Chapter 17
AMY
I’m an idiot. There’s no two ways about it.
And really, what other explanation is there for this?
For me, shuffling into one of the most expensive hotels in London through the service entrance dressed like I’m starring in a bad hangover rom-com.
Oversized hoodie? Check.
Ridiculous, oversized black sunglasses, leftover from a Breakfast at Tiffany’s costume party two years ago? Check.
And right in front of me? Hollywood’s most notorious bad boy, sauntering toward the private elevator like this is just another Tuesday.
The second the doors slide shut, I mutter under my breath, “This is so stupid.”
Will grins, cocky and unbothered. “Sweetheart, everything worth doing is stupid.”
I glare at his reflection in the mirror-lined elevator. “That’s not a comforting motto.”
He shrugs. “Worked for me so far.”
The elevator hums as it climbs, each second twisting my stomach tighter. Somewhere above me is him. Jake. Eli. Whatever his damn name is.
And I have no idea what the hell I’m walking into.
“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I mutter.
Will flashes me a sharp, wicked smile. “Oh, honey, you didn’t let me. You just finally realized I’m always right.”
“No, I went ahead because you blackmailed me,” I snap.
He waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Make me your bad guy if you want. So many others do. But just remember how awkward it’ll be when I’m standing at the altar as your future husband’s best man.”
“My w—”
I don’t even get to finish before the elevator dings, and suddenly, Will is shoving a sleek black key card into my palm and pushing me out of the elevator.
“The Leopold Suite,” he says, gesturing to the end of the corridor. “Bottom of the hall. Don’t bother knocking; he won’t hear you over his depressing-as-shit music while he drowns in self-pity over his little accountant nerd.”
I sputter. “I… Wha…”
But the elevator doors are already sliding shut, and Will, absolute menace that he is, shoots me a wink just before they close.
I stare after him, my hand clenching around the key card.
Then, slowly, I turn toward the corridor, glaring at the pristine walls, the plush carpet, the absurd opulence of it all.
I inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. My heart pounds, and my legs feel like jelly. I should walk away. I should run. But my feet… they don’t listen, and I start walking.
Will Winters and his entire bloodline better be prepared because if this blows up in my face, I’m haunting them all.
I don’t listen to Will. God knows I’ve done that enough for one day, maybe enough for a lifetime.
Instead, I knock. Once. Twice.
The sound feels too loud in the silence of the hallway. My hand tightens around the plastic key card, the edge digging into my palm, grounding me.
Nothing.
I sigh. Damn it… The trickster was right.
Swallowing hard, I stare at the door, then slowly slide the card toward the reader… but I stop, my fingers trembling.
Why am I even here?
I keep telling myself it’s for answers. Closure. One last conversation so I can walk away and be done.
But would it really be that easy?
I came here under duress, sure. Will’s relentless blackmail got me this far.
But now? Standing here—faced with the literal choice, the physical door—I’m not sure anymore.
Because once I open this door… nothing will ever be the same.
Before I can second-guess myself again, I hear voices from the left. Staff, by the sound of it, laughing as they head from the service corridor.
The choice is made for me. I slide the card all the way in and push the door open, rushing inside like the coward I am.
Except… I don’t step into a hotel room. I walk straight into a goddamn penthouse living room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, framing a breathtaking view of London. Big Ben rising proud to the left, the London Eye barely visible through the fog, the Thames snaking dark and endless below.
For a second, I just… stand there. Because this? This isn’t my world.
This view, this space, the ridiculous grandeur, it’s a glimpse into a life I don’t belong in. A life I was never meant to touch.
“Eli?” I call out, my voice shaky. Then I correct myself with a bitter laugh. “Jake?”
I move carefully toward the double doors cracked open at the end of the suite. And there he is, lying on top of the massive bed, headphones on, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Something, maybe instinct, maybe luck, makes him glance over. And the second his eyes land on me, his entire body jerks like he’s been shocked.
He scrambles upright, ripping the headphones off so fast that the cord tangles around his wrist. “Amy— God, are you… are you really here?”
He takes a step forward like he might grab me, but I raise a hand and backpedal fast, my glare enough to stop him mid-stride.
He freezes.
And yeah, he looks like shit. Well, Hollywood heartthrob shit.
Which, apparently, means rumpled tuxedo pants hanging low on his hips, his white dress shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, revealing a stupidly toned chest that—annoyingly—looks just as good as every photoshopped picture online. No CGI. No filters. Just… him.
Damn it!
His hair is a mess, black strands sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. His eyes are bloodshot, his stubble rough and dark across his jaw. And somehow… it makes him hotter.
Which is just so unfair.
Because no matter how wrecked he looks, the man is still so far out of my league that it’s laughable.
Not the point, Ames. Focus.
“Oh god, thank you. I’m so glad you’re here. I was losing my mind.”
“God has nothing to do with it. Your lunatic best friend, on the other hand…”
“I’ll talk to him.”
I narrow my eyes. “To thank him, I suppose?”
He flinches, and for a second, that cocky Hollywood shine fades. “No… to kill him.”
I cross my arms as my heart hammers, but I hold my ground. “Well, get in line.”
He huffs a humorless laugh and scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay… maybe I’ll thank him first. Then kill him.” He glances up, exhausted. “I didn’t think you’d come. Hell, I was sure you wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug stiffly. “Blackmail’s a hell of a motivator.”
His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. “I didn’t know he’d do that. I swear. And the news… I’m fixing it. I spent most of the night with my PR team. They’ll fix it, Amy. I’ll fix it. You’re not the villain here—I am. And there’s nothing I’m not willing to do to make this right.”
I believe him. God help me, I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to let him off the hook.
“You are the bad guy,” I say flatly.
He flinches like I’ve slapped him. His jaw works, and his throat bobs as he forces the words out. “I love you.”
I swallow hard, the sting in my eyes sharp and immediate. “You lied to me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I throw my hands up, exhaling sharply. “Okay. If that’s how you’re going to play it—”
“No, wait!” He lunges forward, practically blocking my path like a human wall. “Please. Just… listen.”
His chest rises and falls, his eyes wide and desperate.
“I swear, there’s nothing I told you that wasn’t true.
My full name is Jacob Elijah. Everyone called me Eli growing up—my granddad was Jacob, too, so it stuck.
I am a special effects guy. That’s how I got into Hollywood. That’s real, Amy. All of it.”
I press my lips together, refusing to speak, but I don’t move either.
He stays there, hands half-raised like a goalie bracing for a penalty shot, ready to block whatever I throw next.
“And the deepfake? That was you too,” I say flatly.
“It was me!” he blurts, eyes wide.
I snort. “Okay, now you’re just insulting my intelligence.”
“No, wait.” He fumbles for his phone, digging it out of his pocket with shaking hands. After a few frantic swipes, he thrusts it toward me. “Here. Look.”
I glance down at the screen. A photo—high school graduation, by the looks of it. He’s there, drowning in a burgundy gown and matching cap. Dark curls sticking out messily, a bright, gap-toothed smile lighting up his face. His nose is wider and a little crooked. His face is rounder, softer.
I glance up at the man standing in front of me—chiseled, polished, Hollywood perfection.
“I… I’m going to miss him,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Fangirl… it’s me.
Same guy. Okay, yeah, the teeth have veneers now, and the puppy fat’s gone.
I hit the gym. Broke my nose on the first set I ever walked onto…
got it fixed after.” He shrugs helplessly.
“But it’s still me. I swear. You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here. I never left.”
I shake my head, biting down the lump in my throat. “Then why? Why hide the truth?”
His eyes soften, and for once, he doesn’t dodge. “Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me about your autoimmune disease.”
That stops me cold. I blink, remembering Maya. Of course, she told him at the signing. But the sting of it still hits me like a slap.
“This is not the same thing,” I snap, taking a step back. “I never lied. I didn’t deceive you. I just… didn’t tell you because—”
“Because you were scared I’d see you differently.” His voice is quiet.
I glare at him, my jaw tight. But I don’t argue because… he’s right.
Jake gives me a sad, crooked smile. “I get it. More than you think.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, exhaling hard.
“I never meant to deceive you either, Amy. Not once. At first, it was just fun… refreshing. You were this brutally honest, sarcastic girl who didn’t give a shit who I was. No ass-kissing. No fake smiles.”
His eyes lift to mine, raw and open. “You know what it’s like?
Living in a world where everyone either wants something from you…
or wants to tear you down? You lose track of what’s real.
Of who is real.” He shrugs, his voice breaking.
“And then… there was you. And for the first time in years… I felt real too.”