Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
The door clicks shut behind her.
Then a man walks in—sharp suit, calm energy, practiced confidence.
“Cole Dawson?” he asks, his voice smooth and deliberate.
I stand. “Yes.”
“Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand. “I’m Damien Carter. How may I help you?”
“I sent a confidential letter a few weeks ago. The tracking confirmed it arrived. I was hoping you’d read it.”
“I don’t read anything for free,” he says.
I set my coffee down. “So, you’re one of those asshole lawyers.”
“The biggest one you’ll ever meet.”
“Alright, then.” I stand. “Thanks for your time.”
“I don’t typically do revenge plots, Mr. Dawson,” he says before I reach the door. “But I read every word of your letter. I’m just pretending I didn’t—because you said, and I quote, ‘sometimes I feel like harming my father.’”
I blink.
He studies my face. “Is he still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t represent murderers.”
He walks to the head of the table, casually clicking his pen. “How much is his empire worth these days?”
“I’m not going after his money.”
“I’m calculating my fee.”
I sigh. “Thirty million. Give or take.”
“There are really that many people buying his bullshit?”
“He gains more fans every day.”
He smiles. “Tell you what—don’t burn the house down just yet. Something like this needs a slow fire.”
“What does that mean?”
“Can you prove he was the one driving that night?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Phone records,” I say. “He called me to come get him. And… they never took my blood. I just…”
“Admitted to a crime you didn’t commit to protect him,” he finishes.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I’m going to send you a plan,” he says, his tone shifting from casual to clinical. “You’ll follow it to the letter.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Worst case,” he says, “the truth doesn’t come out for another four years. He pays you four million and two of whichever properties you want. Best case? He self-destructs trying to cover it up, tells the truth himself, and… I don’t know what you’ll get, but I’ll make a million either way. So I’ll be happy.”
I stare at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re shady as fuck for a lawyer?”
He smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He slides a card across the table. It’s blank, except for one sentence:
Welcome to the firm.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says. “Bide your time. And trust me.”
PART 6
“The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”
Unless your heart has been through more than enough …
42
EMILY
Six Months Later
The “time heals all wounds” philosopher should be excavated and stoned for having the audacity to ever publish such a lie.
My heart is still beating in pieces, and every second that passes is just a cruel reminder that I’ve lost everything.
And everyone.
Despite changing my number and moving away for the umpteenth time, all my nights end the same:
Crying on the phone to an online therapist.
Even though she must be weary of my endless tear-stained sessions, she still picks up. Every time.
She even offered to help track down that lying philosopher.
Apparently, he’s buried somewhere in Virginia.
43
COLE
When I open the door to my studio gallery, Matt is sitting on the chaise.
I avoid his gaze as I move through the space, shutting all the blinds one by one.
“Did you come here to talk shit and judge me, too?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I would never.”
“Well, in that case, I’m not accepting commissions at this time, but you’re free to look around and see if there’s something you like.”
“I came here to check on you, Cole,” he says gently. “You haven’t answered any of my texts or calls.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
I sigh, too numb to argue. “Want some coffee or something?”
He stands and walks toward me—no hesitation, no words—just pulls me into a hug.
“It’s alright, man,” he says, patting my back. “It’s alright…”
43A
EMILY
Dear Cole,
I’m sitting on the floor of my new apartment, where the rent is so cheap the heat only sputters out in uneven waves. It’s freezing in here, and I’m shaking—but I’m not sure it’s from the cold.
It’s taking everything in me not to break down and call you.
Not to beg you to come find me. To save me one last time.
But I won’t.
Because I can’t.
I love you, Cole. God, I love you more than I know what to do with.
But you were right.
You warned me about what this path would cost. About how it would take real courage to live loud, to live honestly, to stop hiding behind what’s comfortable or expected.
You said I’d need strength to stop pretending. To let the world burn and not run to put out the flames.
And I swore I could do it.
I lied.
I wasn’t strong enough to hold you the way you needed me to.
I wasn’t brave enough to choose us.
And if I ever find someone who loves me half as hard, half as recklessly as you did… I’ll know I’ve settled.
Also, you were right about something else: