The casual cruelty of it lands like a punch.
"The marriage is a business arrangement," Blake continues. "The Hartwells and the Ashfords have been working toward this merger for two years. There are contracts, board positions, hundreds of jobs riding on this deal going through. Natalie gets security, status, access to circles she'd never reach on her own. I get a wife who looks good in photos and won't embarrass me at charity galas. What I do in my private time doesn't change any of that."
"A business arrangement."
"Yeah. But more than that." He says it like it's obvious. Like everyone operates this way and I'm naive forthinking otherwise. "This isn't about love—it's about legacy. Call it lifelong partnership. About building something that lasts. Something that matters beyond feelings."
"By betraying someone who trusts you."
"By making smart choices." He moves closer now, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath and see the slight flush in his cheeks that means he's had more to drink than I realized. "And speaking of smart choices—my father's been talking to Morrison & Associates. You know them, right? Big sports law firm. They're interested in bringing you on as counsel when you retire. Contract negotiation. Arbitration. You'd be perfect for it. Natural transition."
There it is.
The hook.
The leverage.
The gentle reminder that everyone wants something from me, and everyone has something to offer in return.
"That kind of opportunity," Blake continues, watching my face carefully now, "depends on maintaining relationships. Trust. Professional networks." He pauses. "You understand what I'm saying?"
I understand perfectly.
He wants me complicit. Wants my silence purchased with promises of a future I'm not even sure I want. Wants me to stand beside him at that altar and smile for the cameras while he destroys a woman who doesn't deserve it.
"So let me get this straight," I say slowly. "You want me to be your groomsman. Stand up at your wedding. Watch you marry someone you just called a business arrangement. Keep my mouth shut about the fact that you're sleeping with the wedding planner. And in exchange, you'll get your father to throw me a job at a mid-market law firm I never asked about. A firm that would love to say they hired a Prescott?"
"I want you to act like my best friend," Blake says, and for just a second his mask slips. There's something underneath—desperation, maybe, or fear, or the ghost of the twenty-year-old I used to know before life taught him that everything has a price and everyone can be bought. "I want you to understand that life is complicated. That sometimes you have to make choices that aren't perfect but serve the greater good."
"The greater good."
"Yes. The greater good."
I look at him—really look at him—and try to find the guy I used to know. The one who snuck me into his family's box at Madison Square Garden when we were nineteen. The one who stayed up all night helping me study for constitutional law finals. The one who stood beside me when Caroline's lies blew up my life and told me I deserved better than someone who saw me as a paycheck.
He's not there anymore.
Maybe he never was. Maybe I just chose not to see what was always right in front of me.
"We're good," I say finally, because what else is there to say? This is how Blake's world works. This is how my world works. You smile. You nod. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes forward and your conscience locked away somewhere it can't cause problems.
"I knew you'd get it," Blake says, relief flooding his voice like I just saved him from drowning. "You always do. That's why you're my groomsman. That's why we're still friends after all these years."
He claps me on the shoulder—possessive, claiming, the way you'd mark territory—and heads for the door.
"I should get back," he says. "People will start wondering where I've been."
Then he's gone, and I'm alone in the alcove with the scent of expensive perfume and the weight of what I just agreed to.
The club is suffocating. The bass is too loud. The air is too thick. The smell of Blake’s cologne and ambition and carefully maintained lies presses down on me like a physical weight.
I need to leave.
Now.
I don't stop to say goodbye to anyone. Don't acknowledge the blonde who's moved on to younger prospects. Don't wave at the finance bros who are still arguing about markets they'll never actually trade in.
I just walk away.
