Chapter Fourteen
1012 Words
Chapter Fourteen
The penthouse was dark when we got home.
Not the good dark—the cozy, city-lights-through-the-windows kind. The wrong dark. The kind where something was missing.
"Pickles?" I called out.
Silence.
Adrian flipped a switch. The living room flooded with light.
And there, sitting on the white couch like he owned it, was Liam.
"Nice interview," he said. "Very touching. I almost believed it."
"Get out," Adrian's voice was low. Dangerous.
"In a minute." Liam didn't move. He was wearing all black—black jeans, black sweater, black shoes. He looked like he'd dressed for a funeral. "I just wanted to congratulate you. You played the victim beautifully."
"Liam—"
"But here's the thing about victims." He stood up. Slow. Deliberate. "They're only sympathetic until they hit back."
He walked toward us. Stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—the same sharp, metallic scent from the gala.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm filing a lawsuit. Wrongful termination. Defamation. Emotional distress." He ticked them off on his fingers. "I'm also releasing the emails. The ones where Adrian admits the engagement was a contract."
"There are no such emails," Adrian said.
"Not yet. But my lawyer is very good at Photoshop."
I felt Adrian go still beside me. The kind of still that came before an explosion.
"You're going to ruin yourself," I said.
Liam turned to me. His eyes were flat. Empty.
"I'm already ruined, Ivy. The question is whether I take you both down with me."
---
He left.
The door closed. The lock clicked. And Adrian stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight, vibrating with rage.
"Adrian."
"He's going to destroy us."
"He's going to try."
"There's a difference?"
I walked over to him. Took his hands. Uncurled his fists, one finger at a time.
"There's always a difference," I said. "Trying and succeeding are two different things."
"You don't understand. The lawsuit alone will take years. The press will eat it up. Your mother will see—"
"My mother already knows."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"I called her. Before the interview. I told her everything. The contract. The deal. The fake engagement."
His face went pale. "What did she say?"
I smiled. Small. Real. "She said she raised a smart girl and she wasn't surprised I'd found a way to survive. Then she said if you broke my heart, she'd find a way to haunt you from the hospital bed."
Adrian stared at me.
"So you see," I continued, "Liam can release all the emails he wants. He can file all the lawsuits he wants. He can tell every reporter in New York that we're faking it."
"And?"
"And none of it matters. Because the only people whose opinions I care about already know the truth."
---
Adrian kissed me.
Not gently. Not carefully. Like he was drowning and I was air. His hands were in my hair, on my waist, pulling me closer.
"I don't deserve you," he said against my mouth.
"Probably not."
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying."
"That's a long time."
"Not long enough."
We didn't sleep in separate rooms that night.
---
Morning came too fast.
Sunlight through the windows. Pickles purring at the foot of the bed. And Adrian's arm wrapped around my waist like he was afraid I'd disappear.
"Your phone's buzzing," he mumbled.
"Yours too."
"Ignore it."
"I can't. It might be my mom."
I reached for the nightstand. Fourteen missed messages. Three from Ms. Vane. Two from unknown numbers. And one from a contact I didn't recognize but the preview made my heart stop.
"I know what Liam did. Meet me. — I.R."
Isabel Rossi.
---
"What does she want?" Adrian was sitting up now, reading over my shoulder.
"I don't know."
"Don't go."
"Adrian—"
"It's a trap. She's working with him."
"Maybe." I pulled up the full message. "I know what Liam did. About the cat. About the hospital. I have proof. Meet me at the Hudson bench. Noon. Come alone."
Adrian was already shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."
"If she has proof—"
"Then she can give it to my lawyers."
"She won't. She wants to meet me."
"Why?"
I looked at him. At the fear in his eyes. At the scar above his eyebrow. At the man who'd knelt on the floor for me and my mangy cat.
"Because she's not the villain," I said. "She's just someone who made a mistake. And maybe—just maybe—she wants to fix it."
---
I went alone.
The Hudson bench was empty when I got there. Cold wind off the water. Gray sky. No cameras, no crowds, no backup.
And then she appeared.
Isabel Rossi was even more beautiful in person. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A coat that probably cost more than my first car. She sat down on the bench and patted the space beside her.
"You came," she said.
"You said you had proof."
"I do." She pulled an envelope from her coat. Thick. Sealed. "Liam's entire plan. The forged documents. The bribed journalists. The threats." She paused. "The cat."
"Why are you giving this to me?"
Isabel looked out at the water. For a moment, she looked almost sad.
"Because I loved him once. Adrian. And I didn't leave because I stopped loving him. I left because I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of becoming someone who stayed for the wrong reasons." She turned to me. "But you're not me. You stayed for the right ones. Even when it was hard. Even when it was fake." She held out the envelope. "Take it. Destroy him. And take care of Adrian."
I took the envelope.
Isabel stood up. Brushed off her coat. Walked away without looking back.
---
Adrian was waiting in the car.
I held up the envelope.
"Evidence?"
"Evidence."
He stared at it. Then at me. Then he pulled me into his arms and held on like he'd never let go.
"What now?" he asked.
I smiled.
"Now, we win."
- Writer
