30. Parker
Parker
The second my wheels hit the tarmac, I power on my phone. It lights up like it’s on fire, with notification after notification.
The first thing that hits is a text from Leeland.
Thought you’d want to see what the press dug up. This wasn't me. I warned you.
I click the attached link against my better judgment. Against my gut.
As soon as I do, there's a twinge low in my ribs. It's a sick twist that tightens everything.
It's a large photo of Adair on the beach. With a man.
Golden hour casts her in that soft light I’ve memorized like a prayer. Her hair’s windblown, her arms wrapped around a man I’ve never seen before. He’s tall, fit, laughing into her shoulder. Her face is buried in his chest, hands fisting his shirt like she’s holding on for dear life.
Billionaire Heir ’ s Fake Bride Caught with Real Lover ?
The subheadline is even worse.
Sources say 'Fake Wife' Had a Real Lover All Along
My stomach drops. I taste metal. And betrayal.
I’m still staring at the image when another text rolls in from fuckface, who's no doubt reveling in this.
Looks like she was playing her own game of pretend. It must run in the family.
I clench my jaw so tight it aches. My thumbs hover over the screen.
Knowing I shouldn’t, I respond.
You don’t know what you’re talking about. There must be some kind of explanation.
Unlikely. She’s been milking this from the start.
I don't respond. I scroll. There are five photos in total. One with her hand in his. One where he wipes her cheek. One where she’s looking up at him like he’s her goddamn everything.
And the worst one is the hug. It's tight and intimate. The kind of hug that says, You know me better than anyone.
I force myself to breathe.
This doesn’t make sense. She ghosted me. She ripped herself away like I was the threat and then ran to whoever this is?
I went to war for her. I went to DC for her.
I scroll to the end of the article, and the pit in my stomach turns into a full-blown stomach ache. There's a photo of her and me outside Citrine .
My phone buzzes again.
Aren’t you glad I didn’t retract that piece, now?
And there it is. The match dropped in gasoline.
What I said to you in your office still stands.
You want to blow up my life over her? Look at the photos, Parker. She was never in it for you.
You have until the end of the day. If that article isn’t retracted and replaced with a public apology, I will send everything I have to the Post, the Times, the Journal, every judicial ethics board, and, of course, to the judge’s husband.
I stare at the screen. My reflection looks foreign. I'm wild-eyed, sleep-deprived, and wrecked.
You don’t get to win because you were right.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Then don’t make me. I have nothing to lose. I'm done with you trying to control me.
I turn off the screen and put the phone face down on my leg. I'm done talking to him. I'm done talking to everyone.
I don’t know who that man is. I don’t know what the context was. But I know what it looked like. And that’s enough to gut me.
I tried so hard not to become my father.
And I still walked straight into his trap, only she's wrapped in prettier lies and wearing perfume.
The garage door creaks open as I pull in. I'm still half-numb. I kill the engine, but I don’t move.
I can’t.
The images are burned into my brain. I can see her arms around him, his hand on her face, those looks.
I finally get out and head inside. My keys are clenched so hard they bite into my skin.
The sound must carry, because I hear her voice before I even get the door open.
“Parker?”
I freeze.
She’s on her porch. A few steps down from mine.
She's barefoot with her hair braided and draped over one shoulder.
She’s holding something, her phone, maybe, but she’s not looking at it. She’s looking at me like she's been waiting for me like this all day.
I don’t say anything. I’m not sure I have anything left to say. The pictures said enough.
And she’s been pulling away for days.
I read once that when someone tells you who they are, believe them.
Didn’t apply to me—until now.
She’s been saying it in every dodge, every brush-off. Every look said, “Not now.”
And I still thought I could change her mind.
She crosses the narrow strip of grass that separates our places and stops short of my steps. Not on them, not in my personal space. But close.
“I saw it,” she says. “The article.”
Of course she did. It's everywhere. Her face. Her affair. My humiliation .
“Uh-huh, me too. He looks like a great guy."
“It wasn’t what it looked like,” she blurts out.
I let out a laugh. Hollow. “Oh, right. Sure. He was a friend, right?”
Her face flinches like I slapped her.
I blink. The words suck all the oxygen out of the room, and it takes a moment for me to digest what she said.
A huge part of me wants to believe her, pleads to the universe for it to be that simple.
But a small part of me, the part that’s still bleeding from the way she looked at him, the way she buried herself in his chest, still has a seed of doubt. That's the part that flinches.
Because if what she's saying is true, then I let my father win. And that's almost as bad as if she's lying right now.
And if it's not, then I’m exactly what he thinks I am. Gullible. Weak.
I can’t let myself fall into her words. Not without oxygen.
“You could’ve mentioned it. Seems like something you would've known about for longer than a last-minute beach stroll.”
“We’ve been a little busy lately,” she says, tight. “Between our marriage scheme, actual work, your father moonlighting for Page Six —it slipped my mind.”
Her voice cracks, barely, but I hear it.
"I was in DC. Just flew in. When I landed and saw the articles, because they’re everywhere, in case you didn’t know, I wasn't exactly excited to check my inbox."
"Why were you in DC? You never said you were going there."
“Well,” I say as gently as possible, trying with every fiber of my being not to be an asshole. "You told me you wanted space. Kind of hard to justify a check-in after that.”
She goes quiet.
“I went because I wanted to talk to my dad in person. Try to make it right.”
Her brows rise. “And?”
“It went over like a lead balloon. I told Leeland very plainly that I’d go nuclear if he didn’t retract the story himself.”
One brow lifts, and she shakes her head slightly. “It’s a nice idea, but I doubt threats do much to move him.”
“Oh, he was moved,” I say, voice low. “You have no idea. But—” I step forward, meeting her eyes. “Adair, are you telling me the truth? Because if you’re not, saying all this now would be a hell of a choice. Just tell me. I’ll still have your back. I just... I need to know.”
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.
“Yes, Parker. It’s the God-honest truth. Cam is my cousin. Milo—his twin—died last year.”
Something clicks.
“I remember you mentioned Milo,” I say. "When we met with Paul. I meant to ask you about him. I could tell you were fond of him."
She nods. “Yep. That was him. He was amazing. The kind of person who made everyone feel like they belonged. He supported me when no one else did. When I started the business, he was my biggest cheerleader.”
Her eyes gloss over.
“I miss him,” she says softly.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “That sucks.”
“It does. Cam came here to scatter his ashes. He wanted me there. It was perfect. Like a goodbye I didn’t realize I needed.”
I huff under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “God, the media twisted it into something so gross. It pisses me off.”
She shrugs, but her mouth is tight. “They got the clickbait that they wanted.”
“And I believed it.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I let myself buy the bullshit. I’m sorry.”
“I went to war for you,” I say, finally. “I threatened my father.”
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“No. You didn’t.” I shake my head. “But I should have done more sooner. I had the ammo, but I wanted to believe he would respect my wishes.”
“Thank you for doing that,” she says softly. “I don’t know what that means, but I don't need to know all of it to know that was a big thing. And I want you to know I appreciate it, no matter what happens. I appreciate you.”
She takes a step closer. Just one. But it’s enough to crack something wide open between us.
“You’ve done a lot for me,” she says. “More than I expected. More than I deserved.”
“Don’t say that,” I murmur.
“It’s true,” she says. “And I’m not trying to get out of anything by saying it. I just…” She trails off, then glances down at the phone still in her hand. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“Like what?”
“Messy. Twisted. Public.” She lifts her chin again. “I hated knowing you saw those photos and thought I picked someone else.”
“I did,” I admit. “For about half an hour, and it wrecked me.”
Her breath hitches .
“Because I didn’t pick someone else,” she says. “I pick you, I keep picking you, even when I didn’t mean to.”
That does something to me. My chest aches, and my hands twitch with the need to touch her.
I close the distance.
I don’t kiss her right away. I rest my hand on her hip, fingers skimming the waistband of her jeans.
Her eyes flutter shut like that alone undoes her.
“You pick me?” I ask. “Then what now?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “But I don’t want to be mad at you anymore. I don’t want to push you away or be afraid of this.”
I brush a strand of hair back from her face. Let my hand linger.
“You don’t have to be.”
“Okay,” she says, almost too quiet to hear.
The air tightens. It's thick with everything we’re not saying.
I pull her in, and she comes. Her forehead tips forward until it rests against my chin. And like that, we’re breathing the same air again.
I rub my hand up her back, her braid under my palm, and her fingers curl into the front of my shirt.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For fighting for me.”
“I'll always fight for you.”
She looks up then, her mouth parted and eyes dark. It would be so easy to kiss her.
I choose not to, because I want her to know this isn't about sex. My thumb brushes her bottom lip like a promise.
“I thought I lost you today,” I admit.
“I thought I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t. ”
“I could still,” she whispers. "I seem to be good at pushing you away when we are getting somewhere.
I lean in. Not a kiss. Just lips brushing hers like a question. She doesn’t pull away.
"Then don't."
Her hand slides up my chest and grips my shirt. The kiss deepens. It isn't frantic, but it isn't gentle, either. It's raw, like a storm finally breaking open.
When we part, we’re both breathing hard.
"Will you stay with me tonight?"
She nods. I open the door and motion for her. "Ladies first."
I follow her in and shut the door.
I’m not angry anymore. Just drained.
I fought for her.
Now I need her beside me, where the noise can’t reach us.