Chapter 24 Audrey #2
“Not yet. But if this relationship continues, you’ll find that being with a Whitman comes with certain... requirements.” She smiles, thin and sharp. “I do hope you’re up to the challenge.”
“Mother.” Logan’s voice is tight. “Audrey isn’t here to be interviewed.”
“I’m simply making conversation, darling. Getting to know the woman who’s captured your attention.” She turns back to me. “Tell me, Audrey, what exactly is it you do? Logan mentioned something about brain surgery?”
“Neural implant technology. We’re developing a device that can help patients with treatment-resistant epilepsy.”
“How noble.” The word somehow sounds like an insult. “And is there money in that? Or is it more of a... philanthropic endeavor?”
“The technology has significant commercial potential, but that’s not why we’re doing it. The primary goal is helping patients.”
“Idealistic.” Edmund speaks for the first time, his voice mild. “That’s refreshing. Most of the scientists Logan works with are far more interested in their stock options.”
“Dad—” Logan starts.
“It’s not a criticism. Simply an observation.” Edmund cuts into his lamb with surgical precision. “Idealism is charming in the young. It’s only a problem when it interferes with practical considerations.”
“Such as?”
“Such as understanding one’s place in the larger picture.” He looks up, meeting my eyes. “You’re an intelligent woman, Audrey. Surely you’ve noticed that you and Logan come from very different worlds.”
“I’ve noticed that we work well together.”
“In the lab, perhaps. But relationships require more than professional compatibility.” He takes a sip of wine. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I have to wonder what you see in my son. Beyond the obvious, of course.”
The implication is clear. Heat rises to my cheeks, but I keep my voice steady. “I see a brilliant man with more integrity than anyone I’ve ever met. Someone who works harder than he has to, cares more than he shows, and treats people with kindness even when they don’t deserve it.”
“How touching.” Edmund’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And the money? That’s not a factor?”
“Father.” Logan’s voice is sharp now, edged with warning. “That’s enough.”
“I’m simply asking the question everyone else is thinking. She wouldn’t be the first woman to see dollar signs when she looks at you.”
“Audrey isn’t like that.”
“How do you know?” Caroline chimes in, her tone light and poisonous. “You’ve hardly been discerning in the past. Remember that incident with the intern at your company? The one who sold stories to the press?”
“That was seven years ago, and she wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“Not that we’d know. You’ve never introduced us to any of your friends.”
“You’ve met Dominic.”
Edmund actually wrinkles his nose at the mention of his name.
“Yes. Another of your charity cases. I dare say that man wouldn’t be half of what he is today if it weren’t for your generosity, Logan.
Not every friendship needs to be a research project.
Nor, for that matter, does every relationship.
Sometimes,” he says, turning his gaze on me, “it’s enough to choose someone of your own class. ”
My hand clenches on the stem of my wineglass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
Logan doesn’t even blink. “Audrey’s class,” he says, “is intellect. Try to keep up.”
There’s a beat of silence, sharp and terrible. Caroline’s mouth twitches, as if she’s disappointed the conversation isn’t more of a massacre.
I could say nothing. Let Logan continue to defend us both. But for all my bravado, I’m shaking under the table—anger, yes, but something else too. The familiar panic of facing a problem I can’t solve. I’ve spent my whole life believing that if I just understand something well enough, I can fix it.
But there’s no algorithm for people like this. No data set for opponents who’ve been playing this game for generations.
I breathe slow. They want me to feel small. I won’t let them.
“Well then,” Caroline muses. “You must be very special, Audrey. Or very persistent.”
I set down my fork, my appetite completely gone. “With respect, Mrs. Whitman, I’m neither. I’m just someone who cares about your son.”
“‘Care’ is such a flexible word, though, isn’t it? People ‘care’ about all sorts of things. Money. Status. Access.” She waves a hand. “Not that I’m accusing you of anything. I’m simply noting that Logan has a great deal to offer, and it would be na?ve to pretend that isn’t part of his appeal.”
“The only thing Logan has offered me is honesty. Everything else—the money, the status, the family name—is just noise.” I look at Logan, who looks like he’s about to snap. “He’s the appeal. All of him. Even the parts you seem determined to tear down.”
Silence falls over the table. Edmund and Caroline exchange a glance—the kind of wordless communication that comes from decades of marriage and shared cruelty.
“Well,” Edmund says finally. “You certainly have opinions.”
“I do. And I’m not going to apologize for them.”
“No one asked you to apologize, dear.” Caroline’s voice is ice. “We’re simply concerned for our son. He has a legacy to uphold, and when he’s done playing games on his little computers, he might tire of slumming it and settle for a mate of appropriate stock. I’m sure you understand.”
Logan is about to intervene again, but I touch him on the arm to let him know I’ve got this one as I look Caroline straight in the eye.
“I do understand. But you’re going to have to get used to disappointment.”
There’s a choking sound from Logan, part laugh and part gasp. Caroline’s smile sharpens so hard it could cut crystal.
Edmund steeples his fingers and regards me. “What about your ambitions, Audrey? Surely you understand that being with my son will upend any notions of an ordinary life—”
“My ambitions are my own. I’m not here to pilot anyone else’s.”
“It sounds to me like you don’t fully grasp the level of expectation that comes with taking the Whitman name.”
“Who says I’m planning on taking the Whitman name?”
There’s a wet snap in the room, more felt than heard. The atoms in the air realign, every charged particle spinning, and I realize I’ve made the ancient mistake of matching violence with violence—only now my opponent is centuries of self-perpetuating Whitman entitlement.
“Well,” Edmund says, lips twitching. “That’s refreshingly modern.”
“It’s as modern as your questions are archaic. Logan and I are dating. You’re talking as if we came to you announcing our engagement.”
Caroline lets out a single, sharp laugh—the sound engineered to signal both relief and dismissal.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she says, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.
“I’d hate to see Logan rushing into something, given his history of poor choices. We’d hate to see him make another one.”
“What are you talking about?” Logan says, irritation in his voice.
“I’m not a poor choice.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Oh my god. Enough.” Logan pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Audrey, go upstairs. Wait for me in the apartment.”
I stare at him. “Logan—”
“Please.” His voice is strained, barely controlled. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
I want to argue. I want to stay and fight, to defend both of us against these people who seem determined to pick us apart. But there’s something in his expression—a resolve I haven’t seen before—that makes me hesitate.
“OK,” I say quietly. I stand, placing my napkin on the table with as much dignity as I can muster. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Whitman. I now understand why Logan prefers my apartment over this…” I pause and look around. “Mausoleum.”
Neither of them responds. I walk out of the dining room with my head held high, refusing to let them see how much their words have landed.
I make it to the stairs before my composure cracks.
My hands are shaking as I grip the banister, and I have to stop halfway up to take a breath and calm down.
The things they said—the implications, the accusations, the casual cruelty—it’s worse than anything I imagined.
No wonder Logan kept me away from them. No wonder he built himself a separate world.
I’m about to continue up when I hear voices from below. Logan’s voice, tight with fury, and his father’s, cool and dismissive.
I should keep walking. I should give him privacy, let him handle this the way he wants to. But my feet won’t move.
If I understand it, I can handle it. The old logic, the one that’s been running my operating system since I was six years old.
I sink down onto the step, hidden from view by the curve of the staircase, and listen.
“—cannot believe you would speak to her that way.” Logan’s voice echoes up the stairs. “She is a guest in this house.”
“She’s a stranger who’s managed to get her hooks into you,” Caroline replies. “Forgive us for being skeptical.”
“Skeptical? You accused her of being a gold digger. To her face.”
“We raised concerns. There’s a difference.”
“There’s no difference. You attacked her. You attacked me. You do this every single time I try to have something for myself.”
“We’re trying to protect you, Logan.” Edmund’s voice is patient, patronizing. “You’ve always been... susceptible. Too trusting. We simply want to ensure—”
“Ensure what? That I end up alone? That I push away anyone who might actually love me?”
“Love.” Caroline laughs, a brittle sound. “Darling, you’ve known this woman for—what—a few months? You don’t know the first thing about love.”
“I know more about love than you’ve ever shown me.”
Silence. I press my hand to my mouth, heart pounding.
“That’s unfair,” Edmund says finally, his voice cold. “We’ve given you everything. The education, the opportunities. The trust fund—”
“Are you seriously trying to use money against me, right now? I owe you nothing.”
“You owe us respect.”
“Respect is earned. And you’ve done nothing but tear me down my entire life.
” Logan’s voice breaks, then steadies. “I don’t care how you treat me.
I’ve put up with your disdain my entire life, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck anymore.
But if you ever—ever—utter a single disrespectful syllable to the woman I love again, then I’m done. ”
My breath catches. The woman he loves.
“Done?” Caroline’s voice is sharp. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means everything. No son. No legacy. No money. I won’t stand by and let you treat Audrey the way you’ve treated everyone else who’s ever gotten close to me. She’s not going anywhere. And if you can’t accept that, I can’t support you anymore.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Edmund says, but there’s an edge to his voice now. Something uncertain.
“I’m being clear. For the first time in my life, I’m being absolutely clear—you need me. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Without my money, you lose this house. You lose the lifestyle. You lose everything you’ve spent forty years pretending you deserved.”
“Logan—”
“I’ve never asked you for anything. Not your approval, not your affection, not even basic kindness. I gave up on that a long time ago. But I am asking you now—no, I’m telling you—to treat Audrey with respect. Or I will cut you off without a second thought.”
Silence stretches out, thick and heavy. I can barely breathe.
“You would do that?” Caroline’s voice is small. Shocked. “You would choose her over your own family?”
“I would choose her over everything. And maybe if you’d ever shown me just a modicum of care, you’d understand why.”
I press my hand harder against my mouth. This is Logan—my Logan—who freezes in confrontation, who spent thirty-four years believing he was too broken to fight for anything. And he’s burning it all down. For me.
Footsteps. Coming toward the stairs.
I scramble to my feet, my heart racing, and rush up the remaining steps. I make it to his apartment door and slip inside just as I hear him reach the landing below.
Seconds later, the door opens.
Logan steps through, and his face is wrecked—eyes red, jaw tight, the careful composure completely shattered. He looks like a man who’s just gone to war and isn’t sure if he won.
I don’t give him time to speak.
I throw myself into his arms, kissing him with everything I have. He catches me, stumbling back against the door, and for a moment he’s frozen—stunned—and then his arms come around me like a vise, holding on like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.
“I heard,” I whisper against his mouth. “I heard everything.”
“Audrey—”
“You love me.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s so much in his eyes—fear, hope, exhaustion, relief—that it makes my chest ache.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I love you. I should have told you before. I should have told you a hundred times. I was just—”
“Scared. I know.” I brush my thumb across his cheekbone, catching a tear he probably didn’t even know was there.
The words are right there. Three syllables I’ve been holding behind my teeth for weeks, maybe longer. The last time I let myself feel this much for someone, I ended up on a plane to Stockholm with a broken heart and a new hair color.
But Logan just went to war for me. The least I can do is show up without my armor.
“I love you too, you idiot.”