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That night, I wrote by lamplight, the words flowing like blood from a wound that wouldn't heal:
I loved two people in London, and lost them both. But maybe "lost" isn't the right word—maybe I finally saw them clearly for the first time.
Daphne was supposed to be my heart, the sister I chose, the friend who'd rescue me when I needed it most. Turns out she needed me to rescue her too, just not in the way I thought. She needed me as camouflage, as the perfect unwitting accomplice to her secret affair. Edward was my soul—the person who made me feel like I could be more than I ever imagined, even as his world tried to prove I wasn't enough.
The real tragedy isn't that I lost them—it's that I found out love and friendship can both be weapons when you're not paying attention. Daphne used six years of trust to manipulate me into being her cover story. I used her home and hospitality to hide my feelings for her brother. We both betrayed each other, but she planned it from the beginning.
Rob is offering me a life without that kind of pain, but also without that kind of intensity. A world where people mean what they say and love doesn't come with ulteriormotives. Maybe that's what I need—someone who wants me for me, not for what I can do for them.
But Cece's messages keep coming, little breadcrumbs leading back to a world that chewed me up and spit me out. They're also hope, aren't they? Proof that Edward's suffering too, that maybe his feelings were the one real thing in that whole mess of manipulation and lies.
What if he really is investigating his Mother's schemes? What if he's planning to expose the truth, consequences be damned? What if the love I felt was real, even if everything else was smoke and mirrors?
I don't know if I'm strong enough to go back and fight for what I want. The thought of facing Lady Victoria again, of walking back into that world where everyone has an agenda, makes me want to crawl under these pink floral covers and never come out.
But I'm finally strong enough to admit what I want. And what I want is the truth—all of it, even the parts that hurt. Edward might break my heart again, but at least he won't use me as a pawn in someone else's game. At least with him, when it hurts, it's because love is complicated, not because I'm being played.
Tomorrow, I'm going to open my laptop and look at plane tickets to London. I might not buy one, but I'm going to look. Because growing up means choosing the devil you know over the devil who pretends to be your best friend.
I closed the journal and looked at my phone, where seventeen unsent messages to Daphne waited like accusations. Then I opened a new message and typed:
Me:We both lied, but I fell in love while you planned deception. I'm sorry our friendship wasn't enough to keep us honest with each other. I'm not sorry I loved him. I can't be.
This time, I didn't delete it.
This time, I hit send.
CHAPTER 19
Edward
"You requested this meeting, Edward." Victoria swept into the study as if she owned the world which, until tonight, she believed she did.
Her Chanel suit was impeccable, her bearing regal, her smile triumphant as she settled into the leather chair across from my desk like a queen granting audience.
I didn't look up from the documents spread before me with surgical precision—bank records, phone logs, business correspondence, and witness statements.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows across manila folders that contained the evidence to prosecute my own Mother.
The familiar scent of leather and bergamot that usually comforted me now felt suffocating.
"I do hope this isn't about that American girl," she continued, her laugh tinkling like crystal—beautiful and brittle. "Really, darling, you look tired. This whole affair has been taxing, I'm sure, but now we can move forward properly. I've already spoken to the Ashworth girl—lovely family, perfect breeding—and she's quite keen to renew your acquaintance."
If I met her eyes before I had complete control, I might do something irreversibly stupid. Instead, I opened the first folder with deliberate calm, my legal training kicking in like muscle memory.
Control the narrative. Establish the facts. Destroy the opposition's credibility systematically.
"For the record, Mother, let's establish a timeline." I finally raised my eyes to hers, my voice taking on the precise cadence I used to dismantle opposing counsel. "Six months ago, you initiated acquisition proceedings against Gardens & Home Television Network. Two months ago, you extended Lili Anderton's invitation to stay at our family manor. Last month, you hired Thompson Private Investigations to photograph us in compromising situations." I paused, watching her face carefully. "Would you like to dispute any of these facts before I continue?"
The smile faltered for a microsecond. Anyone else would have missed it, but I'd been watching her manipulate people since childhood. I knew every tell, every calculated expression—the way her left eyebrow twitched when caught in deception, how her tongue darted across her lower lip when calculating her next move.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, darling. You're being rather dramatic—"
"Exhibit A." I turned the first document toward her—the initial acquisition memo, bearing her handwriting in the margins. "Your notes are quite thorough, Mother. 'Target appears vulnerable—recent financial struggles. Perfect for hostile takeover. E's firm well-positioned to handle.' Rather prescient of you to mention my involvement before you'd even met the target."
Mother's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her Hermès clutch. She reached for the crystal water glass I'd placedon the side table, and I heard something I'd never heard before—the glass clinked against her teeth.
Lady Victoria Grosvenor, who'd never shown a tremor of uncertainty in my presence, was rattled.