Chapter 78
Nora's POV
The truth in his words hit like a slap. I turned away, wrapping my arms around myself.
"She took everything from me," I whispered. "Everything I worked for. Everything I dreamed of. How am I supposed to just... let that go?"
"By apologizing." Lucas moved closer, his tone gentler. "By admitting you made a mistake. By trying to make this right before it gets worse."
I spun to face him. "Apologize? To her? After everything—"
"Yes. To her." He held my gaze. "Because if you don't, Nora, I won't be able to help you anymore. And I think you know that."
Silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we'd never said before tonight.
"I can protect myself," I finally said, my voice hollow. "I don't need you to clean up after me."
"That's not what I—"
"I know what you meant." I grabbed my purse from the floor, checking that my keys were still inside. "You want me to grovel. To admit defeat. To accept that she's better than me."
"That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?" I challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, you're asking me to give up the only thing I have left—my pride."
Lucas's expression hardened. "If you keep going down this path, you'll lose more than your pride. You'll lose yourself. And I can't watch that happen."
"Then don't watch." I pushed past him toward the door. "I never asked you to."
"Nora, wait—"
"Save it." I yanked the door open. "I appreciate the concern, big brother, but I can handle my own problems. I always have."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of." His voice followed me into the hallway. "What you consider handling things is what got you into this mess."
I paused, my hand on the doorframe. For a split second, I almost turned back. Almost let him pull me into another hug and tell me it would be okay.
But then I remembered Rowan's statement. Lena's calm, collected face in every photo I'd seen online. The way she'd somehow turned my attack into sympathy while I became the villain of Silverton's legal community.
"I'm not giving up," I said without looking back. "Not when I'm this close."
"Close to what? Rowan doesn't love you, Nora. He probably never did."
The words hit like a physical blow, but I forced myself to keep walking.
Because that was a lie. It had to be.
Rowan had loved me once. In law school, before life got complicated. Before Lena Grant with her perfect grades and her perfect reputation had somehow inserted herself into his life. All I needed was to remind him of what we'd had, to show him that I could be the partner he needed.
And if gentle persuasion hadn't worked, if playing by the rules had only gotten me humiliated...
Then maybe it was time to stop playing nice.
I stepped into the elevator, watching the doors close on Lucas's worried face. My phone—a spare—buzzed weakly in my purse. I ignored it.
The city lights blurred past as I walked through the lobby and out into the night. The cool air stung my tear-stained cheeks, but I welcomed the discomfort. Pain meant I was still fighting. Still refusing to accept defeat.
Somewhere in this city, Lena Grant was probably sleeping peacefully, secure in her victory. Rowan was probably reviewing contracts, already forgetting the statement he'd made that destroyed my life.
But I wasn't done yet.
I didn't know exactly what I would do next. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty—I wasn't going to let her win. Not without a fight.
Not when everything I'd ever wanted was still within reach.
Even if I had to burn it all down to get it.
The hotel bar was too bright for this kind of night.
I ordered a whiskey—neat, the way Lucas always said was "too harsh for you"—and watched the bartender pour with mechanical precision. The amber liquid caught the overhead lights, and for a moment I saw my reflection distorted in the glass.
Fitting.
I took a sip. It burned. Good.
Behind me, the bar hummed with the low murmur of after-work conversations. Couples leaning close over cocktails. Business associates laughing at jokes that probably weren't funny. Everyone belonging somewhere, with someone.
I belonged nowhere.
My phone buzzed in my purse—Lucas's name lighting up the screen for the fifth time since I'd walked out. I declined the call and took another drink.
What was there to say? That he was right? That I'd destroyed everything I touched in pursuit of something that was never mine to begin with?
I pulled up my Instagram, immediately regretting it. My last post—a carefully curated shot from Rowan's office party—had been flooded with new comments. Homewrecker. Desperate. Pathetic.
Someone had even found my law school graduation photo and made it into a meme: "When you're always second place."
I locked the phone and drained my glass.
"Another?" The bartender materialized with that professional sympathy they must teach in hospitality school.
"Make it a double."
Two drinks later, I checked into a room on the eighteenth floor. The front desk clerk didn't blink when I handed over my credit card with shaking hands. Probably saw worse every night.
The room was generic corporate luxury—king bed, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Silverton's glittering skyline, minibar stocked with overpriced vodka. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the duvet without bothering to turn on the lights.
The ceiling had one of those textured patterns that was supposed to look elegant but just made me dizzy when I stared at it too long. I traced the swirls with my eyes, trying not to think about Lucas's face when I'd told him I didn't need his lectures.
Trying not to think about Rowan's voice when he'd said Lena's name in that statement. "The most respectable partner throughout our marriage."
Trying not to think at all.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it—probably another journalist, or worse, one of Lena's fans who'd somehow tracked down my personal number. But something made me swipe open the message.
Nora Kane. I have a proposition. About Lena Grant.