Chapter 17 Unraveling Lies & Losing Her
Chase sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table, hands folded neatly in front of him, his expression unreadable. The conversation around him blurred into meaningless noise—profit margins, market expansions, investment strategies. It should have mattered. It usually did. But today?
Today, his mind was a storm of tangled thoughts, a gnawing unease pressing at his ribs. His phone buzzed on the polished wood. He didn't bother checking.
Not until—
SMACK.
A newspaper slammed against the table, jarring him back to the present. Chase blinked, pulse kicking up a notch. Across from him, his business partner, Randall Hayes, stood stiff, eyes flashing with barely contained fury.
"You mind explaining this?" Randall's voice was low, tight.
Chase exhaled sharply, jaw ticking as he picked up the newspaper.
And his world tilted.
The front page was an explosion of scandal.
Hallie Rogers, wrapped in nothing but a towel, stepping out of a cheap motel, her face half-hidden beneath a curtain of damp hair. And next to it—another photo. The setting was different this time. A sleek, high-end hotel. Dim lighting. A man's hands gripping her waist. Their mouths locked. Their bodies tangled in a way that left little to the imagination.
Ryder Evans.
The Marvel star, Hollywood's golden boy, holding her like he owned her.
A slow, acidic burn ignited in Chase's chest.
His grip on the paper tightened, his knuckles whitening. No.
No, no, no.
Then—his eyes landed on her stomach.
And the breath ripped from his lungs.
Hallie was pregnant.
She wasn't just a little, or barely pregnant—she was three, maybe four months along. This photo was taken around that time, about four months ago.
His vision blurred, his mind scrambling, yanking at timelines and memories that no longer made sense.
This was impossible.
Because Hallie had told him she hadn't seen the father since he turned his back on her. She had sworn that the man who did this to her—the man who had left her to deal with this alone—wanted nothing to do with the baby.
And Chase had believed her.
But now?
Now, he knew one thing for sure.
This photo was a lie.
A slow, creeping cold slithered down his spine. The picture of her and Ryder wasn't recent. It couldn't be. Chase knew that moment. He remembered it. He had seen her wear that very dress at a gala—months ago. His heart pounded, a sickening realization settling in his gut. The media had spun this into some salacious affair.
A Hollywood scandal.
But that wasn't what this was.
This was a cover-up.
And Chase was the fool who had been played.
His fingers curled into the newspaper, crumpling the edges as the memories came rushing back, fast and merciless.
That night.
Hallie. The dimly lit bar. Sabrina Rae throwing her head back in laughter, a martini glass twirling between her fingers. The low hum of music, the scent of expensive perfume and liquor thick in the air.
Hallie had been drinking.
Despite being pregnant.
And that single fact had gnawed at Chase relentlessly, refusing to be ignored.
Why would she be so careless?
Why would she put her child at risk? That question had haunted him. Had kept him up at night. And in the end, he hadn't been able to let it go. So, he did what any rational man would do.
He investigated her. And what he found? It had shattered him. Hallie had lied. Not just about the father. Not just about needing Chase's protection. About everything. The bruises. The fear in her voice. The trembling hands as she told him her boyfriend had hurt her.
It had all been an act.
A carefully spun web of manipulation, expertly crafted to lure him in.
And the father of the baby? It wasn't some abusive boyfriend It was someone far, far worse. Chase's breath turned sharp and uneven, his pulse a violent drum in his ears.
Randall was still watching him, waiting for an explanation.
But Chase had none.
Because for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what the hell he had just walked into.And worse?
He had no idea how to get out.
____________________________________
Back in the present, Chase slammed the newspaper onto the table, the sharp slap of paper against wood echoing through the silent room.
His nostrils flared as he scanned the skeptical faces around him. The boardroom was suffocating—stuffy with tension, judgment pressing down on him from every angle. He forced a tight, unreadable smile despite the fury clawing at his insides.
"This isn't what it looks like," he said coolly, voice even, controlled. "That photo is old. They dated years ago."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unbelieving.
They didn't buy it.
Robert Langford, one of the company's senior partners, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression impassive. His tone was mild, but the condescension sliced deep.
"Funny," he mused. "Your last fiancée was a doctor. Sweet girl. She would never have dragged the company into a scandal like this."
Something inside Chase snapped.
The air around him vibrated with tension as his rage finally broke through. His fist slammed against the desk with a force that rattled glasses, sent papers scattering.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, jaw clenched so tight it ached. But deep down, the words burned.
Because Robert wasn't wrong.
Emilia.
She wouldn't have dragged him into a mess like this.
She wouldn't have needed him to clean up some PR disaster. Wouldn't have spun lies and dragged him into something he couldn't control.
And he had let her go.
For awhile, he hadn't been home, giving her space before he tried to win her back.Convinced that if she wanted to doubt him, then fine—he'd show her what it felt like to be left in the dark. Hallie had needed him anyway.
He had told himself she'd break before he did. That she'd come crawling back, realizing how wrong she was.
But instead... She had left. Really left.
Now, karma was baring its teeth, and Chase was choking on the taste of his own arrogance. Without another word, he pushed back his chair, his pulse pounding in his ears as he strode out of the boardroom. Let them talk. Let them judge.
His world had just set itself on fire. And he was standing dead center in the flames. Chase exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He forced a tight, controlled smile, masking the storm brewing beneath his skin.
"I'll fix this mess," he said, his voice cool, assured—like he actually believed it. "Don't worry about this. It's nothing serious."
A few skeptical glances were exchanged around the table, but no one dared challenge him outright. That was fine. Let them doubt him. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the boardroom, his movements sharp with barely restrained frustration. The moment he stepped into the hallway, he spotted his secretary, Lauren, waiting just outside. She opened her mouth to remind him of his next meeting, but he cut her off.
"Cancel everything," he ordered. "I'm done for the day."
Lauren blinked, clearly startled. "Sir, you have—"
"I said cancel it." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Understood."
Chase didn't wait for a response. He was already moving, his pace quick, urgent.
He needed to go home.
Not just anywhere.
Home
____________________________________
The moment Chase stepped inside; the emptiness gutted him. The place was exactly as he had left it—minimalist, expensive, sterile. But it felt...off. Wrong. It took him a second to understand why. Every last trace of Emilia was gone.
Her scent. Her warmth.
The little things she left behind—her favorite blanket draped over the couch, the half-empty jar of tea she always kept in their kitchen, the book she never finished on his nightstand. Gone.
His chest constricted. It wasn't supposed to be real. She wasn't supposed to actually leave. His heart pounded, fast and uneven, panic clawing up his throat. He had told himself this distance was necessary. That she'd come back, that he just had to wait her out.But now, he was the one unraveling. Her words from their last fight came crashing down on him, sharp, brutal, and unrelenting.
"You really think this is, okay?! You lied to me. You betrayed me. And now you stand there expecting me to just take it? To accept this like it's nothing? God, Chase—" her voice had cracked then, raw with something between heartbreak and disgust, "I don't even recognize you anymore."
Feeling the need to drink, Chase walks over to his mini bar and pours himself some whiskey.
He had scoffed at the time, dismissed it as another one of their circular arguments.
But now?
Now, he felt it, understood it in a way that made his stomach turn.He had spent so much time trying to teach her a lesson that he had never considered what would happen if she chose not to play the game.
And then—
Crash.
The glass slipped from his grip, shattering against the floor, fracturing into a million jagged pieces. Pieces that looked a hell of a lot like his life. His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with a volatile mix of rage, regret, and something too raw to name. He couldn't sit here. Couldn't be alone with this. With himself.
Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and fired off a text to his best friends, Liam and Travis.
Chase: Let's go out. Drinking. Now.
Because if he stopped moving—if he let himself feel everything all at once—He wasn't sure he'd survive it.