The Hero Was Never Mine

Chapter 2

At 8:03 the following morning, I discovered that being Quinn Hearst came with three unavoidable problems.

The first was that my wardrobe contained more designer clothing than the average department store.

The second was that my bank account could probably purchase a small island.

And the third was that I had absolutely no idea how to operate the espresso machine in my kitchen.

I stared at the machine.

It stared back.

I pressed a button.

The machine hissed ominously.

I pressed another.

Something began grinding inside it.

I took a cautious step backward.

“Why does making coffee require a degree in engineering?”

A cheerful voice answered from behind me.

“Because that particular model has a built-in grinder, milk frother, temperature controller, and automated cleaning system.”

I turned.

Hannah Brooks stood in the doorway, holding a tablet and a paper bag from a bakery.

She looked at the machine.

Then she looked at me.

Then, with the quiet patience of a woman who had been employed by a wealthy lunatic for several years, she reached past me and pressed two buttons.

The machine produced a perfect cup of coffee.

I stared at it.

Hannah handed me the cup.

“Your usual oat latte, Miss Hearst.”

I accepted it solemnly.

“You're a miracle worker.”

“I'm your personal assistant.”

“Same thing.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

It was becoming a habit, this business of making Hannah smile.

I liked it.

The original Quinn had probably spent years treating her assistant as an extension of her handbag. I intended to do better.

I took a sip of coffee.

It was excellent.

For approximately three seconds, I believed my life might be manageable.

Then Hannah glanced at her tablet.

“Mr. Vanderbolt has requested a meeting at nine.”

I nearly choked.

I coughed into my hand.

“I'm sorry?”

“Adrian Thorne. He called at seven forty-five this morning.”

“Why?”

“He didn't specify.”

“Did you tell him I was unavailable?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He said he would wait until you were available.”

I stared at her.

“Does he not have a company to run?”

“He does.”

“Doesn't he have meetings?”

“Several.”

“Doesn't he have a girlfriend?”

Hannah hesitated.

“I'm not certain what that has to do with his schedule.”

I pointed at her.

“Exactly. Neither am I.”

I placed the coffee on the counter and began pacing.

Sebastian Vanderbilt was supposed to be in love with Astrid Watson. He was supposed to be preparing for their eventual relationship, acquiring companies, attending business conferences, and looking devastatingly handsome in expensive suits.

He was not supposed to spend his mornings calling me.

He certainly wasn't supposed to appear at my office and demand explanations for my personal decisions.

I had already told him I would leave Astrid alone.

What more did he want?

A written statement?

A blood oath?

A notarized declaration that I would never again send threatening stationery to his girlfriend?

Actually, the last one might be useful.

“Hannah, cancel the meeting.”

“On what grounds?”

“Tell him I'm dead.”

Hannah slowly lowered her tablet.

“Miss Hearst.”

“Fine. Tell him I'm sleeping.”

“He already knows you're awake.”

“Tell him I've fallen asleep again.”

“He'll know you're lying.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

I sighed.

“Fine. Schedule the meeting.”

Hannah tapped her tablet.

“Nine o'clock?”

“Yes.”

She nodded.

Then she added, “He also requested that you bring the financial reports for the Hearst Foundation.”

I stopped pacing.

The financial reports.

My smile disappeared.

“Did he say why?”

“He mentioned that Thorne International is reviewing a proposed partnership with the Hearst Group.”

I set my coffee down.

Slowly.

Oh, no.

I knew this plot.

I knew it because I had written it.

In the original novel, Sebastian approached Quinn's father with a proposal for a joint corporate initiative involving sustainable technology and charitable investments.

The partnership was supposed to strengthen both companies' public image and fund the development of affordable energy solutions.

It was also the perfect opportunity for Eric Winthrop , the Hearst family's business partner, to conceal financial irregularities.

Quinn had attended the negotiations because she wanted Sebastian's attention.

She had agreed to the partnership without reading the documents.

She had then discovered that her signature appeared on several suspicious financial transfers.

By the time the scandal broke, the evidence pointed directly at her.

Her father disowned her.

Sebastian withdrew his support.

The public turned against her.

And the road to her downfall began.

I looked at Hannah.

“Do we have copies of the proposed partnership documents?”

“Yes. Your father's legal team sent them yesterday.”

“Get them.”

Hannah nodded.

“And Hannah?”

“Yes, Miss Hearst?”

“From now on, I want to read every document before I sign anything.”

She paused.

“Every document?”

“Every document.”

“Even routine office approvals?”

“Especially routine office approvals.”

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

“Understood.”

Good.

One step at a time.

I would not sign away my future because I was too distracted by a handsome man.

I would not let Eric Winthrop use me as a convenient scapegoat.

And I would certainly not let Sebastian turn my new life into a business arrangement that ended with me being investigated for financial fraud.

I took another sip of coffee.

Then I opened the financial reports.

The first page looked harmless.

The second was full of numbers.

The third made my stomach tighten.

There it was.

A transfer to a consulting firm I did not recognize.

The amount was substantial.

The transaction date matched the week before Quinn public scandal.

I turned to the next page.

Another transfer.

Then another.

All connected to the Hearst Foundation.

I stared at the numbers.

The story was already moving.

And this time, I intended to be ready.

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

At exactly nine o'clock, Sebastian walked into my office.

He wore a dark navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a silver watch that probably cost more than my entire former apartment.

His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression suggested that the world had personally disappointed him before breakfast.

I hated that he looked good.

I hated it even more because I noticed.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Is it?”

His gaze moved to the coffee on my desk.

“You're in a particularly pleasant mood.”

“I'm trying something new.”

“What?”

“Being honest.”

He glanced at the documents spread across my desk.

“Then perhaps you'll be honest about why you've requested a review of the Hearst Foundation's accounts.”

I gestured toward the chair opposite me.

“Please sit.”

He sat.

I opened the financial report and turned it toward him.

“Do you recognize this company?”

His eyes dropped to the page.

For the first time since entering the room, his expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I noticed.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was included in the foundation's financial reports.”

“Who prepared them?”

“Our chief financial officer.”

Adrian studied the document.

“Does your father know about these transfers?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You're not sure?”

“I've been in charge of this company for approximately one day.”

He looked up.

“You're joking.”

“I wish I were.”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he leaned back.

“You've changed.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Because it's true.”

I folded my arms.

“Would you prefer that I return to threatening your girlfriend?”

His jaw tightened.

“No.”

“Then perhaps we should discuss the documents.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes.

Surprise, perhaps.

Or suspicion.

He returned his attention to the report.

“This consulting firm has received payments from several companies connected to Eric Winthrop.”

I nodded.

“I'm aware.”

“Do you know what those payments were for?”

“No.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Not yet.”

Sebastian closed the folder.

“Then you should.”

“I intend to.”

He studied me for a long moment.

“Why?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Why what?”

“Why are you suddenly interested in your family's finances?”

I stared at him.

Because I know you're going to accuse me of fraud.

Because I know Eric Winthrop will betray my family.

Because I know that if I don't change the story, I'll be dead before the year ends.

Instead, I said, “Because it's my family's money, and I'd rather know where it's going.”

He watched me.

Then he nodded once.

“Reasonable.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“It's a reasonable concern.”

I had expected resistance.

An argument.

Possibly a lecture about how the Hearst Group's operations were none of my business.

I had not expected agreement.

Sebastian opened another folder.

“Which brings me to the reason for my visit.”

He slid a document across the desk.

The heading read:

PROPOSED STRATEGIC PARTNERSHIP AGREEMENT

I looked at it.

Then at him.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I assure you, I am.”

“You want me to sign a corporate partnership agreement?”

“I want the Hearst Group to enter a strategic partnership with Vanderbilt International.”

“Through me?”

“Through the foundation and the company's social-impact division. Your father has agreed to consider the proposal, but he wants you involved in the charitable component.”

I stared at the document.

The plot was unfolding exactly as I remembered.

Except for one detail.

In the original novel, Quinn had practically thrown herself at Sebastian during these negotiations.

She had agreed to anything he suggested.

Now I wanted to throw the document out the window.

“I have several questions,” I said.

“Ask them.”

“Why me?”

“Because you oversee the Vale Foundation.”

“Apparently.”

“Because the project requires someone who understands the foundation's current operations.”

“I understand very little about them.”

“That can change.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You're being suspiciously reasonable.”

“Would you prefer that I insult you?”

“No. I'm simply trying to determine whether you've been replaced by a more pleasant version of yourself.”

He stared at me.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

It was small.

Brief.

But it transformed his face in a way that felt deeply unfair.

I looked down at the contract immediately.

Absolutely not.

I would not be distracted by his smile.

I would not become one of those women who forgot how to form sentences whenever an attractive man looked at them.

I had responsibilities.

A villainess to save.

A corporate scandal to prevent.

And a life to rebuild.

I cleared my throat.

“What are the terms?”

Sebastian's expression returned to its usual composure.

“The partnership would fund several community projects, including scholarships, affordable housing initiatives, and a renewable-energy program. The Hearst Foundation would manage the charitable allocations. Vanderbilt International would provide the technical infrastructure and financial oversight.”

“And Eric Winthrop?”

“Would remain involved in the broader corporate negotiations.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

There it was.

The danger.

I opened the document and began reading.

The first pages outlined the objectives.

The next described the responsibilities of each company.

Then I found the clause.

A financial guarantee.

A provision allowing the foundation to assume responsibility for certain expenditures if the partnership encountered irregularities.

I looked up.

“Who drafted this?”

“Our legal department.”

“Then your legal department has a problem.”

Adrian's eyes sharpened.

“Explain.”

I pointed at the clause.

“This section allows the foundation to absorb financial losses without requiring a full investigation into the source of those losses.”

“It's a standard risk-management provision.”

“Not when the foundation is handling charitable funds.”

He leaned forward.

I continued.

“If a partner company misuses the money, the foundation could become responsible for the shortfall before anyone determines who was actually at fault.”

Sebastian studied the clause.

“You're correct.”

I blinked.

Again?

Was this man determined to make my job difficult by being reasonable?

He took the document and made a note in the margin.

“We'll revise it.”

I stared at him.

“You're agreeing with me?”

“Would you prefer that I argue for the sake of it?”

“No.”

“Then we agree.”

I looked at him suspiciously.

He looked back.

Something about the moment felt strange.

In the novel, Sebastian had always treated Quinn as an inconvenience. He had never asked her opinion about business matters, never taken her concerns seriously, and never considered her capable of contributing anything meaningful.

But the man sitting across from me was listening.

Not because he loved me.

Not because he wanted my attention.

But because he believed my argument had merit.

It was unexpectedly unsettling.

I returned my attention to the contract.

“There are other issues.”

“Such as?”

“Independent auditing. Transparent reporting. Restrictions on related-party transactions. And a requirement that any disputed expenditure be investigated before the foundation assumes responsibility.”

Sebastian's expression grew thoughtful.

“You've considered this carefully.”

“I have.”

“Why?”

I gave him a flat look.

“Because I enjoy not being financially ruined.”

His mouth twitched.

“An admirable hobby.”

I ignored him.

We spent the next forty minutes reviewing the agreement.

For the first time in my life—or Quinn's life, technically—I found myself enjoying a business meeting.

Adrian was intelligent, direct, and surprisingly willing to listen when someone presented a good argument.

He challenged my assumptions.

I challenged his.

We disagreed about the project's timeline, negotiated the division of responsibilities, and identified three additional safeguards that needed to be included.

By the end of the meeting, the original agreement had been covered in notes.

Sebastian closed the folder.

“I'll have my legal team prepare a revised version.”

“Good.”

“And I would like you to oversee the foundation's financial review.”

I stared at him.

“Me?”

“You identified the problem before my team did.”

“Perhaps your team should be embarrassed.”

“They probably are.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Then I remembered who he was.

Sebastian Vanderbilt.

The male lead.

The man whose love would eventually become Quinn's greatest weakness.

I straightened.

“I'm willing to review the proposal, but I won't sign anything until the audit is complete.”

“Agreed.”

“And I want full access to the relevant financial records.”

“Agreed.”

“And I don't want our professional relationship confused with anything personal.”

The words escaped before I could reconsider them.

Sebastian went still.

“Anything personal?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

I looked him directly in the eye.

“I mean I have no intention of pursuing you, impressing you, or competing with Aurelia for your attention. If we work together, it will be strictly professional.”

Silence.

Then Sebastian asked, “Is that what you think this is about?”

I hesitated.

“Isn't it?”

He stood.

“No, Quinn. It isn't.”

His voice was calm, but something in it had changed.

“I came here because your family's foundation is connected to a project that could benefit thousands of people. I offered a partnership because your company has the resources to make that project successful. I agreed to your conditions because they're sensible.”

He picked up his coat.

“And I have never asked you to compete with Astrid. That has always been your decision.”

The words landed harder than I expected.

Because they were true.

I had written them into his character, but I had never really considered how they might sound to Quinn.

I lowered my gaze.

“You're right.”

Sebastian paused.

I looked up again.

“I know I have a lot to make up for. I'm not asking you to forget what I've done. I'm simply asking for the opportunity to make different choices.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he nodded.

“Then make them.”

He walked toward the door.

Just before leaving, he turned back.

“One more thing.”

I braced myself.

“What?”

“If we're going to work together, stop calling me the devilishly handsome man in your head.”

My entire body froze.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then he smiled.

A real smile this time.

And I realized, with a horrible sinking sensation, that I had said that phrase aloud.

Somewhere between reading the contract and arguing about financial safeguards, I had apparently lost control of my mouth.

I wanted to disappear.

“I did not—”

“You did.”

“I was referring to the contract.”

“The contract?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the folder.

Then at me.

“Of course.”

I could feel my face burning.

Sebastian opened the door.

“I'll see you at the next meeting, Quinn.”

Then he left.

I remained frozen behind my desk.

A full minute passed before I covered my face with both hands.

“Oh, my God.”

I had survived the contract.

I had protected the foundation.

I had negotiated with the male lead without agreeing to anything dangerous.

And then I had called him devilishly handsome.

Out loud.

I was going to die.

Not from the original plot.

From humiliation.

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

By lunchtime, the entire office knew that Sebastian Vanderbilt had visited me.

By two o'clock, someone had apparently informed the press.

And by three, my phone was displaying a headline that made me question the continued existence of journalism.

SEBASTIAN VANDERBILT VISITS QUINN HEARST: SECRET RECONCILIATION OR BUSINESS DEAL?

Beneath it was a photograph of Sebastian entering my office building.

Another showed me standing beside him near the elevator.

The caption read:

The former rivals appear to be spending more time together. Sources speculate that the troubled heiress may be attempting to win back the billionaire's attention.

I stared at the screen.

“No.”

Hannah stood beside my desk.

“I'm afraid it's already trending.”

“Why?”

“Because people enjoy gossip.”

“I hate people.”

“You also write romance novels.”

“Exactly. I know how ridiculous people are.”

Hannah bit back a smile.

I opened the article.

The comments were worse.

She's definitely trying to steal him from Astrid.

Didn't she send Astrid threatening letters?

Sebastian deserves better than this woman.

This is probably a publicity stunt.

Quinn Hearst could ruin a perfectly good relationship by walking into a room.

I closed the app.

My chest felt tight.

I knew these comments were about Astrid, not me.

But the distinction was becoming harder to maintain.

I was living her life.

Wearing her face.

Inheriting her reputation.

And every mistake she had ever made was now attached to my name.

I looked at Hannah.

“How do I fix this?”

She considered the question.

“You could issue a statement.”

“What would it say?”

“That you and Mr. Vanderbilt are discussing a professional partnership, and the rumors about your personal relationship are false.”

I nodded.

“Good. Write one.”

Hannah began typing.

Then she paused.

“Miss Hearst?”

“Yes?”

“May I suggest something?”

“Please.”

“Don't try to convince the public that you're a different person overnight. People won't believe it.”

I leaned back.

“Then what should I do?”

“Be consistent.”

She placed the tablet on my desk.

“Keep your commitments. Stop attacking Miss Watson. Treat people respectfully. If you make a mistake, apologize. Let your actions speak for you.”

I looked at her.

There was something almost painful about how simple she made it sound.

I had spent years believing that the perfect ending could solve every problem.

Now I was learning that life did not work that way.

A single grand gesture could not undo years of cruelty.

A public statement could not manufacture trust.

And no amount of clever writing could force people to forgive someone who had hurt them.

I nodded.

“Write the statement.”

Hannah smiled.

“Of course.”

I turned back to my laptop.

There was a document waiting for me.

The revised partnership proposal.

I opened it.

And beneath the document, in a separate window, was the same strange file that had appeared the day before.

THE HERO WAS NEVER MINE TO LOVE — CHAPTER TWO.

My fingers went cold.

The document was blank.

Then a sentence appeared.

Quinn Hearst believed that signing a contract with Sebastian Vanderbilt would be the most dangerous decision of her new life.

I stared at the screen.

Another sentence appeared.

She had not yet discovered that the most dangerous part of the agreement was not written on paper.

I stopped breathing.

A third sentence appeared.

It was the way he looked at her when she wasn't trying to make him love her.

I slammed the laptop shut.

“No.”

The office went silent.

Hannah looked up from her tablet.

“Miss Hearst?”

I swallowed.

“Nothing.”

I forced myself to smile.

“Just a technical issue.”

But my hands were trembling.

Because the words were true.

I had noticed the way Sebastian listened when I spoke.

The way his expression changed when I challenged him.

The way he had smiled when I accidentally called him handsome.

And I hated it.

I hated that the man I had written as the perfect romantic hero was beginning to feel real.

I hated that I was curious about him.

I hated that, for one terrible moment during our meeting, I had forgotten he was supposed to be my enemy.

I stood and walked toward the window.

Manhattan glittered beneath the afternoon sun.

Somewhere in the city, Sebastian was probably returning to his office, reviewing the revised proposal, and preparing for another meeting.

He was not thinking about me.

He was not wondering whether I had eaten lunch.

He was not replaying our conversation in his head.

And that was precisely how I wanted it.

I pressed my palm against the cool glass.

“I will not fall in love with you,” I whispered.

My reflection stared back at me.

For the first time, I noticed how frightened she looked.

I straightened.

“I mean it.”

Behind me, Hannah cleared her throat.

“Miss Hearst?”

I turned.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Vanderbilt has sent over the revised agreement.”

I stared at her.

“Already?”

“He also included a note.”

My heart did something deeply inconvenient.

“What note?”

Hannah handed me an envelope.

My name was written across the front in elegant black ink.

I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Quinn,

The revised agreement reflects the safeguards we discussed. My legal team will coordinate with yours regarding the audit.

I look forward to working with you.

And for the record, I have been called many things, but never a contract.

Sebastian.

I stared at the letter.

Then I laughed.

I couldn't help it.

It was a small, helpless sound, the kind that escaped when something caught you entirely off guard.

He was teasing me.

Sebastian, the man who had spent years treating Quinn as an inconvenience, had actually taken the time to tease me.

I folded the letter and placed it inside the drawer.

Then I locked the drawer.

Then I stepped away from it.

Then I returned to my desk and opened the financial reports.

I was not going to think about the letter.

I was not going to think about his smile.

I was not going to think about the fact that his handwriting was surprisingly attractive.

I was going to focus on the audit.

The company.

The foundation.

My survival.

Everything except Sebastian.

Because I knew how this story was supposed to end.

And I refused to let a handsome man with a complicated personality rewrite my future.

Not again.

Not ever.

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

That evening, I returned to the penthouse with a headache, a stack of financial documents, and a growing suspicion that my new life was going to be much more complicated than I had anticipated.

Hannah had left a note on the kitchen counter.

Dinner is in the refrigerator. Please eat something other than coffee.

I smiled.

Then I heated the food and sat at the kitchen island.

For the first time in years, I ate without checking my phone every thirty seconds.

I did not search for Sebastian's name.

I did not look up photographs of him and Astrid.

I did not read the gossip articles about Quinn Hearst.

I simply ate dinner.

And for a little while, I felt normal.

Afterward, I opened my laptop.

The mysterious document was gone.

In its place was my original manuscript.

I scrolled through the final chapters.

Quinn's downfall was still there.

The financial scandal.

The public humiliation.

The car accident.

The final sentence I had written before everything changed.

By sunrise,Quinn would lose everything she had ever loved, and no one would be left to mourn her.

I stared at it.

Then I selected the sentence.

I deleted it.

For a moment, the page was blank.

I thought about what I wanted to write instead.

Not a grand declaration.

Not a promise that everything would be perfect.

Just something honest.

Something that gave Quinn a chance.

I typed:

For the first time in her life, Quinn stopped asking who would save her.

Instead, she began to save herself.

I read the words twice.

Then I saved the document.

Outside, the city lights shimmered against the dark windows.

I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair.

Tomorrow, I would continue the audit.

I would investigate Eric Winthrop.

I would rebuild the foundation.

I would learn how to live in this world without destroying the people around me.

And I would keep my distance from Sebastian.

That was the plan.

A practical plan.

A plan that would undoubtedly work.

Until my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

Good evening, Quinn. This is Sebastian.

I stared at it.

A second message arrived.

My assistant tells me you haven't confirmed the revised meeting schedule.

I typed a reply.

I'll confirm it tomorrow.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally, another message arrived.

Very well. Good night, Quinn.

I looked at the screen.

I should have replied with something professional.

Something brief.

Something that would establish a healthy boundary between us.

Instead, after a full minute of deliberation, I typed:

Good night, Sebastian.

I sent it.

Then I placed the phone facedown on the counter.

I stared at it.

Then I turned it off.

Then I walked into my bedroom and closed the door.

I was not smiling.

Absolutely not.

I was simply relieved that the conversation had ended.

That was all.

And if my heart happened to beat a little faster when I remembered his name on the screen, it meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

Because I was Quinn Hearst now.

And I had a contract to survive, a scandal to prevent, and a future to rewrite.

I would not fall in love with Sebastian Vanderbilt.

I would—

My phone vibrated from the kitchen.

I ignored it.

Three seconds passed.

I returned to the kitchen.

I picked up the phone.

A message from Hannah appeared.

Miss Vale, I forgot to mention that the annual charity gala is tomorrow evening. Mr. Vanderbilt and Miss Watson will both be attending.

I stared at the screen.

Then I slowly lowered the phone.

Tomorrow.

The charity gala.

The event where Quinn's original downfall began.

The event where she would publicly humiliate Astrid, trigger the first major scandal, and set her own destruction in motion.

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

The story wasn't going to let me escape so easily.

I opened my eyes and looked toward the window.

My reflection looked back at me.

For the first time, I wasn't afraid.

I was angry.

At the story.

At the universe.

At the ridiculous fact that my new life seemed determined to throw me into every disaster I had ever written.

“Fine,” I whispered.

If the gala was where Quinn's downfall began, then the gala was where I would change everything.

I would not humiliate Astrid.

I would not chase Sebastian.

I would not let Eric Winthrop manipulate me.

And if anyone tried to turn me into the villainess I had written, they would discover that I knew every trick in the book.

After all, I had written the book.

I switched off the lights.

Tomorrow night, the world would watch Quinn Hearst.

And for the first time, they would see a woman who refused to follow the script.

To be continued . . .