23. Fran #2
I consider it. Part of me wants to stay silent, to let his apology speak for itself. But another part, the part that spent nineteen months swallowing my voice, has something to say.
“Okay,” I say. “Just for a minute.”
I step up to the microphone, and the room goes quiet again.
“I’m not good at public speaking,” I begin. “My husband is the one who builds beautiful things out of words and wood. I just grow flowers.”
A few small laughs ripple through the crowd.
“But I wanted to say something, because a lot of you were there that night. The showcase. You saw me leave. You probably heard the rumors afterward - that I was dramatic, or jealous, or couldn’t handle my husband having friends.”
I can see people shifting uncomfortably.
“The truth is simpler and harder than that. I was lonely. I was married to a man I loved, and I was desperately, painfully lonely, because he didn’t know how to love me back in the ways I could see.
” I pause. “Going forward, I’m going to ask for what I need.
I’m going to speak up, even when it’s hard. That’s on me.”
Logan is watching me, something between pride and tenderness on his face.
“But here’s what I want you to know: people can change.
It doesn’t happen always, or easily, but it happens.
The man who hurt me and the man who just stood up here and apologized are the same person, and he’s been working every day to become someone different.
” I find Logan’s eyes in the crowd. “I’m not sure yet if I forgive him completely.
But I believe he’s trying. And I believe he means it. ”
I step back from the microphone, and Logan is there immediately, pulling me into his arms.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against my hair. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
The formal program continues after that, new pieces unveiled, champagne poured, the usual schmoozing and networking.
But the atmosphere has shifted. People treat me differently now, with a kind of cautious respect that wasn’t there before.
Women I’ve never met come up to tell me how brave I was.
Industry veterans who ignored me for two years suddenly want to know about my flower farm.
It’s exhausting and gratifying in equal measure.
I’m standing near the back of the showroom, taking a breather, when I see her.
Sloane.
She’s near the entrance, dressed in red as always, scanning the crowd with those sharp eyes. She hasn’t spotted me yet, I’m partially hidden behind a display of dining chairs, but I can see her face, and the expression on it makes my blood run cold.
Confident. Entitled. Completely unaware that everything is about to change.
I pull out my phone and text Theo: She’s here. Near the front.
His response comes seconds later: Reyes is in position. Stay calm.
Detective Reyes briefed us yesterday. Sloane was going to be arrested tonight, the investigation had concluded, the warrant had been issued, and law enforcement had decided the showcase was the best place to locate her.
All we had to do was stay out of the way.
Reyes was clear: don’t approach her, don’t engage, let the officers handle it.
All we had to do was let it happen.
I watch as Sloane makes her way through the crowd, accepting air kisses and compliments like a queen holding court. She hasn’t changed at all, still the same polished performance, the same sugar-sweet smile hiding something rotten underneath.
She spots Logan first. Her face lights up, and she starts moving toward him.
Then she sees me.
Her expression freezes for just a fraction of a second, surprise, maybe, or the first flicker of uncertainty. But she recovers quickly, that smile sliding back into place, and before I can step away she’s already closing the distance.
“Fran!” She approaches like we’re old friends. “What a surprise.”
I remember Reyes’s instructions: don’t engage. But Sloane is right here, blocking my path to the exit, and the officers haven’t moved yet.
“Sloane.” I keep my voice neutral. “You should probably-”
“How wonderful that you’re… up and about.” Her smile sharpens. “After everything.”
I see the moment she realizes I’m not cowering. Logan has crossed the room to stand at my shoulder, and I’m here, in public, and I’m not afraid of her anymore.
“I know,” I say simply. “I know what you did. And so do they.”
I nod toward the entrance just as Detective Reyes crosses the showroom floor with two uniformed officers, their eyes fixed on Sloane.
“Sloane Vaughn?” Reyes’s voice is calm, professional. “You’re under arrest for attempted murder, arson, and related charges. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
The showroom has gone deathly quiet. Every eye is on Sloane as the officers approach, as Reyes continues reading her rights, as the reality of what’s happening finally crashes down on her.
“This is absurd.” Sloane’s voice rises, the mask crumbling completely. “I haven’t done anything! Logan, tell them - tell them this is a mistake!”
Logan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands beside me, solid and immovable.
“Logan!” Sloane’s voice is shrill now, desperate. “We’ve known each other our whole lives! You can’t let them do this to me!”
“You tried to kill my wife,” Logan says quietly. “I’m not going to stop them from doing anything.”
The officers take her arms. Sloane struggles, still protesting, her voice growing more frantic as they guide her toward the exit.
“This isn’t over!” she shouts. “You’ll see - you’ll all see-”
And then she’s gone, and the showroom is left in ringing silence.
The aftermath is chaotic.
Harlan is doing damage control, talking to journalists, trying to spin the story in a way that doesn’t destroy the company’s reputation.
Genevieve has disappeared entirely, probably to recover from the shock.
And the rest of the crowd is buzzing with speculation and theories and the particular excitement of people who’ve witnessed something scandalous.
I leave the talking to Logan. I’m exhausted, the adrenaline that carried me through Sloane’s arrest has faded, leaving me shaky and drained.
Theo finds me near the back exit, getting some air.
“Hey.” He leans against the wall beside me. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my temples. “It’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. “She really did it, didn’t she? Tried to kill you.”
“She really did.”
“And Logan didn’t know.”
“He really didn’t.”
Theo nods slowly. “The marriage stuff - the coldness, making you feel invisible - that was on him. He owns that. But the fire, the murder attempt?” He shakes his head. “He had no idea. She hid that from everyone.”
“She was very good at hiding the criminal parts,” I agree. “The rest of it, he should have seen. But not that.”
Logan appears in the doorway, his tie loosened, exhaustion written all over his face. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“I needed air.”
“I know. Me too.” He joins us by the wall, and for a moment the three of us just stand there, breathing.
“It’s over,” Logan says finally. “I mean - not legally, there’s still the trial and everything. But the hiding part. The pretending part. That’s over.”
“It’s over,” I agree.
He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. We stand there in the cool night air, the noise of the showroom muffled behind the door, and I feel something settle into place.
Not hope, I’m tired of that word. Something more solid. The knowledge that we stood in front of everyone who matters and told the truth. That Sloane is in custody.
“Take me home?” I ask.
“Always.” Logan squeezes my fingers. “Let’s go home.”