Finally, I tucked it back into my jacket pocket. No text could communicate what needed to be said in person, potentially on my knees.
The lightness I’d felt leaving the press conference faded, and reality set in. I had no job, no family, no direction. My professional reputation was in tatters. My bank account, while healthy, wouldn’t sustain me forever without income.
And yet, beneath the anxiety and uncertainty, something else stirred—something that felt dangerously like hope. For the first time in my life, I was free. Free from expectations. Free from the Gable legacy. Free to discover who Hudson was without the weight of that name.
Huh. Maybe I’d change my name.
People could do that, right?
I pulled up my phone to do a little research on the legalities of name changing and noticed the news alert about my spectacular downfall: “BREAKING: Hudson Gable Confesses to Idea Theft in Shocking Press Conference.”
I put the phone away, not needing to read the details of my self-destruction. Instead, I watched the city pass by through the window, each block taking me further from the life I’d thought I wanted and closer to... what?
I didn’t know yet. But for the first time, I was curious to find out.
“You can stop here,” I told the driver as we approached the Chicago River. I paid and stepped out, making my way to the river walk.
The water glinted in the sunshine, tourists and locals mingling along the path. Normal people living normal lives, not worrying about family legacies or industry reputations or public confessions.
I loosened my tie further, then removed it entirely, stuffing it into my pocket. Next came the jacket, draped over my arm despite its astronomical price tag. I rolled up my sleeves, my pulse slowing as the breeze from the river cooled my skin.
My phone vibrated nonstop. When I checked it, I had eight missed calls from my mother. I wondered if she’d snuck away from my father to do so, because he certainly wouldn’t want her reaching out to me. It buzzed again. Another call from my mother. I declined it without hesitation.
As I walked along the river, anonymous among the crowds, I felt the beginning of something I hadn’t experienced in years: peace. Not happiness. My happiness was miles away in a different state. But it was the quiet certainty that, for once, I had done the right thing for the right reasons.
I had lost everything.
And it was the best decision I’d ever made.
CHAPTER 18
Like A Regency Romance Novel
MARI
“I’m not dead, Anica. You can stop sending the search party. Though if I were dead, at least I wouldn’t have to listen to your nagging.”
I balanced my phone between my ear and shoulder while attempting to open a new pint of Ben & Jerry’s. The foil top refused to cooperate, much like my best friend on the other end of the line.
“When was the last time you ate something that didn’t come in a pint container or smell like MSG?” Anica demanded, ignoring my perfectly reasonable assertion that I was, in fact, still among the living.
“I had tacos yesterday.” I finally conquered the ice cream lid and dug in with a spoon that may or may not have been clean. Who could tell anymore? My apartment had essentially become a science experiment in how far a successful businesswoman could let herself go before the health department condemned her living space. “Devonna brought them.”
“Yes, and she texted me about the state of your apartment. She’s worried you’re becoming the origin story of a new strain of super bacteria. We don’t need you being patient zero for the zombie apocalypse.”
“Traitor,” I muttered through a mouthful of chocolate goodness. “You’re all traitors. And spies. And why does everyone think I need a babysitter? I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re wearing the same sweatpants you’ve had since college and subsisting on ice cream and alcohol.”
I glanced down at my sweatpants, now sporting an impressive collection of ice cream stains that formed a Rorschach test of my poor life choices. “They’re vintage, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know I had toast this morning.”
“Toast isn’t a meal, Mari.”
“It is if you have four pieces and chase them with vodka.”
Anica’s sigh could have powered a small wind farm. “Cal and I are worried about you. Devonna is worried about you. Caroline is worried about you, and she’s only met you twice.”
“Who the hell is Caroline?”
