Page 63

My hands shake as I stare at the tiny little USB drive in my palm. I place the white swan figurine on the ground, the tiny compartment on its back opened.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to tell you I have proof… A hiding place. I’m not making any sense.”

The agony on Alexis’s face, the way she was grabbing her head like she was desperate to remember one thing, but she couldn’t.

But it was important enough for her brain to hold on to it—apparently a memory from when she was twenty years old, when my assault and her accident happened, even though she clearly doesn’t remember that time period.

She still thinks she’s sixteen.

Her words bothered me as soon as she said them and I tossed them around in my mind, trying to unravel its meaning, to see the big picture with missing puzzle pieces, when it occurred to me.

Alexis, my best friend, knew about my hiding place at the rooftop studio. She made fun of it constantly, jokingly saying she was going to commandeer it and put her crap inside. I felt the truth in my gut. That had to be what she was referring to.

And so, I hauled ass to ABTC, hurried up to the studio, pried loose the floorboard, and examined every single memento I placed in there.

I felt around the hiding place, wondering if there was something else she could’ve hidden in there. I tapped on every single floorboard in the space, listening for the distinct hollow echo, to see if there were other hiding places here.

But there was nothing. Everything looked exactly the same.

Until I remembered there was one place I hadn’t checked, because I never put anything in there.

The small storage compartment at the back of the beautiful white swan figurine my mom had bought for me at the Met Opera all those years ago. My most beloved memento from the woman I still miss every day. The woman who instilled in me the love of dance.

As soon as I clicked the unassuming button at the base of the figurine and the compartment opened, a small USB, light as a feather, tumbled out.

I’ve never seen it before.

Her proof. I’m sure this is what she means.

What’s in there?

The door creaks open, and in steps Charles, his eyes roving the studio until he finds me. Afternoon sunlight streams in from the windows, highlighting the golds of his hair, the scruff on his face, the piercing blue of his gaze.

He strides over, his muscles rippling beneath his bespoke suit, a laptop in his hand.

“Minx, you okay? I came over as soon as I got your text. Why did you want me to bring a laptop?”

Wordlessly, I hold up the USB, and his gaze sharpens, his brow cocked in question.

“I-It’s not mine,” I whisper, my pulse beating against my ears. “What she said in the room…the proof, the hiding place. It could only be this spot here.” I motion to the loose floorboard. “Only she knows about this place, where I store my precious knickknacks. I found this USB there.”

A muscle pulses in his jaw, and he swallows, his throat rippling. He loosens the tie around his neck and sits down next to me, powering up the laptop.

After it loads to the home screen, Charles takes the USB and plugs it into the port. There are two video files on it.

We play the first one.

Alexis’s strawberry blonde hair fills the screen. I squint, taking in her beautiful dress. It looks familiar—it’s the same dress she wore to Hotel Renegade. It has to be.

Her eyes dart around—the background is dark, but I recognize the rooftop studio.

“Tay, Tay, I’m recording this for insurance, okay?” Alexis whispers. “I know you’ll keep this safe because it’s in your mom’s gift to you. I hope you’ll never see what’s on this drive, because I’ll get him to confess what he did to you.”

Her voice chokes up and sobs rip from her throat. “I-I’m so sorry, Tay Tay. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you in time before it happened. I’ll avenge you. You’re my best friend, and I’ll gut him for hurting you. But I need to talk to my brothers first. They need to know about this. They’ll know what to do.”

My heart drops to the floor as tears spring into my eyes. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

The clip ends, and Charles immediately clicks the next file.

Screams and whimpers fill the air, and I take in my writhing form on a leather couch. My clothes are torn. I’m clearly out of it. Ian leans over me, zipping up his pants. There are other women in the frame, all in equal states of distress, if not worse.

Nausea rolls through me and I sway.

“Fuck!” Charles pulls me into his embrace, shielding my eyes. He snaps shut the laptop.

“I need to know. I can handle it, Charles.” I pry his hands away even as acid works its way up my throat.

I need to know what happened.

He clasps his hand on my cheek and turns me to face him. “Don’t do this to yourself, Tay. I’ll get this to the authorities.”

I shake my head. “No. I need to know.” I lost too much that day and not knowing is a hole in my heart.

A muscle tics in his jaw and he closes his eyes before his hand falls away from the laptop.

My fingers tremble as I open the lid and hit play.

“No,” I hear Alexis whisper under her breath, horror and shock clear in her voice. “Uncle Ian? What? ”

“Welcome to The Association, Ian. There’s a recording of you raping this poor girl, but that is the price of admission.” A man speaking in a heavy French accent appears in the frame, his back turned toward the camera.

Laurent Archambeau.

Ian spits on the ground, his frame heaving. “You motherfucker.”

Archambeau laughs. “That’s what they all say, but then the lure of power is too big to resist, no? And come on, you enjoyed it. We all saw you.”

He slaps Ian on the back and leads him out of view.

Suddenly, the camera jolts and the screen turns black, but the audio is still on. I hear some hurried footsteps and Alexis’s winded breathing.

“Young lady, this section is restricted,” someone commands.

“I-I’m sorry, I lost my way. Was looking for the r-restroom.” Shit. Alexis sounds so scared.

A few seconds pass and I hold my breath, not letting it out until I hear the man say, “It’s that way. Don’t come back here again.”

“R-Right.”

The video goes on for a few more seconds before cutting off.

I stare at the black screen of the laptop, the silence loud and heavy around us. Charles is stiff next to me, no doubt reeling from what we just saw.

Tears well in my eyes as a tornado of emotions hit me all at once—disgust, grief, and anger at what I just saw, which thankfully wasn’t the act itself, but it was enough that I know I’ll have flashbacks and nightmares in the coming weeks.

But then there’s also the crushing sensation of relief.

I have proof. Video proof and confession from Ian. Definitive. No lawyers can get him out of this now.

And…Alexis didn’t abandon me.

Silent tears slide down my face as I remember my best friend, the girl I looked up to as a bonus older sister who liked the same things I did, the girl who was fun, positive, and kind. The girl who loved singing, often humming songs I’d never heard of before.

“Little firefly, flying in the wind…” The memory of Charles singing the nursery rhyme to me when I was sick drifts to my mind. I cover my mouth. That’s why it sounded so familiar. Alexis would hum it back then.

My memories of her aren’t tainted.

She was true to me all the way until the end.

She was trying to avenge me when she got into her—

Smack!

Charles lets out an anguished growl, and he punches the floor with his fist.

“What on earth are you doing?” I quickly grab his hand, the knuckles swollen, blood flowing out of the scrapes.

His arm shakes, his breathing heavy and rapid. Then I hear it.

Tortured, restrained sobs. Even worse than what I heard that day when he nearly killed Ian in front of me.

Looking up, my heart breaks when I see the guilt and anguish on his face, the moisture clouding his eyes. His face is mottled, his body is throbbing with pent up tension.

“I could’ve helped you sooner,” he rasps, his trembling hand reaching out to cradle my cheek. “If I’d dropped everything and went to Firefly that day, I would’ve found out what happened, and you wouldn’t have had to suffer for years alone. No one by your side. You wouldn’t have had to poke yourself with needles, hurt yourself, hate yourself. I would’ve gotten you help. I would’ve— Fuck! ”

Tears slide down my face, and I shake my head before pulling him into my arms. “You can’t blame yourself for this. You didn’t know. None of us did. I don’t blame you. Please, Charles, don’t take this on. What-ifs will kill you. I know that. I’ve been there.”

Minutes pass by as we hold on to each other, united in our swirling emotions and collective grief, and yet as the seconds tick by, I find it easier and easier to breathe.

The truth is out. All of it. Old wounds are finally being tended to.

I’m finally on the right path to recovery.

“I’m sorry, minx,” Charles whispers when we pull apart. He wipes the tears off my face and I do the same to his. “Can you forgive me?”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Motioning to the laptop, I murmur, “We got there in the end, didn’t we? Ian is done for, and my best friend never left me.”

Charles tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, his eyes warm. “God, I love you so much, you brave woman. To think I could’ve met you sooner.”

My lips curve into a tremulous smile. I close my eyes and kiss him softly before whispering, “We met when we were supposed to, when my heart was ready for you, and I’m thankful for that. I love you, Charles Vaughn.”

Groaning, he seals his lips with mine and I pour my love into my kiss, my actions speaking far louder than my words.

I truly believe what I said.

Perhaps it’s twisted how one little action, or inaction in Charles’s case, caused ripple effects to multiple lives, but I’ve long come to terms with the bad things in life.

Sometimes, there is no logic, no reason our brains can grab onto. I’ll drive myself crazy if I keep searching for the whys and what-ifs. The anger and grief will tear me apart and steal what’s left of my time on this earth.

Yes, it’s true. If Charles had ignored his company’s hostile takeover, maybe he would’ve made it to Alexis on time.

Or maybe not. We simply wouldn’t know.

And if he did, would I have gotten better sooner? The trauma had already happened and was carved deeply into my chest. Nothing would change that.

So the answer is the same. Maybe. Maybe not. I have a feeling, either way, it would’ve been a long road to recovery for me. Nothing could shortcut that.

But meeting him now, after clawing my way back on my own—shiny black feathers and all—I realize the timing was right. I couldn’t have moved forward with him, with love, until I’d taken this journey alone.

And in this moment, I realize I understand what Mom was trying to tell me back then, all those years ago on the subway. The black swan was a survivor, her strength far surpassing her sister because she had been through the trials of life and came out the other side.

I’ve spent my life trying to run away from the black swan, thinking her feathers are ugly. Stained. Corrupted. But they aren’t. They are beautiful badges of honor—medals decorating war heroes. Black absorbs all colors and doesn’t easily fade. It’s resilient and embodies strength.

Without darkness, there is no light.

Without my past, the present me wouldn’t exist, the version of me that knows I’m strong enough to withstand whatever life throws at me in the future.

Because I’m a warrior. A fighter.

I’m the black swan.