Chapter 79
Nora's POV
I stared at the screen, my pulse kicking up. This wasn't a reporter's tone. Too direct. Too... knowing.
I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and rolled onto my side.
Don't engage. It's probably a trap. Lena's lawyers trying to get more ammunition.
But my hand reached for the phone anyway.
Five minutes later, it buzzed again.
I know Sterling PR wasn't your idea alone. I also know your current situation.
The whiskey soured in my stomach.
How could they possibly—
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Common sense screamed at me to block the number, delete the messages, pretend this never happened. But underneath that rational voice was something darker, more desperate.
Who knows what I'm dealing with? Who would care enough to reach out?
I typed and deleted three different responses before finally settling on silence.
Three minutes later: You don't have to reply. But I thought you might be interested in how to destroy Lena Grant's reputation.
My breath caught.
I sat up, the room spinning slightly from the alcohol. The city lights blurred through the window, and for a long moment I just stared at those words.
Destroy Lena Grant's reputation.
Everything I'd tried had backfired. The Sterling PR campaign had only made her look like a victim and me like a villain. But what if there was another way? What if someone else had already figured out how to bring her down?
My thumbs moved before my brain could stop them.
Who are you?
The reply was instant: Someone with the same enemy.
Why me?
Because you failed. And I don't intend to.
The bluntness stung. I almost threw the phone across the room.
Then why do you need me?
Because you have access. Resources. Information.
I laughed—a bitter, ugly sound that echoed in the empty room. And you think I'll just hand that over to a stranger?
Because I have what you don't: Lena Grant's weaknesses.
I stopped typing. My heart hammered against my ribs.
What weaknesses?
The pause before the response felt deliberate. Calculated.
Her past. The secrets she's buried.
I'd wondered about Lena's family during law school. Everyone did. She'd been so... closed off. Never mentioned her parents, never went home for holidays. Once, at a study group, someone had asked where she was from, and she'd changed the subject so smoothly that by the end of the conversation, none of us even remembered asking.
What do you want?
Collaboration. You provide inside information—updates from the firm, Rowan's movements. I provide the ammunition.
My throat tightened. This was exactly the kind of thing Lucas had warned me against. "If you keep going down this path, you'll lose yourself."
But what self was there left to lose?
I'd already destroyed my career. My reputation. Lucas's trust. And for what? To watch Rowan defend Lena like she was some kind of saint?
Who are you? Why do you want to hurt her?
The response took longer this time.
My identity doesn't matter. What matters is that Lena tried to ruin my life. Now it's my turn.
I frowned at the screen. The phrasing was... personal. Vindictive.
You have history with Vivian Grant?
More than history. I offered cooperation. She chose destruction.
My pulse quickened. This wasn't just about Lena. This was about her family. About whatever power struggles were happening in that cold, calculated Grant household.
So you want revenge. What's in it for me?
Besides watching Lena Grant lose everything? Besides Rowan Reynolds finally seeing her true face?
I closed my eyes. They'd found my weakness and were twisting the knife.
Or would you prefer to keep failing? Keep watching her take what should have been yours?
My hands trembled. The words on the screen blurred.
Rowan at Nora's birthday party, his hand on my waist for the cameras but his eyes distant. Rowan at the office, taking calls from Lena in the middle of our meetings. Rowan's statement, praising her professionalism while I became Silverton's favorite villain.
What "ammunition"?
Videos. Recordings. Documents. Enough to end her career.
What kind of documents?
Can't share that yet. But I guarantee—once it's public, she'll lose everything.
I should have stopped. Should have blocked the number, called Lucas, admitted I needed help.
Instead, I typed: I need time to think.
Of course. But don't make me wait long. This opportunity won't come twice.
I locked my phone and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Outside, Silverton glittered with a thousand lights—offices where people were working late, apartments where families were settling in for the night, bars where friends were laughing over drinks.
And here I was, alone in a hotel room, negotiating with a stranger who wanted to destroy the woman I'd spent seven years resenting.
Lucas would tell me to walk away. To let it go, to accept that some battles couldn't be won.
But Lucas wasn't here. Nobody was here.
And I was so tired of losing.
I picked up my phone one more time, reading through the messages. The stranger hadn't made any specific demands yet. Just vague promises and appeals to my wounded pride. Smart. Professional. Almost... familiar in its calculated approach.
Who are you really? I wondered, staring at that unknown number.
But even as I asked myself the question, part of me didn't care. Part of me just wanted to see Lena Grant suffer the way I had. To watch her perfect facade crack. To prove to Rowan—and to myself—that I wasn't crazy for feeling what I felt.
That I wasn't the villain in this story.
My finger hovered over the keyboard one last time before I finally set the phone aside.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I'll decide.
But we both knew I'd already made my choice the moment I answered that first message.
The only question now was how far I was willing to go.