Revelations
Vera
Saira’s arrest wasn’t a surprise.
The day it happened, I was stuck in a boardroom downtown, holding back-to-back meetings and pretending I had my shit together.
Part of me was glad for the excuse; facing Saira—her drama, her chaos—still twisted something in my chest. I hadn’t set foot near the jet, but Alistair had.
He ensured everything was done by the book.
Her world fell apart when Lieutenant Frank Berry, one of the few cops she couldn’t buy, handcuffed and escorted her off Alistair’s private jet a few days ago.
News in Lester Harbor spread fast, but hearing it straight from Sapphire? That hit different.
Sunlight filled the penthouse kitchen, glazing the countertops and reflecting off the harbor on Saturday afternoon.
Sapphire perched on a counter stool, twisting her long chestnut hair into a messy knot.
She rocked in faded jeans and a vintage band tee, channeling that unmistakable ‘shit just got real’ family energy.
She wrapped her hands around a warm coffee mug, holding on like it might help.
“That bitch never stood a chance against your man.” Sapphire’s words broke the quiet. “Lieutenant Berry walked onto Alistair’s jet and read her rights like it was nothing. She tried to bribe him, classic Saira, but he slapped the cuffs on her as if he’d been waiting for this day.”
I took the stool opposite her, sunlight glinting off her blue eyes. “Yeah, I know Berry. Alistair’s a fan.”
Sapphire nodded, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “You should’ve seen Saira when Alistair showed up. She went full Casper—pale as hell.”
I couldn’t help but grin, ear to ear. “Bet she realized the party was over.”
“Oh, trust me, she did. Alistair glared at her and said Berry’s team tore through her place. Drugs in the kitchen, the gun in Damian’s old closet, files on everyone she ever blackmailed.”
I tried to picture it: Saira blending into her white fur jacket, the shock wiping color from her face, as the game crashed down around her. “Zero chance at bail, huh?” I asked, mainly for the pleasure of hearing it out loud.
Sapphire let out a short, savage laugh. “None. She’s locked up. No bond. No rescue squad. She’s not getting out this time.”
“Thank God.” I leaned back, savoring this victory. “Well, Damian’s safe. He’s with us now. She’s done. She can’t touch him.”
Sapphire arched a brow. “So what’s the plan with the kid? Full-on foster mom vibes?”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “I’m adopting him. Shared parenting with Alistair.”
“That boy deserves way better than Saira,” Sapphire said. “He’s got a shot at a real future now.”
The kitchen felt too bright, too normal for a day like this. Outside, boats drifted on the water, tourists strolled the boardwalk, and the world turned as if nothing had changed.
But inside, everything was different.
Later that night, tucked against Alistair on the sofa, our talk drifted back to Saira’s downfall. He gave me that slow, knowing smile. “Sweetheart, did you know Sapphire is quite an actress? She was the star of the show.”
“I know,” I whispered, tracing his jaw and kissing him there.
“If she ever wants a career in film or TV, let me know.” He popped open the collar of his polo, giving me that lazy grin.
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the warm skin just beneath it. “Don’t give her crazy ideas. She’s willing to try anything a little wild.”
“Sounds familiar,” he teased, slipping his hand down my pajama shorts to massage my clit.
“Shh, stop,” I hissed, removing his hand. “Your son is still up.”
“He went to bed ten minutes ago while you were having a bath,” he said. After gaining full custody of Damian, we celebrated the boy’s emancipation from years of neglect by repainting his room forest green, a symbol of renewal and growth.
“I needed that relaxing bath,” I admitted, already bracing myself for the next battle. “I’m not looking forward to seeing Erin and Oliver at your parents’ fundraiser in a few weeks.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be fine,” Alistair assured.
Saturday, December 22
How I wish Alistair were right, but trouble seemed to come with Erin wherever she went.
Held at a deluxe hotel, the gala event saw families of fallen heroes mixing with the usual crowd of the rich, famous, and infamous.
By now, I was accustomed to socializing with the Scotts, Cavallis, and other families.
Alistair and I chatted with a group when I noticed Erin scolding her daughter’s nanny.
The green-eyed toddler held her nanny’s hand tightly.
I felt a sharp pang in my empty womb, wondering what it would be like to be a mother.
Expelling that thought, I masked my pain behind the smiles, nods, and conversations with the people around me.
One hour later, after Elizabeth and John made formal announcements and food was served, I walked toward the end of the buffet table to refill my empty glass with apple juice.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Erin’s sickly-sweet voice bit the air.
Not bothering to turn my head, I replied, “You have your entire life to be a bitch. Why don’t you take the day off?”
“Nice dress. Walmart?” Erin jabbed. “I could give you some styling advice.”
Slowly turning to her, I eyed her plumped lips and Botoxed forehead. “No offense, but I’ll pass. Is your plastic surgeon doing the social media package again?”
“Ooh, social. How’s that going? I saw pictures of Alistair circulating on Instagram and TikTok. It’s nice to know he’s cheating on you again. How does it feel to see your man with other women?”
“Honey, the photos are ancient, before he and I met. Be a little more innovative next time.”
Erin’s brown eyes feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “If you believe we’re clueless about the leaks, that’s cute. We know.”
We glared at each other for a few long seconds before Erin broke the silence with a smile. “You know very well what you’ve done to me,” she said coldly. “Alistair and I were in love until you came along.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“You’d better watch out,” she said, grabbing my arm. “I’ve taken on a new hobby. Pistol shooting, and I’m quite good at my aim. I get better and better each time I think of you at the center of the target.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You know this counts as assault, right? Imagine how embarrassing it’ll be when I slap you with a restraining order.” I smacked her wrist away, hard.
Erin smirked. “Do you want to know something?”
I rolled my eyes. The woman was a pathological liar. Nothing good came out of her lips.
“Look who came without her husband again?” she pointed out. “Don’t you think it’s odd she turns up to events when Alistair is around? Do you know they’re having an affair?”
I caught a glimpse of the beautiful Bianca Cavalli in an intimate conversation with my handsome boyfriend.
She stood out from the crowd in a low-cut lilac dress, revealing a good dose of cleavage.
Alistair’s eyes traveled down her breasts, no doubt to get a glimpse.
She laughed as he whispered into her ear, and she patted his forearm with affection.
They continued their playful exchange while she picked imaginary lint off his shoulder.
He looked immaculate as usual, dressed to kill.
“Bianca’s message is clear. She’s telling the world she owns Alistair Scott,” Erin declared.
I faced her, my Louboutins tapping out my impatience. “It’s harmless flirting. Bianca knows Alistair’s taken. I have to ask you something, though. Are you the one behind those media attacks on me?”
She frowned at her shoes, probably feeling inadequate, then placed her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to ask Bianca that question. She’s the media queen. She’s Alistair’s side dish, whether you know it or not. Possibly, even his true and only love.”
“Are you blaming the media smut on Bianca?” I eyed Erin carefully. “I mean, why would she do that to me after investing in the media training? The attacks didn’t come from her magazines or newspapers.”
Erin’s left lip corner twitched. “Bianca likes to keep her enemies close to her. She has control over most of the media in this town.”
“Nope. Even behind bars, Saira Quinn still controls some media groups,” I argued.
“She’s got every reason to hate you. You’re screwing her ex,” Erin sneered.
I gave her a lazy smile. “You’re one to talk. Remind me again who warmed Alistair’s bed before I did?”
She cocked her head, eyes hard. “Are you accusing me of something now?”
“Fuck off, Erin. I’m tired of you.”
She flashed that cold, collagen smile. “Why would I hurt you? We’re family, remember?” She turned away, heels clicking as she stalked back to Camilla, who clung to her nanny.
I let my satisfaction linger. Alistair was mine now, and she hated it. I scanned the room for Oliver, but he’d already slipped out—maybe another headache, or maybe he just couldn’t handle the drama.
“Don’t trust Erin,” a familiar voice said behind me.
I turned. “Elizabeth.”
My heart jumped. How much had she overheard?
She slid her gaze sideways, nodding toward the hallway. “Come with me. There’s a private room where we can talk.”
Elizabeth and I sat in an ornate room with French windows. Snow started to fall on the terrace outside. “How much of the talk did you hear?” I asked, placing my hands on my lap.
“I heard enough,” she said, adjusting her diamond brooch. “I want to talk about my son. I understand he’s told you everything about him.”
I nodded with a frown.
“Alistair trusts you with his secrets, and he trusts you with his life,” she pointed out. “He is in love with you, not Bianca.”
“Yet, he’s attracted to her,” I argued. “Bianca is the first woman Alistair had consensual sex with, and they have a bond.”