Chapter 75 Terms and Conditions
The engine’s hum died away, replaced by the hollow, metallic thud of the Vittoria kissing the pier. Inside the master cabin, the sudden cessation of movement felt like the world had stopped spinning. Nate and I broke apart slowly, our breathing ragged and synchronized. His hands lingered on my waist, his thumbs tracing the line of my ribs through the silk, while I pulled back just enough to see the raw, dark intensity still clouding his eyes. We were flushed and breathless, the air thick with everything we hadn't quite finished, but there was no time for more. The sanctuary was dissolving.
Nate stood in front of the mirror for a second, smoothing his linen jacket and running a hand through his mussed hair, though he didn't bother to hide the faint smudge of my lip gloss on his jaw. He looked like a man preparing for a revolution.
"Are you ready?" he asked, reaching for my hand.
I looked down at our joined fingers. My heart was a frantic bird against my ribs, but the weight of the check in my bag no longer felt like a lead weight. It felt like ammunition. "No. But I’m not hiding anymore."
As we ascended the stairs to the main deck, the wall of noise hit us first. It wasn't just the guests anymore; it was the shouting. The pier, usually a private sanctuary for the Alverstone elite, had been breached. At least a dozen photographers were held back by a thin line of estate security, their long lenses flashing like strobe lights against the dark water.
"Mila! Over here!" "Is it true about the scholarship scam?" "Nathaniel, is the engagement off?"
The guests on the deck had retreated to the railings, their faces pale in the flashbulbs, watching us with a mix of horror and morbid fascination. Nate didn’t hesitate. He didn't pull his hat low or try to shield my face with his jacket. Instead, he stopped at the top of the gangway and pulled me flush against his side. He waited—long enough for the shutter clicks to become a continuous roar—and then he looked down at me and smiled. It wasn't a smile for the cameras; it was a smile that told the world they were irrelevant.
"Head up, Mila," he whispered. "Let them see exactly what they're missing."
We descended the ramp. The moment our feet hit the wood of the pier, the reporters surged forward.
"Nathaniel, a comment on the Blueblood Bulletin report?" a woman yelled, thrusting a recorder toward us.
Nate stopped dead. The security guards braced themselves, but Nate just looked at the reporter with a cool, bored disdain. "The Bulletin specializes in fiction," he said, his voice carrying clearly over the din. "If you want a headline, here it is: I’ve never been more certain of my future than I am tonight. Now, move. We’re going home."
Behind us, I saw Gavin and Eliza. Gavin had followed Nate’s lead, his arm draped firmly over Eliza’s shoulders. He looked less like a playful heir and more like a soldier. Theodore brought up the rear, his presence a silent, intimidating shadow that seemed to push back the crowd by sheer force of will.
We didn't run. We walked with a slow, deliberate pace through the gauntlet of flashing lights and shouted insults. Nate’s hand never left mine, his grip a constant, grounding heat. It was a public reclamation. By the time we reached the waiting black SUV, the narrative had already shifted. We weren't a scandal being exposed; we were a front.
As the door closed, muffling the chaos, Nate let out a long, jagged breath. He didn't look at the window as we pulled away. He looked at me.
"That was the easy part," he murmured.
I looked out at the passing gates of the estate, the stone pillars looming like the entrance to a fortress. The paparazzi were behind us, but the real enemy was waiting in the foyer. The 48-hour clock had officially run out, and Alexandra Salvatore was not a woman who took defeat gracefully.
"She's waiting, isn't she?" I asked.
"Let her wait," Nate said, his jaw tightening as the car swept up the long, gravel drive. "It's time she learned that some things aren't for sale."
The SUV slowed to a halt in front of the grand entrance. The house was lit up, every window a glowing eye watching our return. We stepped out into the humid night air, the scent of jasmine thick and cloying. The front doors were already open. Standing in the center of the marble foyer, silhouetted against the grand staircase, was Alexandra. She was dressed in black silk, a sharp contrast to our stained and wrinkled white, her hands folded primly in front of her. She looked like a judge delivering a final verdict.
"Leave us," Nate commanded the staff as we entered. Gavin, Eliza, and Theodore followed us in, forming a silent, defiant semi-circle behind us.
"Nathaniel," Alexandra said, her voice like dry parchment. "You've made quite a spectacle of yourself tonight. I assume you've seen the headlines. Your reputation is currently being dissected by every social climber in the state."
I didn't wait for Nate to answer. I stepped forward, reaching into my bag and pulling out the envelope. I held it out to her, the paper trembling only slightly. "Your forty-eight hours are up, Mrs. Salvatore. Here is your check. It’s a bit wrinkled, and there’s a tear in the corner—my hand slipped when I first tried to rip it in half—but the amount is still there. I don't want it."
Alexandra didn't reach for the check. She didn't even look at it. Her eyes remained fixed on mine. "You're a fool, Mila. You've chosen a public execution over a private fortune."
"You did that," Nate spat, stepping up beside me. "You leaked those photos to the Bulletin to force her hand. You tried to ruin her life because you couldn't buy it."
For the first time, a flicker of genuine confusion crossed Alexandra’s face. She let out a short, sharp laugh—devoid of humor. "Nathaniel, if I wanted to destroy this girl, I wouldn't need a gossip rag to do it. I have lawyers and board members for that. I find the tabloids beneath me. I didn't send those photos."
The silence that followed was heavy and cold. We all turned instinctively to look at the group behind us.
"If it wasn't you..." I started, the realization chilling me more than her threats ever could.
"It doesn't matter who it was," Nate said, his voice cutting through the rising panic. He turned to his mother, his eyes hard and final. "The result is the same. You tried to buy her, and someone else tried to break her. Neither of you succeeded."
He reached out and took the check from my hand, finally letting it drop onto the marble floor at Alexandra’s feet. It looked like a fallen leaf, small and insignificant in the vastness of the foyer.
"We're leaving," Nate announced, looking at Gavin and Theodore. "Pack your things. We're going back to the city. Tonight."