Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
JADE
We get the window fixed first thing in the morning, which sets us back more money than we have right now. But in the grand scheme of things, I don’t care.
It’s done now, one less broken thing to think about. If only our marriage could be repaired with money, I’d pay anything.
I arranged to meet Mila at a coffee shop—neutral ground, which was Devon's suggestion. He's waiting in the car across the street because I told him I needed to do this alone, and for once, he listened without arguing.
Mila is already seated when I walk in, her manicured fingers wrapped around an iced drink. She looks up when the door chimes, and her expression flickers—surprise, then something calculated that smooths into a smile.
I fucking know you, bitch.
"Jade." She gestures to the empty seat across from her. "I'm glad you came."
Fuck you.
I glare at her, and I wait for the old feelings to surface. The inadequacy and shame. The urge to make myself be just like her and her perfect friends.
And they're there, lurking deep in my belly, but something else is here too, something pacing like a wild animal desperate to claw her fucking face off.
"This isn't a social visit," I reply, finally lowering myself into the chair. "You know why I'm here."
Mila's smile doesn't falter, but her eyes sharpen. "Devon told you."
"He tells me everything now."
I've spent weeks being the one caught off guard, the one scrambling to catch up to what’s true and what’s not. She’s had the upper hand, but not today.
"Then you know I'm pregnant." Mila's hand drifts to her stomach in a gesture so theatrical it makes my skin crawl. "And you know there's a possibility—"
"There's no fucking possibility, and you know it.”
Her eyebrows lift. "Devon was very drunk that night. He doesn't remember—"
"He remembers enough." I lean forward, and I watch her lean back, like she’s wary of me. Good. "He remembers kissing you. He remembers stopping. He remembers you telling him the next morning that it was 'just a drunken kiss.' Those were your words, Mila. Not his."
Annoyance flickers across her face.
"People say things in the moment," she explains smoothly. "I was embarrassed. We both were."
"So now you're changing your story?"
"I'm telling you the truth." Her voice rises slightly, a crack in the composure. "We had sex, Jade. I know you don't want to hear it, but—"
"No." The word comes out as a rasp, like I’m slowly climbing from the pits of hell, my voice scorched. "You're lying."
Mila's jaw tightens. "Why would I lie about this? Do you think I want to be pregnant by a married man? Do you think this is what I imagined for my life?"
I watch her eyes as she speaks—the way they dart to the left, the slight flush climbing her neck. I've researched liars to write them accurately. And right now, Mila Harris is performing the role of her life.
"You've always wanted what's mine," I hiss. "Since high school. You couldn't stand that Devon chose me. That he loved me. That no matter how many times you flipped your hair or touched his arm or made me feel like shit when he wasn't looking, he still came home to me."
Mila's mask slips. "That's not—"
"You called me fat every chance you had.” My voice doesn't waver, even though the memory burns. "You took photos of me and told me you'd show everyone. You made me dread going to school, Mila. Every single day."
Her face has gone pale. "That was years ago. We were just kids—"
"I was just a kid." I lean closer. "You were evil. You still are.”
It doesn’t feel like we’re in a coffee shop anymore. It’s like a battle-field—two women facing each other across years of damage.
"This isn't about high school," Mila finally mutters, her voice tight. "This is about what happened in New York."
"Then let's talk about New York." I fold my hands on the table, forcing them to stay still even though they want to wrap around her neck. "You said Devon followed you to your room. That he wanted to come inside."
"He did."
"You said he helped you out of your dress."
"Yes."
"And then you had sex."
Mila swallows, and her gaze lowers for a fraction of a second. "Yes."
Liar.
I let the silence hang for three heartbeats. Then I say softly: "If you fucked my husband, you'd know something intimate about him.” I smile, but it feels cold on my lips.
Her face goes blank. "What?"
"The piercing." I hold her gaze without blinking. "If you saw Devon naked, if you were intimate with him, you would have noticed it. So, tell me, Mila. Where is it?"
She stares at me.
"I—it was dark—"
"Try again."
"I remember feeling it when we were—”
"You're lying. Devon doesn't have a piercing. He never has. But if you'd actually slept with him, you would have known I was testing you."
Mila's face deforms into something so ugly I move back.
"You think you're so smart," she hisses. "You think you've got it all figured out. But you don't know what happened in that room. You weren't there."
“It didn’t happen, Mila.” I push back from the table. "Not the way you're claiming."
"Devon wanted me." Her voice rises, drawing glances from nearby tables. “He’s always wanted me! He kissed me like he meant it. He fucked me—"
"He stopped." I stand, and for the first time in my life, I feel taller than her. "He stopped, and you can't stand it. So now you're inventing a pregnancy to trap him? To hurt me? What exactly is your endgame here, Mila?"
She's crying now—or performing tears, I can't tell the difference anymore. "I'm not lying about being pregnant."
"Then get a paternity test. When it proves Devon isn't the father, we'll all know exactly who you are."
"You bitch." The word explodes out of her, her lips contorting to form the words. “You always thought you were better than me. You and your perfect little love story. Devon only stayed with you because he felt sorry for you—"
"He stayed with me because he loves me." The truth of it burns in my chest, and a lump forms in my throat. "Something you've never understood."
I grab my purse and turn toward the door.
"He'll leave you," Mila calls after me, her voice cracking. "When he realizes what you really are—insecure and pathetic—he'll leave you for someone better.”
I stop with my hand on the door.
For years, those words would have killed me and sent me running to the bathroom to cry, to examine my body in the mirror and study every flaw, vowing to change them.
But I'm not eighteen anymore. I'm not the girl who let Mila Harris define her worth.
I turn back, and lock eyes with the she-devil.
"You have no idea what I am," I say.
Then I walk out into the afternoon sun, where Devon is waiting in the car with his eyes fixed on the coffee shop door. When he sees me, his whole body sags with relief.
I slide into the passenger seat and close my eyes for a moment, letting the adrenaline drain from my poor, tired body.
"How bad was it?" Devon asks quietly.
"She's unhinged." I open my eyes and look at him—at this man who broke my heart but is trying so hard to put it back together. "But she's also lying. About everything."
“You—you believe me now?” Devon stammers, like he can’t believe it.
"I do.” I reach for his hand. "She didn't sleep with you, Devon. She couldn't answer basic questions about your body—she's been manipulating us both."
Devon's exhale is ragged. "Jade—"
I squeeze his fingers. “It will probably get worse. We need to be prepared for that.”
He nods, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Whatever you need. Whatever it takes."
I lean back against the headrest and stare at the ceiling of the car.
Mila wanted to destroy me.
She failed.