Chapter 71 The White Lie
The theme for the final evening was "Purity." It was a classic Salvatore mandate—a requirement that every guest dress in head-to-toe white, as if a simple change of fabric could bleach the malice out of the people gathered on the docks. As I stood before the mirror in the Sapphire Suite, the monochromatic reflection felt like a cruel joke. I was draped in ivory silk that flowed like water, looking every bit the part of the elite, while the jagged, half-torn check sat like a black stain in the clutch bag resting on the vanity.
"You look... ethereal," Eliza whispered. She was dressed in a simple white sundress, her hair pinned back with a pearl clip Gavin had given her. She looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. She looked like she finally felt she belonged, which only made my heart ache more.
"I don't feel ethereal," I said, my voice tight as I snapped my bag shut. "I feel like a target."
The 48-hour clock was down to its final tick. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and golds, signaling the start of the yacht party. This was it. I wasn’t going to wait for the 6:00 AM deadline. I was going to find a way to end this tonight. I had planned to hand the check back to Alexandra before we left, but she had claimed a "pressing correspondence"—a move that felt like she was giving me one last night to choke on my own indecision.
The yacht, the Vittoria, was a gleaming white behemoth docked at the private pier, illuminated by thousands of fairy lights that reflected off the dark, rhythmic water. As we boarded, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and salt air. A string quartet played somewhere on the upper deck, their music competing with the rhythmic clinking of crystal and the soft, artificial laughter of the Alverstone set.
Nate was waiting by the railing, looking devastating in a white linen suit that made his tan look deeper and his eyes more like molten gold. Theodore stood a few feet away, his expression characteristically unreadable as he sipped from a crystal flute. Behind them, Gavin and Eliza were actually talking—really talking—near the bow. Gavin’s hand was resting cautiously on the railing near hers, his posture defensive, as if he were guarding her from the judgmental glares of the Triad girls.
When Nate saw me, his breath hitched, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that promised he would never let me go.
"You're here," he murmured, his hand finding the small of my back. "I was worried you’d hide in the suite all night."
"I couldn't hide forever, Nate," I said, my heart hammering. I felt the check in my bag, a heavy, paper heartbeat against my hip. I had decided. I was going to tell him everything—the bribe, the deadline, the choice—after the party began. I needed him to know who his mother really was before I walked away from her money forever.
But the universe had other plans.
We were barely twenty minutes into the cruise, the coast of the estate fading into a silhouette of palms and stone, when a low hum started among the guests. It wasn't the sound of conversation; it was the sound of phones vibrating in unison. One by one, people pulled glowing screens from their pockets, the white light of the displays reflecting off their pale faces.
"Oh my god," someone whispered from the bar.
"Is that her? Is that really her?" another voice hissed, a sharp, jagged sound that cut through the violin music.
I froze. Nate was suddenly at my side, his phone already in his hand. His face went ashen, his jaw dropping as he stared at the screen. Theodore stepped up on my other side, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the headlines over Nate's shoulder.
"Mila, don't look," Nate said, reaching for my arm, his voice thick with a sudden, protective panic.
But it was too late. I saw the screen of a girl passing by. The headline was splashed across the top of The Blueblood Bulletin, a notorious high-society tabloid that specialized in gutting the reputations of the wealthy.
SALVATORE’S SEVENTH HEAVEN OR SCHOLARSHIP SCAM? Sources reveal the 'mystery girl' at the Salvatore estate is none other than a local scholarship student from Queens. Is Nathaniel Salvatore being tutored in love, or is this a calculated play for a payout? Photos inside show the 'commoner' infiltrating the inner circle.
Below the headline was a grainy but unmistakable photo of me and Nate at the pool from the night before—heads pressed together in the dark, a moment of raw vulnerability captured and twisted into something tawdry. There were shots of me at the golf tournament, looking "out of place," and even a blurry photo of my family’s apartment back home.
"Who did this?" Gavin’s voice boomed from behind us. He had surged forward, Eliza trailing behind him, her face drained of color as she realized the entire deck was staring at them. Gavin looked at Nate’s phone and then at me, his face twisting in a rare display of genuine fury. "Nate, this is personal. This isn't just a leak; someone was in the gardens. Someone followed you."
Eliza looked like she was about to faint. She reached for my hand, her fingers ice-cold. "Mila... they know everything. They even have photos of the house. How did they get those?"
The check in my bag felt like it had turned into a branding iron. The crowd began to close in, a sea of white silk and predatory eyes. Theodore stepped in front of us, acting as a human barrier. "We need to get them off the deck," he said to Nate, his voice like steel. "Now. Before the 'purity' turns into a feeding frenzy."
Scarlett Tate was standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with a look of shock. She reached out as if to steady me, her face a mask of concern.
"Mila, honey, are you okay?" she whispered, though her voice carried perfectly to the circle of girls behind her. "I had no idea people were being so cruel. How did they even find out you were on a scholarship? It’s like they were waiting for the perfect moment to ruin you."
I looked at her, and then at the screen. I felt Eliza trembling beside me, felt Nate’s grip on my arm tighten until it was almost painful, and saw the cold, logical calculation in Theodore’s eyes. The "Purity" of the party was dead. I was no longer a guest or a tutor. I was a scandal, and the 48-hour clock had just run out in the most public way possible.