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“Exactly.” She paused. “I can’t do this alone anymore. I don’t want to.”

Sully smiled, small but genuine. “You won’t have to.”

Outside, gulls wheeled over a sea the color of pewter, and the wind had gone soft, carrying only the smell of rain and renewal. The island was stripped clean by the storm.

Amy squeezed his hand. “Starting now,” she said.

He looked out toward the cliffs, toward the broken rails on the widow’s walk that had nearly claimed them both, and felt a quiet surge of something unexpected—real, unvarnished, hard-earned hope.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet and taking her in his arms. He marveled at how perfect, how solid, warm, and alive she felt there.

For the first time in a long time, Sully believed in new beginnings.

Amy sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone to find the contact information for her attorney. Mason had known what buttons to push to make her do what she did, and she had been vulnerable enough to allow him to do it.

But now she had clarity. If it took dangling from a roof in a lightning storm for her to realize the value of her own life, then that’s what it took. Failing wasn’t her biggest fear anymore. It was a lesson she had always had to learn the hard way.

Christian Delaney took her call immediately. “Good morning, Amy, what can I do for you?”

She took a breath and began. She explained how she’d let herself be talked into going up to the widow’s walk—in forty-mile-per-hour winds. The obviousness of Mason’s manipulation made her wince.

When she finished, Delaney was quiet for a long moment.

Then his tone hardened. “Jesus, Amy. That’s reckless endangerment, blackmail, and coercion.”

“I thought the same thing,” she breathed.

“Let me be clear,” Delaney continued. “They may hold legal rights to any footage taken on your property, but nowhere in that agreement does it say they can compel you to perform, especially under unsafe conditions. Coercion voids consent. What they did—threatening your reputation, putting you in physical danger—it’s unacceptable.”

Amy closed her eyes, the words easing the tightness in her chest she hadn’t realized was knotted so tightly. “So… I’m not crazy for thinking it was wrong.”

“Not at all,” he said firmly. “They had a responsibility to maintain safety, particularly in adverse weather. The harness might not have held up to the storm, or you could’ve been struck by lightning, not to mention that they had no way to help you when you did fall, harness or no harness. At a minimum, they owe you more than the agreed fee—in fact, I’d argue for another higher performance rate plus damages for emotional distress and pain and suffering.”

She rubbed her temples. “This is going to get ugly, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” he said. “But you’re not alone in it. I’ll contact the network’s legal department directly. For now, keep every email, text, and voicemail related to this shoot. Delete nothing. And don’t talk to anyone. If they reach out to you, send them to me directly. That goes for anyone on site, all the contractors, your friends and family too.”

Amy exhaled slowly, her pulse finally beginning to steady. “Thank you, Christian. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said softly. “Let me handle them on your behalf.”

She managed a small, tired smile. “Okay. Tell me what you need from me.”

“I’ll contact the network’s legal team directly. We’ll keep it professional but firm. You have every right to be angry and upset in this situation.”

Amy nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Good. Because I am.”

When the call ended, she set the phone down on the nightstand. Outside, the gray morning light shimmered through the thin fog. The sea below crashed steady and calm now, as if mocking how close she’d come to disappearing into it.

For the first time in weeks, she felt a fragile but real sense of control return.

By late afternoon, the air had turned crisp and clean with the kind of post-storm clarity that made distant things seem impossibly close. The ocean sparkled under a pale sun, gulls tracing lazy circles above the cliffs.

Amy stood at the long dining table in the mansion’s dining room, where sunlight cut through the tall windows in slanted bars over worn wood. It felt strange to feel a semblance of normalcy.

Mac, Kelsey, Kaitlin, Matt, and Sully clustered around the table with mugs of coffee and a box of pastries Kaitlin had brought from Marissa’s bakery. Everyone looked tired but curious, waiting for Amy to begin.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, voice steady. “I know you’ve all had about enough of storms—literal and otherwise—but there’s something I’d like to talk about and get your feedback on: the future of this place.”