Chapter Thirty-Two
Ridge
It’s the day before Beverly arrives, and I’ve already set up a meeting with my lawyer, ready to put together the legal documents to obtain full custody of my son. As I drive the congested highways under the California sun toward my destination, my phone rings.
I grin when I see Arthur’s name on the screen. I press the hands-free button and greet my friend and assistant with newfound energy. “Arthur! Merry Christmas.”
“And the same to you, Captain. A Happy Christmas indeed. How did it go in Beverly Hills?”
Arthur texted me while I was at Whitney’s mansion on Christmas Day, letting me know he was just a phone call away if I needed an excuse to bail.
Little did he know, my entire world changed that morning, and now I’m in fight-mode, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to save my son from a woman who never really wanted him in the first place.
“That’s a very loaded question. I’ve got a ton to tell you, but unfortunately, I’m walking into a meeting in a few minutes, and it will have to wait.”
“Are you okay?” I can hear the concern through his British accent.
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m looking forward to Beverly arriving tomorrow and taking her to the New Year’s Eve gala. By the way, thank you for putting in all that extra work before the holidays, solidifying the purchase of the Milton property.”
“My pleasure. How did our Lovely react when she found out?”
I chuckle, remembering the expression on her beautiful face over FaceTime. “She was blown away. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”
“Well, I appreciate the extra holiday bonus. Unnecessary, but appreciated.”
“You deserve it, my friend. I’ll call you later and fill you in on everything else.”
“Sounds good, Captain. We’ll chat later.”
I continue to drive in silence, my mind going over everything that’s happened in the last week.
When I quietly purchased the old Milton Farm, I wasn’t just buying a new home for my girlfriend.
I was sending a message. No press release, no drama—just a dream of starting over in the country farmhouse tucked away in the sunflower fields of middle Georgia with the woman that I love.
But now, in a mansion in Beverly Hills, the silence is deafening.
Because for Whitney Smith, it isn’t just about real estate.
It’s about power and claiming what she thinks is hers.
I know for a fact the thought of my potential move to the South hit her like a slap in the face, hence her bold confession.
I should’ve known that the sprawling compound she insisted I buy for her and Roman was intentional.
In her eyes, it looks good to the paparazzi: a massive mansion, Greek statues overlooking the Olympic-sized pool, California sunshine.
But since a few days have passed, I wonder if she might be regretting her decision to tell me the truth, her world feeling more like living in a gilded cage.
Because despite all of the magazine covers, and the endless paparazzi following her every move, there is something missing now more than ever before.
And that something is me.
In contrast, Milton Farm is peace at last. No flashy headlines. Just two people in love, making plans to start their lives together while moving forward with calm ability. Whitney saw it as a personal loss.
I knew she was already spiraling when I spent Christmas with her.
She obsessed over every flashy ornament and brightly colored present.
She constantly drank and foolishly ignored her own flesh and blood.
And when she found out I’d bought Beverly a house, she was quick to compare her life in California to the selfish agenda she tried to force me into—being the queen of her castle, with me and Roman by her side.
She manipulated me, her focus and ultimate goal being paired with a wealthy award-winning actor who fathered her son.
In her warped mind, it was a guaranteed seat at the table at the most prestigious parties.
A movie collaboration. A badge of honor in Hollywood.
But now, unbeknownst to her, that dream is shattered, and it will infuriate her when the realization hits.
Stardom is the life she really wants: status, a powerful image for the public, and a secure place to tango with her demons.
She’s never wanted to be a wife or a mother.
And now she’ll have to stand down and witness Beverly, who gets the glass slipper, the fairy tale with the happy ending.
Beverly, who’s never had to hustle a brand or chase cameras.
She’s a private citizen, who doesn’t need to prove her relevancy.
Beverly, the woman I love and adore with all of my heart.
Whitney has watched all of this unfold from behind the secure gates of her mansion.
It’s not just jealousy; it’s fear that caused her confession.
And she knows better than anyone else that I have the upper hand, because the public is watching too.
And as any Hollywood actor knows, fans will draw their own conclusions.
I can tell her resentment is building. She’s been texting me nonstop since Christmas Day, and I have yet to respond.
I want to talk to my lawyer first. I need a solid plan in place before I give her my ultimatum.
I’ve seen the woman struggle over the last few months while knowing that Beverly doesn’t have to say a word to the reporters.
She doesn’t need to. Her silence is her weapon.
While Whitney hustles to control the narrative with paparazzi photos and podcasts, public shopping sprees and lavish parties, Beverly continues to live her life quietly in the South, teaching kindergartners and baking banana bread.
It’s not just about the Milton house. It’s about Whitney losing the storyline.
And once you’ve lost that, what else do you have?
That’s what will ultimately cause her to panic.
She has to know what’s coming since her confession.
She can’t deal me the aces and think I won’t play.
I know her actual fear: without me and Roman, there is no brand.
No illusions of Hollywood royalty, no elite invitations, no movie offers.
She’ll become just another has-been celebrity with an addiction problem.
No Oscar, no family, just rehab headlines and regret.
And in Whitney’s world, that’s the ultimate loss.
The very thing she set her sights on was nothing but an illusion she couldn’t manipulate and make real.
And unfortunately, an innocent child is caught in the middle.
Thank goodness Mira is back. I’ve reached out to her daily, checking in on Roman, knowing he’s in capable hands.
And today is the first day Whitney has gone silent.
I can almost imagine her pacing under the black chandelier in the great room with the blood-red curtains drawn to fend off the light.
Outside, the gardens are still tended, and the pool glistens under the sun.
But something has shifted inside—the energy, the confidence, the delusion of victory.
She’s cracking.
She once held the spotlight. She owned the stage.
But then she used me in the most despicable way possible.
Getting pregnant on purpose to keep me around.
Who does that? But it backfired, and now she’s up against…
nothing. Beverly is the one who has won everything.
She holds my heart in her hands, and that’s the part that stings Whitney the most. Beverly didn’t set out to fall in love with the world’s most eligible bachelor.
She never forced herself on me. There were no ulterior motives, TV interviews, no emotional tell-all stories in the magazines—just a consistent presence.
A quiet love that continues to grow stronger over time.
Whitney tried to outsmart me. Beverly loved me.
And very soon, in the eyes of Hollywood and much of the world, one woman will embody drama, and the other grace.
Beverly makes it all look effortless, her loveliness in stepping into this journey with me discreet and natural.
She holds silent strength. She’s supportive and beloved.
She’s my future wife and stepmother to my son.
Once my plan is in motion, I know Whitney will fight for control.
And the harder she pushes, the more artificial she’ll come across.
In Hollywood circles, perception is everything.
And when the truth comes out, their opinion will be brutal.
The more Whitney tries to hold on, the more obvious her instability will become.
She knows what’s at stake. One judge’s ruling over custody and her claim over me will vanish.
Without me, the entire world she’s created will collapse overnight.
I can feel the storm brewing, and once Whitney realizes what I’ve done, she’ll scramble with her PR consultants and legal advisers to gain sole custody of Roman out of spite, even after she told me she never wanted to be a mother.
Whitney deliberately set out to have unprotected sex with me in order to build her platform.
In her mind, being paired with me gave her career weight and the potential to run with the bigwigs in the industry.
Stripped of it, she no longer has an edge.
It’s about image and control. She’s spent the last year and a half trying to rewrite her story, fighting for every moment of attention.
The Milton Farm wasn’t meant to destroy Whitney, but it did something worse—it exposed her.
She may still pull herself out of this mess with the help of rehab and a clever redemption story.
But she better be careful, because the public will choose who gets the happily ever after—and it won’t be her.
***
“Thank God you’re here,” I mumble into Beverly’s ear. Hal has just dropped her off at my Balboa Island home, and I couldn’t be more relieved, immediately pulling into a heartfelt embrace.