Chapter 14
The silence was the first thing Elizabeth noticed. A silence so complete, it pressed into her chest and made it hard to breathe.
Her eyes blinked open to the pale light of Christmas morning, the snow-muted glow that seeped through the heavy velvet curtains of her childhood bedroom. She reached out instinctively, only to find the other half of the bed cold.
Empty.
Elizabeth sat up slowly, the duvet pooling around her waist, her pulse pounding in her ears.
The air still carried the faint scent of Riley’s shampoo, something floral and clean, stubbornly clinging to the pillow.
For a disorienting second, she let herself believe Riley had simply woken early, gone to get coffee, or was laughing downstairs with the staff.
But then her gaze fell to the pillow beside her.
The note was still there.
Her hand trembled as she picked it up again, even though she’d read it a dozen times already. The words blurred before her eyes, stark against the thick white card.
I loved pretending. Because it didn’t feel like pretending to me.
She pressed the card to her lips, shutting her eyes. The words repeated in her head like a song she couldn’t shake, each line cutting deeper, tearing down the walls she’d spent a lifetime building.
Downstairs, she could hear the faint echoes of her family, wrapping paper tearing, champagne corks popping, polite laughter that had never sounded emptier. Designer gifts under a ten-foot tree, polished and perfect. Everything her parents thought Christmas should be.
Elizabeth stayed frozen in bed, the card clenched in her hand. None of it mattered. Not the champagne flutes on the nightstand, not the perfectly tied ribbon on the gifts stacked at the foot of her bed, not the expensive silk pajamas her mother had insisted she wear.
What mattered had already walked away.
And she had let her.
The corridors of the estate were quiet when Elizabeth finally rose.
She pulled a sweater over her head, tugged on her slippers, and padded through the endless, gleaming halls.
The portraits of Hale ancestors stared down at her as she moved—cold, watchful, judgmental.
She had lived her whole life under those eyes, never faltering, never rebelling.
Until Riley.
Elizabeth stopped outside her father’s study. Her hand hovered over the doorknob before she pushed it open. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old leather, just as it always had.
Her father looked up from behind his massive desk, spectacles perched on his nose, a ledger open in front of him even on Christmas morning. “Elizabeth,” he said with a mild smile, “you’re missing the presents.”
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her voice was steady, but her heart raced. “We need to talk.”
His brow furrowed. “Can it not wait until after the holiday?”
“No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “It can’t.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Her father set his pen down, folding his hands atop the ledger. “Very well. What is it?”
Elizabeth crossed the room until she stood directly before him. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Last night you told me Riley would ruin my name. My career. My image.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “Because it’s the truth. You’ve worked too hard to throw it away on—”
“Stop.” Her voice cut sharper than she expected, her chest rising and falling with the force of it. “Don’t you see? I’m the one ruining myself. Not Riley.”
Her father blinked at her, taken aback.
“All these years,” Elizabeth continued, her throat tight, “I’ve done exactly what you asked.
I’ve been the perfect daughter, the perfect Hale.
Polished, contained, cold. I’ve played the part so well that I almost convinced myself that’s who I was.
” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping. “But it’s not. It never was.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Elizabeth—”
“No,” she said again, firmer this time. “I’m done performing for you. For anyone.”
Her voice broke, but she didn’t care.
Her father didn’t respond. He only stared at her, his expression unreadable, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t wait for his approval. She turned and walked out, leaving him in silence.
The estate’s halls stretched before her like a museum of someone else’s life. She passed glittering chandeliers, gilt-framed paintings, marble floors polished to a shine. Opulence that meant nothing.
But in every corner, her mind conjured Riley.
Riley making cocoa in the kitchen, laughing as she spilled marshmallows on the counter.
Riley dancing in fuzzy socks on the polished wood floor.
Riley teasing the staff and getting them to laugh, a real laugh, the kind Elizabeth had never heard from them before.
That was what had made this house feel alive.
That was what had made it feel like Christmas.
Not the gifts. Not the parties. Not the legacy.
Riley.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, her chest aching. She pressed a hand against the banister, steadying herself as the truth crashed through her. She loved her.
Not the way she loved control, or appearances, or winning. She loved Riley with the messy, terrifying, impossible kind of love she had sworn she’d never allow herself to feel.
And if she didn’t act now, it would be too late.
Elizabeth spun on her heel, her decision made.
She hurried upstairs to her room, yanked her coat from the wardrobe, and shoved her arms into the sleeves.
She didn’t care about her hair, or her clothes, or the fact that her family would whisper when she stormed out in the middle of Christmas morning.
She grabbed her car keys from the dresser.
Her hands shook, not with fear, but with urgency.
For once, she wasn’t running from vulnerability. She was running toward it.
Toward Riley.
Elizabeth settled back into the seat of the private jet as it began to taxi down the runway.
Getting her pilot on such short notice, and on Christmas morning, was no easy feat, but it was nothing that a huge financial bonus couldn’t take care of.
She did feel guilty for disrupting the pilot and small crew’s plans, but time was slipping away, and she had to get to Riley before it was too late. Maybe it already was.
She took a deep breath, trying to will herself to calm down. There was nothing she could do for the next hour at least. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Every beat rang with the echo of Riley’s note, etched in her memory: I loved pretending. Because it didn’t feel like pretending to me.
Each reread had carved a deeper hollow inside her chest. She had imagined Riley writing it, probably right after Elizabeth had walked away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed they’d shared. Imagined the shake of her hand, the resolve it must have taken to walk away.
She had let her go.
Worse, she had watched her go, silent, cowardly, rooted to the steps while the car pulled down the snowy drive.
What if Riley didn’t want to see her? What if there was nothing Elizabeth could say to fix this? What if Riley didn’t even return to her apartment in New York and this all just fell apart?
Elizabeth pressed her fingertips to her temple, eyes shut against the questions. She had always believed in control: careful investments, carefully chosen partners, carefully constructed images. But control had shattered the moment Riley had looked at her with betrayal in those wide, wounded eyes.
I told you not to get attached.
The words haunted her, acidic on her tongue. She had said them like armor, and all they had done was slice Riley to pieces.
The plane lurched into the air, pressing her back against the seat. Elizabeth clutched the armrest, though not from fear of flying. The fear was internal, clawing, insistent.
She replayed every moment with Riley like a film reel, each scene sharper than the last.
Riley laughing with a mug of cocoa, marshmallow foam on her lip.
Riley tugging Elizabeth’s scarf higher when the snow blew hard, muttering, “You’ll catch your death, boss.”
Riley unpacking that ridiculous pile of bags in their shared bedroom, cheeks pink with embarrassment, and Elizabeth’s pulse tripping over itself at the sight of lace that should have been forbidden.
Riley asleep beside her, humming in her dreams, shoulders brushing in the dark.
Elizabeth had never let someone under her skin like that. Not Sophia, not any of the polished women who had fit neatly into her world on paper. They had all been placeholders, safe, shallow, convenient.
But Riley? Riley had wrecked her.
And God help her, she wanted more of that wreckage.
The seatbelt sign dinged off. Elizabeth unfolded her hands, then refolded them again. Her phone had no service in the air, but she unlocked it anyway, rereading the old text threads. So short. So professional. Times, dates, reminders about meetings. Nothing personal. No foundation to stand on.
Because she had been a coward.
Because she had built walls higher than the estate gates, and Riley had still managed to climb over them with nothing but messy charm and relentless kindness.
Elizabeth leaned her head back against the seat. Closed her eyes. Imagined what she would say when she reached the city. Every draft collapsed in her throat. Too cold. Too formal. Too weak.
She had no script.
The hum of the engines became a metronome to her thoughts. What if Riley didn’t forgive her? What if she opened that worn apartment door, saw Elizabeth on the threshold, and slammed it shut?
The image cut deep, but it wasn’t enough to stop her.
She would rather risk that door closing forever than live with the silence she had left behind in Vermont.
When she finally stepped off the plane, barely an hour later, the city air hit her like a different world. Sharp, dirty, alive. Snow here was gray at the curbs, slushy from traffic, not pristine like Vermont’s manicured drifts. It suited her better.
She hailed a cab. Paid double just to make the driver move faster through holiday traffic.