Chapter 194
Grace's POV
"Grace."
His voice cut through the evening air—quiet, controlled, but carrying an edge I'd never heard before. Not the smooth charm he'd used to manipulate me, not the frustrated anger when I'd started fighting back. This was something else. Something flat and dangerous.
My security team immediately moved to block his approach, but I held up a hand. "It's fine. Let him speak."
I turned to face him fully for the first time in weeks, and what I saw made me pause. This wasn't the polished businessman who'd once commanded boardrooms and social gatherings. Richard looked... diminished. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, stubble shadowed his jaw, and his clothes hung loose on his frame like he'd lost weight. There was something hollow in his eyes, something that made him look older than his years.
He looks like a stranger. Did I ever really know this man?
"You look terrible," I said, my voice neutral.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Thanks. You look... powerful. It suits you."
The words should have stung, but they didn't. There was no heat in them, no real malice. Just acknowledgment of a reality he was finally seeing clearly.
"I wanted to talk to you," he continued, taking a half-step closer. My bodyguards tensed, but he stopped, holding his hands up slightly. "I know you probably don't want to hear anything I have to say, but..."
"But what, Richard?" I kept my voice level, professional. "What could you possibly have to say that would matter now?"
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he was trying to memorize it. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable.
"I had feelings for you. Real feelings. Despite the lies and manipulation." He paused, swallowing hard. "Is there really no chance? No possibility that we could..."
Even now. Even after everything, he's still trying to rewrite history.
I felt something shift inside me—not anger, not hurt, but a kind of cold clarity. "You want to talk about feelings, Richard? Let's talk about how you knew exactly what would happen to Laura when you brought her here today, and you didn't warn her. You let her walk into a trap because it was easier than facing the truth yourself. You call that love?"
His face went pale. "Grace, I—"
"That USB drive you gave back to Laura? You knew what was on it. You knew she'd stolen my research. You knew she was walking into criminal charges, and you said nothing." I stepped closer, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "You want to talk about being heartless? Look in a mirror."
For a moment, something flickered across his features—shame, maybe, or recognition. But then his expression hardened.
"You're right," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I am heartless. But so are you. You didn't just take everything from the Harrison family—you killed my grandmother. Your words stopped her heart. So tell me, Grace, which one of us is really the monster here?"
The words hit their mark, and I felt that familiar twist of guilt in my chest. But then I thought of Alex, of his arms around me last night, of the way he'd held me while I cried about Aria's death. I thought of his quiet voice telling me that love meant sharing burdens, not carrying them alone.
He's trying to make me feel guilty for defending myself. Just like he always did.
The guilt faded, replaced by something that felt almost like pity. "You really want to know what I think, Richard?"
He nodded, his jaw set.
"I think you're in so much pain right now that you'd say anything to make someone else hurt as much as you do. I think you're standing here asking me about second chances because you can't face the fact that you destroyed our marriage long before I ever fought back." I paused, letting the words sink in. "And I think the saddest part is that if you'd been honest with me from the beginning—if you'd told me about Laura, about Emma, about what you really wanted—we might have found a way to end this with some dignity intact."
His face crumpled slightly, and for a moment I saw the boy I'd fallen in love with in college. Young, uncertain, trying so hard to be something he thought the world wanted him to be.
"If I died tomorrow," he said quietly, "would you even care?"
The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I felt my bodyguards shift closer, but I held my ground.
He's not threatening suicide. He's threatening me with it. Trying to make me responsible for his choices one last time.
"No, Richard," I said calmly. "Whether you live or die has nothing to do with me anymore."
The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. He staggered back a step, his face going white.
"Is there really nothing left?" he whispered. "Nothing at all?"
I looked at him—this man who'd shaped so much of my life, who'd taught me what love wasn't, who'd ultimately led me to understand what it could be—and felt nothing but a distant sadness.
"Goodbye, Richard."
I turned and walked toward my car, leaving him standing there alone.
By the time I reached my car, my hands were shaking. Not from fear or anger, but from something else—a physical reaction that seemed to come from nowhere. I slid into the backseat and immediately felt nauseous, my stomach churning like I was coming down with something.
Post-traumatic stress response, I thought clinically. Seeing him again, having to relive all of that... it's just my body processing.
"Home, Mrs. Morgan?" my driver asked.
"Yes, please."
The drive passed in a blur of city lights and evening traffic.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sun had set completely. I could see warm light spilling from the windows of our house—our house, not mine, not his, but ours—and some of the tension in my chest began to ease.
The front door opened before I could reach for my keys. Alex stood there, silhouetted against the warm light from inside, and the sight of him made something in me finally settle.
I walked straight into his arms. He caught me easily, his embrace warm and solid and exactly what I needed.
"It's over," I said into his shoulder. "It's finally over."
His arms tightened around me, and I felt his lips brush the top of my head. "Good."