Chapter 24- Jade
The Crawford estate looks different in daylight.
When I was here for the cocktail party, the house glowed with warm light from every window, the gardens illuminated by lanterns that made everything feel magical and slightly unreal.
Now, with fog pressing in from the ocean and gray light filtering through the clouds, the place reveals itself for what it really is.
Old money, the kind that builds fortresses and passes down secrets through generations.
White stucco walls rising three stories high, terracotta tiles weathered by decades of California sun, Italian cypress trees standing like sentinels along the driveway.
The last time I was here, Phoenix had his hand up my dress in the library and his mother walked in on us.
I try not to think about that as we pull up to the entrance.
Phoenix reaches over and takes my hand. "It's going to be okay."
"You keep saying that."
“And I mean it.” He squeezes my fingers gently. "My father will know what to do. He's handled situations like this before."
I don't ask what situations. I don't want to know.
The front door opens before we even reach it, and a woman in a gray uniform ushers us inside.
The foyer looks the same as it did that night, all marble floors and vaulted ceilings, though without the crowd of elegant guests it feels colder somehow.
Emptier. Fresh flowers bloom from crystal vases on antique tables, and the air smells like furniture polish and something floral I can't quite identify.
Nicholas Crawford appears from a hallway to our left.
He's wearing charcoal slacks and a white button-down, casual for him, though he still radiates the kind of authority that makes everyone around him feel smaller.
He looks nothing like the gracious host who greeted guests at the cocktail party.
This version of Nicholas Crawford is all business.
"Phoenix. Jade." He nods at each of us in turn. "Thank you for coming."
As if we had a choice.
"We need to talk," Phoenix says. "Privately."
Nicholas's gaze flicks to me, assessing. "Of course. Olive is in the sunroom. She can keep Jade company while we discuss the situation."
I stiffen at the dismissal, even though part of me is relieved. I don't want to sit in a room while Nicholas Crawford discusses whether or not to have someone killed. I don't want to see that side of this family, even though I know it exists.
Phoenix turns to me. "Will you be okay?"
"I'll be fine." The words come out steadier than I feel.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering for just a moment. "I won't be long."
Then he follows his father down the hallway, and I'm alone in the massive foyer with nothing but the ticking of a grandfather clock for company.
"Ms. Catalano?"
I turn to find the woman in gray waiting patiently by a doorway on the opposite side of the room.
"Mrs. Crawford is expecting you. If you'll follow me?"
The sunroom is at the back of the house, a part of the estate I didn't see during the party.
A beautiful glass-enclosed space that looks out over the gardens and, beyond them, the Pacific Ocean.
Even through the fog, I can see the water stretching out to the horizon, gray and endless.
The room itself is filled with plants, ferns and orchids and trailing vines that make it feel like a greenhouse, and the furniture is comfortable rather than formal.
Overstuffed chairs in soft fabrics, a worn leather sofa, stacks of books on every available surface.
This doesn't match the rest of the house at all. This feels like a sanctuary.
Olive Crawford is curled up in one of the chairs with a tablet in her hands, reading glasses perched on her nose.
She looks nothing like the elegant hostess who caught Phoenix and me in the library, the woman whose cool smile made me want to disappear.
Today she's softer somehow, dressed in leggings and an oversized cashmere cardigan that's slipping off one shoulder.
Her hair is loose around her face, and her feet are bare.
She looks almost human.
"Jade." She sets the tablet aside and removes her glasses, gesturing to the chair across from her. "Please, sit. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”
"Tea would be lovely. Thank you." I stop before I follow her. "Mrs. Crawford, before anything else — I owe you an apology. For what happened at the library. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over us. I've never done anything like that and that was so out of line.”
The words come out in a rush and then I have nowhere to put them. I press my lips together and look at a point somewhere past her shoulder and wait, my face burning.
She crosses to the sidebar without a word. A moment passes. Then another. She fills both cups without turning around.
She turns and crosses the room and holds out my cup, and when I take it her eyes meet mine for the first time since I walked in. Whatever she's looking for she seems to find.
"Call me Olive," she says. She settles back into her chair and picks up her own cup. "Mrs. Crawford is my mother-in-law, and I didn't much like her."
The laugh escapes me before I can stop it, startled and genuine.
The corner of Olive's mouth moves. Not quite a smile. But something.
The silence stretches for a beat longer than is comfortable.
"Phoenix tells me you're a writer," Olive says, changing the subject with grace. "What do you write?"
"Literary fiction, mostly. Or I used to." I set my cup down on the side table. "Short stories about people staring out windows and contemplating their feelings. Nothing anyone actually wants to read."
"And now?"
I hesitate. I haven't told anyone except Phoenix about the new project, and even with him I've been vague. But something about Olive's patient attention makes me want to share.
"I've been working on something different. A fantasy romance. Dark, atmospheric, about a woman who falls in love with a monster." I laugh self-consciously. "It's probably terrible."
"It sounds wonderful." Olive's eyes light up in a way I didn't expect. "I love a good dark romance. The tension, the moral ambiguity, the way love can transform even the most damaged characters."
"You read romance?"
She smiles, and there's something secretive in it. "I do more than read it."
I stare at her, not understanding.
Olive reaches for her tablet and taps the screen a few times, then turns it to face me. On the display is an author page, one I recognize immediately. The profile photo shows a woman in shadow, face obscured, but the name blazes across the top in elegant script.
Victoria Blackwood.
My tea cup rattles against the saucer as I set it down too hard.
"You're Victoria Blackwood?"
"Guilty as charged."
I feel like the floor has dropped out from under me.
Victoria Blackwood is a legend in the romance world.
She's written over thirty books, sold millions of copies, topped bestseller lists more times than anyone can count.
Her dark billionaire series was what got me through my MFA program, the guilty pleasure I hid from my literary fiction professors who would have sneered at anything with a shirtless man on the cover.
"I've read all your books," I manage. "Every single one. The Obsession trilogy changed my life."
Olive laughs, delighted. "Really? That's one of my favorites. Though the critics weren't kind to it at the time."
"The critics are idiots."
The words come out with more vehemence than I intended, and Olive's laughter deepens.
"I like you, Jade Catalano. I can see why Phoenix is so taken with you."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "I can't believe you're Victoria Blackwood. Does Phoenix know?”
"Phoenix knows, of course, and so do Nicholas and my closest friends." She sets the tablet aside. "But I don't broadcast it. Writing romance isn't exactly cocktail party conversation in certain circles, and I've never felt the need to explain myself to strangers.”
"But you're so successful. You're one of the biggest authors in the genre.”
“I've come to enjoy the privacy.” She shrugs, unbothered. "Victoria Blackwood can say things Olive Crawford never could. She can be passionate, unfiltered, raw. She doesn't have to perform for people who wouldn't understand her anyway.”
I think about my own writing, the way the words have been flowing since I started the fantasy romance. The freedom of writing something I actually want to write instead of what I think I should write.
"I understand that," I say quietly. "More than you know."
"Tell me about your book." Olive tucks her feet up under her, settling in like we have all the time in the world. "I want to hear everything."
So I do.
I tell her about a half-elf scribe hiding in plain sight at the palace, translating ancient texts and keeping her head down while the kingdom tightens its grip around everyone she loves.
About the rebel leader who kidnaps her when she uncovers a scroll that could change everything.
About the way they circle each other with distrust and fury before something changes and they fall in love.
I tell her about the darkness that threads through every chapter, the violence and the tenderness existing side by side.
A kingdom where dragons enforce the crown's power and rebellion gets crushed before it can spark.
A woman who thought survival was enough, until she learned her father was framed and her whole careful life was built on lies.
"It sounds like it has real stakes," Olive says, and I can hear she means it.
"It does," I say. "It's not just about the romance. It's about what you do when the world you thought was safe turns out to be the cage.”
I think about how words have been flowing since I started the fantasy romance. The freedom of writing something I actually want to write instead of what I think I should write.
"I understand that," I say quietly. "More than you know."
I tell her how I've never written anything so quickly, so desperately, so honestly.
Olive listens without interrupting, her expression thoughtful. When I finally trail off, embarrassed by how much I've shared, she nods slowly.
"It sounds like you're writing your truth," she says. "That's the only way to write anything worth reading."
"You don't think it's too dark?"
"There's no such thing as too dark, not if it's honest." She leans forward, her eyes intense. "The best romances explore the shadows. They don't shy away from damage or violence or moral complexity. They show us that love can exist even in the darkest places, especially in the darkest places."
I think about Phoenix. About what he did for me in that cabin. About the blood and the violence and the way he held me afterward like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
"The real world is dark," I say. "It seems dishonest to pretend otherwise."
"Exactly." Olive reaches over and squeezes my hand briefly. "When you finish this book, I want to read it. And if you need any advice along the way, I'm here. One writer to another."
The offer takes me by surprise, warmth flooding through my chest. "I'd like that. Thank you."
We talk for another hour, about writing and publishing and the craft of creating emotional resonance on the page.
Olive is generous with her knowledge, sharing tips and techniques she's developed over decades of work.
She recommends books on story structure and character development.
She tells me about the romance community, about conferences and critique groups and the support system that exists for writers in the genre.
By the time Phoenix appears in the doorway, I've almost forgotten why we came here in the first place.
"Ready to go?" His face is carefully neutral, giving nothing away about what was discussed with his father.
I stand, reluctant to leave. "Yes. I think so."
Olive rises and walks us to the door, her hand resting briefly on my shoulder. "Remember what I said, Jade. Whatever happens, keep writing."
"I will."
She kisses Phoenix's cheek, then mine, and then we're walking back through the marble foyer and out into the fog.
In the car, Phoenix reaches for my hand again.
"How was it?" he asks. "With my mother?"
"Surprising," I say. "In a good way."
He nods, not pressing for details.
I want to ask what happened with his father, what they decided about Dominic Webb, what comes next. But I can see that he's not ready to share yet, and I don't push.
Some conversations need quiet afterward.
We drive home through the fog, hands intertwined, and I let myself imagine a future where Dominic Webb disappears and the police close their investigation and Phoenix and I get to just be together.