Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
The first fat drops hit her cheek like a warning.
Bea ducked under the old cypress tree outside the philosophy hall, dragging her soggy tote higher on her shoulder. The branches above caught most of the downpour, but wind curled the rain sideways, misting her knees and ankles. Her shoes squelched. Her socks were already done for.
It wasn’t even cold. Just that raw, miserable kind of wet that made everything feel worse than it was.
She stared out toward the path home. Ten minutes.
If she ran, maybe seven.
She wasn’t a runner. There was no elegant way to do this.
She double-checked her bag, but knew she wouldn’t find an umbrella in there. It had been sunny when she left this morning.
From the edge of her vision, a figure cut across the square. She didn’t need to look twice. The stride alone gave him away—long, confident, unhurried. Like he wasn’t even aware it was raining. Like the raging of the elements didn’t bother him.
Rafael didn’t rush. Didn’t call her name. Just came to a stop in front of her, still standing in the rain, and extended a wide black umbrella overhead, gripping it with one hand. She caught a glimpse of white wrist tape beneath his sleeve. The other stayed in the pocket of his dark jeans.
Bea blinked up at him. He was perfectly dry.
She was not. She was a mess. “Are you stalking me?”
“I have class in this building.” He nodded toward the lecture hall behind her. “I saw you heading out. Figured you wouldn’t have anything.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. How closely he noticed her. How often he was just…there. When technically, he shouldn’t be. Graduate students were barely on campus; they worked more than they studied.
Rafael tilted the umbrella slightly to cover more of her. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
The umbrella hovered over both of them, wide enough to block her completely from the rain. The space beneath it was warmer than it should’ve been.
Bea hung back at first.
And then—against the silent part of her brain insisting don’t—she moved into place beside him.
They walked. Not quickly. The rain pattered ceaselessly against the umbrella, its rhythm steady.
Her heartbeat wasn’t. If anything, it got worse.
She kept her gaze forward. “Gage wouldn’t like it.” The words came out quietly. Not as an accusation. More like an apology neither of them had asked for.
Gage wasn’t even in the country. He’d left a few days ago for London, gone for a month this time.
Rafael stopped walking. She slowed too. “I know,” he said. His jaw flexed once. “You always choose what he’ll like.”
She flinched inwardly. That wasn’t fair. But maybe it was true. Or close enough to sting.
He held the umbrella toward her. She took it before she could think better of it—his fingers brushing hers, warm despite the weather.
“Get home safe, little Bea.”
“Raf—”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t argue. Didn’t offer her a reason not to go.
He just stepped out into the rain.
It took him instantly. Sank into his hair, his shoulders, the sharp line of his collar. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t duck his head. He stood there in it for a beat, shoulders square, gaze pinned to hers, unblinking. Then he turned away.
No umbrella, no pause. Just him, disappearing into the storm like he belonged to it.
Bea didn’t follow. She stood where he’d left her, the umbrella trembling slightly in her hands. Watching him go.
It was ridiculous. She held the umbrella. She was dry now.
But somehow, she felt like she was the one still standing in the rain.
GEORGINA: Spa lounge at Peninsula West. Private booking.
GEORGINA: It’s Isabel. Urgent.
GEORGINA: Not in the group chat. I already messaged Naomi and Lillian.
GEORGINA: Bring chocolate. And don’t be late.
Bea was still towel-drying her hair when the messages came through.
The sight of Georgina’s name, stacked like that, made her move faster.
She dressed in soft leggings and an oversized hoodie, shoved a wrapped bar of dark chocolate into her bag, and pulled the Porsche out of the Mayfield Hall underground parking lot. A sick feeling grew low in her stomach.
The Solace House Spa inside the Peninsula West was too beautiful for a crisis. Which made it perfect, she supposed.
She was led through the spa’s stone-tiled corridors to the private area.
The scene unfolded in front of her: Georgina pacing near the water feature; Naomi curled up with her knees to her chest on a low chaise; Lillian sitting upright.
Isabel was at the center, a glass of untouched wine in one hand, robe pristine, face unreadable.
No one sat beside her, as if respecting her need for space.
Bea paused in the doorway.
Georgina crossed to her. “She hasn’t cracked yet, and I’m two minutes from throwing myself into the plunge pool just to force a reaction.”
“Chocolate,” Bea said, handing it over.
“You’re an angel.”
Bea sank down beside Naomi, her voice barely audible. “What happened?”
It was the kind of quiet that made her unsure if she’d spoken aloud or just in her own head.
Everyone was waiting for Isabel.
Finally, she spoke. “The deal went through.”
“What deal?” Bea asked.
Isabel looked down at the glass in her hand. “Their family acquired regional rights to the Pacific media pipeline,” she recited, emotionless. “Streaming, advertising, tech integration. All of it.”
Bea’s stomach dropped. Isabel’s family had been building toward that pipeline for two years.
“Wait. Mason’s family?” Naomi asked, shocked.
Isabel nodded.
“And he knew?” Naomi’s voice was sharp now. “Tell me he didn’t know.”
Isabel gave a tired smile. “He knew. Weeks ago. Said it wasn’t his call.”
“Did he tell you himself?” Lillian asked.
“No. I heard from my father.” Isabel took a sip of her wine, blinking rapidly.
“So he didn’t warn you,” Georgina, who had been uncharacteristically silent, said flatly.
“No. It was confidential. And he didn’t want to complicate things.”
“Wow.” Naomi barked a laugh. “That’s rich.”
“He loves me. But when it came down to it, his family needed the win. And what it did to my family? That didn’t even make the shortlist.”
Lillian’s hands were wrapped tightly around her teacup. “Is that the limit of love?”
No one said anything for a moment.
“Mason said he tried to raise it internally but it wasn’t something he could influence.”
“Do you believe him?” Georgie asked.
“I didn’t need him to spurn his family. I just need to feel that he fought for me and was willing to leave if that’s what it took.”
Bea swallowed, but it felt thick. The words scraped too close to something she had been trying not to name.
Gage wouldn’t do this. Would he? He wouldn’t let her be collateral. But if it ever came down to her and his legacy…would he waver?
Georgina looked at Bea. She didn’t say anything. Just looked at her. And Bea knew it meant: You’re not saying it, but I know you’re thinking it.
“Do you want me to key his car? I’m serious,” Naomi offered. “I have heels in my trunk with actual steel tips.”
Isabel let out a dry laugh. Naomi reached over and squeezed her shoulder.
“So did you break up?” Georgie asked.
“I didn’t break up with him. I just told him I knew. He looked…broken. But he didn’t stop me when I left. So I think we’re done.”
Lillian finally reached out and touched her hand. “He let you go.”
Bea didn’t move. It was like a pane of glass had dropped between her and the room. She could hear everything, but it all rang with a low, echoing pressure.
Mason hadn’t lied. He hadn’t cheated. He’d simply chosen legacy over love.
And just like that, Gage’s words clicked into place. Cold, and terrifyingly true.
This life only works if you commit to it. Not just to each other. To it.
In the long run, you only survived if you were his wife. If your life was welded to his. Because once your futures were bound, the empire answered to both of you. Until then, anything, anyone, could be sacrificed on the altar of shareholders, employees, and economies.
Her chest felt hollowed, carved out and left open to the air.
“You did the right thing,” Georgie said.
Bea rose slowly, legs heavy. She crossed to Isabel, lowered herself to the floor without a word, and leaned in. “I’m so sorry, Iz.”
For her. For Mason.
For the impossible burden every one of them carried.
Isabel tilted her head to rest against Bea’s. Her eyes slipped closed, and two tears fell silently down her cheeks.
Bea was halfway through folding laundry when her phone lit up with a number she didn’t recognize.
Incoming call: international
She almost let it go. She didn’t feel like talking to telemarketers.
Something made her swipe. “Hello?”
There was a brief stutter, as if the connection were stabilizing, then a crisp voice. “Bea. This is Elena King.”
Bea straightened. “Elena. Hi. Hello.”
“I know this is unusual,” Elena said. “I’m calling from a plane bound for Geneva. I had to fly out early this morning for an emergency board meeting that may stretch through the weekend.”
Bea was already walking to the kitchen without quite knowing why, her heart beginning to climb up her throat. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, thank you,” Elena replied. “But I was meant to attend something this evening. And I can’t. I’d normally never ask. The guest list is female-only, and I wondered if you might be willing to go. In my place.”
“Me?”
“It’s the Lysandra Women’s Circle. You wouldn’t be expected to speak. Just attend.”
Bea reached for the counter. Gripped the edge. “I can’t imagine I’m the right choice for that.”
“You are,” Elena said. “You’re with Gage. You’ve already been seen. And your presence tonight would be noted.”
Bea swallowed. “Noted how?”
“As a gesture,” Elena replied. “That the King family is present. That we honor our commitments.”
There was no pressure in her voice, but Bea understood. She was being asked to stand in, and not simply as Gage’s girlfriend.
As a future King.
“If you’re willing, I can arrange for my stylist to come to your residence at four o’clock today. She has the dress, the details. You’ll be taken care of.”
“Alright,” Bea said before she could think herself out of it. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” Elena breathed. “I greatly appreciate it.”
When the call ended, Bea just held the phone for a moment, her heart beating faster.
Elena King had just entrusted her to represent the family.
For a moment, it felt…really good.
Then she glanced down at the folded shirt in her hand, still warm from the dryer. Simple. Familiar. Hers.
And suddenly, a little further away than it had been five minutes ago.
The car pulled up in front of a private estate wrapped in hedges and soft-lit stone. The Kings’ chauffeur didn’t say much, just opened the door for her, and told her he’d be waiting when she was done.
A woman named Margo had indeed appeared promptly at four with a suitcase on wheels. Everything needed for her transformation.
Bea hadn’t protested, though she hadn’t quite recognized herself in the mirror, either.
Now, walking through the foyer, she was very aware of how perfectly the small navy bag in her hand matched her gown, and her shoes. How every inch of her had been calibrated.
And then, “Bea?”
She turned. Naomi stood halfway down the sweeping staircase, glass in hand, dressed in maroon lace.
Naomi smiled. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Neither did I,” Bea said, smiling back.
Naomi descended the last few steps and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I thought I was going to be stuck talking to Charles’ great-aunt for two hours straight,” she said under her breath. “You might have just saved my life.”
“I’m so relieved you’re here,” Bea said.
Naomi arched an eyebrow. “Elena sent you?”
“She asked me to stand in.”
There was a short pause. Naomi didn’t laugh or tease. She just said to her, warmly, “You look beautiful. Very…King.”
Bea laughed, but it caught a little in her throat.
She didn’t dislike the dress. It was elegant. Her hair was smoothed back into a twist she’d never worn before. Even her posture had started to obey the shape of the outfit.
Thankfully there was no press. No cameras. Just women. Dozens of them, in dresses that whispered wealth and philanthropy in equal measure.
Inside, the room smelled of roses and candle wax. Waitstaff moved silently. The table cards were handwritten. They moved farther in, Naomi greeting a few people as they passed.
Bea smiled where she was supposed to. Said thank you when she was told she looked lovely. Nodded when women made polite references to Elena.
No one asked her anything pointed, but everything felt pointed anyway.
She wasn’t a mere participant. She was standing in for Elena King, so she couldn’t falter. Not once.
Naomi glanced over a couple of times. Questions on her face, but nothing she’d ask here. Not with all these eyes.
But even as she held her glass with two fingers the way Margo had demonstrated, Bea couldn’t help thinking, there will be more of these. Rooms like this. Expectations like this. Where Gage wouldn’t always be beside her. Where she wasn’t just Bea anymore, but a silhouette of the King name.
And she’d have to hold that shape. Gracefully. Endlessly. Without cracking.