Chapter 115
LACEY
“There’s no gun,” I say, voice calm, smile stretched tight across my face. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
—
My fingers twitch, aching to hurt her in some way – something to make her feel a fraction of what she’s done to me.
—
Then I catch Liam’s look – worried, wary and watch him press a kiss to Emilia’s palm before guiding her away. It douses the fire just enough to remind me I’m not completely unhinged. Not yet.
Still, it kills the high. Like someone switching off the music at a party just when the beat drops. Sanity boring, exhausting sanity – pulls me back in before I get the satisfaction I want.
But I stay. I face her.
Céline’s eyes flicker. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of, and that’s enough. The fear is real. I can see it.
She tries to scoff, but her voice is tight. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I tilt my head, the smile never moving. “Thank you.”
I step closer, slow and steady. A final warning.
She knows I could still burn everything down. And maybe one day, I will.
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“Out of curiosity,” I say, tilting my head, “how much did Eric pay you for a ni-”
“I’m not a fucking whore!” she snaps, ripping herself from my grasp. Her voice shakes. Her lips tremble. For the first time, she looks lost – really lost.
And for a second, I almost pity her.
Almost.
“What are you then?” I murmur, pulling out my phone. “Because you sure fooled me.”
She opens her mouth to bite back, but I’m already holding the screen out for her to see. My hands are damp, and my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, but I push through it. Because this – this is power. It’s pain and control all at once, and for the first time in years, I feel alive.
Her face drains of colour. “Is that…?”
“Fifteen million,” I say evenly. “Get out of my sight, Céline. While I’m still in the mood to be generous.”
I turn before she can speak again, walking in the direction Liam and Emilia disappeared. The heel of my sneakers click softly against the floor, but inside, everything is quiet.
There’s nothing left to cling to now – no friendship to salvage, no child to grieve, no marriage to fight for, I’ve given up the version of myself I spent years building. The woman who held it all together. The woman who smiled through betrayal, who forgave too much and asked for too little.
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Who am I now, if not a best friend? Not a wife? Not a mother?
Just Lacey.
And maybe, finally, that’s enough. Maybe not today. But someday.
I wipe at the corners of my eyes, not caring if the mascara’s smeared. I’m done performing. I’m done bleeding for people who’d never take a paper cut for me.
Then she calls out, voice thin and wounded. “So that’s it? You won’t beg me to stay? You won’t even ask why?”
I don’t stop. I don’t turn.
“Make sure you take Stone with you,” is all I say.
No screaming. No sobbing. Just finality.
I keep walking.
And behind me, a door that’s taken years to close finally slams shut. And in the silence it leaves behind, I can breathe.
LIAM
“It’s too early to get drunk,” I say, offering her the red Solo cup
anyway.
Lacey takes it, sniffs, then lets out a short laugh that doesn’t quite reach her eyes/
“This is beer, Calloway.”
“The kind you can drink without ending up on the news. Think of
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it as emotional support.”
She takes a long sip. Emilia stays quiet beside me, her body pressed close, our knees just barely touching. It should be enough contact to feel grounded. It isn’t. She keeps glancing between me and Lacey, like she’s waiting for her to fall apart.
Then finally, she speaks, voice soft. “Are you… are you really okay?”
We’re at the stools by the poolside bar. Most of the ship’s still in the gym, and the few people who wander in and out of the pool look more like ghosts than guests. Even the conversations around us feel muted out here.
Lacey places her empty cup on the counter and stares out at the water. “I’m just on my first drink. I won’t know until at least the sixth.”
“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a second,” I say, but when she slides her cup back to me, I fill it anyway.
She doesn’t thank me, just takes another drink like it’s medicine.
Three cups. That’s the limit. She’s earned that much.
“I’ll stop drinking soon,” she mutters. “Just… not tonight. Let me feel numb. Just this once.”
