday afternoon.

She hesitated before adding another message.

Quinn : And Hannah?

Hannah: Yes, Miss Hearst?

Quinn : Please make sure the meeting room has coffee.

She paused.

Quinn : And perhaps something stronger.

A moment later, Hannah replied.

Hannah: I'll prepare the coffee, Miss Vale.

Quinn sighed.

It was probably for the best.

She was trying to become a better person, after all.

She could not begin that journey by asking for alcohol before meeting the heroine.

Even if the universe seemed determined to test her.

By Wednesday afternoon, Quinn had managed to convince herself that the meeting with Astrid would be perfectly ordinary.

They would discuss the literacy partnership.

They would review the proposed funding arrangements.

They would agree on the next steps.

Then Astrid would return to her own life, Quinn would return to hers, and neither of them would have to discuss Sebastian.

Simple.

Professional.

Entirely manageable.

Quinn repeated this explanation to herself while reviewing the meeting agenda.

At two fifty-five, she checked her reflection in the office mirror.

At three, she straightened the papers on the conference table.

At three oh five, she told Hannah that the coffee smelled wonderful.

At three ten, she asked whether the guests had arrived.

At three twelve, she realized she was behaving like someone preparing for a first date.

"This is ridiculus," she muttered.

Hannah looked up from her tablet.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Are you nervous?"

"Absolutely not."

Hannah raised an eyebrow.

Quinn pointed at her.

"Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"You were about to."

"I was going to ask whether you wanted more coffee."

Quinn paused.

"Oh."

Hannah smiled innocently.

"Would you like more coffee, Miss Hearst?"

"No. Thank you."

"Of course."

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

Hannah returned to her work, looking suspiciously pleased with herself.

At three fifteen, the receptionist called.

"Miss Hearst, Miss Watson has arrived."

Quinn took a deep breath.

"Please send her up."

A few minutes later, the conference room door opened.

Astrid stepped inside.

She wore a pale blue blouse, tailored trousers, and a cream-colored coat draped over one arm. Her hair was tied in a simple ponytail, and she carried a leather folder that looked as though it had been used for years.

She looked professional.

Approachable.

And completely unlike the glamorous heroine Quinn remembered from the original manuscript.

"Quinn ," Astrid said warmly. "Thank you for meeting with me."

"Of course. Please, have a seat."

They shook hands.

Astrid glanced around the conference room.

"This is a beautiful office."

"Thank you. I spend far too much time here to dislike the view."

Astrid smiled.

"I imagine the view helps."

"It helps when the paperwork becomes overwhelming."

They sat across from each other.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Astrid opened her folder.

"I thought we could begin by discussing the literacy partnership you mentioned at the gala."

Quinn felt an immediate rush of relief.

Business.

Wonderful, glorious business.

"Absolutely."

Astrid placed several documents on the table.

"Our foundation currently supports reading programs in twelve schools. We've been hoping to expand to communities where access to books is limited, but our funding has become stretched."

Quinn studied the proposal.

The document outlined the existing programs, the number of students served, and the estimated costs of expanding the initiative.

It was thorough.

More thorough than Quinn had expected.

"You've done a great deal of work on this," she said.

Astrid nodded.

"We've been developing the proposal for several months."

"How many additional schools would you like to support?"

"Initially, five. We'd like to provide books, reading materials, and after-school tutoring. If the program succeeds, we could expand it next year."

Quinn reviewed the budget.

"Have you considered including digital learning resources?"

"We have, but some of the schools don't have reliable internet access."

"Then perhaps we could fund printed materials first and introduce digital resources where the infrastructure supports them."

Astrid's face brightened.

"That would be wonderful."

"We could also ask the schools to submit reports each term. Not just on the number of books distributed, but on student participation and reading progress."

"That's a good idea. We want to make sure the program is actually helping."

Quinn looked up.

"Exactly."

Their eyes met.

For a brief moment, something passed between them.

Not rivalry.

Not suspicion.

Recognition.

They both wanted the program to succeed.

And for the first time, Quinn felt the strange relief of speaking with someone who understood the purpose of the work without needing to be persuaded.

They spent the next forty minutes discussing the proposal.

Aurelia had thoughtful answers to nearly every question. She was willing to revise the budget, adjust the implementation timeline, and include additional reporting requirements.

She didn't become defensive when Quinn challenged her assumptions.

She didn't treat the Hearst Foundation's money as an entitlement.

And when Quinn suggested that the partnership should prioritize underserved schools rather than those with the most influential administrators, Astrid immediately agreed.

"You know," Astrid said as she gathered her notes, "I was worried you might find the proposal too ambitious."

Quinn looked at her.

"Why would I?"

Astrid hesitated.

"Because of the budget. And because expanding to five schools at once will require a lot of coordination."

"Those are reasonable concerns. But I don't think ambition is a problem when the planning is sound."

Astrid smiled.

"I'm glad you think so."

Quinn closed the folder.

"I'd like the Hearst Foundation to support the pilot program. We'll need the finance team to confirm the available budget, and the legal department will prepare the partnership agreement. But I think we can move forward."

Astrid looked genuinely delighted.

"Thank you, Quinn ."

"You're welcome."

"No, really. This means a great deal to us."

She paused.

"And to the students."

Quinn felt a familiar ache in her chest.

There was something deeply satisfying about being able to help someone without expecting anything in return.

It was different from making a donation at a gala.

Different from appearing in a photograph.

Different from the kind of generosity Quinn had once practiced simply because it was expected of her.

This felt real.

"Then let's make sure we do it properly," she said.

Astrid nodded.

"Agreed."

For a moment, the meeting seemed complete.

Then Astrid hesitated.

"Can I ask you something that isn't related to the partnership?"

Quinn shoulders tensed.

There it was.

The inevitable question.

"Of course."

Astrid folded her hands on the table.

"I hope this doesn't sound rude, but I wanted to ask whether things are all right between us."

Quinn looked at her carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"I know we've had our differences."

The words were gentle.

That somehow made them more difficult to hear.

Astrid continued.

"I've never wanted to be the cause of problems between you and Sebastian . I know you and he have known each other for years, and I realize that your relationship with him has been complicated."

Quinn heart tightened.

There it was.

Sebastian.

Of course.

She had known the subject would eventually come up.

She had simply hoped to postpone it for another ten years.

"Astrid," she began, "you don't need to apologize for anything."

Astrid looked surprised.

"But—"

"No. Please let me finish."

Quinn took a breath.

"I think I've made things more difficult than they needed to be. I was unhappy with the way things were between Sebastian and me, and I allowed that unhappiness to affect how I treated you."

Astrid remained silent.

Quinn forced herself to continue.

"You didn't steal anything from me. Adrian was never something I could own. And I shouldn't have treated you as though you were responsible for his feelings."

The words felt strange in her mouth.

Not because they were untrue.

Because they were the first honest acknowledgment of something the original Quinn had refused to admit.

Astrid looked down at her hands.

"Thank you for saying that."

Quinn nodded.

"I'm sorry for the way I behaved before."

Astrid's eyes lifted to hers.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

A long silence followed.

Then Astrid smiled.

"I appreciate it."

Quinn felt something loosen inside her chest.

She had expected the conversation to be uncomfortable.

She had expected accusations, resentment, or perhaps a polite refusal to accept her apology.

Instead, Astrid had given her the simplest thing in the world.

A chance to do better.

"I hope we can start over," Astrid said.

Quinn smiled faintly.

"I'd like that."

Astrid stood and offered her hand.

Quinn took it.

And just like that, the heroine and the villainess shook hands.

No shouting.

No insults.

No broken glass.

No dramatic declaration of war.

It was almost disappointing.

Quinn had written a hundred dramatic confrontations in her career.

She had never realized that a quiet reconciliation could feel so much more powerful.

To be continued....