Chapter 16 Ambrose
Ambrose
If anyone told me that love was a promise of pain, perhaps I never would have fallen. Perhaps I would have built my walls of brick rather than glass.
I was never meant to hear the sound of a hymn—but then she opened her mouth and ruined me with her soft words.
Her warmth wasn’t mine to know. But I let it in anyway.
And now all I had was a heavy rot forming in my chest like she held a mirror up to the weight of what I was doing and asked me to look.
To really look.
She had every right to walk away.
I let her believe she was anonymous.
I let her believe I did not know it was her.
And worse—I let myself believe that was somehow kinder.
That if I said nothing, if I just loved her quietly, maybe that would be enough.
But love was never quiet.
It screamed when you tried to bury it.
I turned over in bed, staring at the empty space where she was only a few days ago. I hadn’t gone into work. I couldn’t.
I reached for my phone, even though I knew what was waiting for me. She had not shown up for work in a week. That day in the parking lot was the last time I had seen her.
The screen lit up. The messages sat there like tombstones.
Monday 11:00 am
I am sorry.
Wednesday 8:00 am
I know I do not deserve it, but I would like a chance to explain…
Friday 11:00 am
Please answer Harper, I won’t even apologize if you do not want to hear it. I just wish to know that you are okay.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and sat up, dragging my hands over my face like I could wipe the exhaustion clean off.
Would I change anything, though?
If I could go back and tell her the truth on that first night, would I really make a different choice? Let the chips fall where they may?
I didn’t know.
Because if I had… I never would’ve gotten to know her smile. The peace of it. The way she touched me like I wasn’t broken. Like caring for me was easy. Like I was worth the effort.
And maybe I’d rather lose her than never have had her at all.
I kicked off the covers, sliding out of bed.
Funny. My whole life I clung to routine like it was a lifeboat. Structure meant safety. Predictability meant peace. But now?
Now it just felt like a carousel that wouldn’t stop turning. I was alone, spinning in circles, while everyone else—families, lovers, people who held on—wandered the world freely. While mine kept spinning and spinning and spinning, without her.
My heart stilled when a heavy knocking sound came from my door.
For a moment, I did not move. It was as if something had broken through the fog I had been in.
“Harper,” I whispered, rushing to the door, throwing it open.
A massive wolven stood there instead, arms crossed, jaw tight. Eyes cold and unreadable.
His calculating eyes roamed my disheveled form without the slightest attempt to mask his disgust.
“You Ambrose?” he eventually asked, voice low and rough.
My brows furrowed. But before I could ask anything he thrust a white envelope into my hand.
“What is this?
“What do you think it is?” he said with a scoff. “Harper is quitting. Effective immediately. She asked me to give this to you.”
“She’s quitting? Where is she going?”
He shrugged, all casual disinterest, but the wind shifted—and I caught it. Her scent. Faint but real. It clung to him. Wrapping around me like a ghost.
“It doesn’t matter where. Not to you anyways. I saw what Chad’s cheating did to her. And I picked up the pieces when she came home after you pulled whatever it was that you pulled. She deserves to be happy, man.”
His words settled in my heart like cement.
“Who are you to her?” I asked, sharper than I meant to.
He lifted an eyebrow, then gave a hollow laugh. “Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing.” He shook his head. “I’m part of the reason she ever got into this mess. So think of this—” he tapped the envelope against my chest—“as the end of my penance. Or whatever.”
I stared down at the letter, a pit forming in my stomach.
“You know where she is, don’t you?” I asked, lifting my pleading eyes to meet his. “Please, I just want to apologize. There are things I never said, things she deserves to hear. I just want a chance to say them.”
For a second, I thought he was going to walk away. He shifted his weight like he was done here. Like he was ready to wash his hands of it.
But then—he stopped, his shoulders falling with a heavy, exasperated sigh as if already believing he would regret this.
“I don’t know where she is,” he paused, his voice hesitant, “but I know where she is going to be.”
I didn’t expect Patrick to be thrilled to see me. Unless, of course, he was the one standing at a podium, announcing my downfall. Little did he know, he was about to be.
“I need your help,” I said bluntly. “Reporters. Press. As many contacts for only the biggest papers. As many as you have.”
Patrick didn’t bother hiding the scowl. “That so? And what exactly makes you think I’d help you? Like you said, you have read my work. I don’t exactly have a soft spot for the wealthy and out of touch.”
“This isn’t for me,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily. “Not this time. It’s for Harper.”
“Harper?” His brow crept up, skeptical. “Your assistant? What could she possibly have to do with this mess?”
“For years, you’ve been hunting for my weakness,” I said, voice rough with something closer to pain. “It’s her.”
He chuckled, dark and humorless as realization dawned on his features. “You slept with your assistant and now want me to clean up your mess?”
“No. I am done hiding her. I want everyone to know about this. I love her. More than anything—more than I thought possible. But none of it means shit if I can’t fix this.”
Patrick leaned forward, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Why come to me now, Ambrose? Why crawl to the one person who’s made it his mission to expose you?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Because I’m losing her. And I can’t fix this alone. I need help.”
His gaze sharpened, sizing me up. “You do realize I’m the last person you should trust.”
“Exactly,” I said, not flinching. “Because you hate me. Because you’ve been waiting for me to slip. And because you want the story. The scandal with me dead center. Final proof that I never deserved any of it. Especially not her.”
Patrick leaned back, studying me like I’d just handed him a live wire. “And you’re going to give me that?”
I nodded once. “If you help me.”
He stared for a long moment, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small notepad. Scribbling something, he slid it across the desk.
“Here,” he said gruffly. “These are my contacts. Use them wisely. And don’t screw this up.”
I allowed the smallest smirk to show on my face. “Fortunately for both of us—I can’t afford to.”