Chapter 196

Morgan's POV

"How...?" My voice came out as a strangled whisper, disbelief freezing me in place. The man who'd been my partner in revenge, the enigmatic Ethan who'd built a business empire seemingly overnight, was actually James.

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "What the hell is going on? You're an actor. How could you possibly have run a business so successfully?" My hands trembled with rage and confusion. "Was everything a lie? Our friendship? The company?"

James set the mask down carefully on the coffee table between us, his expression calm but tinged with genuine remorse.

"You're right—I am an actor. I probably don't have the business acumen to run a multi-billion-dollar empire." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But I can certainly play the part. Those business decisions, the strategic moves, the acquisitions? That was all Jonathan. Your father."

"My father?" The revelation hit like another blow. "He put you up to this?"

James nodded. "I was hired to play a role—the role of Ethan, business genius and revenge partner. Jonathan has been pulling the strings the whole time, trying to protect you in his own way."

I paced the room, trying to process this betrayal. "So my revenge, my plan—it was all orchestrated by him?"

"No," James said firmly. "The desire for justice was all yours. We just... facilitated it."

I stopped pacing, glaring at him.

"Gaining your trust wasn't easy at first," James continued, ignoring my anger. "But things changed when I started channeling Alexander. You noticed it yourself—you said I played him well, remember?"

My heart skipped a beat. The times I'd felt drawn to "Ethan" had been when he reminded me of Alexander. The realization made me feel hollow inside.

"I thought I was finding comfort in someone new," I whispered. "But it was just... his ghost."

James stood up, his posture softening. "I had hoped, at first, that you might genuinely come to care for me. But I realized your heart belongs to someone else." He walked to his jacket hanging by the door and pulled out a sleek black card. "Alexander's company is in serious trouble. The stock has tanked, and he's on the verge of losing everything."

He held the card out to me. "This has three billion dollars on it. More than enough to save his company."

I stared at the card without taking it. "Why would I care about saving his company?"

"When you saw that news alert earlier, your expression told me everything I needed to know." His smile was sad but knowing. "Your heart has already made its choice, hasn't it?"

The driver took me to Alexander's new office building. Nothing about this modest structure whispered of the media empire he'd built. I stood there, memories washing over me—Alexander striding through his gleaming headquarters, confidence in every step, the golden prince of Los Angeles media who commanded rooms with just his presence. The man whose ambition had seemed limitless, unstoppable.

Now he operated from this unremarkable building, fallen from those impossible heights. Despite everything between us, something inside me ached at the sight. I shouldn't care. I didn't want to care. But seeing the physical manifestation of his downfall—knowing I had contributed to it—sent a wave of complicated grief through me that I couldn't entirely suppress.

A pang of something like grief twisted in my chest as I stood outside, hesitating. Through the glass doors, I could see Alexander in his office. His shirt was wrinkled, tie loosened, dark circles evident under his eyes. I almost couldn't bring myself to knock.

Just as I was about to turn away, he looked up and saw me. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by something that looked suspiciously like joy.

"Morgan?!" He rushed to open the door. "What brings you here? I was just about to come find you. Please, come in!"

I stepped into his office, aware of how different it was from his former space. No designer furniture, no original artwork, just practical necessities.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to a chair. "Sorry about the mess. I've had a lot on my plate. Would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee is fine," I replied, watching as three harried-looking assistants bustled around in the background.

Alexander grabbed the office coffee pot, then gave me a sheepish smile. "I have coffee," he said, holding up a mug—the same mug I'd bought and insisted on keeping in his office during our first year of marriage. He'd once told me that marking territory was for dogs. Now he was looking at me with expectation and excitement in his eyes, holding that stupid mug.

A sharp, acidic pain bloomed in my chest.

"A paper cup is fine," I said, lowering my eyes.

"I should probably wash this first anyway." He took the paper cup from my hand and poured the coffee.

As he handed it to me, his assistant appeared at the door. "Boss, I—" She stopped when she saw me. "Oh, um—"

"I'm in a meeting, Laura," Alexander said. "It can wait."

"No, please," I insisted. "Handle your work. It's why I'm here, actually."

Alexander gave me a puzzled look but nodded to Laura, who seemed relieved.

"Sir, our stock has hit the warning line," she reported. "If we can't inject capital now, we either lose control of the company during acquisition or go bankrupt outright."

I swallowed hard. I hadn't known Ethan's—no, James's—attack had been so devastating.

"Thank you, Laura," Alexander said calmly. "I'll handle it."

After she left, I reached into my purse and slid the black card across his desk. I couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry about the ring incident," I said softly. "This card has three billion on it. Take it to save your company. Whatever else is between us, I never meant to target your business."

Alexander stared at the card, shock and something like hope battling in his expression. "You still care about me, don't you?"

I wanted to deny it, to say something cutting, but I was tired of lies. Lies had kept us apart, had kept everyone apart. I was exhausted by them.

Instead of answering, I asked, "You said you were coming to find me. What for?"

Alexander's eyes widened. "God, I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small recording device. "I disguised myself as a waiter at the auction. I managed to record Olivia admitting she pushed you."

My heart clenched. "You... you were investigating?"

"I was taking a shot in the dark," he admitted. "I didn't actually expect to get anything. But I did."

"Took a shot in the dark," he'd said, as if it were nothing. That was so typically Alexander, reducing what must have been tremendous effort to a casual throwaway line. How many times in these three years had he "taken shots in the dark" trying to uncover the truth? How many disguises, how many failed attempts, how many dead ends had he encountered before finally recording Olivia's confession?

I didn't know the exact number, but I knew it couldn't have been easy. Alexander had been investigating, planning, working—for me—while I'd been plotting against him. The realization made my heart twist painfully in my chest, and for a moment I almost reached for him. Almost.

But I couldn't.

My plan had always been to reunite with my baby and my mother after I'd finished getting revenge on everyone who'd wronged me.