39. Before She Betrayed Me
Chapter 39
Before She Betrayed Me
MEGAN
“ Y ou’ve got to be kidding me,” I say flatly as I answer the phone, my grip tightening around the device. Naomi’s name flashing across my screen is like a ghost from the past, a reminder of all the ways she’s failed me.
“What do you want?”
A soft chuckle floats through the receiver, casual, almost amused, as if we’re still old friends catching up over coffee instead of former roommates estranged by betrayal.
“Wow,” Naomi muses, completely unfazed by my hostility. “You were never this mean when we lived together.”
I scoff. Is she serious right now?
“That was before I realized you had a habit of standing by while your father kidnapped me and tried to kill the man I love. ”
There’s a pause. A beat of silence.
“I deserved that,” she finally says, her voice quieter. “But no, I’m not calling because of my father. And I don’t know anything about him trying to hurt Hunter.”
I let out a cold laugh. Typical Naomi.
“You don’t know because you choose not to know,” I bite out. “You’re happy to bury your head in the sand, aren’t you? Just like you did when your father held me against my will for days, and you did nothing. Have you conveniently forgotten that?”
“I apologized for that, Megan.”
Her voice trembles slightly, but I don’t care.
“You apologized ?” I repeat, my voice rising with disbelief. “You think saying sorry is enough for what that man put me through?”
“No,” she admits, a hint of shame in her tone. “But it’s a start. And I can’t explain myself without sounding like a complete spineless bitch, but… my father has a power over me that I’m still trying to break free from.”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me.
“And how’s that going?” I ask, my voice laced with suspicion. “Because last I heard, you were still living under his damn roof.”
“I’m not,” she blurts out. “As of yesterday.”
I sigh, rubbing my temple. “Not interested, Naomi.”
“Megan, wait—I got married.”
That gives me pause.
For the first time since I answered the call, real surprise flickers through me.
“To the gangster?” I ask, my voice blank.
“That’s a very cliché way to describe Gabriel.”
“I’m just going off what you told me about him.” I shake my head. “You swore up and down that you’d never marry him, that your father was forcing you into it, and now you’re saying you chose to go through with it?”
She exhales heavily. “He cares about me.”
“So?”
“And…” she hesitates. “I care about him, too. I mean, when I think back on it, Gabriel’s the only person who’s ever really listened to me, the only one who’s protected me. Even my own family never cared what I wanted.”
I narrow my eyes, gripping the phone tighter.
“I thought Gabriel didn’t want to marry you either.”
“He… changed his mind.”
“Or maybe he didn’t have a choice.”
Naomi sighs. “Gabriel has different views about his family obligations than I do. He wants to rebuild his family’s reputation, and I… I’m supporting him in that.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say, my tone sharp. “You hated him. You resented your father for forcing this arrangement. And now, out of nowhere, you’re suddenly all in on supporting his mission ?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“No, I don’t understand.” I press my free hand against the counter, grounding myself. “Because the woman I knew, the friend I thought I had, would have never let herself be manipulated like this.”
“I was pretending to be someone else back then.”
“Or maybe you’re pretending to be someone else now.”
There’s a long, heavy silence.
I hear her breathing on the other end, the soft, shaky sound of someone trying to hold it together. But I am the one who should be struggling to keep my emotions in check—not her.
“I don’t expect you to understand everything today, Megan,” she finally says. “I just wanted to apologize again and tell you my news.”
I shake my head, disgust curling in my stomach.
“After all this time? After everything ?” I let out a dry laugh. “So what, you’ve had some kind of epiphany that you suddenly want to mend fences? Now you want to fix our so-called friendship?”
“I never stopped wanting to fix it.”
I scoff. “Oh yeah? Then how come this is the first time I’ve heard from you in months? You called me about your weird-ass mafia wedding, but you never once picked up the phone to ask about my son.”
She inhales sharply. “I… I didn’t think I had the right to.”
“You don’t.”
Another silence.
Then—her voice cracks.
“You truly hate me, don’t you?” she whispers.
I stare at the wall, my throat tightening.
Do I?
Sometimes, I think I really do.
She was the only person I thought I could trust. The one person I believed would never betray me.
And like everyone else in my life—except Hunter—she failed me.
I don’t answer her.
Because maybe, just maybe, silence is the most honest response I can give.
“I’ll say one final thing before I let you go, Megan.”
Naomi’s voice carries an edge of urgency, but I don’t know if it’s because she’s afraid of losing me for good or if she’s just trying to soothe her own guilt.
“I need you to remember that you’re not the only one who comes from a fucked-up family.”
I scoff. “And how exactly would I know that, Naomi? When did you ever tell me?”
For years, I thought she was just like me. An ordinary girl from nowhere California trying to find her place in the world.
An aspiring stylist to the stars. A party girl. Someone running toward fame and fortune, not away from something darker.
But that wasn’t Naomi at all, was it?
She was a liar.
A mafia princess from New Orleans, running from an arranged marriage, hiding behind the persona of a carefree LA girl.
I shake my head. “When exactly was I supposed to figure that out? When you were texting your ‘mystery guy’? When we used to window shop for designer clothes, you pretended you’d never owned some of those brands?” My voice hardens. “Or was it when you stood by and said nothing while your father held me captive?”
Naomi sighs, and for a moment, she sounds exhausted.
“I misspoke,” she admits. “What I meant to say is… I hope you’ll take into account that I come from a complicated family. And I need some grace here.”
“Grace?” I let out a short, bitter laugh.
Naomi has always been good at making excuses. She hides behind them like armor, shielding herself from blame, from consequence.
“Sometimes, people do better once they know better,” she continues. “And I won’t sit idly by and allow my father to hurt you again.”
I hesitate, my pulse spiking just slightly.
“That’s a strong promise,” I say carefully.
“I mean it.”
“Forgive me if I don’t exactly trust your word these days.”
She lets out a slow breath. “I know. I don’t blame you for that. But I have an ally now—Gabriel.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, so now you’re using your brand-new mafia husband as proof that I should trust you?”
“He’s not just my husband,” Naomi insists. “He knows how much I’ve missed our friendship, and he encouraged me to try again with you.”
That stops me for a second.
Gabriel encouraged her?
I don’t know much about him—only that he was forced into a marriage he didn’t want just as much as Naomi was––that he’s ruthless when it comes to protecting his family name.
And now, suddenly, he’s invested in Naomi and me making amends?
“What’s in it for him?” I ask skeptically.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly. She’s hiding something.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Naomi sighs. “He sees the toll my father has taken on me. He knows how much I regret what happened between us.”
“Does he also know that you stood by while your father held me hostage?”
Her sharp inhale tells me that cut deep.
I don’t regret saying it.
I refuse to let her gloss over what happened to me—what she allowed to happen.
“I think about that moment every single day,” she whispers.
I don’t answer.
I don’t give her the comfort of pretending it’s okay.
Because it’s not.
She clears her throat, shifting gears. “Gabriel wants me to be stronger, Megan. He wants me to stop being my father’s puppet.”
“That’s great,” I say, flat and emotionless. “Do that. But it doesn’t mean we can just go back to how things were.”
“I’m not expecting that.”
“Good.”
She hesitates. “But I’d like for us to try. I’d love to meet your son.”
A silence stretches between us.
I glance out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of my new studio, sunlight casting long golden shadows across the unfinished canvas in front of me.
This place should feel like a fresh start.
Instead, it feels like a battleground.
A war between the person I used to be and the person I’m becoming.
“You once told me that I was the only friend you ever had,” Naomi says softly. “That we were like sisters.”
I close my eyes, pressing my fingertips against my temple. I did say that once.
And I meant it.
But that was before.
Before I realized Naomi’s loyalty was never mine to have.
Before I learned that friendship can be just as much of a lie as love.
Before she betrayed me.
“I have to go,” I say, my voice devoid of warmth.
“Megan, please?—”
“No.” I cut her off, exhaling sharply. “You want grace? Work for it. You want forgiveness? Earn it.”
A shaky breath leaves her.
I don’t wait for her to respond.
I hang up.
My hands tremble as I set my phone down on the table.
For a moment, I just stand there, the weight of the conversation pressing against my chest like a heavy stone.
Then, with slow precision, I grab a paintbrush, dip it into a deep, inky black, and drag the bristles across the blank canvas in one long, defiant stroke.
Because I am not the same girl Naomi left behind.
And I never will be again.