Her silence is all the answer I need.
“You wanted him,” I say, stunned. “You did all this—because you wanted him? I thought our friendship was worth more than that.”
Tears well in her eyes, but there’s no apology in them. Only resentment. “He was devastated when you left, Violet. Still, he didn’t want it to be over. Even after everything you did. He didn’t want to let you go.”
My chest tightens. “After what I did? I didn’t do anything, Millie. You know that.”
Her expression cracks. “Yeah, I do.” She drops her gaze, drawing in a sharp breath before looking up again. “At first, it wasn’t about you.” Her voice softens, and for a moment, I glimpse the friend I used to know. “Elliot wanted details on the Monarch proposal—the numbers, the terms. But when I was in too deep to back out, that stopped being enough.”
She lowers her voice slightly, glancing toward the hallway—like she doesn’t want this part heard.
“He got reckless. Started thinking with his ego. He didn’t think framing you would ever touch him.”
“He wanted you. Because that’s what would hurt Chase the most.”
Her jaw hardens, bitterness rising in her eyes. “And he was right.”
A long pause stretches between us, and I realize—there’s no fixing this. Whatever we were, it’s gone. Some lines you can’t uncross.
“Come through,” she sighs, turning and walking down the hallway.
I hesitate. Every instinct tells me to leave. To turn around and never look back. But then I glance at Millie’s retreating back. For years, she was my person. My constant. Maybe part of me still wants to believe there’s something left worth salvaging.
One drink,I tell myself.One last conversation. Then I walk.
I step forward, the scent of cheap air freshener mingling with something sharper. Masculine. Familiar. It scratches at my memory, but before I can place it, Millie pushes open the door.
And then I understand why.
Sitting on the couch, waiting, is Elliot.
My heart lurches into my throat.
He looks awful. His shirt’s wrinkled, his brown hair greasy and unkempt, eyes bloodshot, a weird, manic glint shining through them.
He smiles when he sees me—a broad, unnatural grin.
I whip around, dread in my tone. “Millie, why’s he here?”
She tries to steer me toward him, but I dig my heels into the floor. “Don’t worry, he just wants to talk, Violet.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You can go now, Millie.” Elliot’s voice pierces through the tension like ice.
Millie swallows hard, fear rolling off her in waves. “You never said—”
“I said go,” Elliot snaps, cutting her off. “Do you want your money or not? God knows you need it now.”
I twist around, realizing too late that Millie is already halfway out the door.
“Millie!” I shout.
She freezes, guilt flashing over her face—but only for a second.
Then she slips through the door, slamming it shut.
I rush at it, yanking at the handle, but hear the click of a lock sliding into place.
