Chapter 15
Atlas
The Gala speech ended without an execution.
Arthur St. James announced the endowment for the new arena. He praised the team. He even mentioned me by name—"Captain Thorne"—and smiled like I was his favorite son. He didn't mention the contract. He didn't mention Aurelia. He played the game perfectly.
When the applause died down, the orchestra started playing. The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by the clinking of champagne flutes and polite laughter.
I found Aurelia by the chocolate fountain. She was staring at a strawberry like it held the secrets of the universe.
"We survived," I whispered, stepping up beside her.
She jumped, nearly dropping the fruit. "Don't sneak up on me."
"I'm not sneaking. I'm mingling. Strategically."
"Is it over?" she asked, glancing around the room. "Did he say anything?"
"He smiled at me. It was terrifying, but it seemed genuine. I think we're clear."
She let out a long breath, her shoulders dropping an inch. "Okay. Good. Clear is good."
"You okay?" I asked, touching her elbow lightly. "You seem rattled."
"Just... Topher. Being Topher. He made a comment earlier. But he's drunk. He’s harmless."
"If he touches you again..."
"He won't. Let's not talk about him. Let's talk about getting out of here."
"Can't leave yet. Have to do the rounds. Shake hands. Kiss babies."
"Fine," she sighed. "Meet me later? My place? To celebrate?"
"Celebrate what?"
"Survival," she said. A mischievous glint returned to her eyes. "And maybe... the future."
"The future?"
"You'll see."
She winked and slipped away into the crowd.
I spent the next hour shaking hands with men who had softer palms than mine and thicker wallets. I nodded. I smiled. I thanked them for their support. I felt like a politician.
But underneath the cheap suit, my heart was racing.
The future.
We were going to make it.
I arrived at Aurelia’s apartment at midnight.
I used the key.
The lights were dim. Candles were burning everywhere—on the coffee table, the mantel, the floor. The air smelled of vanilla and anticipation.
Aurelia was sitting on the white leather sofa. She was still wearing the white gown, but she had kicked off her heels and let her hair down. She was holding two glasses of red wine.
"Welcome home, Anvil," she said softly.
The word home hit me in the chest.
"Hi," I breathed, loosening my tie. "This is... nice."
"It's celebratory. Come sit."
I sat next to her. The sofa dipped under my weight. She handed me a glass.
"To us," she toasted. "To the team that beat the house."
"To us," I agreed. We clinked glasses. The wine was rich, heavy.
"So," she said, curling her legs under her. "I have news."
"Yeah?"
"I got my grades. All of them. Anatomy included."
My stomach tightened. "And?"
She grinned. "A minus. In Anatomy. Straight As everywhere else."
"No way."
"Way. Turns out having a personal tutor with a god complex helps."
I laughed, relief washing over me. "That means the condition is met. The academic clause. We're safe."
"We're safe," she confirmed. "And... I spoke to the realtor."
I froze. "Realtor?"
"For next year. After graduation. Assuming you sign with the Rangers."
"Aurelia..."
"Just listen. There's a loft. In Tribeca. It has big windows. Exposed brick. And... it has a second bedroom."
"For a guest?"
"For a studio," she said. "I measured it. It fits a barre and a mirror. And there's a park down the street. For the dog."
She looked at me, her eyes wide and hopeful. She was building the fantasy. She was making it real.
"You really want to move to New York with me?" I asked, my voice thick. "You hate noise."
"I hate noise I can't control," she corrected. "New York is loud, but it's alive. And if you're there... it won't be lonely."
I set my glass down. I took hers and set it down too.
I reached for her. I pulled her into my lap, burying my face in her neck.
"I love you," I said.
The words tumbled out. Unplanned. Unscripted.
She stiffened in my arms. Then she melted.
"Say it again," she whispered.
I pulled back to look at her. "I love you, Aurelia. I love your snark. I love your discipline. I love that you eat burnt potatoes just to make me feel better. I love you."
Tears filled her eyes. "I love you too, Atlas. So much it scares me."
"Don't be scared," I promised. "We won. We beat the game."
I kissed her.
It was a kiss of victory. A kiss of promise. It was deep and slow and full of a future I could finally see clearly.
We made love on the sofa, surrounded by candlelight. It was tender. It was worshipful. It was the sealing of a pact that went far beyond any contract Arthur St. James could draft.
Later, we were lying on the rug, covered in a throw blanket, eating leftover strawberries from the gala that Aurelia had smuggled out in her purse.
"So," she mumbled, juice staining her lips. "Tribeca. Yes or no?"
"Yes," I said. "But only if I get to pick the couch. This white leather thing is terrible for napping."
"Deal. You pick the couch. I pick the art."
"Deal."
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
"Popular tonight," she teased.
"Probably Jax. Asking if I got lucky."
"Tell him yes. Very lucky."
It buzzed a third time. Long. Persistent. A call.
I sighed, reaching for it. "If it's Miller, I'm quitting."
I looked at the screen.
Unknown Number.
I frowned. It was 1:30 AM.
I answered. "Hello?"
"Mr. Thorne?"
The voice was familiar. Dry. Paper-thin.
Vance. The lawyer.
My blood ran cold. The euphoria of the night evaporated instantly.
"It's 1:30 in the morning," I said, my voice tight. "What do you want?"
Aurelia sat up, sensing the shift in my mood. She clutched the blanket to her chest.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Atlas," Vance said. He sounded almost bored. "Regarding the contract."
"The contract is fine," I said. "Aurelia got her grades. The academic clause is met."
"Indeed. Congratulations to her. However... the morality clause. The 'public incident' clause."
"There hasn't been an incident," I said, my hand shaking. "I've been careful. We've been careful."
"Have you?" Vance asked. "Check your email, Mr. Thorne. I just forwarded you a file."
"I'm not checking my email right now."
"Check it. Or don't. The result is the same. The contract offer has been rescinded. The debt is reinstated immediately. And Mr. St. James would like to inform you that you are no longer welcome on the team."
"What?" I stood up, nearly knocking over the wine glass. "You can't do that. I'm the Captain!"
"You were the Captain. Now, you're a liability."
"What did I do?" I shouted.
"Check the email, son."
The line went dead.
I stood in the candlelight, the phone still pressed to my ear. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might crack my ribs again.
"Atlas?" Aurelia whispered. "What happened? Who was that?"
I dropped the phone onto the sofa. I grabbed my laptop from my bag on the floor.
"Atlas, you're scaring me."
I opened the laptop. I logged into my email.
One new message from Vance, R. - Legal Counsel. Subject: Termination of Agreement.
There was an attachment. A video file.
I clicked it.
The video opened.
It was grainy. Night vision. Shot from a high angle.
It showed an alley. A brick wall. Snow falling.
It showed a side door opening.
It showed a girl walking out. A girl in a wool coat.
Aurelia.
Then, a few seconds later, a boy walking out. Adjusting his jacket. Checking the coast.
Me.
The time stamp was yesterday. 4:15 PM. Behind the Hive.
But that wasn't the damning part.
The video cut to a different angle. A cell phone video. Shaky. Vertical.
It showed the alley again. It showed Aurelia running into Topher.
The audio was clear.
"You're sleeping with him, aren't you?" Topher’s voice sneered.
"Topher, stop. It's none of your business."
"It kind of is. We were dating."
"We went on three dates... I broke up with you..."
"Does Arthur St. James know his princess is slumming it with the trailer trash?"
"I'm not using him! And if you say one word about this..."
I froze.
I'm not using him.
It was an admission. She admitted it. On tape.
Topher had recorded it. The little snake had baited her, recorded it, and sent it to her father.
I stared at the screen. The video looped. Slumming it with the trailer trash.
"Atlas?"
Aurelia was standing next to me. She looked at the screen.
She gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Topher. He... he recorded me."
I closed the laptop slowly.
I turned to look at her.
"You knew," I said. My voice sounded hollow. Like it was coming from underwater. "You knew he knew."
"Atlas, I..."
"You ran into him. Yesterday. In the alley. After we... after we were together."
"Yes. I bumped into him."
"And he threatened you. He threatened to tell."
"He was just being an ass! I thought I handled it!"
"You handled it?" I let out a harsh laugh. "By not telling me? By letting me walk into that Gala blind? By letting me shake your father's hand while he probably had this video in his inbox?"
"I was trying to protect you!" she cried. "If I told you, you would have fought him! You would have lost the contract!"
"I lost it anyway!" I roared.
I grabbed the vase of white roses off the coffee table and threw it against the wall.
It shattered. Glass and water and petals exploded everywhere.
Aurelia flinched, backing away.
"Atlas, please. We can fix this. I'll talk to my father. I'll tell him..."
"Tell him what?" I advanced on her. "Tell him you love the trailer trash? Tell him you're willing to slum it in Tribeca with me?"
"Don't say that," she sobbed. "I love you!"
"Do you?" I asked. The hurt was a physical thing now, twisting in my gut like a knife. "Because if you loved me... you would have trusted me. You wouldn't have kept secrets. You wouldn't have tried to manage me like I was another one of your father's employees."
"I was scared!"
"So was I!" I shouted. "I was terrified! But I told you everything! I gave you every piece of me! And you... you played the game."
I walked over to the chair where my tie was. I grabbed it. I grabbed my jacket.
"Where are you going?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
"I'm leaving."
"No! Atlas, you can't leave! We have a plan! Tribeca! The studio!"
"There is no Tribeca," I said coldly. "There is no contract. Vance just told me. It's gone. The debt is back. Fifty thousand dollars. Due immediately."
She went white. "I'll pay it. I have money. My trust fund..."
"I don't want your money!" I yelled. "I never wanted your money! That was the point! I wanted to earn it! I wanted to be worthy of you!"
I looked at her. Standing there in her white dress, surrounded by candles and shattered glass. She looked like a tragedy.
"You broke it," I whispered. "We had it. We had the win. And you broke it because you thought you were smarter than everyone else."
"Atlas, please..." She reached for me.
I stepped back.
"Don't touch me," I said. "I can't look at you right now."
I walked to the door.
"Atlas!" she screamed. "If you walk out that door, we're done! Do you hear me? You don't get to come back!"
I stopped. My hand on the knob.
I looked back at her.
"I know," I said. "That's the point."
I opened the door and walked out.
I walked down the hall. I took the stairs because I couldn't wait for the elevator.
I walked out into the cold, snowy night.
I had no contract. I had no money. I had no future.
And as I walked back toward the Hive, shivering in my cheap suit, I realized the worst part.
I still loved her.
And that was going to hurt more than the fifty thousand dollars ever could.