My phone buzzes on the desk, vibrating against the wood.
I jump slightly, my elbow knocking into the edge of the keyboard. I look at the screen.
It’s Vivian.
I let out a long breath and hit accept, putting the phone on speaker.
"If you are calling to tell me that I am on the front page of every gossip blog in the Midwest, I already know," I say, leaning back in the ergonomic chair.
"Oh, honey, you aren't just on the front page. You are the entire internet today," Vivian’s voice comes through the speaker, loud and chaotic. I can hear the sound of traffic and sirens in the background. She’s probably walking back to her office from court. "My boss literally stopped a meeting this morning to ask if I was the same Vivian Hayes who was tagged in a photo with you from three years ago. I am adjacent to royalty."
"You are adjacent to a felony," I correct her, rubbing the back of my neck. "How bad is it out there?"
"Define bad. Because if you mean 'is Simon currently having a public meltdown', the answer is yes. A friend of mine works at his country club. Apparently, he canceled his morning golf game and spent an hour screaming at someone on the phone in the parking lot."
A sharp, vindictive thrill shoots through my chest. "Good."
"Yeah, it’s great. Right up until the part where the Vance family realizes you are a massive liability and decides to make you disappear." Vivian pauses, the sound of a passing bus drowning her out for a second. "Audrey, I’m serious. I saw the picture. You look incredible, but Malcolm Vance looks like he’s ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow the photographer whole. Are you safe in that apartment?"
I look around the pristine, quiet office. The heavy oak table. The expensive monitors. The door that I am free to lock whenever I want.
"I'm safe," I say quietly.
"You don't sound entirely convinced."
"I am. It's just..." I trail off, my fingers absently twisting the vintage diamond on my left hand. "He’s not what I expected, Viv. He’s cold, and he’s ruthless, but he doesn't treat me like I’m fragile. Simon always treated me like I was made of glass. Malcolm treats me like I’m holding a weapon."
Vivian is silent for a long moment. When she speaks again, her lawyer voice is gone, replaced by the tone she uses when she thinks I am making a terrible life choice.
"Audrey. Please tell me you are not falling for the billionaire psychopath who is using you to destroy his own family."
"I'm not falling for him," I say quickly. Too quickly. The denial tastes like ash in my mouth. "It’s a business arrangement. We have a contract."
"People break contracts every day. I make a living off it." She sighs. "Just... keep your guard up. Simon is a coward, but cowards do desperate things when they are backed into a corner.If he can't get to you, he’s going to try to find something to use against you."
"There is nothing to find," I say, pulling up a spreadsheet on the monitor. "My life is a boring, open book. I have no criminal record, no secret offshore accounts, and no hidden scandals. The worst thing I’ve ever done is date his brother."
"Let's hope Simon’s private investigators are as bored by your life as you are," Vivian mutters. "I have to go. My paralegal is waving a terrifying stack of papers at me. Call me later. And don't sign anything else without letting me read it first."
"I won't. Bye, Viv."
I end the call. The silence of the penthouse rushes back in, heavier than before.
Private investigators.
I stare at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring together. Vivian was joking, but the paranoia she planted immediately takes root in my chest. Simon has endless resources. He has his father’s money. If he wants to dig into my life, he won't stop at my credit score. He’ll dig into my family.
My stomach twists into a tight, uncomfortable knot.
My family isn't a scandal, but it is a wound. My father walked out when I was twelve, leaving behind a mountain of gambling debts and a mother who spent the next decade working two jobs just to keep the lights on. I spent my entire adult life building a pristine, professional image to distance myself from that chaos.
If Simon drags my mother’s financial history into the tabloids to prove I’m just a gold digger looking for a payout...
I push the chair back, the wheels scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.
I need air. The walls of the office press too close.
I walk out into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the floorboards. The penthouse is empty. Grant is supposedly somewhere in the building, but he isn't in the apartment.
