“I saw the footage.” I set my glass down with deliberate care. “You and Dylan in your office, discussing the story you’re working on. About my father.”
Her face pales. “Lucas?—”
“The story you deliberately chose not to tell me about.” I laugh, and the sound is hollow and unfamiliar to my own ears. “After promising me, to my face, that you wouldn’t investigate my family without talking to me first.”
She straightens, her defensiveness visibly kicking in. “It’s not what you think. The story came to me. I wasn’t digging?—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off, my anger flaring hot and bright. “Don’t try to spin this like you’re the victim of circumstance. You made a choice, Jess. You chose your story over your promise to me.”
“That’s not fair. I was gathering facts before bringing it to you. I wanted to be sure?—”
“Sure of what? That my father was worth exposing? That the story was juicy enough to pursue? Or were you just calculating the best way to use our relationship for access?”
Her eyes widen, and hurt flashes across her face before hardening into shock. “Is that really what you think? That I’ve been using you this whole time?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” I gesture between us. “This entire marriage is built on a lie, a business arrangement with mutual benefits. Why should I expect loyalty when there’s a better offer on the table?”
“A better offer?” Her voice rises. “You think I see a story about your father as a better offer than what we have?”
“Don’t you?” I challenge. “Your career has always come first, Jess. You’ve made that abundantly clear from day one.”
She flinches as if I’ve struck her. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? You get access to Wonderland’s inner circle, exclusive interviews, and a Reynolds Foundation board seat, all while building your personal brand with this documentary. Meanwhile, I get what? A wife who pursues stories behind my back? Who keeps secrets that affect my family?”
Something shifts in her expression, and the hurt gives way to a cold anger I’ve seen before. Her entire demeanor transforms, with her spine straightening and her eyes turning to ice. When she speaks, her voice is perfectly controlled, stripped of all emotion.
“I see.” She steps back, physically removing herself from the conversation. “You’ve clearly made up your mind about me.”
I see the hurt on her face, but I don’t respond.
“I won’t defend myself to someone who’s already decided I’m guilty. I don’t grovel, Lucas. Not for anyone.”
The shift is jarring. The passionate, argumentative woman I’ve come to know has been replaced by this cool, detached stranger.
“You either trust me or you don’t,” she continues, her voice steady and devoid of the emotion that charged her earlier words. “And apparently, you don’t. Good to know where we stand.”
“Where we stand is that you broke your promise,” I press, unsettled by her sudden composure and wanting, perversely, to crack it. “You chose journalism over loyalty.”
“And you chose assumptions over giving me the benefit of the doubt.” She calmly picks up her bag. “You know, I expected better from someone who claims to understand the nuances of truth and public perception.”
Her control only fuels my anger. “Don’t turn this around on me. You’re the one who?—”
“I’ll stay at my place tonight,” she says as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Wouldn’t want me getting any more inside information for my stories.”
The sarcasm is delivered with precision.
“Is that all you have to say?” I demand.
She pauses at the front door. For a moment, I think I see her composure waver, but when she turns, her expression is perfectly neutral.
“What else is there to say? You’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me and my intentions.” She meets my gaze directly. The quiet dignity in her voice lands harder than any shouting could have.
When she walks out, back straight, head high, the soft click of the door closing feels more devastating than if she’d slammed it.
I sink back into my chair. Suddenly, the apartment is too quiet, too empty. The whiskey glass sits abandoned on the coffee table, and I stare at it, wondering when exactly I became my father, using anger as a shield, driving away the people who matter most.
The thought sobers me more effectively than coffee ever could. I rub my hands over my face as the magnitude of what just happened slowly sinks in.
