Chapter 15 #2
"I won’t let him walk away looking like a gentleman who respectfully changed his mind. I won’t let him spin me into the hysterical bride who got cold feet. Not after what he said. Not after how he touched that woman. Not after the way he talked about... about teaching me who’s in charge."
Her voice cracks on the last word.
West’s hand finds mine under the sheet and squeezes hard enough to ground me.
"So here’s what I want," Natalie continues, and there’s steel in her voice now.
"I want the exposure to happen during the ceremony.
When everyone is there—the press, the families, the board members, the investors.
I want him standing there in his tuxedo, and I want his words played for everyone to hear.
I want him to feel the humiliation he thought he could reserve for me. "
I blink. That is… justice. Absolutely righteous.
My pulse spikes. She’s serious.
“Natalie, that’s—”
"My parents agree." she cuts me off. “The Ashfords will look like the rightful wronged party. Blake looks like exactly what he is—and he can't spin that”
"You want to blow up your own wedding," I say slowly.
"I want to take my life back in a way that protects my family's reputation.”
"You want to control the moment."
"I want to own it. The narrative. The exit. The first image the press sees tomorrow should be me choosing myself, not me being discarded."
West whistles low. "That's—"
"Ruthless?" Natalie's voice has a edge now. Something sharp underneath the sugar.
I look at West. He looks back. There's something in his expression—respect? Recognition?
He catches my look. Nods once. "She's right. Maximum impact. Maximum witnesses. Maximum damage control for her family."
"I felt protected," Natalie says, and her voice softens. "By what you built. The evidence packet—the way you included contingency plans, resources, even notes about safety. You didn't just gather dirt, Jane. You thought about what would happen to me after."
My throat tightens. "Of course I did."
"That's why I'm calling you and not my lawyer." A pause. "I'd like to offer you an additional fifty thousand dollars to coordinate the execution tomorrow. I need you in my corner."
I choke.
West's eyebrows lift. His hand presses firmer against my back, steadying me.
"No."
The word comes out harder than I intended.
"Jane—"
"No," I repeat. "I'm not charging you to take your life back."
Silence on the other end.
"The bridesmaids hired me to protect you," I continue. "I did that. The job's done. What happens tomorrow? That's not a job. That's just—" I search for the word. "That's just what you do for people who deserve better."
"Jane." Natalie's voice cracks. Just slightly. The first real emotion I've heard from her. "I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll tell me what you need. And we'll make it happen."
Another pause. Longer.
"Okay," she says finally. Softly. "Okay."
West reaches past me. Grabs the notepad from the nightstand. Pen. He's already thinking logistics.
"Walk us through it," he says. "What's the play?"
Natalie hangs up ten minutes later.
I set the phone down slowly. Stare at it like it might ring again with an even more unhinged request.
West hasn't moved. Still propped against the headboard, notepad balanced on one knee, pen hanging loose in his fingers.
"So," I say.
"So."
"That just happened."
"Yep."
I turn to look at him. "She wants us to blow up her own wedding."
"And you just turned down fifty thousand dollars," he counters.
Yep."
"While sitting naked in bed."
"Was I supposed to put on a blazer first?"
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile. Something warmer. "You're something else."
I look down at my hands. My pulse is still elevated—not from the phone call, but from what's underneath it. The thing I'm not saying.
Because while Natalie was talking about discretion and fidelity and managing a husband's affairs like quarterly earnings reports, something clicked inside my skull.
This is West's world.
Not Blake's cruelty. Not the cheating or the predation. That's Blake.
But the architecture around it—the strategic marriages, the family evaluations, the unspoken understanding that alliance matters more than affection—that's the water West grew up swimming in.
He wasn't just dating under pressure.
He was being evaluated. And evaluating in return. And choosing not to participate. And that choice cost him something.
The marriage interviews his family arranged. The pressure to choose appropriately.
When the Prescotts invited me to brunch, it was to assess. To understand the woman who made their son smile.
They liked me. I know they did.
But liking me isn’t the same as choosing me.
Natalie knew. She still said yes.
Not because she didn’t see the truth.
Because in her world, saying yes was the responsible choice.
If that had been my world… would I have done the same?
I look at West now—propped against the headboard, sheet low on his hips, afternoon light cutting shadows across the planes of his chest—and I see it differently. Not the privilege. That's always been obvious. But the weight of it.
He catches me looking. "What?"
"I understand your stress a little better now."
He tilts his head. Waiting.
"The marriage interviews. The family expectations. It wasn't casual."
"No," he says. Simply. "It wasn't."
He doesn't elaborate. Doesn't launch into a speech about dynasty and legacy and consolidation of wealth. Just those two words, and the way his jaw moves slightly, like he's chewing on something he decided not to say.
I pull back. Look at him. "Is that really what your world is like?"
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't deflect.
"For some people? Yeah."
"For you?"
"My parents love each other. Actually love each other. But the pressure to marry for legacy instead of love? The expectation that you'll prioritize family reputation over personal happiness?" He exhales. "That's real."
I think about his mother. The matchmaking candidates. Aunt Milly's fertility app comments.
Different cages, I think. Mine is money, or the lack thereof. His is legacy. But we’re both trapped.
"So, was hockey the rebellion?" I say.
"Hockey bought me time. And it’s also my choice."
I nod. Let the quiet settle.
There's a question humming under my ribs—something about where I fit in this…
architecture, whether there's room for a woman who runs a one-person business out of a leaking apartment and considers Ritz crackers her culinary heritage.
Whether the gap between his world and mine is just scenery, or something that eventually wins.
I don't ask it.
Not now.
There's work to do.
"Natalie's not a victim, she’s making a stand. She’s making a stand—just like you did with hockey,” I say.
"She's strategic. She knew what she was signing up for with Blake."
"Until she didn't.”
West tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like a habit. "You showed her there was another option. That she didn't have to just accept it."
"I didn't—"
"The contingency notes, Jane. The exit strategies. You treated her like someone worth protecting. Not a client. A person." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "That's what changed."
A small, unexpected warmth settles within me.
"Alright then. We should figure out the logistics, you and me, sir." I say as I clear my throat.
West reads the shift instantly. Nods. Swings his legs off the bed. "I'll order some juice. Pineapple for me and watermelon for you?"
"Best from the island!” I throw a pillow at him. He catches it one-handed without looking.
Show-off.
The balcony overlooks the bay. Turquoise water. Cloudless sky. The kind of view that belongs in travel magazines and rich people's Instagram posts.
We're sitting in teak chairs under the canopy of the coconut trees right beside the casita. Drinks sweating on the glass table between us, untouched because neither of us has stopped talking long enough to take a sip.
West’s in athletic shorts and nothing else, his hair still rumpled from bed, looking like a pirate with excellent teeth. Me in his T-shirt and underwear.
“Ceremony starts at four,” I say, scanning the wedding day timeline Natalie sent.
“Rehearsal at two, vendor confirmations by noon, and she needs to tell the DJ we’ve got a short surprise tribute to play during the ceremony.”
West raises an eyebrow. “That’s our cover?”
“Yes, it’s plausible. Hidden in plain sight. It can be on the list with everything else,” I wink. “First dance song, mic checks, lighting cues, the works. Scarlett won’t blink at one small change.”
“So you use that window to pair your device.” West absent-mindedly taps me on my knee.
“Exactly. I do it during setup, before guests arrive. It’s a simple request from the bride.” I shrug.
“And if we want to be extra careful, we catch the DJ when Scarlett’s off running triage during rehearsal.”
"So… processional, opening remarks, readings—then vows." Tracing the ceremony timeline with my finger.
"The video should come before vows." West leans back, arms crossed, doing that thing where he stares at the middle distance while his brain runs scenarios. "After readings, before Blake speaks. That's when Natalie has the floor. She can redirect without it looking like an interruption."
"So she stands there, the officiant turns to her, and instead of vows—"
"She takes the mic. Or she signals you."
"And I play the video from my phone." I nod.
"Where will you be sitting?"
"Third row, left side. Close enough to see Natalie's face, far enough from the wedding party that Blake won't notice me."
West thinks about that. His thumb taps against his forearm once. Twice. "I'll be standing up front. Groomsman position, right of the altar."
"Which means you'll be within arm's reach of Blake."
"That's the point."
I look at him. "When the video plays—"
"Blake will react. He might lunge. Might try to stop it. Might go for Natalie, might go for the sound source." West's voice is flat. Tactical. Like he's breaking down game film. "He won't get to either."