"It counts for the fact that you had a choice to make. And you almost made the wrong one."
"But I didn't. I pick you. I pick us.”
The heat lamp beside us flickers again, and in the orange glow I can see she's shaking violently.
"After considering the alternative. After weighing your options. After—" I stop. "How am I supposed to trust you now, Harper? How am I supposed to believe that any of this is real when you've been lying to me from the beginning?"
"Because I was scared!" Harper's voice breaks, echoing off the glass. "I was scared and desperate and I made a stupid mistake, but I fixed it! I told her no! I chose you!"
"You shouldn't have had to choose. You should have told me the moment FoodFirst approached you. You should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth."
"I know. You're right. I should have. But I was terrified of losing you."
"And now you have."
The words come out before I can stop them, and Harper seemingly turns to stone. The fountain keeps running behind her, water catching the blue light, beautiful and relentless.
"What?"
I can feel my chest tightening, my throat squeezing shut—the walls that were built around the Ice Prince erecting themselves once again.
I peer down at her, skin heating.
"We're done. Professionally and personally.”
"Victor, please?—"
"You're fired, Miss Beaumont. Effective immediately."
I have to give the woman I married credit.
She doesn’t flinch. Wiping at the tears that have pooled in the corners of her eyes, she lifts her chin. “I-I understand.”
It’s yet another quality that I loved about her—a quality that now feels like ash blowing in the wind, taking with it any remnant of trust I had for the woman in front of me.
"For what it's worth," I say, stepping forward, my voice cold as the air around us, "you almost had me convinced. The sweet act. The vulnerability. The 'I love you' routine. You're very good, Harper. Better than Isabelle ever was."
I turn to walk away. I make it three steps before I hear her voice, quiet and broken, barely carrying over the sound of rain and fountain.
"I really do love you. That was never a performance."
I don't turn around. I don't respond.
I just keep walking.
Back through the terrace doors. Past the curious stares in the ballroom. Into the elevator.
James is waiting with the car.
"Home, sir?"
"Yes." I pause. "And James—contact Gina. Have her arrange a car service for Ms. Beaumont. Wherever she needs to go tonight. Any destination except the penthouse."
James's expression doesn't change, but I can see the question in his eyes.
"Sir?"
"Just do it. Bill it to my personal account. Make sure she gets wherever she needs to go safely."
