Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

Matthew strolled through the cavernous halls of MOCA, his footsteps echoing on the polished floors. The Museum of Contemporary Art’s unique architecture served to keep the guests moving through the skylit galleries, past the dramatic art that kept patrons coming again and again.

He’d gone to the office first, to do what he had to do. But he couldn’t stay. He’d had to get out. Get air.

Get sanctuary. And somehow fill his head with beauty instead of betrayal.

Lila had been at her desk, of course. Just as she always was. Just as she’d always been beside him since they were teens. They’d been friends. Colleagues. She’d been his confidante and his right hand, but she’d always wanted more.

Was that why she’d betrayed him? Why she’d helped Trent, and, in helping, tarnished Hardline?

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Even with all the evidence he’d gathered, he hadn’t wanted to face that horrible truth.

At first, her story had seemed so plausible. She’d known nothing of Trent’s dealings. She’d been used, just as Matthew had been. Just as the company had been.

But over the last few weeks, the truth had come out, along with the evidence to back it up. She’d betrayed him. The woman who’d once watched his back just as he’d watched hers. And she’d tossed it all away.

At first, he’d told himself that it was only about Elias. That she was lonely, and it was an affair. Just sex. That she knew nothing about the horrible enterprise Trent was running, using his position at Hardline as camouflage.

But he’d only been fooling himself. The bond between him and Lila that he’d once believed was so strong had been slashed long ago. She’d stayed because of what he could offer—a salary, a position, the cache of being at his right hand.

But she’d checked out of their friendship long ago. She’d wanted more than he could give, and—unwilling to settle for less—she’d gotten her own kind of payback by aligning herself with Trent, a reality for which he finally had enough evidence to assure himself that her treachery was real and not his imagination.

And that morning he’d left the bed he shared with Aria to meet with Roger Tate, the Chief of Security for the Hardline Lot.

Together they’d gone to his office where, of course, Lila was waiting behind her desk, her chin high as if daring him to punish her for all the ways she’d wronged him.

She hadn’t caused a scene, thank goodness. She’d simply asked for time to pack her things. That’s when he’d left, leaving this woman he’d once called his friend in Tate’s charge. Tate would radio the waiting Federal agents to come up, then they’d escort Lila downstairs.

He knew what would happen after that, too. The Feds would cut her a deal. The Special Agent in charge had already told him that she’d be offered a reduced sentence in exchange for her testimony, and Matthew knew her well enough to know she’d agree.

He could live with that.

Anything to have her out of his life.

Anything to have a fresh start with Ari.

He’d kissed her cheek before leaving, half-hoping that she would wake up, but mostly relieved that she stayed lost in slumber.

He knew that he’d need this time away from the office. The space to clear his head in one of his favorite Los Angeles locations.

How often did he come here, just enjoying the energy of the place? The precision and imagination of the artists, so often unappreciated by those who considered only earlier, more realistic periods to be “real” art.

But that was the thing about art, be it plays or films or paintings or sculpture: it was always evolving.

And, he supposed, that was the thing with people, too.

God knew he wasn’t the same man he’d been at nineteen when he and Lila were doing whatever it took to find food. And he wasn’t the same man he’d been at twenty-nine, when he was scrambling to launch the nascent Hardline Entertainment into a studio that could hold its own against the established Hollywood monoliths.

In fact, the only constant for him across those years had been Aria. First as his touchstone—the pure and innocent representation of what he had to live up to. Then as something he cherished. Something magnificent and innocent that he needed to protect.

And then—though when the change had come, he couldn’t say—as someone he craved. A woman who fired his senses, fueled his imagination, and gave wing to his imagination.

And the miracle of his life was that after years of fantasy, she was his now. Truly his. Her touch both aroused him and soothed him. Her kisses tempted him. Her skin fascinated him.

He had never felt more himself than in the moments he was with her, and every time they made love it seemed as if his entire soul had gone supernova.

But it was all a lie.

Because she wasn’t his. She belonged to the man he pretended to be, not the man he was.

And if he introduced her to that man, he feared that he would lose her forever.

He wasn’t as vile as Trent or as duplicitous as Lila. But he wasn’t a good man. He knew it. And soon Aria would know it. She’d have to, if there was ever going to be anything real between them.

But once she knew, would they even have a chance?

With a sigh, he kept walking, letting the brushstrokes reach out to him, the sculptures entice him. This was his favorite place in the city. The quiet. The weight of the space. The way the art connected to the world and to him. Often raw and strange, but always filling his soul.

He stopped in front of a Rothko, the bold blocks of color blurring into each other as he let his mind drift. The horror that Elias Trent’s damage would never be over, and the investigation would surely go on for years.

With misty eyes, he thought of the half-dozen dead girls, each of whom weighed on his soul, a dark and heavy nugget of guilt. But more living victims had been located, too, and he took comfort in knowing they were now safe and getting the help they needed.

More than that, Trent and his cohorts were in custody, and soon they’d be in prison. Just like they deserved.

Matthew would never forget, but things were going back to normal, whatever the hell that was. And he was even optimistic that the scandal wouldn’t hurt Hardline’s reputation too deeply. A reputation he’d worked to build for over twenty years, clawing his way into the industry, making a name for himself, building a brand and then a studio with enough gravitas to contain it.

Hardline was profitable. It was respected. And Matthew was the man who’d built it all.

But he wasn’t a man who deserved it.

He’d spent his whole life working to build his dream. To become the man he’d wanted to be. The kind of man she believed him to be.

Aria .

She’d been his rock through all of this, grounding him when he felt untethered. Her belief in him, her ability to cut through his guilt with a single look or touch—had kept him going when the weight of it all threatened to pull him under.

But she didn’t know the full truth. She thought he was a good man. An honorable man. But he wasn’t that man, not really. And once she knew the truth, he would lose her.

So that was the dilemma. Keep her close with a lie or lose her with the truth. The man he used to be would lie to keep her. The man she deserved and wanted would tell the truth.

He loved her, so how the hell could he walk away? But at the same time, he loved her, so how the hell could he let her live a lie?

It was a dilemma he didn’t want to face. And so he was here, losing himself in beauty, hoping a solution would show itself. And knowing that sooner or later he’d have to leave this sanctuary, go home, and make the hardest damn choice of his life.

He was such a fucking hypocrite, wasn’t he? Standing in front of cameras while he was praised for bringing down the trafficking ring, all the while keeping secrets that could destroy the fragile trust he and Aria had built.

He should have told her already. The rational part of him knew that. But every time he thought about it, fear clawed its way up his throat. She’d look at him differently, wouldn’t she? And she’d walk away.

He’d survived plenty of losses in his life, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. There was more than just lust or attraction between them. What he felt was deep and raw, and it humbled him as much as it anchored him.

With a sigh, he moved to a bench in the center of the gallery, letting himself sink onto the cool metal. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped as he stared at the floor.

What was he so afraid of? She already knew he wasn’t perfect. But this wasn’t just about bad choices or moral gray areas. This was about betrayal. About the line he’d crossed, even if it was years ago. Even if he’d told himself it was necessary to survive, to build something that would be his. That would last.

Hardline.

His betrayal tainted the whole damn company.

She deserved to know. And every second that ticked by without telling her was another moment of betrayal.

Every time she looked at him with trust in her eyes, every time she defended him or reminded him that he wasn’t the villain, it chipped away at him. Because he wasn’t the man she thought he was. Not entirely.

He’d built an empire, clawed his way to the top, and done things most men couldn’t even imagine. And yet, the hardest thing he’d ever have to do was to simply tell the truth.

But he had to do it.

He couldn’t keep lying to her, couldn’t keep pretending he was something he wasn’t. Not if he wanted a future with her. And he did—dear God, he did.

It had to end now.

Tonight, he would tell her everything. Despite his terror that she might turn her back and walk away, tonight he would do what he had to do.

He drew in a breath, the decision settling heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t know what words he’d use or how he’d even start the conversation, but he’d tell her everything.

Because if the truth was what it took to keep her—really keep her—then he’d risk it.

He just had to find the words.

I wake to find myself bathed in the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom skylight. Groggy, I roll over, my hand searching for Matthew, but all I find are cool sheets. With a frown, I push myself up on my elbow so that I can see the clock— past ten!

Immediately, I leap naked out of bed. “Matthew?”

I grab my robe off the back of a chair and shove my arms into it as I head into the living area, expecting to find him working on his laptop. But there’s no Matthew.

I start to head back to the bedroom to grab my phone off the bedside table, but the smell of coffee captures me and I divert to the kitchen. Both for coffee, and because the fact that it’s brewing is at least evidence that Matthew’s up and awake … and therefore must be somewhere.

The note sitting by the coffee maker under my favorite mug fills in the rest of the puzzle.

Lovely, Aria?—

You look so beautiful asleep I couldn’t bear to wake you. And you know what day it is. I thought you would prefer to spend the morning in bed.

I will either see you at the office later or at home.

And just in case you’re wondering, I did kiss you goodbye. I’ll kiss you hello when I see you.

Love you?—

M

I grin and hug the letter, then take one of the pens from a nearby canister, write Love You Back beneath his signature, and stick the note on the refrigerator door with a magnet.

Then I take my coffee and head to the shower. I’m half considering spending the day shopping, but I decide against it. As sweet as Matthew’s offer is, I don’t want anyone to think I don’t deserve my job or that I’m only doing it half-assed. And right now, I’m doing important work—exploring the creation of a charity that focuses on stopping trafficking and helping the victims. I’m eager to get that launched, especially since I know the guilt Matthew carries is heavy, though not deserved.

He’s trying to soothe his soul by creating something meaningful to help the victims and keep potential victims safe.

It’s important to him, and that’s one of reasons I love him.

Once I’m clean and dressed, I gather my purse and phone, then check my watch. It’s already past eleven, and I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that Lila should be out of the building by now. This time, for good.

I say a silent thank you to Matthew for letting me sleep in. I really wasn’t looking forward to witnessing her walk of shame.

I’m humming a little tune under my breath as I walk into the Hardline office, but the sight of the security guard and two men who are clearly Federal agents stops me cold.

Lila is still there, standing behind her cluttered, box-covered desk as she packs up her things. Her movements are methodical, and though her face is set in a mask of icy detachment, I see the fire in her eyes when she turns and looks at me.

I consider turning around and going down to the employee restaurant, but before I can slip back out, she says, “Ariadne Parker. Come to gloat?”

“I—no.” I want to kick myself for being tongue-tied. She’s the bitch who got involved with Trent. Who knew about the trafficking. And who said absolutely nothing.

She sniffs, as haughty as ever. “At least one of us got what we wanted.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. You wanted him, didn’t you? Well, congratulations. He’s yours—for now.”

“Matthew? You’re jealous that I’m with Matthew? You were sleeping with that snake who kidnapped women!”

“I’m taking a deal, sweetie. Nobody’s putting me on trial.”

I glance toward the guard, who looks as disgusted as I feel. She’s getting off by agreeing to testify. On the one hand, I want every iota of evidence piled up against Trent and his flunkies. On the other hand, I want her behind bars, too.

But I don’t say any of that. I’m not going to talk to her. I’m just going to go to my office and wait out her departure.

I’ve almost reached my door when she says, “Joke’s on you, Aria. You’re so proud of getting your hooks into Matthew, but you won’t want him once you learn the truth.”

I stiffen, but I tell myself to go into my office, shut the door, and not take the bait.

Unfortunately, I’m terrible at taking my own advice. I cross my arms and turn to her. “What truth?”

She shakes her head, like a frustrated guardian bemoaning the foolish antics of a toddler. “You’re just a girl chasing a fantasy. Like a teenager swooning over the bad boy, completely oblivious to how truly bad he is.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Lila. I am not doing the Mean Girl Dance with you. Be jealous on your own time.”

Her chin lifts. “Oh, I am jealous. He was mine before he was yours, remember? And I know where all the bodies are buried.”

I say nothing. But I also don’t leave. Which, I guess, is the equivalent of saying something.

“You’re just dying to know what I’m talking about, aren’t you?”

I say nothing.

Her smile is thin. “Too bad I can’t tell you where to find all the dirt on our perfect little Matthew. That would be breaking an oath to never reveal that he keeps a safe behind the Vivien Lorainne photo.” She puts a hand over her mouth, her eyes Betty Boop wide. “Oopsie.”

My heart skips a beat. I know the photo well—Matthew had told me it was the first thing he ever bought with the profit from his first film.

“The code is his birthday,” she continues. “And I’m sure you can figure out the year. So cliche, don’t you think? The powerful older man and his sweet, young fuck toy.”

I stand there, silent but seething as she grabs her box of belongings and stands, her next words slicing through me like a blade. “Maybe there aren’t any secrets in that safe. I’m not actually saying there’s anything in there that would tear you two apart. Doesn’t matter, though. Even if he has no secrets—you two won’t last. You’re this month’s eye candy. Next time, I bet she’s a redhead.”

She walks out without another word, the agents by her side, and I’m left standing there, trembling, as her words echo in my head, a toxic mixture of jealousy and bitterness.

I know she said those things only to hurt me. She wanted to get a reaction. Wanted to piss me off.

And it worked.

But that doesn’t mean that what she said’s not true.

The photo hangs on an interior half-wall that visually divides the living and dining areas. It sits above a small bookcase devoted to books about Hollywood’s Golden Age.

I stand staring at it, my purse dropped carelessly at my feet. I’d come in, then crossed to this spot, not even bothering to pull the front door closed behind me.

I’ve been standing for what feels like an eternity, but has probably only been a minute. Outside, I can hear the rustle of leaves and the low hum of traffic in the distance.

I shouldn’t do this.

It’s vile to poke into someone’s private things, and if Matthew were to start rummaging through the box that contains my childhood diaries, I would be livid.

And yet here I stand, staring at a photo that may hide a dark secret.

No—that does hide a dark secret. I’m certain of it, because I’m certain Lila wants me to open it. That should be enough to have me backing away. At the very least, I should tell Matthew what she said and let him show me.

But he could refuse, and I think that would be worse, because surely my imagination can spin a tail more horrible than the truth.

I take a step forward, then stop, my internal debate still raging.

Move, dammit. Just make a damn decision and move.

Right.

With that pathetic pep talk, I inch even closer to the photo, then reach out, figuring that before I get too into my head over this, I should at least confirm that there’s a safe back there.

At first, I can’t find it, and a wave of disappointment mixed with relief washes over me. But since I’m not sure whether I’m bummed or gleeful, I keep trying even though the photo seems glued to the wall.

Then my fingers find a tiny latch on the right side of the frame, I press it, and that side of the frame pops off the wall with a sharp little click.

It’s on a hinge, and I take the popped side and push it to the left, as if I were opening a book.

And there it is . A small safe with an electronic keypad.

Which means I have to stand there and debate the ethics all over again.

Fuck it .

I’m doing this. I got this far, and yes, I could argue with myself forever, but I’ve stuck my big toe into the pool now, and I know I’m diving in.

And maybe Matthew doesn’t even need to know. Maybe I can see what’s in there, deal with it, process it, maybe have a good cry … and then I’ll be done with it.

Maybe …

I shouldn’t do it. I know that. Just like I know that I’m going to feel guilty as hell for doing it.

But, yeah. I’m doing it.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I punch in the six digits of Matthew’s birthday. I hear the click of release. I turn the handle, and the safe opens smoothly on its well-oiled hinges.

Oh. My. God.

My knees go weak, and a wave of nausea crests over me, so intense that I have to reach out and grip the safe’s door to keep from sagging to the floor.

This can’t be real. How the hell can this be real?

But there it is, diamonds gleaming in the light from the living room lamps, the beautiful, dancing sparkles almost too much to bear. Only one diamond is missing—the large yellow diamond that should be at the point. The diamond that is worth an absolute fortune. That spot is empty, like an eye that can see nothing.

Vivien Lorainne’s diadem .

My family’s heirloom. The near-magical headpiece that had been the glue of my family. The glue that The Cat had stolen. A fiend who I had once called the Stair Man. Who I had once believed was my protector. My friend.

But who turned out to be nothing more than a thieving alley cat.

A con man.

A man who would steal and scrape and scam to build his empire.

Matthew.

Matthew stole the diadem.

Matthew is The Cat.