40. Kate
Kate
Summer was coming. The sun stuck around just a little longer each day, and the wind had softened—less like a knife, more like a whisper. But for me, the it only made everything harder.
His wedding was weeks away.
I couldn’t stay here, live and work so close to them. Brett told me enough.
I couldn’t be here to watch Krystal walk around with that smug smile and her growing stomach.
I could already picture her waddling across Main Street, parading her bump like a war prize in front of Prada windows and champagne brunches.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she booked an airplane flying her wedding banns printed on a banner above my construction site just to show off her "victory. "
It wasn’t just cruel.
It was unbearable.
So, I packed. I didn’t even cry this time. I folded sweaters, rolled jeans, zipped suitcases like I was boxing up a version of myself I’d never wear again. I wasn’t the girl who waited around hoping love would win.
Amber sensed it, sticking close to my side. Gertie didn’t argue, just started making lists and organizing flights before I could second-guess myself.
“Remote work,” I told the board. “The bones of the school are in place, and I can video call in for architectural updates. We’ve got crews. I’ll be back before the paint dries. I need to travel, find a global musical faculty. Interview them in person, bring them back.”
But we all knew what it really was.
Escape.
A breath.
Space between my heart and the wreckage of the man who once owned it.
Michael and I used to stay up late planning where we’d go once things calmed down.
Tokyo for sushi and neon-lit nights. The Greek islands for sun-soaked afternoons with too much wine.
Paris for the art, Milan for the fashion, and the English countryside just because I wanted to wear wellies and wake up to the sound of sheep.
We made plans.
He made promises.
Paris was the first stop. I’d rent a small apartment near Rue Cler. Drink espresso at sunrise and pretend I wasn’t watching for tall shadows with whiskey-colored eyes.
Milan would follow. Sleek, stylish, fast-paced. I’d blend in. Maybe disappear for a while.
Then the Cotswolds—a stone cottage, ivy-covered, with a claw-foot tub and sheep in the distance.
The perfect place to sit still and finish the proposal for the conservatory.
A place where music and memory could live together.
I’d court the best violinists from Prague, the finest vocalists from Vienna, and maybe even a cello prodigy from Barcelona.
I wasn’t just building a school anymore.
I was building my life’s dream.
Michael may have put this town on the map with casinos and concrete.
But I was going to give it a voice.
The wind cut through my coat as I stood near the chain-link fence surrounding the community college property.
Even under the low spill of moonlight, the whole place looked eerie—hollowed-out buildings, ghost structures waiting to be reborn.
My boots crunched over the gravel, and my breath fogged in the cold spring air.
The silence was deep, but not empty. It pulsed with history. With warning.
I wasn’t surprised when Brett stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
“I figured you’d be here,” he muttered.
“Same,” I said, not even flinching. “You always show up when the ghosts do.”
He gave me a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
I told him everything—how I was leaving for Europe in three days, how I couldn’t watch Krystal prance around town pregnant with Michael’s baby, couldn’t see her press her bump against shop windows or pretend to forget she’s wearing a six-carat ring that was supposed to be mine.
“I need distance,” I told him. “Time to think. To build. To live.”
Brett nodded slowly, his expression tightening. “Probably smart. But you should know… this peace you’re feeling? It’s not real.”
“What do you mean?”
“They haven’t forgotten you, Kate. Not Krystal. Not her uncle. Not her brother. They’re biding their time. They want the baby first, want that bloodline secured. After that? You’re fair game.”
A chill ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“They’ll wait until everything is built. Until your dream’s standing proud. Then they’ll burn it down. Maybe not with fire. But a school shooting, a fake hate crime, some deranged ‘lone wolf’—they’ll make it look clean.”
My throat closed. “That’s insane.”
“It’s the long game. They’re patient. Prideful. They want you to suffer. Watching your dream flourish will make it sweeter when they rip it away.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and stepped closer to the fence, trying to breathe.
“Are you sure you want to keep going?” he asked, voice low.
“I’ve come too far to turn back now,” I whispered. “I’ll hire the best security in the world if I have to. I’m not giving up.”
We stood in silence. The wind picked up. Some part of me already knew what he’d say next.
“We’re going to Vegas,” Brett said. “For Michael’s stag party.”
My stomach flipped.
“I want you to come.”
“What?”
He looked at me hard. “He doesn’t know I’m inviting you. But if you want closure… if you want one last goodbye before that ring is on Krystal’s finger… this is your chance.”
The breath whooshed from my lungs. “Brett?—”
“You fly into Vegas. We’re staying at the penthouse at the Venaire.
I’ll text you the security code. Dye your hair or wear a wig, black pants and a black tank.
It’s standard for the serving girls. I have people on the inside tipped off.
No one will question it. Then you disappear. Off to Europe. No one’s the wiser.”
I didn’t respond right away.
“And bring Claire,” he whispered hoarsely.
I hesitated. “I can’t. She’s with Remi now. Officially.”
His jaw ticked. His hands clenched at his sides.
“You knew that, didn’t you?”
He looked away. Then back at me, his voice like steel. “After Michael marries Krystal, once it’s official, you tell Claire… I’m coming back for her.”
The way he said it—quiet, certain, absolute—it sent a chill through me. Not fear. Something else. Something dark and possessive. Dangerous, maybe. But real.
“I’ll think about Vegas,” I said softly.
Brett shifts beside me on the cold stone, his voice dropping lower.
“We’re close, Kate. Real close. Will Cartwright’s got us meeting off-grid now. No texts, no calls. Just burner phones and random rendezvous spots like we’re in a damn spy movie. One more wiretap. One more slip-up. We’ll have enough.”
He runs a hand down his face. “They’re smuggling women, Kate.
Eastern Europeans, brought in through the port under cover of night, paraded for the high rollers like party favors.
Trafficked. Krystal knows. She just pretends not to see it.
Michael and I don’t run that operation. Never wanted to.
It’s the council pulling the noose tighter in us.
If we nail them with trafficking it’s over. ”
I felt bile rise in my throat, but I forced it down and nodded.
“Good. I’ll do what I can on my end. Security cams have picked up punks casing the site, but nothing solid yet.
Gertie’s been the real gold mine—she’s dating this guy from town hall she met at bingo night.
Got his keys, access card to the building.
She’s been copying everything she can get her hands on. We’ll find out who’s dirty, I swear.”
Brett’s mouth curved into a bitter smile.
“I thought we’d shut it all down before the wedding.
Honestly, I imagined it like a movie—right when the priest says, ‘If anyone objects, speak now…’ the feds would swarm in, slap cuffs on Redmond and Krystal’s brother, tear the whole empire down.
” He shook his head. “That fantasy’s looking more and more like a joke. ”
He glanced sideways at me. “So maybe Vegas really is your last shot, Kate. If you want to see him before he’s a married man… that’s your only chance.”
His word hung in the cold night air long after he left. Michael’s love wrapped around me like an old ghost. Maybe we both needed an exorcism.
I texted Brett from my burner later that night.
See you in Vegas.
He replied…
What happens in Vegas… Stays in Vegas…