Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Micah’s a golden boy, not a mafia prince
MICAH
“Thanks, Nico. I really appreciate it,” I say as we’re about to hang up. “My dad’s bound to ask what I’ve been working on. If it comes up, do you think you could steer him toward dropping the Delaneys?”
“I don’t know, Micah. That’s not really my place,” Nico says. “But honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets there on his own. You and your dad are more alike than you think.”
I hadn’t thought of that. My dad would never risk tarnishing the Vale name.
“Thanks, Nico. But you’re confusing me for Luke,” I say with a dry laugh. “I’ll be in touch.” Then I hang up.
And it’s true. My dad and Luke have always been cut from the same cloth. It’s why he’s still holding onto the hope that Luke might come back and run the company one day.
At seven in the morning, I’m driving to the address Nico gave me.
I should’ve been reviewing the pile of paperwork waiting on my desk.
But this takes priority. The second I saw Sophie’s face that night—scared, shaken, curling in on herself like she was bracing for impact—I knew I wouldn’t rest until I handled this myself.
I pull up in front of an apartment complex that’s trying too hard to be high-end. It’s cheap and tacky, with faux marble, gold-painted plastic, and furniture that tries to pass off as designer. All show, no substance. Like Carter Delaney himself.
Good effort though. Maybe I’ll offer to help them with a proper design refresh—after they evict the piece of shit who lives in 5B.
The door opens slowly after I bang the door for what feels like an entire minute.
Carter stands there shirtless, his hair a mess, like he just woke up, blinking blearily. “It’s seven in the morning—”
Recognition hits his face like a slap.
“Shit,” he mutters. “You’re that guy from the cafe. The one with Soph—”
I don’t answer.
My fist does.
It slams into his jaw, knocking him straight back into the wall. He groans, stumbling, one hand over his mouth.
“What the fuck?!” He roars.
I step in and slam the door shut behind me.
“That,” I say, “was for the day in the cafe.”
I punch again, hard and fast into his gut. He folds, choking.
“That’s for the disgusting little gift you left for her.”
Another hit—his face snaps sideways. He drops to the floor, trying to scramble back, panic all over his face.
I grab him by the collar and drag him up.
“And this? This is for that night you ripped her shirt.”
One punch.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Each one a punishment. Each one not enough.
“Stop! Fuck, stop!” he gasps, spitting blood.
“You didn’t stop,” I growl.
He’s limp against the wall, wheezing, barely able to keep himself upright.
“You act like this is new to you.” I snap. “Five names, Carter.”
I spit them out like a list of charges.
“Rachel Jameson. Liv Kaplan. Maddie Chen. Elise Warner.”
I pause. It kills me that she’s one of his victims.
“Sophie Lennox.”
He freezes.
“I know who you are,” I continue, my voice sharp, steady. “Carter Delaney. Your family has the interior and architectural design firm. Funny thing—it’s revenue barely broke even until they landed their contract with The Vale Group. That name ring a bell?”
He’s silent now, breathing heavier.
“See, I was going to give your father the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you were just some twisted disappointment he had no idea how to control. But turns out? He’s been covering your ass the entire time. Paying people off. Moving things around. Hushing up complaint after complaint.”
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Carter wheezes, clutching his ribs. “What are you gonna do? You gonna hit me again?”
He squints, and his expression changes.
“You two are really together?” He laughs weakly. “Jesus. Tell you what. I’ll introduce you to some real women if we just forget all this happened. I know some chicks who are smokin’ unlike—”
My fist cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t ever say her name,” I growl, seething, “with that mouth.”
He coughs, blood on his teeth, still trying to keep some ego.
“Alright. I get it. I’ll leave her alone.”
Another punch. I slam him back against the wall, pressing him there like he’s nothing.
“Wait until my lawyers get to you. I’ll have my father destroy you. What’s your name?” He demands.
“Micah” I pause. “Vale.”
His eyes go wide. “Fuck.”
“Exactly. And as of this morning, I’ve filed a formal report with the school board and the Title IX office detailing every girl you’ve harassed—and every cover-up your father paid for. I’d pack my bags if I were you.”
His mouth opens, but I keep going.
“And that deal with your father’s firm? I’m making it this week’s priority to end it. The Vale Group will be cutting ties with your family. So you can go and tell Daddy you cost him everything.”
He tries to scoff, but it comes out as a weak, panicked laugh. “You’re bluffing—”
“I don’t bluff.”
I let go. He drops like a sack of garbage to the floor.
“One more thing,” I add, turning at the door. “If you so much as look at Sophie ever again, I’ll ruin you. For good.”
Then I walk out, fists bruised and chest burning.
I meant every word.
And I’d do it all again.
SOPHIE
I’m wiping down the counter at Boston Brews when I hear the bell over the door chime again.
“Hey, superstar,” Grant calls out. He’s already halfway to the counter, Wyatt trailing behind him, both grinning like they own the place.
My shift just ended, and I’m too tired to match their energy, but I smile anyway. “What are you two doing here?”
“Waiting for your man,” Wyatt says, leaning against the counter. “Thought we’d kidnap you for a bit while we wait.”
“Oh yeah?” I laugh. “Where are you kidnapping me to?”
“We’re grabbing food and probably just hitting Micah’s place,” Grant says. “You in?”
I nod. “I was going to go there after work anyways.”
Wyatt raises his brows. “Oh wow. You’re free? That’s a first.”
I smirk. “I quit my other jobs—the tutoring gig and the bookstore.”
“Wait, seriously?” Grant says, eyes widening. “So no book discounts next semester?”
“You’ll survive. Besides, Poppy’s taking over for me. Hit her up for the deals.”
I glance at Wyatt, wondering if he already knew about Poppy’s new job. His expression gives nothing away.
“So what’s with the sudden quitting of perfectly good jobs?” Wyatt asks instead. “Hit the jackpot, Lennox? Scratch-off? Secret trust fund?”
“I got a scholarship,” I say. “Full support from the Evergreen Initiative. From now until I graduate law school. That is, if I get in, of course.”
They exchange a look, and then Grant chuckles. “Aww, Luke is helping his baby brother spend more time with his girlfriend.”
The word girlfriend makes my breath hitch. Not because I don’t like the sound of it—God, I do—but I’m just not used to it—wait, what?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Grant blinks. “Lucas Vale. Founder of Evergreen. Mic’s big bro. You knew that, right?”
I stare at him. “No, the founder of Evergreen is Adam Green. I did my research, Grant.”
“Yeah, that’s Luke’s alias for the company. You didn’t know?” Wyatt chimes in.
“Oh, fuck. You didn’t know. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Grant mutters under his breath. “Micah’s going to kill me.”
My heart is thudding in my chest. I look down at the floor, like the tiles might explain how I missed something so big. Again. I feel tears welling up in my eyes.
This was Micah’s doing. Of course it was. He wanted to take some load off me. I don’t know how to feel. I’ve never been looked after this way before. He didn’t want to burden me.
“Sophie, you’re not gonna cry, are you? Shit.” asks Grant, voice filled with concern.
Wyatt hits him in the chest. “Look what you did, Grant.”
Before Grant can answer, the bell above the door chimes again.
I have a feeling I know who it is without turning around.
“What’s going on here?” Micah asks suspiciously.
I turn, my eyes stinging. He’s standing there, looking from me to the boys and back to me again, probably reading the guilt on their faces like it's spelled out.
Without thinking, I walk straight to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and bury my face against him.
“I love you, Micah,” I whisper, voice shaky.
He’s tense at first, caught off guard, but then his arms wrap around me, encompassing me in his warmth and safety.
“I love you, too,” he says softly into my hair, even though I know he still doesn’t understand what just happened. “I wanted to be the one to say it first.”
I hug him tighter, smiling. “Thank you.”
“For?”
I pull away slightly and look up at him. “I know your brother is Adam Green.”
He glares at Grant and Wyatt, then back to me.
“Are you mad?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, maybe I wish I had enough pride to turn it down, or be mad and feel betrayed by you. But I’ve felt so much lighter since. Like I can actually breathe.”
“I respect you. You, your pride, all of it,” he says, brushing a kiss across my forehead. “And thanks for not being mad at me.”
“Aww, how sweet,” Wyatt teases. “But let the record show—it was Grant who cracked, not me.”
“Liar,” Grant shoots back. “WyWy was the one who said Adam Green is Luke!”
“Stop calling me WyWy!” Wyatt groans.
“Why? It’s adorable,” Grant grins. “Wyatt Wynn—your name sounds like a cartoon character.”
“I know. It sounds like a joke,” Wyatt mutters.
“Thanks, guys. Seriously. You’re the best.” I laugh, my chest lighter than it’s felt in weeks.
Grant’s already halfway through unwrapping a muffin. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t go crying on us again. I’m not emotionally equipped.”
“I didn’t cry,” I say.
“She was definitely about to cry,” Wyatt then whispers to Micah.
But Micah doesn’t take the bait. He’s watching me—really watching me—with that look he always gives me, like he sees more than I’m saying.
He leans in, his voice low. “You really feel lighter?”
I nod.
He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. I smile, until I notice the raw skin across his knuckles—red, scuffed, and bruising. My stomach twists.
“Micah.” I turn his hand over in mine. “What happened?”
He tries to pull back, but I don’t let him. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” I raise a brow. “Your hand looks like it went through a brick wall.”
“Or someone’s face,” Wyatt says around a sip of iced coffee. “Many, many times.”
“Sit,” I tell Micah, tugging on his arm.
“You’re in trouble now,” Grant mutters, eyes wide like he’s watching live drama unfold.
I ignore them. I turn toward Micah, lowering my voice so only he can really hear. “If I’m going to keep opening up to you—if I’m going to trust you with the messiest parts of me—I need you to let me in, too. No more secrets. No more trying to fix everything behind my back.”
He starts to say something, but I cut him off gently. “That includes the Evergreen scholarship.”
Grant chokes on his drink. “Wow. Never thought the day would come when someone would talk to Micah Vale like that.”
“I want to be part of the decisions, Micah. I want to be in your world—not just someone you protect from the sidelines,” I say, ignoring Grant.
He squeezes my hand, his eyes warm but serious. “Okay,” he says softly. “No more secrets. I’ll let you in.”
“Good.” I lean into him. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“Guys,” Wyatt stage-whispers to Grant, eyes wide. “Are we intruding? Should we leave?”
Grant smacks his arm. “Shut up. She’s totally about to cry again.”
I shoot them a glare over my shoulder, but I’m smiling now. Then I turn back to Micah.
He clears his throat, suddenly looking anywhere but at me. “I, uh, just so you know, you don’t have to worry about Carter Delaney anymore.”
“What? What does that mean?” I ask, panicked. “Oh my God—Micah. Is he…alive?”
Grant chokes on his drink, laughing. “Jesus. I don’t even know who Carter Delaney is, but Soph—Micah’s a golden boy, not a mafia prince.”
Micah finally looks at me, lips twitching into a small smile. “He’s alive. Just bruised. And soon, no longer a student at Westcliffe”
Wyatt lifts an eyebrow. “Should I be giving my dad a heads-up or…?”
“What the hell do you guys think I did?” Micah says, exasperated.
“Okay, yes, I beat the shit out of him. But I also did my research. Turns out he’s got a history—multiple girls, multiple cover-ups.
I just brought the receipts. Reported him and demanded his expulsion.
Your documentation made it airtight, by the way. That's all.”
“That’s all?” Wyatt says, shocked. “Jesus. Remind me never to piss off my favorite morally righteous, secretly terrifying friend.”
“Fuck off,” Micah mutters, but there’s pride in his voice.
My voice softens. “So I guess I wasn’t the first.”
Micah’s jaw tightens. “No. You weren’t.”
Grant suddenly looks like he’s about to flip the table, his expression going flat. “Wait—Did this guy touch you, Sophie?”
“No—well—It could've been a lot worse.” I answer, not wanting to relive any details. I then glance at Micah. “I already filed the complaint, though.”
“I filed more, for the other victims and cover-ups.” Micah reaches for my hand again. “I took care of it, baby. He won’t lay a finger on you again.”
Grant crosses his arms. “Thanks, honey. That’s sweet, but we should probably make sure he doesn’t bother Sophie again.”
Micah groans and shoves him lightly. “Shut up.”
I squeeze his hand back and smile. I’m grateful, and I'm relieved just knowing Carter Delaney will never be on campus again.
I've never had someone help me, with no conditions or debt. Just Micah, quietly making sure I'm okay. I’m just letting myself accept it—be grateful. Be happy. Maybe for the first time in my life.