Chapter 27
Cora
Irush out of the ballroom, my heels digging into the carpeted floor of the long hallway. Oxygen is not reaching my lungs, the shock of the revelation spreading through me painfully.
Images flicker through my mind. Ethan proposing. Dad coming home late. Ethan laughing when I begged him not to drive recklessly. The little boy who looks like him. Dad falling to the sofa when Mom closed the door behind her, leaving us.
The feelings are genuine. I love you, Cora.
You turned this sprinter into a marathon runner.
I became a one-woman man.
He lied.
He lied.
He lied.
Just like Ethan. Like my father.
He tricked me.
I get to the end of the hallway, a gray double door mocking me. A fire exit. Fuck, I ran the wrong way. A part of me wants to push the crash bar. The shriek of an alarm would be better than the screams in my head.
But I spoiled Marianne’s evening enough. Well, her son did.
I let out a stifled scream, but the chaos in my mind is still louder.
Calm the fuck down, Cora.
I lean against the wall, grateful that the vast space is abandoned. I stand there for what feels like several lifetimes.
The jumble of images of all the betrayals quiets down slowly at one point as I slide down to the ground.
Numb.
Disappointed.
Disillusioned.
How do we bounce back from this? What else did he lie about?
There is a minuscule part of me—an emotionally exhausted part—that believes that we had started with a lie, but the rest was real.
I always knew he was an entitled rich boy, and I fell anyway. Fuck.
He said he loved me. Just a few hours ago, he declared his love. It should count for something, but it almost makes the whole situation worse.
He made this relationship real while he’s been lying to me.
I groan. My mind is spinning fruitlessly. I should leave. I should take a cab straight to the airport and get the fuck out of here.
It’s not like I want to face the Stones, and especially not their golden-boy son right now. Goddammit.
The exit door opens, and two members of staff enter. One of them jerks their head, staring at me in shock.
Yeah, I’m sitting on the ground here in a several-thousand-dollar gown. A fucking Cinderella. They must think I’m drunk.
“Are you lost?” one of them asks.
I sniffle and stand up. “I am very much lost. Would you mind if I sneak out here?” I beckon my head toward the exit the other guy is still holding open.
“We shouldn’t—” he starts.
“Let her.” The other one shrugs, and her colleague opens the door wider.
I step into a narrow alley and pause. The passage is shadowed and reeks of old rain and cigarette smoke. The sky still holds the final flush of evening, but down here, it feels later—darker.
I hug my arms around myself. The wind sneaks into my dress, curling around my legs. The light on each side of the passageway feels quite far. How big is this venue?
Lifting my skirt, I start walking. So much for a beautiful dress and stealing the show.
Asshole. He spoiled the night for everybody. And it doesn’t even seem he cared to run after me.
He probably did… in the right direction, unlike me.
Instead of spending a lovely evening in a beautiful venue, I’m in a smelly corner in the middle of junkie alley. Just great.
In the span of the past half an hour, I went from betrayal to anger, to annoyance to sadness… rinse and repeat.
The wall juts out in places, flaking brick and graffiti. A fire escape on the wall beside me blocks almost the entire width of the pathway. I turn sideways, slipping past it, wrinkling my nose at the odor coming from a pile of garbage under the metal structure.
A shape moves. A rustle. A low grunt.
A figure stirs in the shadows, and I freeze. My heart stutters. My breath catches. My pulse spikes into my throat, pounding in terror.
Another shift. Jesus, it’s a person. They cough and mutter something unintelligible.
I scream. Loud, raw, involuntary.
I try to run, but the heel of my shoe catches. The hem of my dress snags on a jagged bolt sticking out of the fire staircase. I twist, tugging it violently, panic rising in a wave.
Swearing, I yank again, the fabric giving with a rip that echoes too loud.
I whip around and scream again, my body colliding against a solid wall of muscles.
Strong arms wrap around me.
I twist, panic still gripping my chest, but I know that scent. That warmth. That hold.
“Cora,” Xander breathes against my hair. “It’s me. It’s just me.”
His voice is a balm. A grounding rope thrown into my swirling storm.
I collapse against him, exhausted. Not physically, not from fear or from anger. From everything else that refuses to stay locked inside.
His heartbeat hammers against my cheek. He holds me tighter like he needs the reassurance, too.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t act like you care.” Despite my protest, I don’t push away.
Perhaps I’m a liar too. And right now, I want to soak in this illusion. For a moment, I want to be a damsel in distress, finding refuge in the arms of my knight.
Because the other reality is just too sad. In our real life, I need to be a strong, independent woman who fights for her values. Who doesn’t let him walk all over me. Who does what she thinks is right in this situation.
But fuck, if I don’t want to just forget and move on.
“I do,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You lied.”
“I know.”
We stand there in our own agonizing impasse, holding on to each other for dear life, knowing it’s a fleeting opportunity before we must address the things that will probably break us.
And if I shut down my rational, offended, disappointed mind, all other pieces of me want to lean into him more.
My body. My heart. My soul.
“Did he hurt you?” He rubs his hand down my back, and I want him to keep it there forever.
I hate this roller coaster of emotions, which makes no sense while it makes all the sense in the world.
“No, just scared me.”
“Let’s get out of here. The stench is nauseating.”
I nod and let him hold my hand, leading us out of there. As I try to hold my skirt up with my other hand, I see the tear is huge.
“God, this dress is a rental. It’s going to cost a fortune.”
We reach the street, and I snatch my hand from his. As comforting as it felt, I don’t want him to think the issue is resolved.
Xander reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands me a small golden card. A credit card.
When I don’t reach for it, because what the fuck, he sighs. “It’s yours.” He shoves it into my hand.
I blink at my name embossed on the golden card, and my anger returns full speed. “I’ve just found out about your betrayal, and now you hand me a credit card? Is that your solution to everything? Just throwing money at your problems.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he snaps. Then he sighs again, shaking his head. “Fuck. That’s not what I… I had this issued for you before we left New York. I just didn’t get a chance to give it to you.”
“And you pick this moment. You’re impossible.”
“I didn’t want you to worry about the dress, besides everything else…” He looks away.
Jesus. This man, with his well-intended, fucked-up gestures.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. This started with you throwing a wad of cash at me.”
He flinches, but doesn’t respond.
Vibrating, he paces a few feet forward before he turns back, the nervous energy radiating from him.
“Fuck, when I heard your scream, I… I…” He takes hold of my shoulders and just stares at me, scanning me for injuries, or perhaps memorizing me.
His frown and wild gaze, full of anguish, have a direct line to my heart. But it’s his fault we both feel like shit right now.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he breathes out, and steps closer, but then stops himself and lets out another loaded breath.
Despite my shock and bitterness, I want to reach out for him. But I hold back, because trust is earned, and he has stomped all over mine.
He pulls out his phone and starts texting. “I’m having the car come around for us.”
“I’m not getting into a car with you.” I lift the ruined dress and start marching, as if I know where I’m going.
“Cora,” he growls. “If you don’t get in the car with me, then what? We will do it here and now?”
I whip around, glaring. “Do what?”
“Talk.”
I put my hands on my hips. Is he for real? “A bit too late for that.”
“Cora.” He sighs again.
He dares to sigh again.
“Don’t fucking Cora me. Has all of it been a lie?” I guess we’re having the conversation here after all.
He bows his head, exhaling, and when he looks at me I step back, because the agony in his expression hurts me. And that pisses me off, because he has no right to make me feel sorry for him.
“Cora, I love you. I care about you. You must know that’s true.”
“I also thought just a few minutes ago that your father is a manipulative man who refused to help you unless you marry.”
“You never believed I wanted you for you. You didn’t allow yourself to even try to be fully in…
because I have more money, because I’m younger, because I fucked other women before you.
So many fucking objections. There was always something you would hold against me.
Never have you tried to see me for me. And now you finally have a real excuse to bolt. ”
He lets out a snort, thick with bitterness—but beneath it, there is something fractured. Hurt. Desperation. Misery.
His words slice through me like the sharpest knife. Like a double-edged sword. Because he is right. I tried so desperately to talk myself out of this relationship. I didn’t allow myself to get to know the real him.
But that doesn’t give him the right to accuse me of forcing him to lie.
“You’re too entitled to take no as an answer. How dare you blame me?”
He shakes his head. “The lie is on me, but I didn’t see any other option at the time. That night you attended the gala with me… you bewitched me. And I couldn’t let go. I tried; believe me, I fucking tried.”
“So you tricked me,” I sneer.
In my periphery, I notice heads turning.