Chapter 21 #3
Her lips pinch together. “Oh, Lila, this has always been your problem. You paint everything in black and white. You accuse me of stealing, of lying, but you choose to exclude the nuance. When two people are working so closely together, as you and I were, you have to know the synergy, the brain matter will start to collide. That we would—and did—reach a point where neither of us knows which idea came from where or who spoke aloud the synchronized thought we shared. You speak of my corruption as if I’m this mythical dragon, leaving a trail of ash in my wake.
But you must acknowledge the complexity of our situation.
Our relationship. When you spend your days in an intellectual capacity, having conversation after conversation with brilliant minds, it often becomes difficult to discern original thoughts.
Yet you won’t give me the benefit of the doubt no matter what I’ve done to selflessly prop you up.
” She blinks slowly, weighing her thoughts.
I can see the wheels turning as her eyes dance between mine.
“I understand power because I’ve forged it on my own.
You believe you understand power because you’ve felt it burn your fingers. We are not the same.”
“I don’t need to understand power to know you stole my ideas. Word for word. And more than once. You can twist the truth however you need to in your head, but the stories online are all too similar. You have a pattern, Althea. And it seems as if it’s finally caught up with you.”
A muscle in her jaw twitches, chin trembling, eyes burning holes into my skin.
I’ve shaken her, if only for a second. Moments later, she’s pure stone again.
“For all we know, you’re the only one posting those little fan fictions online.
It’s all anonymous, fictional drivel meant to inspire the internet’s favorite pastime—bringing down brilliant, powerful women.
” She stares at me, her lips a hard line.
“I trained you. I shaped you. I brought you with me behind the curtain to see the framework we were never meant to see.”
“And then you shattered me the moment I let myself trust you.” My chest burns with the vulnerable truth of it all.
She doesn’t respond right away, just heaves a deep breath. A long silence stretches between us, and I’m once again reminded of the phone still vibrating steadily in my pocket. Her eyes flick down, hearing the sound, and my chest swells with pride. It’s a reminder of what I’m doing and why.
“You won’t win this time,” I vow. “It’s too big.”
Her eyes narrow. “It didn’t have to be like this.
I still care about you, Lila. I never stopped.
” There’s a pause, as if she has to dig deep to continue this farce of a speech.
“I can still help you, you know. I can offer you a seat at the table you were always meant to sit at. I can offer you a job here. Whatever you want.”
“Like you offered one to Jade.” Darkness clouds my vision, overtaking my thoughts.
A job at Havenport could change my life.
It would mean being seen again, in a real way.
It would mean helping people. Students. My dad—he could have another nurse, maybe.
Better care. I could help support Mom. I could breathe for a moment.
But at what cost? Who will I be if I say yes?
She watches me silently. Then something in her expression changes. The smile that forms is only in her eyes, invisible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as I do. “Or how about your book? What was it—fantasy, right? No, dystopian.”
My heart sinks, and my breath is too loud in my ears. Everything around me disappears. “How do you know about that?” No one knows. No one except Mom, Nora, and…the agent.
Ralston watches the lightning behind my eyes as if it’s just a bit of rain. “You still want to publish it, don’t you? A single phone call, and we can reverse that agent’s decision.”
“It was you.” Chills line my skin. “You stopped her from signing me.” It’s almost too painful to confirm.
Her face warms, pure glee radiating from her, then in an instant it’s gone, replaced with something nonchalant.
“I had lunch with a friend. Your name might’ve come up.
She might’ve asked my opinion on you—knowing you’d attended Havenport—and I’m sorry to say I couldn’t give a glowing review.
” The weight of what she just revealed swells to fill the room until there’s no space left.
I should’ve known. I should’ve known the agent wouldn’t have asked to meet in person only to turn me down a week later.
She must’ve met with Ralston in that time.
How many other instances has Ralston had to keep herself hidden while pressing a finger on the scales of my life?
Her fingerprints remain on me, even to this day.
Her claws are still embedded in my skin fifteen years after I walked away.
“You’re the reason she changed her mind.” I’m sure of it now, but the gleam in her eye further confirms it.
“And I can be the reason she changes it again.”
She was never going to let me succeed without her.
“I don’t need a seat at any table you’re a part of.” I can’t catch my breath. She’s the root of so much pain. I swallow, closing my eyes and gathering myself, embarrassed I considered her offer for even the tiniest second. “I built a new table. On my own. One where only truth is welcome.”
Her head tilts with curiosity, as if she’s trying and struggling to understand how anyone could say no to her. “What can I give you, then? What do you need from me to understand I never wanted any of this?”
“Don’t you get it?” I glare at her in disbelief, the ink of my anger soaking and staining all of my pain.
“There is nothing you can give me that I would ever want. You used to be everything to me, represent everything I wanted to be. But now I see you for what you are—a fraud. An empty shell of a person. Someone whose only love is money and power and notoriety, who knows nothing of kindness and integrity. You’re everything I’m terrified to become. ”
Her gaze darts around my face, searching for weakness.
She won’t find any. Not now. “I know you think that’s true, but it’s not.
I am not a monster. I simply understand that there are ways to get places in this world, and those ways aren’t always pretty.
Lila, I’m the dream of a long line of women whose stories were erased.
Who will never be remembered. Who dreamed of living with what I’ve fought for, what I’ve made space for in this world.
And my legacy will be everything I leave behind—for all women, yourself included. ”
“There’s a way to do that, to be that, without hurting people.
Without being everything we’ve spent centuries running from.
You didn’t need to become what we hate about men in order to save women.
There are other ways. There has to be.” My vision blurs as I think back over what I’ve said and just how much I mean it, her face turning into a watercolor portrait until I find focus again.
When I do, her eyes are locked on mine. “I understand you now, in a way I never did before.”
“Do tell,” she says, her voice low.
“You chose us—you…you chose women because you know how the world works. And you used everything you claim to be fighting against, against us.” Suddenly, it’s clearer to me than it’s ever been.
“You knew we’d be easy targets. You could manipulate us and take advantage of us and lie all you wanted.
Because who would believe us?” I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes.
I refuse to blink, refuse to let them fall.
“I never made you the villain, Althea. You did that all on your own.”
For the first time, the mask slips. For maybe the first time ever, I clock the small fracture, the sliver of doubt peeking through.
Just as quickly, she smooths it away with a grim expression.
“Think. Before you become the woman who cries traitor rather than just moving on, building something better. Ruining me does nothing. Not for you, and not for the rest of the world. Go out and do better, if you think you can. You’ve wasted years focused on me.
I dare you to become everything you dreamed I could be without hurting a single person, Lila.
Trust me, nothing would make me happier. ”
And then, without another word, she moves past me, and she’s gone. The door clicks softly behind her, and I’m alone with the pounding in my ears and the sunlight glaring through the window.
And there’s the silence—only the hum of my phone in the small room. A fierce, continuing promise.
I am not alone.
I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket, watching the red lines dance across the black screen as it picks up the sound of the phone’s speaker scraping the fabric. I tap the red button to end the recording.
We are not alone.