Page 98 of The Truths We Find

My jaw tightens.

“She has a morality clause in her contract. Doesn’t matter who released it. Doesn’t matter if she’s the victim. The station won’t risk the optics. No one will keep her on while a sex tape is floating around the internet.”

The room tilts.

Morality clause.

I heard her talk about it before. But I never imagined it being weaponized like this.

“Plus,” he continues, standing now, circling like he’s already won, “I know you. I know you would do anything for Dani. You know how important this job is to her. How hard she’s worked. How long she’s wanted it.”

Every late-night class. Every unpaid internship. Every tearful rejection email.

All of it flashes through my head.

“You would give up anything to see her succeed,” Sam says softly. “Even your relationship. That’s how much you love her.”

My chest feels like it’s caving in.

Because he’s right.

Fuck.

If I stay, I destroy her future.

If I leave, I destroy her heart.

And either way, I lose her.

“So, you see,” Sam says, straightening his shirt, calm as ever, “I win.”

I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. He’s right. Every instinct, every fiber of me, knows what Dani’s career means to her. I would give everything—my comfort, my happiness—so she could have it. And Sam? He knows it.

“What happened to you? Why are you like this?” I whisper, though part of me already knows the answer.

“Because… all my life I’ve gotten what I wanted. And I want Dani. So now I’m getting that too.”

I swallow hard, trying to anchor myself. I have to believe she’ll see him for what he is. She’ll run from him. She’ll be safe. She’ll be happy with someone else. If it can’t be me… just don’t let it be him.

“You know there’s no guarantee she’ll be with you, right?”

“O ye of little faith,” Sam says, tapping the side of my face. “And Gavin. You ever contact Dani and tell her, I’ll release the video. I don’t care how much time has passed. Do we understand each other?”

I clench my teeth until my jaw aches. My head jerks in a quick nod.

“Good boy.” Sam smirks. “And for being such an obedient one, I’ll let you stew until the move. Enjoy this last week.”

He strides to the front door, opens it, and slams it shut behind him.

I run toward it, my fist flying, and the crack of wood—or maybe even my own bones—echoes through the apartment. I can’t even tell if it hurt. I don’t care.

Numbness takes over. Every muscle gives out. I crumble to the floor, my forehead pressed against the cold wood. I let out a sound I don’t even recognize.

Eight months. The best eight months of my life.

Gone in an instant.

Not because I stopped loving her.