Chapter 19
Margot
The words hang in the air between us, sharp as shards of glass.
Did you have anything to do with this?
My breath stops. Heat drains from my face, my hands, everything rushing inward to protect something vital that's already bleeding out.
"What?" The word scrapes my throat raw.
Everett stands across the parlor, phone clutched in his fist, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jump. His eyes - those gray eyes that looked at me yesterday with something close to wonder - are flat and cold.
A laugh tears from my chest, jagged and wrong. "You think I sold you out?"
"I think someone did." His voice rises. "Someone who had access. Someone who knew every detail."
"So it must be me." Heat floods back into my body. Rage, hurt, something molten and dangerous. "The disposable assistant. Your exact words, remember?"
His jaw clenches. "That was before …"
"Before what?" I step closer. "Before I showed you my play?
Before you sat in that chair and read every word I've written and never shown anyone?
Before I told you about the workshop, my play - the thing I've protected for years - and trusted you with it anyway?
" My voice cracks open. "I gave you everything I've kept from everyone.
And you still think I'm capable of this. "
Something shifts in his expression. Raw. Uncertain.
And then it closes again.
"People show what they want you to see." His voice goes flat. "They figure out what you need. They give it to you. Make you trust them."
"Is that what you think happened?"
"I think trust can be a luxury." Something breaks underneath the words. "I trusted a future was falling into place. That I had time. That it would all work out." His breath comes ragged. "Then it got ripped away. So excuse me if I don't just blindly trust anymore."
"I'm not them." The words tumble out. "Whoever hurt you. Whatever you lost."
"I know that."
"Do you?" My hands shake. "Because you're looking at me right now the same way you probably looked at everyone who got close. Waiting for them to betray you. Expecting it."
"Maybe I have reason to be scared."
"So what?" My voice rises. "You never trust anyone again? Never let anyone close? Never take a risk on something real?"
"Real?" He laughs, bitter. "This started as a contract, Margot. You took money to play a part."
The words hit like a physical blow. My vision blurs.
"You're right." I force steel into my spine. "I took money. Signed papers. I agreed to smile and wave." My chest aches. "But somewhere between that elevator and last night, I stopped pretending. And you know it."
His expression shifts - raw, uncertain.
"That's what terrifies you." I step closer. "Not that I'm playing you. That I'm not. That this became real and you have to decide if you can trust it."
"People depend on me. On this merger. My company. My reputation. Everything I've built."
"So it has to be me."
"You're the only variable that changed." His eyes meet mine, desperate and accusing all at once. "You're the one who got close. Who saw how I …" He stops.
"How you what?" My voice drops. "Say it."
Silence stretches.
"You can't." Tears spill over now. "You can't admit that when I kissed you last night, something shifted. That this stopped being fake. That you felt it too."
"It doesn't matter what I felt." His voice hardens. "Someone leaked our contract. And I need to know if it was you."
"I quit." The words come out cold and clean. "The contract. The arrangement. All of it. Find someone else to play girlfriend. Someone who'll smile through your accusations."
"Don't." His hand reaches toward me. "Please."
Don't. One word. A command, not a request - the same voice from the elevator, the one that stopped me cold the first morning. It almost works again. Almost.
"Margot …"
"Goodbye, Everett."
I pull the door open.
Cold air rushes in. Voices erupt. Shouted questions, camera shutters clicking, bodies pressing close.
Flash bulbs explode. A microphone shoves toward my face.
"Miss Bennett! Did you leak the contract?"
"Are you leaving Mr. Lockwood?"
"How much did they pay you?"
I freeze on the threshold, trapped between the townhouse and the swarm of paparazzi on the steps.
Behind me, Everett's sharp intake of breath.
I step forward anyway.
Into the lights. Into the chaos. I straighten my shoulders back and find the expression I need - composed, unbothered, faintly amused. Theater training. The same composure I found at the gala, the night I realized I'd stopped playing a part.
"A girl has to shop, you know?" I smile into the nearest lens.
They laugh. The questions keep coming. I keep moving.
Away from the man who couldn't trust me when it mattered most.