Page 85 of Wicked Fortune

In fact, the only constant for him across those years had been Aria. First as his touchstone—the pure and innocent representation of what he had to live up to. Then as something he cherished. Something magnificent and innocent that he needed to protect.

And then—though when the change had come, he couldn’t say—as someone he craved. A woman who fired his senses, fueled his imagination, and gave wing to his imagination.

And the miracle of his life was that after years of fantasy, she was his now. Truly his. Her touch both aroused him and soothed him. Her kisses tempted him. Her skin fascinated him.

He had never felt more himself than in the moments he was with her, and every time they made love it seemed as if his entire soul had gone supernova.

But it was all a lie.

Because she wasn’t his. She belonged to the man he pretended to be, not the man he was.

And if he introduced her to that man, he feared that he would lose her forever.

He wasn’t as vile as Trent or as duplicitous as Lila. But he wasn’t a good man. He knew it. And soon Aria would know it. She’d have to, if there was ever going to be anything real between them.

But once she knew, would they even have a chance?

With a sigh, he kept walking, letting the brushstrokes reach out to him, the sculptures entice him. This was his favorite place in the city. The quiet. The weight of the space. The way the art connected to the world and to him. Often raw and strange, but always filling his soul.

He stopped in front of a Rothko, the bold blocks of color blurring into each other as he let his mind drift. The horror that Elias Trent’s damage would never be over, and the investigation would surely go on for years.

With misty eyes, he thought of the half-dozen dead girls, each of whom weighed on his soul, a dark and heavy nugget of guilt. But more living victims had been located, too, and he took comfort in knowing they were now safe and getting the help they needed.

More than that, Trent and his cohorts were in custody, and soon they’d be in prison. Just like they deserved.

Matthew would never forget, but things were going back to normal, whatever the hell that was. And he was even optimistic that the scandal wouldn’t hurt Hardline’s reputation too deeply. A reputation he’d worked to build for over twenty years, clawing his way into the industry, making a name for himself, building a brand and then a studio with enough gravitas to contain it.

Hardline was profitable. It was respected. And Matthew was the man who’d built it all.

But he wasn’t a man who deserved it.

He’d spent his whole life working to build his dream. To become the man he’d wanted to be. The kind of man she believed him to be.

Aria.

She’d been his rock through all of this, grounding him when he felt untethered. Her belief in him, her ability to cut through his guilt with a single look or touch—had kept him going when the weight of it all threatened to pull him under.

But she didn’t know the full truth. She thought he was a good man. An honorable man. But he wasn’t that man, not really. And once she knew the truth, he would lose her.

So that was the dilemma. Keep her close with a lie or lose her with the truth. The man he used to be would lie to keep her. The man she deserved and wanted would tell the truth.

He loved her, so how the hell could he walk away? But at the same time, he loved her, so how the hell could he let her live a lie?

It was a dilemma he didn’t want to face. And so he was here, losing himself in beauty, hoping a solution would show itself. And knowing that sooner or later he’d have to leave this sanctuary, go home, and make the hardest damn choice of his life.

He was such a fucking hypocrite, wasn’t he? Standing in front of cameras while he was praised for bringing down the trafficking ring, all the while keeping secrets that could destroy the fragile trust he and Aria had built.

He should have told her already. The rational part of him knew that. But every time he thought about it, fear clawed its way up his throat. She’d look at him differently, wouldn’t she? And she’d walk away.

He’d survived plenty of losses in his life, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. There was more than just lust or attraction between them. What he felt was deep and raw, and it humbled him as much as it anchored him.

With a sigh, he moved to a bench in the center of the gallery, letting himself sink onto the cool metal. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped as he stared at the floor.

What was he so afraid of? She already knew he wasn’t perfect. But this wasn’t just about bad choices or moral gray areas. This was about betrayal. About the line he’d crossed, even if it was years ago. Even if he’d told himself it was necessary to survive, to build something that would be his. That would last.

Hardline.

His betrayal tainted the whole damn company.