She knows I’m with Malcolm. She wouldn't call unless it was an absolute emergency.
I hit accept, pressing the phone to my ear. "Viv? What’s wrong?"
"Audrey." Vivian’s voice is shaking. It isn't her usual chaotic, fast-paced lawyer tone. She sounds terrified. "Where are you?"
"I'm at a boutique on Oak Street. What happened?"
"You need to turn on the news. Right now."
I frown, looking back at Malcolm. He is already reaching for his phone, sensing the shift in my posture.
"Vivian, what is it?" I demand, my heart rate spiking.
"It’s Simon," Vivian says, her breath hitching over the line. "Audrey... Simon just gave an exclusive interview to the Tribune. He didn't just leak the story about your mother’s debt."
The blood drains from my face. "What did he say?"
"He told them the engagement is fake." Vivian’s voice drops to a frantic whisper. "He told them Malcolm is paying you to ruin the family. He released a copy of the contract, Audrey. He has the contract."
The phone slips from my fingers, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud.
I look at Malcolm.
The gold dress starts to feel like a shroud.
The silence is over. The war just went nuclear.
CHAPTER 18
MALCOLM
The dull thud of the phone hitting the carpet is the only sound in the room.
I don't look at the device. I look at Audrey.
The color has completely drained from her face. She is standing perfectly still, her hands hovering inches from her sides, the gold silk of the dress pooling around her feet. The fierce, defiant energy she possessed thirty seconds ago has vanished, replaced by the hollow, vacant stare of someone who has just watched the floor drop out from under them.
I close the distance between us in two strides.
"Audrey." I grip her upper arms. Her skin is ice cold.
She blinks, her eyes slowly focusing on my face. "He has the contract. Vivian said... she said he leaked it to the Tribune. The entire thing. The consulting fee, the non-disclosure clauses, the residential requirement."
Her breathing accelerates, shallow and erratic. She looks past my shoulder, staring at the three-way mirror as if the reflection belongs to a stranger.
"Everyone knows," she whispers. "Preston knows. The board knows. The media knows I’m just a prop."
"You are not a prop." I tighten my grip slightly, forcing her to look back at me. "Breathe."
She shakes her head, a frantic, disjointed movement. "Simon won. He found the one thing that proves I’m exactly what his father said I was. I’m a broke architect who sold herself for a payout. It’s over, Malcolm. The narrative is gone. We can't spin a legal document with our signatures on it."
"We don't need to spin it. We need to bury it."
I drop my hands from her arms, turn around, and pick up her phone from the carpet. The screen is cracked, but the call with Vivian is still active.
I press the phone to my ear. "Vivian."
"Malcolm?" Vivian’s voice is sharp, the panic still evident but laced with a heavy dose of lawyerly aggression. "Tell me you have a crisis management team on standby, because the Tribune just published the PDF online. It has Audrey’s signature. It has your signature."
