Chapter 12 #2
The Bennet-Cross family home in Springfield was in chaos when Libby and Jane arrived after the drive from Boston.
They could hear their mother's voice from the driveway, shrill with panic.
Inside, they found their father sitting in his study with his head in his hands, their mother wearing a path in the carpet, and Mary at the kitchen table with her laptop, presumably tracking the viral spread of the disaster.
"Where's Lydia?" Libby demanded.
"Gone," Robert said wearily. "She's not answering her phone. We don't know where she is."
"She left a note," Linda said, her voice breaking. "Said she was going away for a few days with Gray. That he was going to 'fix everything' and make her famous properly. She took her suitcase. Her passport. Libby, she's with him."
"When did she leave?"
"Sometime last night," Mary said quietly, turning her laptop toward Libby.
"Based on her last Instagram story from the house.
But look at this—someone's been using the OnlyFans page to do more than just post her content.
There are conversations with gambling sites, offers to sell injury reports and insider tips using 'Lydia's' name.
Screenshots of her supposedly providing information about Jane's patients, about your sources.
" She looked up, confused. "Lydia's an idiot about a lot of things, but she's no mastermind. This is sophisticated fraud."
"It's Wickham," Libby said flatly. "Gray Wickham did this.
" The guilt hit her with the force of a physical blow.
She'd known. She'd had the whole truth from Liam for a week.
But she'd been so wrapped up in her own drama—in the almost-kiss on the ice, in the actual kiss in the hallway, in what it all meant—that she never once thought to warn her sister.
She'd been so focused on whether she was good enough for Liam's world, she'd failed to protect her family from the worst part of it.
"But he seemed like such a nice boy when I met him," Linda said weakly. "Very polite. Good manners."
"He has a history of this," Libby said, her voice tight.
"He sold private information about Liam's sister to tabloids three years ago.
Destroyed her figure skating career. This is exactly his pattern—he finds someone vulnerable, someone who'll trust him, and weaponizes their stupidity for revenge or profit. "
Jane's hand found Libby's shoulder, understanding in her eyes.
"I didn't say anything," Libby said, her throat closing. "At dinner. I sat there and said nothing. I should have pulled her aside, told her everything."
"You couldn't have known he'd do this," Robert said, but his voice lacked conviction.
Jane squeezed Libby's shoulder. "Lydia wouldn't have listened anyway. You know how she is."
"And people think you're involved too," Mary added, looking at Libby. "Because of your relationship with Liam. They're saying the whole engagement was a cover for getting insider information."
"But she's still with him!" Linda wailed, cutting through their analysis. "She left with him! What if he hurts her? What if he—"
Jane let out a weary laugh. "We really should've known when she wrote 'Keeping Up With the Kardashians' under 'religion' in sixth grade."
Despite everything, Libby felt a surprised laugh escape. "God, I forgot about that."
"Mrs. Henderson called Mom in for a conference," Jane said. "Mom tried to explain it was Lydia's sense of humor. Mrs. Henderson was not amused."
"This isn't funny," Linda wailed. "She's out there somewhere with that man who's destroyed our family! What if the police come here? What if reporters show up?"
"With insider gambling involved, we'll be lucky if federal agents don't show up at our door," Robert said grimly. "I'm going to call our lawyer."
"We have a lawyer?" Kitty asked.
"We do now," Robert said, already pulling out his phone. "Let's hope he remembers me from high school."
Libby's phone buzzed in her pocket. Liam's name lit up the screen.
She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the answer button. In Montreal, warmups would start soon. He should be in the locker room right now, in that pre-game headspace she'd watched him cultivate. Not calling her.
Unless he was calling to end things. To protect himself, his family, the team. Anne Davenport was in Montreal, sitting in her family's owner's box. Beautiful, poised, unscandalized Anne who'd never bring gambling investigations and federal charges into his carefully controlled world.
Of course he's calling to cut ties, she thought, her chest tightening.
He'd be an idiot not to. This is exactly what he was afraid of—being dragged into my mess, his reputation compromised by association.
She remembered his careful words about Jane and Chase, how he'd talked around "complications" and organizational concerns.
If he'd been worried enough about that to interfere, how much worse would this gambling scandal be?
I'm not good enough for this world. I never was.
She rejected the call and turned her phone face-down on the table.
"Was that Liam?" Jane asked quietly.
"Doesn't matter," Libby said, her voice harder than she intended. "We have bigger problems."
"I'm staying here tonight," Jane said suddenly, looking at Libby. "Mom needs someone with her. But you should go back to Boston. There's nothing more we can do here right now, and you need to..." She trailed off, glancing at Libby's phone. "You need to handle your own situation."
"Jane—"
"I'll be fine. Kitty and Mary are here. Dad's here. Go."
Libby looked around the living room—her mother in tears, her father hollow-eyed, Mary frantically compiling evidence on her laptop. Jane was right. There was nothing she could do here except watch her family implode.
"Call me if you hear anything," Libby said. "Anything at all."
"I will. Drive safe."
Libby hugged her sister tight, then headed back to her rental car. The drive back to Boston felt longer than the drive out, her phone silent on the passenger seat. Liam didn't call again.
It was dark when Libby pulled into the parking lot of Jane's apartment building. The game had started. Liam would be on the ice, focused on hockey, not thinking about her or her disaster of a family.
She was halfway to the entrance when a figure stepped out from behind a car.
"Elizabeth," Calvin Middleton said, swaying slightly. "Rough day for the Bennet-Cross brand."
"Go away, Calvin."
"But I can help you!" He gestured expansively, nearly losing his balance. "Look, your reputation is—it's shot. Totally shot. But I have a show! Millions of people watch my show. One segment, I defend your family, boom—all fixed."
"Calvin, you're drunk. Let me call you an Uber."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Pssshhhh.
No one's going to want you after this, you know.
" He looked almost remorseful for a moment.
"But I want you. Always have done. Well, after Jane was off the market anyway.
" He put a finger to the side of his nose conspiratorially.
"And you'll have no choice—" He hiccupped. "—now."
"Charming," Libby said flatly. "Another man who wants a woman with no choices."
He reached for her and she backed away.
"Calvin," she warned.
"I'm trying to hug you! Comfort you in your—" He hiccupped. "—time of need. The chemistry between us is undeniable."
"Undeniably sulfuric," Libby said.
He started toward her again.
"If you touch me again, I'm canceling the Uber and calling your mother."
That stopped him. He swayed in place, looking wounded.
"Do you think we could get Kate Davenport on the show?" he asked hopefully.
Libby's phone dinged. "Your Uber's five minutes out."
Calvin sat down petulantly against a light pole, still muttering to himself.
Libby stood in the parking lot, still shaking with adrenaline and disgust, when she noticed three figures approaching quickly across the lot. A petite woman in an elegant coat flanked by two large men dressed casually in jeans and jackets.
The woman broke into a light run. "Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly as she reached Libby.
The two men positioned themselves between Calvin and the women, their body language making it clear he should stay exactly where he was.
"I'm fine," Libby said, confused. "Just a drunk idiot."
"Do you know him?" the woman asked, studying Calvin with distaste.
"Unfortunately, yes."
The woman slipped her arm through Libby's with easy familiarity, steering them both toward the entrance. "The guys will handle him. He won't bother you again."
Libby pulled back slightly, thrown by this stranger's confident assumption of authority. "I'm sorry, who—"
"I'm Georgia D'Arcy," the woman said, green eyes gleaming with amusement at Libby's expression.
Libby gaped at her.
Georgia gave a little shiver. "I'm an absolute ice cube out here. Shall we go inside for a cup of tea?"
Numbly, Libby let them into Jane's apartment.
Georgia unbuttoned her coat with a flourish, revealing a cashmere sweater, her blonde hair slightly windswept, cheeks flushed from the cold—or perhaps from excitement.
She was lithe and elegant, with the same striking green eyes as her brother, but where Liam's were guarded, hers sparkled with barely contained energy.
She hummed softly as she moved around the apartment, seemingly delighted to be there.
Libby busied herself in the kitchen, returning with two cups of tea. "Sorry, we only have chamomile."
Georgia waved her off, settling onto the couch and taking a sip contentedly.
"I'm sorry, but why are you here?" Libby blurted. "How are you here?"
"Oh, I broke into the personnel files to get your sister's address!" Georgia said brightly, then corrected herself. "Well, not literally, but I did call HR and have them send it to me. Liam said you were staying with your sister and—"
"Liam said?"