A knock on the door.
I take a deep breath and open it.
Samantha stands in the hallway, and she looks—very different. Not the polished, hostile girl from the restaurant. Herhair is limp and greasy. Her eyes are red-rimmed. She's wearing jeans and a hoodie instead of designer clothes.
She definitely looks like she's been crying.
"Hi," she says quietly.
"Hi."
We stare at each other. The silence stretches uncomfortably.
"Can I—" She gestures vaguely at my apartment. "Can I come in?"
I step aside, and she walks past me into the living room. Poppy is standing by the sofa, arms crossed, her expression protective, like she’s definitely not going to put up with any of this girl’s shit.
"This is Poppy," I say. "My best friend. Poppy, this is Samantha. Grant's daughter."
"I’ve heard about you," Poppy says, her tone icy.
Samantha flinches. "Yeah. About that." She turns to me, her hands twisting together. "That's why I'm here, actually. To apologize."
The unexpected words hang in the air.
"Apologize?" I repeat slowly, wondering if I’d misunderstood.
"I was horrible to you." Samantha's voice shakes. "The things I said—I was cruel and judgmental and completely out of line. Emma, I'm sorry."
I can only stare at her. This is so far from what I expected that my brain can't quite process it.
"Why?" The question comes out harsher than I intend. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Samantha's jaw tightens. "Because I had a fight with my mom. A big one. And she—" She stops, her hands clenching into fists. "She told me what she did. About your investor. About how she killed your deal because she wanted to hurt my dad."
Oh, wow. This is a lot right now…
"She told you all that?"
"She actually bragged about it." Samantha's voice is raw with anger. "Said it was my father's own fault for—for getting involved with you. That you both needed to learn a lesson. She was laughing, Emma. Laughing about destroying your business like it was some kind of game."
I sink onto the arm of the sofa, concerned my legs can no longer hold me up.
"I knew she was manipulative," Samantha continues. "I knew she played games. But this—this is different. You didn't do anything to her. Your only crime was being with my dad. And she destroyed your chances just to—" Her voice breaks. "Just to hurt him. To hurt both of you."
Poppy moves closer to me, her hand finding my shoulder.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask quietly.
"Because you deserve to know." Samantha wipes at her eyes. "And because I've been blaming you, for being with my dad, for—for everything. But none of this is your fault. It's hers. My mom is?—"
She stops. Takes a breath.
"She's a monster," she says finally. "And I'm sorry I let her influence me."
The word—monster—echoes in the small space. I think of Victoria at that café, all polished charm and subtle cruelty. The way she made me feel small without ever raising her voice.
A monster in designer clothing.
