Chapter 52 #3
I nod. "Okay. I'll divorce Max after the merger.
" Outside the window of her Aston Martin, the parking lot teems with happy people heading into the restaurant.
Happy couples, like Max and me. I sigh. Then again, a divorce was always the plan, wasn't it?
This was always a business arrangement with an expiration date.
I should view it as a contract fulfilled, not a heart broken.
Yet somewhere between our first horrible dinner and last night's shared laughter, I'd started collecting moments like seashells—tiny treasures of possibility.
I'd catch myself wondering if Max might want to extend our arrangement...
indefinitely. If the merger deadline might pass without either of us mentioning divorce.
Now I know better. The fantasy ends here, and I'll be the one filing the papers.
Her smile makes my fingers curl into fists.
Those beautiful and magnetic eyes, the ones on every magazine cover—I could claw them out.
I could text TMZ right now with the truth about America's Sweetheart.
The articles nauseate me: how she spends weekends at homeless shelters (photo ops, nothing more), how even the lowest crew members adore her (probably paid off to give her good reports to the sites).
The stories about her unfailing politeness, her perfect memory for fan names.
Whoever manages her public image deserves a Nobel Prize in fiction.
They've transformed this viper into a saint, and not one person sees through it but me.
Well, Max probably sees through it, too. Which is why he never gave her the time of day.
I tilt my head. "Planning to boil any rabbits soon?
" Her eyes flash with something unhinged—pure Glenn Close as Alex Forrest in the movie Fatal Attraction, turning a lamp on and off while staring into space.
I can picture her apartment now: Max's photo with pins jabbed through his eyes, candles burning while she sobs to her publicist on speakerphone between consultations with her psychic.
Poor thing doesn't realize the truth yet.
He'll never be hers. When I'm gone, she'll still be standing outside in the rain, watching his windows go dark. The thought curls my lips upward. Neither of us gets the prize, but at least we’ll be equally miserable. Small victories.
She lets out a cold laugh, her eyes flashing.
"Call me obsessed if you want. Maybe I am.
" She leans in, voice dropping. "But with you gone, I can resume my real project.
" Her perfectly manicured fingers form air quotes.
"Operation Marry Max." Her lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Just picture the headlines—Academy Award winner, hottest actress in the world and the face of Chanel paired with Hollywood's most eligible billionaire studio head.
We'd rule this town." She straightens, tossing her hair. "No one would even remember your name."
No lie detected there. “Okay. You’ll get your wish. Now, can I please go? My friend will be wondering where I am.”
She flicks her wrist dismissively. "Get out.
But listen carefully, Celeste. When the merger closes, I want those divorce papers filed within a week.
Otherwise..." She waves her phone at me, screen displaying the photo.
"One tap, and this cozy moment with Max's estranged father goes viral.
TMZ, Perez Hilton, Page Six—they'll all have it before dinner.
And my Instagram?" Her perfectly manicured finger hovered over the share button.
"Five hundred million people hanging on my every word, Celeste. I can craft whatever narrative I want around this little family reunion.”
She raises her palm when I open my mouth to lie that Michael is not Max’s father.
"Save it. The resemblance is obvious. I'm guessing there's some pathetic reason he abandoned his family.
One whiff of scandal—real or invented—might just push him back into whatever hole he crawled out of.
And I'm perfectly willing to test that theory. "
I nod. Defeated. God, what I wouldn't give for some Sopranos-style justice right now—Elody in designer cement shoes at the bottom of the Pacific.
But that's not how this works. She's Hollywood royalty with the power to crush anyone who crosses her, and right now she's gunning for Michael.
Sweet, gentle, fragile Michael who's hanging onto his sobriety by a gossamer thread.
She's not wrong—I am protecting him. I've watched him fight for every sober day, seen how badly he wants to make things right with Max.
So here I am, about to do the hardest thing I've ever done.
It's going to break me into a million pieces, but at least it's for something that matters, right?
That has to count for something. Because I'm choosing to give up the man I love—and God, do I love Max—to save his father.
The father he's been missing since he was seven years old.
The reunion he's needed his entire life.
Even if it means I can't be part of it.