Chapter 24 #2
“You’re burning your own name for someone who’ll leave when it gets difficult.” Her voice turns sweet in the way she always used when she wanted to put a knife in and make it feel like advice.
It doesn’t land.
“You don’t get to speak about her,” I say, and my voice stays calm because calm is control.
One of the agents steps forward.
“Victoria Lane,” he says, “you’re under arrest on charges including conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and obstruction.”
She lifts her chin. “You think this sticks.”
“It does,” I answer, because I know what’s in the file and I know what she signed without realizing it.
She glances back at me while they take her arms, and she tries one last angle, because she can’t stop herself.
“You think you cleaned this,” she says quietly. “You think you’ve got the story.”
“I don’t need a story,” I reply. “I need the truth on paper.”
Her eyes sharpen. “You mean the lie you’re going to tell to make yourself look noble.”
I don’t blink.
“The abuse claim,” I say, and I keep it blunt. “You paid for it. You had Sabrina coordinate it, and you ran it through fake accounts, and you used it to poison my credibility and isolate the target.”
Her composure slips for a fraction.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, and she’s too practiced to do anything else.
I turn my screen again, and I show her the one thing she didn’t think anyone would connect.
A contractor invoice. A routing slip. A message thread with her own phrasing.
She stares, and the stillness in her face turns into anger.
“She deserved the reminder,” Victoria says, and the words come out before she can stop them.
The agent’s eyes flick to mine, then back to her, and he doesn’t comment, because he doesn’t need to.
They escort her out.
She turns once at the door, and she looks at me with something close to hatred.
“You always needed someone to steady you,” she says.
I hold her gaze. “You always mistook control for loyalty.”
She doesn’t answer, because she has nothing clean left to say.
When the door shuts, the office goes quiet, and the quiet feels earned.
My phone buzzes.
Lila: Is it done?
Me: Yes. She’s in custody, and she’s not walking out of it.
A pause, then the next message lands harder than the arrest.
Lila: What about the posts?
I stare at the screen for a second, because I remember exactly how fast that lie spread, and I remember how many people saw it, and I remember how it was designed to stick even after it was disproven.
I type carefully, because she deserves clean facts.
Me: They were paid lies. We’ve got invoices, bot accounts, and messages, and Sabrina confirmed it in her affidavit. Legal’s issuing a correction, and counsel’s filing defamation claims. Nobody credible is treating it as true anymore, and anyone who does is doing it on purpose.
Another pause.
Lila: Good. I want it dead.
Me: It is.
I leave the building through a private exit, because the press is already gathering out front and I’m not feeding them a performance. Legal will handle the statement, compliance will handle the process, and the agencies will handle what comes next.
I head back to the rental, and when I open the door, Lila’s on the couch with her knees tucked up, hands resting over her stomach like she’s holding the center of her world in place.
She looks up, and her eyes search my face.
“It’s over,” I say.
She stands, crosses the room, and presses her forehead to my chest, and the contact hits like a reset, because the last month has been pressure and risk and restraint, and she’s the only part that’s been steady.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her there.
“What about Sabrina?” she asks quietly.
“She signed,” I reply. “She’ll testify, and she’s not getting immunity the way she wanted, because cooperation isn’t innocence.”
“And Gavin?”
“He’s not coming near you again,” I say. “He’s facing charges that don’t disappear because he tells a story.”
Her breath shudders once, and she nods.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “And the lie?”
“It’s handled,” I tell her. “We’ve got proof, we’ve got affidavits, and we’ve got payment trails, and it’s going on record as false.”
Her eyes close for a second, then open again.
“Say it,” she whispers.
I don’t pretend I don’t know what she means.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, and I keep it direct. “You didn’t deserve any of it, and you weren’t responsible for cleaning up someone else’s violence, and you weren’t responsible for the story they built to trap you.”
Her throat works, and she nods again, holding onto my shirt like she needs something solid.
“I’m done letting them write me,” she says.
“I know,” I answer. “And they’re done writing anything around you.”
She exhales, and her shoulders drop in a way I haven’t seen since before she ran, and it isn’t dramatic and it isn’t loud, but it’s real.
I lean down and press a kiss to her hair, and I don’t say anything else, because this part doesn’t need speeches.
This part needs a closed door, a quiet room, and the fact that for once, the people who tried to control the outcome are the ones in custody.
Lila tips her face up toward mine, and her voice is steady. “Okay. Now we move forward.”
“Yes,” I reply, and I mean it. “Let’s go home. Unless—”
“Your penthouse.” She nods. “But we’re redecorating.”
I chuckle warmly. “Deal.”