Chapter 22
I sat on the edge of my bed, my fingers trembling as I held my phone.
Vaughn’s cold, calculating words echoed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. He thought he’d won.
That smug smile of his when he revealed the truth, the way he dismissed me like I was nothing—it was all a game to him.
But he underestimated me. He didn’t know about the ace I had up my sleeve.
I stared at the card in my hand—the one Xander Wilder slipped me after our last meeting. His personal cell number. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just a professional courtesy. But now, it was the lifeline I needed.
My thumb hovered over the screen before I dialed. It rang once, twice, and then his familiar deep voice answered.
“Wilder.”
“It’s Josephine,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm of emotions inside me.
There was a brief pause, then, “Josephine? I expected to hear from you.”
I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. “I need your help.”
I could hear the shift in his tone immediately, the sharpness of a man who knew something serious was going down. “I don’t handle criminal cases, but I can direct you to someone who does.”
“I have an attorney for this case. It was a setup. I would never enter such a place on my own.” I continued.
“Vaughn,” I began, my voice faltering for just a moment.
“He tricked me. I signed the house over to him, but I realize now it was under false pretenses. He doesn’t care about me.
He just wanted the mansion and to be sole CEO. ”
Xander was quiet for a beat, then I heard him exhale slowly. “That bastard. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was,” I said bitterly. “But I need to know—can you stop the deed transfer? Has it been filed yet?”
Another pause, and I held my breath, the weight of everything pressing down on me. If the papers had been filed, there was no going back.
“I can stop it,” Xander said finally, his voice low and firm. “The deed transfer hasn’t gone through yet. I’ll make sure it never does.”
Relief washed over me, but it was tinged with the bitter taste of betrayal. “Thank you,” I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Xander said. “Just be careful, Josephine. It sounds like you stepped into a hornet’s nest.”
“I know,” I said softly. “Believe me, I know.”
By the time the city streets had quieted, and the paparazzi had retreated for the night, I was ready to leave.
I couldn’t stay in New York—not after everything.
My name was tarnished, my reputation in shambles.
The life I’d built here was gone, swept away in a tidal wave of lies and manipulation.
But I wasn’t going to stick around to watch the pieces fall.
I slipped out of my penthouse at 3 a.m., my heart racing as I moved swiftly through the lobby, avoiding the concierge’s gaze.
The cameras weren’t around now—thank God.
I’d managed to dodge the swarm of photographers that had hounded me since the arrest, but I knew they’d be back with a vengeance tomorrow.
An Uber was waiting outside, the driver barely glancing at me as I slid into the backseat, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head.
“Wake me when we arrive.”
He nodded, and we pulled away from the curb. As the lights of the city faded behind us, I felt a strange sense of freedom. I wasn’t sure what would come next, but for the first time in days, I had a plan. Vaughn might have tried to destroy me, but I wasn’t going down that easily.
The sun was just starting to rise when we arrived in Mystic.
The small coastal town was still quiet, the streets lined with charming shops and old homes that reminded me of a simpler time.
I paid the driver, my eyes scanning the sleepy town as I stepped out of the car.
It was so different from New York. Peaceful. Unassuming. Exactly what I needed.
I found a small inn on the edge of town, its wooden sign swinging gently in the morning breeze.
The Innkeeper gave me a warm smile, clearly unaware of who I was or the scandal that had swallowed my life whole.
That was a relief. I just wanted to be anonymous for a while.
No gossip, no cameras, no whispers behind my back.
After checking in, I climbed the stairs to my room, my body aching from the stress and exhaustion. The room was quaint—nothing like the opulence I was used to, but that was the point. I wasn’t here for luxury. I was here to escape.
I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing. I couldn’t stay in the inn forever, but I also couldn’t go back to New York. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I needed something permanent, something real.
Pulling out my phone, I started searching for homes in the area. Rent. No need to own anything right now. As the listings popped up, I felt a small flicker of hope. There were places here—cozy, unassuming cottages by the water, little houses tucked away in quiet neighborhoods.
This was what I needed. A fresh start. Away from Vaughn, away from the Ashworth legacy, away from all of it. I’d built my life on the ashes of someone else’s name, but now it was time to build something for myself.
I paused on a listing for a small house with a white picket fence, just outside of town. The rent was no problem with my wealth, the pictures quaint and welcoming. It wasn’t the penthouse, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t need luxury anymore. I needed peace.
It was just after 7 a.m. and I called the number, my heart racing as the phone rang. I didn’t expect an answer, instead preparing to leave a message but someone picked up
“Hello, this is Lucy from Shoreline Rentals,” a cheerful voice answered.
“Hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m interested in the house on River Street. Is it still available?”
“Yes, it is,” Lucy replied. “Would you like to schedule a viewing?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over me. “As soon as possible.”
As I hung up the phone, I sat back on the bed and exhaled. Vaughn might have tried to destroy me, but I wasn’t done yet. I still had something he didn’t expect.
Myself.
I couldn’t disappear without telling a few people who mattered.
Simone, Easton, my parents and Logan—they needed to know where I was, or they’d worry.
I swore them to secrecy, though. I wasn’t running away forever.
I just needed time. Time to breathe, to think, to regroup after two years of living in the chaotic world of the wealthy.
Now, I had the space to figure out who I wanted to be.
Vaughn might have tried to ruin me, but he couldn’t take everything. I still had the wealth I’d inherited, still held onto the stock in Ashworth Financial that my late husband had willed to me. Vaughn’s betrayal stung, but I wasn’t broken. Not yet.
After buying a burner phone, I called Easton. “I need you to handle the deposit on the house,” I said, keeping my voice low. “And the year’s rent upfront. The owner requires a wire transfer. I’ll pay you back in cash.”
He didn’t ask questions, just agreed. That was Easton—loyal, always.
The house was small but beautiful. The yard was a splash of color, lined with blooming hydrangeas, roses, and azaleas.
A barren patch of land in the corner caught my eye.
I called the landlord, asking if I could plant a vegetable garden there.
He was happy to let me. I hadn’t grown anything in years, not since I was a child helping the gardener in the greenhouse at the Ashworth mansion.
I smiled, remembering those days. My mother used to cook with the vegetables we grew, making meals for the Ashworths, then taking some home for us. I missed that. I missed my parents, my old life. I missed being anonymous.
The house came furnished, but there were no linens, no kitchen supplies, none of the essentials.
I ventured out to the local stores, pushing a cart down aisles filled with things I’d never thought I’d need to buy myself.
Sheets, towels, pots, and pans. I indulged a little, too, tossing in peanut butter cups, Snickers, and M&M’s—things I rarely ate but couldn’t resist.
I tipped the cab driver an extra twenty to help me carry everything inside.
Once alone, I set to work. I scrubbed the bathrooms, wiped down the counters, vacuumed and mopped the floors.
It felt good—almost cathartic—to clean like this.
To feel normal. Like I was myself again, not some woman tangled in Vaughn’s web.
After everything was in order, I sat out on the back porch. The sounds of summer surrounded me—children laughing in the distance, the hum of passing cars, and the occasional horn from a boat down by the harbor. For the first time in what felt like years, I was at peace.
“Joey?”
I jumped at the sound of my name, whipping around to see Easton standing at the bottom of the stairs, a small grin tugging at his lips.
“Easton!” I stood, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” he said, shrugging. “I knocked, but no answer.”
I rushed down the stairs, throwing my arms around him, grateful to have a friend here. “Thank you,” I whispered, squeezing him tight. “Thank you for everything—for taking care of the lease.”
He hugged me back, his grip firm. “He’s looking for you, Joey. Vaughn’s pissed.” He pulled away, his eyes searching mine. “You screwed him over, didn’t you?”
I took a deep breath, stepping back. “One good turn, right? He screwed me, so I screwed him. The deed transfer never went through.” My lips curled into a smile. “I’ll burn that damn house to the ground before I let him have it.”
Easton’s expression softened, impressed. He reached into his jacket and handed me a thick envelope, pressing it into my hands. “Here. Some cash. Just in case you need it for a while.”
I kissed his cheek, feeling a rush of warmth. “I won’t use my credit cards or my bank account,” I said. “I don’t want Vaughn tracing anything. Only call me on the burner phone. Make sure Logan and Simone know too.”
He nodded, his face serious. “I will. Don’t worry.”
Then his expression softened into a smile. “Can you put me up for the night? That drive was brutal.”
I clapped my hands together. “Of course! I’d love it. I’ll make us dinner.”
“Can’t wait,” he said, following me inside.
We talked for hours, sitting in the cozy kitchen, catching up on everything and nothing.
For dinner, I made pasta primavera and fresh lemonade with mint—something I hadn’t touched since Simone’s little accident with the drugs.
We laughed, joked, and for a few moments, it was as if the weight of the last two years had lifted.
But as I glanced out the window, watching the twilight settle over the small town, I knew this peace was fragile. Vaughn wasn’t done with me. But he had no idea what I was capable of.
Two could play this game.
Three days later, I woke to the worst wave of nausea I’d ever felt. My stomach twisted violently, forcing me out of bed and down the hall toward the bathroom. I barely made it, collapsing over the toilet as my body heaved painfully. But there was nothing to expel but bile. I hadn’t eaten in hours.
I rinsed my mouth, the sour taste lingering as I splashed water on my face. It felt like just another symptom of the stress I’d been under. Vaughn’s betrayal still echoed in my mind, but I pushed it aside and went about my day.
I had plans—small ones, but enough to keep me distracted.
Today, I’d plant the tomato plants I’d picked up at Mystic Nursery a few days ago.
I also had fresh basil for pesto, mint for lemonade, and a handful of other vegetables to make this place feel more like home.
Maybe nurturing something would ease the chaos in my head.
I knelt down in the soft earth, my hands working rhythmically as I planted the seedlings into the soil. But as soon as I bent down to pat the dirt around one of the plants, another wave of nausea hit me, stronger this time. I doubled over, retching into the grass beside me.
I sat back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and stared at the ground for a long moment. Then, it hit me—I wasn’t sick. I was pregnant.
The realization settled over me, sinking deep into my bones. I knew this feeling too well. The nausea, the exhaustion. The way my body was betraying me. As I counted back the weeks, panic bubbled up inside me. I was late. Three weeks late for my shot.
My mind screamed, Why now? Last year, all I’d wanted was to be a mother.
I wanted Colson’s baby more than anything, but that dream had shattered with him.
And now, I was carrying Vaughn’s child? The thought sent a fresh wave of disgust through me.
I didn’t want this—didn’t want any part of Vaughn, least of all his child.
But then, something shifted. A smile tugged at my lips, almost bitter at first. This could be the ultimate revenge.
To have his baby and keep it from him. He’d never have control over me, not again.
If he found out, I’d fight him for custody.
I had the resources. I had everything it would take to win.
But then my gaze softened as I looked out over the small garden I was building.
Mystic had quickly become a refuge, a place where I could start over.
The idea of raising a child here—away from the poison of New York, away from Vaughn’s reach—began to feel less like a burden and more like an opportunity.
I could buy a home here, make a life for myself and my child. I could teach them how to be kind, how to live with integrity. I could show them what it meant to be a decent human being, far from the ruthless games of power and manipulation that had consumed my life for the past two years.
As I sat there, fingers still buried in the cool soil, the weight of everything began to lift. I would not let this break me. I would raise this child in peace, on my terms. Vaughn had taken enough from me, but this? This child?
This would be mine.