Chapter 45 #2
Chairs scrape, places get added. Henson immediately launches into some story about Amira’s uncle threatening him for not liking arak. Amira smacks his arm.
It’s loud, warm, and exactly the kind of scene I wanted Mya to see.
Entrées come out: roast sea bass, summer vegetables, and risotto.
Mya is talking to my dad about her project again, explaining the scope of the rehab project without sounding like she’s showing off.
He’s impressed. I can tell. Bri keeps leaning into her, while showing Amira something on her phone.
My mother watches it all, and it softens her whole face.
It’s going well. Too well.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it. It’s Saturday night. We’re in Nantucket. Everyone I care about is here, and nobody from the office calls me on weekends.
It buzzes again.
I glance down and see Dre’s name.
I frown. She knows I’m out of town. I let it roll to voicemail.
A third time. Then a text.
Dre:
Call me back. It’s an emergency.
My stomach tightens.
I dab my mouth with my napkin before pushing my chair back. “Excuse me. Work thing.” I catch Mya’s eye. She lifts a brow and mouths, “Everything okay?” I nod and head inside.
In the study, I close the door and call Dre back. She picks up on the first ring.
“Worth,” she says, voice already in crisis mode, “look at your email.”
“What is it?”
“Just look.”
I pull it up on my phone. Top of the inbox: FW: URGENT — have you seen this? from PR. Another from Legal. Another from Dre.
I open the first one and my heart drops.
A big masthead I know too well. Headline in all-caps:
BILLIONAIRE WORTH MILLER’S “SECRET” MARRIAGE WAS A BUSINESS DEAL — INSIDER SAYS NEW WIFE IS “brOKE” AND “IN IT FOR THE MONEY.”
There’s a photo of me and Mya at the gala.
Another of her leaving the office. A third of us at the courthouse yesterday.
And under it is an entire speculative mess about our “sudden” wedding, the “convenient” timing before a custody hearing, and some trash quote from an “anonymous former employee” about “being in his office just last week.”
Fucking Shaina.
“Worth? You still there?”
“Yeah,” I manage to choke out.
“Is it true?” Dre asks, though her tone says she already knows the answer.
“I can’t talk now. Call PR. Full response. Loop Ryan in. I need to talk to Mya before she sees it.”
“It’s already on socials,” she answers quietly.
I end the call.
I take one breath. Two. Then I walk back out to the terrace, rolling my shoulders like that will make the world normal again.
The second I step outside, I know I’m too late.
Mya looks at me with eyes that are already glossy, phone clutched in her hand. Someone must’ve sent the article to her. Or she saw it herself. Either way, the damage is done.
“Mya—”
She stands so fast her chair scrapes on the ground. Tears well in her eyes. She shakes her head violently, and bolts, heading back into the house.
Amira is up a split second later. “I’ll go.”
“What’s going on?” Henson asks, the easy-night vibe now gone.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “The truth is out.”
“Shit,” Henson mutters.
Griffin swears under his breath too. His brothers and my parents look between us, confused.
“The truth?” My mother frowns. “Worth?”
I’m still staring at the door where Mya disappeared, wanting nothing more than to go after her, to tell her I’ll handle it, that I will burn that magazine down.
But I know she needs a second to be mad without me in her face.
I force myself to sit back down, even though I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin.
“Worth,” my father says, sharper now. “Explain.”
My fingers tighten around my napkin. “Mya and I… When we got married, it was part of an arrangement.”
Silence.
“You… what?” Bri says, voice tiny and hurt.
My head snaps toward her, heart cracking right down the middle. Christ, I forgot she was still at the table.
“Bri. Piglet.” I stand, reaching for her.
“I can’t believe you two,” she says, eyes filling with tears. “You lied?”
Then she’s running past me and the house, and out to the back.
“Brianna!” my mother calls, rising.
I’m already moving. “I’ve got her.”
I sprint across the lawn, the ocean wind slapping at us. I know exactly where Bri’s going.
The old cottage sits at the edge of the property, tucked behind the main house. It used to be my childhood home. The one Henson and I paid off for my parents when we finally had the money. Bri loves it out here.
She reaches the porch, drops to her knees in front of the big blue pot, rummages under it, and pulls out the spare key. She jams it in the lock and slams the door behind her.
I catch it just before the latch flips.
“Bri,” I say, breathing hard. “Let me explain.”
“Leave me alone, Dad!”
She runs deeper into the cottage, and I follow her down the hall to the guest room on the left.
Brianna curls herself on the bed, her back to the door, knees pulled up, shoulders tight. She’s angry.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, leaving some space between us. “Hey.”
Nothing.
“Bri.”
She sniffles. “You lied.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Yeah, I did.”
“You didn’t have to,” she fires back, whipping around. Her eyes are wet and furious. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve understood. I’m not a baby.”
“I know you’re not, Brianna. It wasn’t because I thought you were a baby.”
“Then why? Why did you pretend it was real and, like, romantic?” She grimaces like the word tastes bad. “You let me think we were a family.”
“Because we are a family,” I say instantly. “That part wasn’t pretend.”
Brianna blinks, thrown off. “But you started it for court.”
“Yeah.” I drag a hand over my face. “When we first did it, we were trying to make everything look clean for the judge. I wanted to make sure no one could say I wasn’t giving you a stable home.”
Bri is quiet, so I go on.
“But… If I’m being really honest, even at the start, in the back of my head, I didn’t think it was fake. Not really. I liked having Mya with us. I liked how you two clicked. I think a part of me just grabbed onto it and didn’t want to let go.”
She studies me, eyes red. “So, it was real.”
“It is real. For me.”
“Then… are you and Mya gonna stay together?”
The question hits exactly where I knew it would. I breathe out. “No.”
Her brows crash. “Why?”
“Because Mya wants to go her own way,” I say quietly. “She didn’t sign up for being dragged in magazines and judged by strangers. She didn’t sign up for lying to you. She wanted to help. Now that it’s done, she wants to leave.”
Bri gapes at me like I’ve said the stupidest thing ever. “Really, Dad? Anyone can see she loves you.”
A choked laugh slips out of me. “That seems to be the consensus. Henson and Griffin think so too. Her words don’t match, though.”
“Then make them match,” Bri says, like it’s obvious. “Convince her.”
“I can’t force her, Piglet. If she stays, it has to be because she chooses it, not because I boxed her in.”
“You have to at least tell her how you feel,” she says, jabbing at me with my own logic. “Mya can’t choose if she doesn’t know.”
I look at my kid—my too-wise, too-soft kid—and something in my chest twists. “Yeah, you’re right.”
She sniffles again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m still mad.”
“That’s okay. You’re allowed to be. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was trying to make it cleaner. Safer. I didn’t want you dragged into a grown-up mess.”
Her mouth trembles, but she nods. “Just don’t lie next time.”
“Deal.” I squeeze her knee. “Can you come back to the house? Grandma will start worrying.”
Bri hesitates, then sighs. “Yeah.”
We walk back together, her hand in mine, the evening air cooler now. My head is already rehearsing what I’m going to say to Mya.
It was never fake for me. I should’ve told you. I should’ve protected you better. Stay.
I step into the house and call, “Mya?”
From down the hall, Amira appears. “She’s gone.”
I stop. “What?”
“She left,” Amira says, wincing. “She packed her stuff and left for the airport while you were with Bri. I tried to talk her down, but she was crying and said she needed to go before it got worse. I’m sorry.”
My stomach drops. “She left.”
Mom comes up behind us and places a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about the party, sweetheart,” she says softly. “Go.”
From the dining room, Henson calls, “Man, what is it with us Millers ditching Mom’s parties to chase women?”
Amira glares at him. “Not the time.”
I flip him off over my shoulder. “Watch Brianna.”
“Of course.”
I’m already moving, grabbing my keys from the entry table, and shoving my phone in my pocket. On the way down the steps, I hit Mya’s name.
It rings. And rings, until it reaches her voicemail.
I call again. Voicemail.
I text instead.
Mya, wait. Please don’t fly out yet.
I gun the car down the gravel drive, headlights cutting through the dark, jaw clenched so hard it aches. I hit her name again. Nothing.
She’s running. And if I don’t catch her, I might actually lose her for good.