Chapter 92 92. Closure Or Acceptance
Maya's expression shifted from defensive to earnest. "I just want you to give him a chance to explain. I really believe there's more to what he did."
"Maybe." I stood and grabbed my purse. "Or maybe you're just team Lucien now."
"Cami-"
"I'm not angry. I just... need to go."
I slipped out before she could say more. My chest felt tight. Maya pushing me toward him, Jessica's invitation, the stalker messages... everything was starting to blur together.
At 10:30, I called Rosalind Park from the coffee shop down the street.
"Ms. Sterling," she greeted, crisp and direct. "Damon spoke highly of you. I reviewed the basics of your case."
We discussed the vehicular manslaughter charge. She asked about alibis, witnesses, anything that could prove I wasn't driving recklessly. I had nothing. Just my word against whatever evidence Ronan had manufactured.
"We'll need to build a strong defense around your kidnap and confinement," Rosalind said. "Character witnesses too. Anything to create reasonable doubt."
"And if we can't?"
She paused. "Then we negotiate the best plea deal possible."
We scheduled an in-person meeting for next week. After hanging up, my coffee now tasted like nothing, thanks to the reality I'd been avoiding.
I was going to prison no matter what.
The only question was for how long.
My phone buzzed twice in quick succession.
"Ohh..." Two jobs offer emails for emote positions. One in particular was more intriguing. It had the higher pay and flexible hours. I felt relieved, but it didn't last long before numbness kicked in.
What was the point of accepting jobs when I'd be behind bars in a few months?
Still, I accepted both. I needed the money. Lawyer fees were already eating everything I'd saved for my penthouse. Within an hour I'd signed contracts, received welcome messages, sent paperwork.
By noon, I was home, changing for lunch with Damon.
I pulled on simple dark jeans and a comfy cream sweater. Then I reached for my jewelry box to accessorise. The Fiera necklace gleamed like it had been waiting for me. I clasped it, stared at myself, unclasped it... then put it back on again.
"Fuck," I muttered.
The cab ride to Rossi's felt longer than it should. New York rushed past the window. Bright and cold, bare trees lining the streets, people in coats and scarves. Winter was coming and I'd been too buried in my own disaster to notice the seasons changing.
The driver tried making small talk about the weather.
"Yeah."
"Cold."
"Mmhm."
He gave up after the third one-word answer.
Damon was already waiting in a corner booth when I arrived. He had on a leather jacket over a black henley, and jeans a shade darker than mine. He looked like he'd walked off a magazine cover, which he probably had earlier today.
"Sorry I'm late." I slid into the seat across from him.
"You're not. I'm early. Photoshoot wrapped sooner than expected." He smiled. "You look good."
"Thanks." I smiled.
We ordered. Carbonara for him, caprese salad for me even though I wasn't hungry.
"So," Damon leaned back. "Clubbing. I didn't think you'd be one to love stuff like that."
"Well, I love a good time. Partying, reading, sleeping. As for last night, it was my best friend that dragged me out." I told him about the creep, the hands that wouldn't let go, the masked man who appeared out of nowhere. "I'm pretty sure it was one of Lucien's bodyguards."
His gaze dropped a fraction, the lids tightening just enough to shade his eyes. "You sure about that?"
"Maya thinks so. Makes sense, right? He's been watching me."
"Or someone else is."
The words hung between us. I pushed them away.
Our food arrived mid chat and we ate in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind where you don't need to fill every gap.
Then Damon set down his fork. "You mentioned an engagement party."
"Yeah, that. It's what I need your advice on."
"Are you going?"
I let out a breath as I pushed lettuce around my plate. "I don't know. It feels stupid. Like walking into a trap designed specifically to humiliate me."
"Then why are you considering it?"
Good question. Why was I.
"I need to see him." I confessed. "I need to look him in the eye and understand why he did this. Maybe there's a reason. Maybe Jessica manipulated him somehow. She's calculating enough. Or maybe Ronan forced his hand because of the inheritance thing and Lucien thought he was protecting me by-"
I stopped. Damon was watching me with something like pity.
"What?"
"You're making excuses for him."
"No I'm not."
"You are. You're creating elaborate scenarios where he's the victim instead of the guy who proposed to someone else on live television." He talked so gently, the tension in my heart eased. "You're hurting yourself with hope."
Now it was my turn to set down my fork. "So what do you suggest?"
"Go to the party. Get your answers. See for yourself if there's a real explanation or if you've been fooling yourself." He paused. "Or don't go. Delete the invitation and start moving on."
"That's it? Those are my options?"
"Those are always the options, Cami. Closure or acceptance. You just have to stop torturing yourself with maybes."
He was right. I hated that fact.
"Fine. I'll go."
"You're picking closure? Well that's good." He grinned. "Want a plus-one?"
"You'd come with me?"
"Someone needs to stop you from doing something crazy. Plus, I've never been to an engagement party for a couple that clearly hates each other. Should be entertaining."
Somehow, I found myself laughing. "You're terrible."
"That's what brothers are for."
We finished eating. Damon kept the conversation going, asking about the mental health fund I wanted to start, about my book, about anything except Lucien. Then his questions shifted.
"So how did you fall for him anyway?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Lucien Hayes. Billionaire CEO, kind of a bastard from what I've heard. How'd that happen?"
My mouth opened and closed. "I don't know. It just did."
"Come on. There had to be a moment. Something that made you think 'yeah, this is the guy.'"
I thought to the cafeteria where I'd staged that ridiculous scene. To the fake relationship that became something real without either of us noticing. To the night he held me after my mother's funeral and didn't say a word, just let me break.
That particular afternoon I realized I liked him was still crystal clear in my head; after Mama Cortez braided my hair and I was looking for him to show off my braid for compliments.
"He sees me," I said finally. "Not the girl with the murder charge or the fucked up family. Just me, and he doesn't run."
Damon studied me for a long moment. "You really love him."
It wasn't a question, but I answered immediately, "Yeah. I really do."
His phone rang before he could respond. He checked it, grimaced. "I have to take this."
I heard him confirm scheduling details, promise he'd be there in twenty minutes. When he hung up, he looked genuinely apologetic.
"I'm sorry. They need me back for some last-minute shots."
"It's fine. Go. I'm grateful you made time at all."
"I was hoping to drive you home."
"I can manage. Go be beautiful for the cameras."
He grinned and signaled for the check, insisting on paying despite my protests. We said goodbye outside the restaurant, and he pulled me into a quick hug.
"Saturday night, I guess."
I watched him jog toward a waiting car, before pulling out my phone to order a ride home.
The engagement party was in five days, and I'll be there, ready to give them hell-In a white dress.