Chapter 11 ELLA
ELLA
The moment the police car disappears down the road with Cole in the back seat, my entire chest goes cold. Not numb—cold. Like something inside me has cracked, and the wind rushed straight through it.
I don’t wait, breathe, or even think as I dart out of the barn and run to the main house.
I’m in and out in minutes with my keys in hand, ignoring my family yelling behind me.
I get into my jeep and peel out of the ranch like the devil is chasing me, or maybe like I’m the devil chasing someone else.
The police station isn’t far, but every minute feels like an hour.
I replay everything that happened: Toby and Calista’s dramatics, Cole’s hands cuffed behind his back, and the resigned look in his eyes when he signaled for me not to get involved.
As if there was a universe where I’d just stand there and let him face this alone.
It’s not happening. Not today, not ever. Especially not when it was all my fault he beat up Toby and got arrested.
By the time I storm through the station doors, I’m vibrating with emotion—fear, anger, adrenaline, and something deeper and sharper I don’t want to name yet.
Inside, the reception area smells like old coffee and dusty carpet.
Toby and Calista are already here. Of course, they are.
Calista’s makeup looks perfectly tragic—big doe eyes, quivering lip, a hand pressed dramatically to her cheek as if she were the one who got hit.
Toby sits stiffly beside her, holding an ice pack to his jaw like he’s been shot, not punched once for running his mouth.
They spot me instantly. Calista smirks. “Oh, look. The reason he’s here. Miss Ella Morgan herself.”
I stop in front of them, my hands trembling from everything I’m trying to hold back. “Say my name one more time,” I warn her quietly. “See what happens.”
She blinks. Toby straightens, pulling her back.
Before they can run their mouths again, Tessa appears from the entrance like a very calm, very pretty storm cloud, laptop bag slung across her body, glasses pushed up her nose, already flipping open her tablet.
“Good, you’re here,” she smiles, ignoring the two demons entirely. “I found the footage.”
“What footage?” Calista snaps.
I’m curious too, as I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“The footage,” Tessa repeats, thumb flying across the screen before spinning it around to show them. “Security cameras from the barn, multiple angles, all with audio.”
Oh, that footage. Perfect!
She taps play, and Toby’s voice fills the tiny lobby immediately. “The system’s rigged, people. The princess screws the contractor, and suddenly, he gets the job? How convenient.”
Calista’s laugh echoes in the background. My stomach twists in disgust hearing it again.
Then Tessa switches files—she’s so efficient and precise, like she was built for moments exactly like this—and the next clip that plays is of Toby mocking Aria.
Another shows him and Calista ripping into Cole’s finances, and the final one has Calista calling me “little Miss Morgan” in a tone that makes my blood boil.
Tessa pauses the screen and lifts her eyes slowly. “I have timestamps, angles, backup files, and if you try to deny anything, I will subpoena everyone who stood there and watched.”
Tessa, I could kiss you right now. Now I know why Jace is so obsessed with her. She’s amazing.
Calista’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “What— you can’t just—“ she sputters.
“Actually, we can,” I counter. My voice is unsettlingly calm. “And we will. Because what you two did wasn’t just provocation. It was harassment and defamation. If the police want to call this an assault, fine—we’ll respond with a lawsuit so large you’ll be paying for my niece’s college fund.”
Calista stiffens, and Toby’s face drains of what little color he has left. I step closer, so close neither of them can pretend they’re unbothered.
“You’re going to drop the charges,” I smile sweetly. “Because if you don’t, we’ll press ours. And unlike you, I have an entire town worth of people who actually like me to back me up.”
Calista glances at Toby, who looks ready to run for the hills. He’d better, if he knows what’s good for him.
Tessa folds her arms. “Also, for what it’s worth, the chief of police just reviewed the footage. He’s walking in now.”
The door to the hallway swings open. The chief steps out, gives me a nod, then faces Calista and Toby with the kind of tired, unimpressed expression of a man who has dealt with their kind before.
“I’ve watched the footage,” he concurs. “If this goes to court, neither of you will come out looking good. If you want to withdraw the complaint, now is the time.”
Toby bristles. “He hit me—“
“After you insulted his daughter, his company, and Miss Morgan,” the chief cuts in. “Who is also one of the property owners where this took place, by the way.”
Tessa barely stops herself from smiling.
I take another step toward them, lowering my voice so only they hear.
“And one more thing. My father doesn’t rig anything.
Not for me, or for anyone. Cole won that bid because he’s good at what he does.
And if you ever speak my name again in public…
” I lean in closer, smile razor-sharp. “You’ll wish you never met me. ”
Toby shifts his weight uncomfortably while Calista looks like someone slapped her. They exchange a look—silent, miserable, and defeated.
“We’ll drop it,” Toby mutters finally.
Yes!
“Good choice,” Tessa concludes, already tapping on her tablet. “I’ll send the confirmation to you, Chief.”
The chief nods and disappears behind the hallway door again.
I pull Tessa into a hug. “Thank you,” I whisper, barely able to hold in my tears.
She hugs me back, even tighter. “You’re welcome. What are sisters for?”
She’s right—what are sisters for if not being there for each other during the good and the bad?
“They’ll release Cole in a few minutes. Are you going to wait for him?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you at home.”
“Thanks again.”
She winks and blows me a kiss. “Always.”
The moment she’s gone, Calista mutters something under her breath. I don’t catch it, but the tone is unmistakable. I turn my head sharply. “Do you have something to say?”
She stands abruptly, chin lifting like she’s about to enter a pageant. “Just that you’re all insane if you think he deserved that contract.”
I smile. “Funny. Because the actual decision-makers disagreed.”
Her jaw clenches, and this time she looks ready to fight me. Please do—give me an excuse to slap the bitchiness out of you. I might be 5‘2“, but I grew up with four older brothers. I can hold my own in a fight.
I tilt my head. “Do you know the difference between you and me?”
Toby scoffs. “What, money?”
“No,” I assert smoothly. “Influence.”
He frowns.
“People trust me,” I continue. “They respect me. They know my intentions and my character. And the more noise you make trying to tear people down, the more obvious it becomes that you have none of those things.”
Calista’s face twists.
I gesture at the door. “Run along now. You’ve embarrassed yourselves enough.”
They leave, stiff and silent.
I exhale and lean against the wall, letting myself breathe for the first time since this nightmare began. My palms are still shaking, heart is still racing, but something inside me settles.
Cole didn’t throw that punch because he lost control. He threw it because they dragged my name into it. Because they humiliated me in front of strangers and tried to stain my character in a way he couldn’t stomach.
I should be furious, disappointed, and lecturing him in my head. But all I feel is a heavy ache, the kind that comes when someone defends you, even when you’re not sure you deserve it.
Footsteps echo down the hall, followed by the buzzing of a door. Then Cole steps out from the back, flanked by an officer who gestures toward the exit. “You’re free to go.”
Cole’s eyes find me immediately. He looks exhausted—his shirt is wrinkled, jaw shadowed, eyes darker than usual—not angry or defeated, just worn down in a way that makes something in my chest twist painfully.
He’s only been there two hours, but he looks like he might as well have been in there for two days.
I walk toward him, chin up. “You,” I say, pointing a finger at him the moment he stops in front of me, “are an idiot.”
His brows lift slightly.
“You fell into their trap,” I continue, voice low but furious. “You let them goad and twist you around, giving them exactly what they wanted.”
He swallows. “Ella—“
“No,” I cut in. “I’m talking. You’re listening.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“You don’t get to act like your self-control went on break,” I snap. “Not when you know exactly how they are. Not when you had everything going for you. Not when—“ My voice catches, and his expression shifts.
“Not when what?” he asks softly.
I look up at him, at the man who defended me without hesitation, who let himself be humiliated, cuffed, dragged out… because someone insulted me.
My throat tightens. “Not when I care,” I whisper.
His eyes soften in a way that nearly breaks me. For a long moment, neither of us moves. The station feels too small, quiet, and charged. Something electric hums between us, warm and dangerous.
But then I take a breath, step back, and put space between us. “We’re not done talking about this,” I warn him. “Not even close.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
“And don’t expect me to congratulate you for surviving an arrest.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, looking like he’s fighting a smile.
I lift my chin. “But I am still inviting you for drinks.”
He blinks. “You… are?”
“Yes,” I nod, crossing my arms. “Because we’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
I stare at him, disbelief spreading through me. “Cole, you still have the job.”
His brows knit. “I… what?”
“You don’t remember? Did Toby hit you too? You were there when Dad announced it. The family agreed that you’re the contractor we need for this project,” I remind him.
He looks stunned, like someone pulled the ground out from under him. “But after the punch,” he croaks hoarsely, “after the arrest—“
“My family isn’t that gullible. They saw the footage and know you’re not in the wrong.”
His throat works.
“And Cole,” I finish gently, “your presentation was extraordinary. There is no way they changed their mind because of those stupid fools. They loved your proposal, and I did too.”
For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then his shoulders drop, not in defeat, but in a release so deep it looks like it unravels him from the inside. Relief, disbelief, and something rawer flicker through his eyes.
He exhales shakily. “I… don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
He nods, still stunned. I walk past him toward the door, heart pounding.
“Come on, big guy,” I call over my shoulder. “Drinks are on you. You owe me for the emotional trauma.”
He huffs a laugh—small, tired, but real. I step into the sunlight outside, the breeze brushing against my skin. Behind me, he follows quietly, and even though this day was chaos, pain, panic, and fury…
There’s hope now. Something new is forming between us—fragile but real.
He’s free, safe, and he won the bid. And I’m not letting him go through the fallout alone.
Not now.
Not ever.