Chapter 39 – Finn – Fire & Forgiveness
God, I missed her. That’s the first thing I think when the gates of the estate come into view, those smug, iron monstrosities that have seen more scandal than most tabloids.
A week.
Seven fucking days since I walked out of this house and left Ariane in a wake of broken glass and questions nobody had answers to.
I told myself I was handling business in New York, meetings, calls, and the usual bullshit that keeps my name stitched on power, but that wasn’t the full story.
I left because I had to find the woman who started it all.
Eleanor Wagner.
The elegant fucking executioner.
It was raining when I found her.
She was sitting at a bus terminal on the edge of Providence, looking smaller than I remembered, thinner too, like guilt was finally chewing through her bones. Still, she was dressed like she had a board meeting with God himself. Pressed slacks and the faint gleam of lipstick like armor.
I parked across the street and just watched her for a minute.
Trying to feel something other than the metallic taste of old rage.
The last time I saw her, she was in that dining room pretending not to be a murderer.
Now, she looked like an aging actress rehearsing for a role no one believed in anymore.
I could kill her right now and get this over with.
Murder for a murder. But for her that would be mercy.
I’ll take away the things she loves the most – money and power.
When I finally walked up, she saw me immediately. She adjusted her bag and said, “I thought you’d find me sooner.”
“Traffic,” I said flatly.
“Ah. The eternal excuse.” Her mouth twitched into something that might’ve been a smile if it weren’t for the fear underneath. “So, what happens now? Do I die in some poetic accident too?”
I ignored the bait. “You’re getting on that bus.”
“Am I?”
I pulled out the envelope, thick, unmarked, and full of what it cost to disappear quietly. “This should be enough to sustain you for the next few months. Well, that’s if you’re careful. Leave. Go anywhere that isn’t here.”
She stared at it, then at me. “You’re paying me off?”
“No,” I said. “I’m paying you out. You don’t get to haunt this place anymore. You don’t get to touch Dad, or Ariane, or the fucking shadow of my mother ever again.”
She looked almost amused. “You could’ve sent the police. You have proof.”
I took a step closer. “Ariane still calls you Mom. I won’t destroy her with handcuffs on your wrists.”
That one landed. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Just looked at me like she didn’t know whether to thank me or slap me.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “I love her, you know.”
“Yourself?” I asked, coldly.
“No. Ariane.”
“Of course you do. But that’s not enough.”
I shoved the envelope into her bag. “The bus leaves in five minutes. Don’t miss it.”
She stood, slow, smoothing the front of her blouse. Her hands were trembling. Anyone would pity her if they saw her like this. What nobody would know is that she was a murdered behind all that shine and makeup.
The bus approached and as she walked toward the bus, she turned, the way people do when they want to matter. “Take care of her,” she said.
I didn’t answer. Because fuck her. And because I already was.
That was four days ago.
Now I’m back, and the house looks like it’s waiting for me.
The gravel crunches under my tires, and all I can think about is the sound Ariane made when I told her the truth, not the truth about Eleanor, her mother.
She loved and respected her despite everything.
Did I ruin her? Maybe that’s all I can do but letting go of her isn’t an option, so I’ll make sure I fix what I’ve ruined.
A part of her will hate me forever, and I can live with that. But I know she can’t live without me either.
Inside, it smells different. The maid, Lydia looks startled when she sees me, like she’s not sure I’m real.
“Mr. Wagner,” she says, voice small. “You’re home.”
“Yeah.” I shrug out of my jacket. “Where’s Dad?”
“In the study.”
“And Ariane?”
Her eyes widen like she didn’t witness the biggest scandal this time has seen when she saw Ariane laying naked in front of me. Her hesitation is answer enough. “The garden, I think.”
Figures.
I head for my room first, because that’s the only room in this place that doesn’t feel like a tomb. Dust in the corners, whiskey half-empty on the desk, the faint scent of Ariane’s skin still clinging to the furniture. I pour a glass, down it, and let the burn hit.
One week in New York and I barely slept. I closed deals, signed contracts, smiled for cameras — all the usual bullshit that keeps my empire running — but my head was full of her. The sound she makes when she’s angry. The tremor in her voice when she said complains.
The door creaks behind me. I don’t turn.
“Seven days,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. “That’s how long it took for you to remember we existed.”
I turn then. She’s in the doorway, arms crossed, hair loose, eyes red like she’s been fighting herself all morning. She looks exhausted. Beautiful. Dangerous. An angel.
“I had business,” I say.
“Business,” she echoes, flat. “Right. Did you buy another company, or just another way to justify being a bastard?”
“Both.” I lean against the desk, hiding the joy I’m feeling because she’s angry, which means she can go back to normal. “You look tired.”
“I look human.” She steps in slowly. “Something you should try sometime.”
I smile, uncouth. “I did. It got me fucked over by every person I ever loved. Including you.”
Her breath catches, just barely. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”
I take another sip. “Who else would I put it on? Dad? He’s half-dead. Eleanor? She’s halfway to hell.”
Her eyes widen. There’s a mix of guilt and anger in them. Her voice drops to a whisper when she asks, “Where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
I set the glass down. “Anywhere that isn’t here. I gave her money. Enough to start over.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “You paid her?”
“She’s your mother,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t going to put her in prison, no matter how much she fucking deserved it.”
Her voice trembles. “You forgave her? You let her go?”
“I let you go too,” I say, avoiding the first question. I’m not sure if I actually did forgive her. “For a week. Didn’t like it either time.”
She laughs, broken. “You can’t just keep fixing things with money and guilt, Finn.”
“Sure, I can,” I say. “It’s what I’m good at.”
She shakes her head, pacing now, hands trembling. “You could’ve walked away. From here. From Richard… from me. Back to New York.”
“I did.”
“Then why you come back?” she asks. She gulps, waiting for my answer.
I don’t answer right away. I watch her, the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her voice frays on the edges. She’s wrecked and beautiful and furious, and I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.
Finally, I say, “Because I loved you before I knew how to name it. And I was too fucked up to love you right.”
The words land heavy. The silence after feels alive. She stares at me, eyes wide, mouth trembling just enough to betray her.
“You loved me?” she whispers.
“Still do.”
“After everything? Everything my mom did?”
“Because of everything.” I step closer, close enough to smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo, the ghost of what we were. “You think any other woman would want to make her mother suffer for a man?”
She swallows hard, smirking. “You’re not any man.”
I nod, returning the smile. “And you’re not any woman.”
A laugh slips from her, as she takes a step towards me. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
She looks at me for a long time, like she’s trying to decide whether to kiss me or kill me. Maybe both. Then her voice breaks, soft and raw. “You’re the only thing that ever felt real, Finn. Even when it was wrong.”
For a moment, the world narrows to her eyes, her breath, the faint tremor in her hands. Every inch of her is contradiction, fury and want, grief and love, and I want all of it.