Chapter 27
Jenna
Marina and I run into each other in the hallway—me heading back from the bathroom, her on her way there.
She catches my eye with a look that suggests she wants to talk, so I slow down. It would be awkward to keep walking as if we hadn't just had that strange bathroom encounter.
"So, it was you," I say.
"It was me," she replies with that mild smile of hers, the kind that feels like it hides something darker underneath.
"Any reason you didn't tell me who you were that day?"
She shrugs. "I didn't think it was important. Besides, I didn't think you'd take my warning seriously if you knew who I was. You'd write me off as a bitter ex."
I raise an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"
"Of course not. I left him, remember?"
"Really? The way I heard it, you cheated on him with his brother, Steph told him about the affair, and he dumped you."
"Well, Steph wasn't there, and she doesn't know as much as she thinks she does.
" She sighs. "The truth is, Grayson was willing to overlook it.
We've always loved each other deeply, despite our problems. He practically begged me to stay, but I told him no—for his own good as much as mine.
The fact that we'd let it get that far, hurt each other that much…
it meant something between us was fundamentally broken, and no Band-Aid could fix it. "
Annoyance creeps into my voice. "You're trying to make it sound like both sides are at fault. But it wasn't ‘both of you' who let it get that far. You cheated on him."
"Ah. But you've only heard one side of the story, haven't you? It's easy to judge when you know nothing about our relationship."
"What makes you think he hasn't told me everything?"
"Because if he had, you wouldn't be standing here saying these things to me." She steps closer. "There's a reason I gave you that warning in the bathroom. Like I said, there are two sides to every story."
"Sure. But one of them's usually closer to the truth than the other."
"Perhaps." She smiles again. "But which one? Anyway, I'm not claiming perfection. But that's not the point. You're not engaged to me—you're engaged to him, remember?"
And with that, she walks past me, her perfume lingering in the air while her words linger in my mind.
A sound startles me—a sharp, misplaced noise. I turn around.
Marina is leaning against the wall, clutching her stomach, her face twisted in pain. She lets out a low moan.
"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, moving toward her.
She opens her mouth to speak, eyes wide and pleading—then collapses to the floor with a heavy thud that echoes through the hallway.
I gasp, half in shock, half in panic, and rush to her side, reaching out instinctively.
Everything happens fast.
As I kneel and lift her limp wrist, rapid footsteps thunder behind me.
"What on earth is going on here?"
I spin around to see George, Grayson, and Mrs. Wolfe rounding the corner. George's eyes lock on Marina, and he bolts forward just as she tries to prop herself up, groaning.
"What happened?" he demands, then turns on me with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Did you push her?"
"What? No!" The accusation hits like a slap. Standing there with my hand out, I realize how bad it looks—but still, it's insane to think I'd push a pregnant woman.
"She just fell," I say quickly as Grayson steps up beside me, his parents hovering between us and Marina.
"How did she ‘just fall'?" George snaps.
"That's not important right now, George," Mrs. Wolfe interjects. "Help her up."
"Not important? She's pregnant, for crying out loud!"
"I already said I didn't push her," I repeat, irritation rising.
"You heard her," Grayson growls. "Don't be melodramatic."
George shoots his brother a hard look as Marina staggers to her feet, pale and unsteady. She shakes her head, as if trying to clear it.
"What happened, babe?" George asks, voice softer now.
"I'm not sure," she murmurs. "I had my back turned, and everything happened so fast."
I frown. That's not true. Her back wasn't turned—she was facing me right before she fell.
"I don't know." Marina puts a hand to her head like a fainting Victorian heroine. "I thought I felt something in my back—but if she says she didn't push me, then she didn't push me."
Huh? Something in her back? Why the hell would she phrase it like that? Like she's doing me a favor by not outright accusing me?
What is this bitch up to? She's lying—boldly, skillfully lying. The worst part is, she's good at it. Hell, if I didn't know for sure I hadn't pushed her, I might start doubting myself too. She looks pale, shaken, and convincingly fragile.
"I'm sorry you fell," I say. "But let me reiterate—I didn't push you."
"And I'll reiterate that it doesn't matter right now. The important thing is to make Marina comfortable and get her to a doctor to make sure everything's okay."
Grayson's mother snaps her fingers. "Martha? Can you come here, please?"
A pleasantly plump housekeeper appears almost instantly, eager to serve.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Please take Marina to my bedroom so she can lie down—and call Dr. Nostro."
"No, really, I'm fine," Marina protests, holding up a hand. "Don't worry about me. I don't want your dinner ruined on my account."
"Nonsense, dear. No dinner is worth the health of you and your baby."
"I agree," Grayson says, glancing at his watch. "We should be heading out anyway. It's late, and we've got a long day tomorrow."
Tomorrow is the day of the business convention. Everything's set up, but I'll need to hit the ground running early.
I'm glad to leave—but not like this. The whole situation feels wrong. There's an unspoken accusation hanging in the air, heavy and unresolved. George glares briefly as he helps Marina down the hall, his mother close behind.
Mr. Wolfe, on the other hand, studies me with a frown that suggests he wants to ask something—but one look from Grayson keeps him silent.
That's when Stephanie reappears from wherever she'd gone.
She looks around at the tense faces. "What did I miss?"
"Marina fell," Grayson says flatly.
"What? How?"
"Not sure." He glances at me—not accusingly, but as if asking silently for my version.
"I'm not sure myself," I say. "One minute she was standing here and we were talking, and she seemed perfectly fine. Then she walked past me, and the next moment she moaned, grabbed her stomach, and collapsed. I don't know how the hell it happened—but I didn't push her."
"Wow. That's wild. I sure missed a lot." Steph shrugs, entirely unbothered. "Anyway, did Martha say if there's more shrimp?"
"No," Grayson says, "but you can check the kitchen."
"Perfect." She disappears again without a care in the world.
I watch her go. Am I the only one noticing how oddly she's acting? She has way too much energy for someone who just heard a pregnant woman fall.
Despite Grayson's calm, I can't shake my unease. The scene replays in my head as we settle into the back of his Bentley and pull away from the house.
"I can hear you thinking about it," Grayson says, amusement in his tone.
"Because I can't stop," I admit. "It's weird how she phrased it, right? Like she was implying something?"
He shrugs. "Do you think that's what she meant? She didn't sound sure herself."
"Yeah, but the way she said it—‘if she says she didn't push me, then she didn't'—that's not a denial. It's a setup. Like she's pretending to defend me to make herself look noble."
I pause, doubt flickering. "Or maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe I'm just pissed about the way she was laughing with you."
He smirks. "Jealous, huh?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." His grin widens. "The only reason I said it was nice to see her again was to get a rise out of George. Worked like a charm, too. You should've seen his face."
"I saw yours," I mutter.
He chuckles. "And yours. You looked ready to bite my head off."
"I wasn't jealous," I lie.
"Sure you weren't."
I glare at him, which only makes him laugh harder.
"What?" he says innocently. "Jealousy isn't a bad thing. If my parents didn't believe our relationship before, they probably do now."
"So you intentionally riled me up just to sell the act?"
"No, I riled you up because I like seeing you riled up. Everything else is a bonus."
I narrow my eyes, tilting my head in mock sweetness. "Just wait till we get home. Then we'll see who's riled up."
The next day starts with a bang.
I head to the office early, and as I park my Lexus, I notice an unusual number of cars and vans lined up along the street.
People with cameras and clipboards are milling around.
Since my building's next to a theater, I assume the paparazzi are waiting for some actor—maybe a premiere, a signing, something glamorous and far removed from me.
But the moment I step onto the front steps, the first flash goes off—then another, and another—and it hits me that they're not here for an actor.
They're here for me.
By the time I realize it, it's too late. They surge forward, swarming me like flies.
"What the hell?" I shout, throwing up an arm to shield my face.
"Are you Grayson Wolfe's new fiancée?"
"Did he steal you from your ex?"
"Did you sleep with him to get your position, ma'am?"
My brain blanks. I don't even try to answer. I just run, pushing through the glass doors and straight into the building, praying they won't follow. My hands are shaking as I jab the elevator button.
When the doors close, I sag against the wall, gulping air. By the time I reach my office, I'm trembling so hard I can barely fit the key in the lock. Once inside, I slam the door, lean on it, and let out a shaky breath.
Safe. For now.
After a moment, I pull myself together enough to grab my phone and call Grayson.
He answers on the first ring. "Hello?"
Grayson, what the hell is going on?" I demand. "Why are there paparazzi outside my office?"
He pauses. "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Isn't this one of your schemes?"
"No. If it were, I'd have told you. Besides, why would they be after you? It's not like I'm a celebrity."
"Are you kidding me? You were in Forbes!"
"So were half the people in New York. That doesn't usually draw a camera crew."
I exhale sharply. "I don't know, Grayson. All I know is I don't have time to deal with this right now."
"Don't worry," he says, voice calm. "I'll take care of it."
"Please do," I mutter and hang up.
To my surprise, he actually does.
By the time I need to head out for errands, the street is clear—no cameras, no shouting, nothing. The relief hits like cool water after a fever.
When I finish my errands, I drive to the event venue, anxious to see how things are shaping up. Guests are already arriving. Servers glide through the lobby with trays of champagne and orange juice, and everything looks perfect.
I weave through the crowd until I spot Grayson talking to a large, balding man in his fifties wearing a tailored suit, cowboy boots, and a longhorn bolo tie instead of a regular one.
"Congratulations on your engagement, young man!" the Texan booms as I approach. His accent is thick enough to butter bread.
"Thank you," Grayson replies smoothly.
"And is this your fiancée?" The man turns to me, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Hooo-eee," he whistles. "I can see why you picked her to plan this symposium… amongst other things. She's a mighty fine filly, that's for sure."
I freeze, every muscle in my body locking. My heart plummets to my stomach. This—this exact insinuation—is what I'd feared.
Grayson's jaw tightens, but his tone stays polite. "She got the role because she was the most qualified."
"Yeah, sure. I bet her dick-sucking skills had absolutely nothing to do with it!" the man guffaws, roaring with laughter at his own joke.
My heart drops further still, shame burning through me. Before I can even react, Grayson moves.
He doesn't say a word. Doesn't warn him. Just pulls back and punches the guy square in the face.
The Texan stumbles backward and collapses like a felled tree, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The entire room falls silent.