And there it was. The moment of truth.
I stood, moving to the fireplace. The tree lights twinkled in the corner of my vision. "There's something you should know about me. About who I really am."
She held very still, waiting.
"My full name is Bartholomew Kane. I co-founded a tech company called Pinnacle Systems when I was twenty-eight." I kept my back to her, watching flames dance. "Built it from nothing over eleven years into a three-billion-dollar company. Married Sutton Harrington when I was thirty-two—she camefrom money, old family wealth, wanted the Silicon Valley lifestyle. The parties, the press, the status."
She gasped.
"We wanted different things. I wanted to build something meaningful. She wanted the lifestyle being married to a tech founder provided. When I couldn't give her enough attention, couldn't be the husband she wanted while running a multi-billion dollar company, she found someone who would."
"Bart—"
"She cheated with my business partner. Also my best friend since college." The words came out bitter. "The divorce was messy. Public. Tech tabloids called it'Tech's Nastiest Split.' Every detail dragged through the press—her affairs, my workaholic tendencies, how much we were worth, who got what."
I finally turned to face her. "I sold my shares eighteen months ago for eight hundred and forty-seven million dollars. Bought this property under an LLC—Kane Holdings—so no one would connect it to me. I moved here to disappear. To get away from people who only saw my bank account."
She sat motionless at the table, wine glass halfway to her lips.
"When you filmed me without permission and posted it online, you made me vulnerable again. Exposed. Visible. That's why I was so furious. It was exactly what I'd escaped Silicon Valley to avoid."
Silence stretched between us. Her processing, me waiting for the inevitable shift. The calculation. The realization that I was worth nearly a billion dollars.
Then she set down her glass and stood. "I don't care about your money, Bart."
"Everyone cares about the money."
"I see you." She moved closer. "Not your bank account. Not your company. You. The man who helps those in needbecause he remembers what it was like to go without. Who makes furniture with his hands even though he doesn't need the income. Who got a Christmas tree because I asked even though it made him uncomfortable."
Fear and longing tangled in my chest.
"Candi—"
"My sister Bridget has a perfect life." Her voice wavered. "Married to Isaac, they have baby Ivy, she has a real career as a pediatric nurse. My parents are so proud of her. When I told them I was becoming an influencer, they were... polite. Supportive in that way parents are when they think you're making a mistake but don't want to say it."
I held still, letting her talk.
"After Drew broke up with me, Bridget offered to get me a job at Isaac's firm. Marketing coordinator, benefits, salary, the whole thing. Respectable." Tears slid down her cheeks. "And I couldn't do it. I couldn't go home and admit that they were right all along. That I'd wasted three years on something fake. That I'd built my entire identity on likes and followers and sponsored posts, and it all disappeared the second things got hard."
She wiped at her face, mascara smudging.
"That's why you came to Hope Peak," I said softly.
"It was my last shot at proving I could make this work. That I wasn't just someone’s pretty accessory. That I had actual skills and could build something meaningful on my own." She met my gaze. "But I was so desperate to succeed that I violated your privacy. I used you for content. I became exactly the kind of person I hate. And somehow you still gave me a chance to make it right."
"You're not that person, Candi. You made a desperate choice in a desperate moment. What matters is what you've done since—how hard you've worked, how much you care about thesepeople in need, how you've used your platform to actually help others instead of just building your brand."
"You make me want to be better," she whispered. "You make me believe I can be."
The vulnerability in her voice, the honesty—it broke something open in me. We stood there looking at each other, both of us raw and exposed, both of us terrified and drawn to each other in equal measure.
Neither of us moved. The lights from the tree flickered across her face. The fire crackled. My heart hammered against my ribs.
She'd just laid herself bare. Shared her deepest shame, her greatest fear. She was standing in my living room with tears glistening on her cheeks, waiting to see what I'd do with that trust.
I could step back. Keep my distance. Protect myself the way I'd been doing.
Or I could be brave enough to meet her vulnerability with my own.
