Chapter 156 Apologies and Ashes

Chapter 156 Apologies and Ashes
Dante's POV

I looked up from my laptop. "There's nothing to discuss."

"Nothing—" She moved closer. Hands clenched into fists. "You ruined me! My movie tanked. Three brands dropped me. Half my followers gone overnight—"

"Good."

She stopped. Mouth opened. Closed. Hands unclenched, clenched tighter.

"Good?" Staring at me. "How—"

"You tried to destroy someone I cared about." I stood. Came around the desk slowly. "Weaponized social media. Hired trolls. Leaked her address for violence."

My hand found my thigh. Started tapping.

"And you did this out of what—jealousy? You knew I'd end up engaged to you eventually anyway."

"She didn't deserve you—"

"That wasn't your call."

My voice came out quiet. But she stepped back anyway.

"You hurt her," I continued. "Deliberately. Now you face consequences. That's justice."

"Justice?" She laughed—no humor. "You want justice?"

She pulled out her phone. Hands shaking. Typed something. Over ten minutes later, she shoved the screen in my face.

Instagram post—her apologizing to Lorelei, taking responsibility, expressing remorse.

"There. Happy?"

I read it carefully. Well-written. Seemingly sincere.

"Delete that."

"What?"

"Delete it." I pulled up a chair. Gestured. "That's not an apology. That's damage control."

She didn't move. Just stood there, phone extended.

"Sit down, Seraphina."

"I'm not—"

"Sit."

Something in my voice made her comply. She sank into the chair. Movements stiff.

I sat across from her. Elbows on knees. Hands clasped to stop the tapping.

"You want to apologize? Fine. But you'll do it right."

---

"I don't understand what you want from me." Her voice had gone small. "You already destroyed my career. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

She flinched.

"Because you need to understand what you did. Say it out loud. Own it."

"I already said—"

"You said nothing." I leaned forward. "You posted a statement your publicist probably wrote. Corporate. Safe. Meaningless."

"Then what do you want?"

"The truth. All of it. In your own words."

She stared at me. "If I do that—if I admit everything publicly—I'm done. You know that?"

"You were done the moment you decided to hurt her."

Her hands started shaking. She pressed them flat against her thighs to stop it.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because someone needs to face consequences for what happened to her." I paused. "Even if that someone isn't me."

She looked up at that. Something flickered in her expression—understanding, maybe.

"You really love her."

My hand found my thigh, tapping.

"Yes."

"And she really left you."

"Yes."

"So this—" She gestured vaguely. "This won't bring her back."

"I know."

"Then why?"

I looked at her directly. "Because it's right. Because she deserves her name cleared. Because someone needs to answer for this." Another pause. "Even if I'm the one who should be answering."

The words hung there.

Seraphina's shoulders slumped. She pulled out her phone. Opened the camera.

"Tell me what to say."

---

Lorelei's POV

The flowers arrived at ten AM.

Delivery person apologetic about the size. "For Lorelei Bennett."

I looked up. My fingers stopped mid-type.

No.

My stomach clenched—that sick feeling from Geneva, from every time flowers had shown up with Dante's initials.

"I'll take them." I stood too fast. Chair rolled back, hit the wall.

The bouquet was massive. Cream and blush pink roses. Eucalyptus. Something delicate I couldn't name.

Dante.

I reached for the card. Hands shaking. Already planning disposal.

But the handwriting wasn't his.

Congratulations on the new funding round. You've built something remarkable. - Julian

I stared. Read it twice.

My shoulders dropped—tension releasing I hadn't known I'd been holding.

Phone rang. Julian.

"Before you throw them away—" Warmth, amusement in his voice. "Can I explain?"

Despite everything—the panic, the shaking hands—my mouth curved.

"Explain why you're sending flowers?"

"Professional celebration. Eight million Series B. That deserves recognition."

"You're celebrating your own investment."

"Exactly. No ulterior motives. Just business." Pause. "Plus, eucalyptus. Calming. You've seemed stressed."

"I wonder why."

"So you'll keep them?"

I looked at the arrangement. Soft colors. Thoughtful. No red roses.

"I'll keep them."

After hanging up, I carried them to my desk. Hands steady now.

Camellie appeared. Eyes wide.

"Oh my god. Julian finally—"

"It's not—"

"It's exactly that! Look at this! This is 'I'm falling for you' flowers!"

"Professional—"

"Lorelei." She grabbed my shoulders. "I've watched you build this for a year. Watched Julian show up twice a week with transparent excuses." Pause. "The man is gone for you."

Before I could respond, the team materialized.

"From Julian?" Marc peered at the flowers.

"Finally!" An intern clapped. "Been waiting months!"

"Calm down." I was smiling despite myself. "Just flowers. Business milestone."

"Right." Camellie rolled her eyes. "And I'm the Queen."

"You deserve this," Marc said seriously. "After everything—you deserve someone who treats you right."

My throat tightened.

"She doesn't just deserve it," Camellie added. "She earned it. You know how badass you have to be to survive what she survived and still build this?"

I looked at their faces. These people who'd believed. Who'd worked insane hours. Who'd stuck with us on fumes and hope.

"Thank you. All of you. Couldn't have done this alone."

"Please." Camellie waved. "You could have. But we're glad you didn't."

I pulled out my phone to thank Julian.

Saw it.

Twitter notification. My name trending.

Smile faded. Fingers went cold.

No. Not again.

But the context was different.

Dante Ashford Defends Former Girlfriend, Exposes Seraphina Vanderbilt's Harassment Campaign

Posted yesterday.

My vision tunneled. Office sounds—Camellie talking, someone laughing, computers humming—faded to white noise.

I clicked with numb fingers.

Started reading.

I am writing to address the harassment campaign that targeted Lorelei Bennett over a year ago...

First: Lorelei Bennett was not my mistress. She was my girlfriend.

My breath caught.

Stopped completely.

I had to force myself to inhale.

Second: The financial assistance provided to her mother's company was what any partner would do—supporting someone I cared about.

My hands started shaking.

I kept reading. Couldn't stop.

The evidence. Bank statements. Emails. Unedited footage.

All of it proving what I'd known but couldn't prove.

That I'd been targeted. Deliberately.

I read it three times. Hands shaking harder with each pass.

"Lorelei?" Camellie's voice—far away. "You okay?"

I couldn't answer. Couldn't form words.

Showed her my phone.

Her eyes went wide. "Holy shit—"

"Yeah."

Within minutes, the office had seen it. People pulling up statements, Seraphina's video, the footage.

"She's getting destroyed," Marc said, scrolling comments.

"Good," Camellie said fiercely.

But I couldn't feel satisfaction.

Couldn't feel anything except numbness spreading through chest, arms, legs.

I stood. Too fast. Vision swam, black spots dancing.

"I need—" Voice wrong. "Air."

Walked to the bathroom. Legs disconnected from body. Locked myself in a stall. Sat on the closed lid.

Pressed hands to face.

He defended me. Publicly. Finally.

But underneath relief—anger it took this long, grief for months of silence, exhaustion at my pain becoming public spectacle again.

This is what I wanted. People knowing truth.

But having it happen like this—Dante as savior, my pain commodified into metrics—felt wrong.

Pulled out phone. Opened Twitter.

Trending shifted. #SeraphinaExposed. #JusticeForLorelei. #DanteAshford.

Clicked comments under his statement.

Finally someone with power standing up

Seraphina DONE. Career over. Deserved.

Always knew there was more. Poor Lorelei.

Dante proving he's one of the good ones

Closed app. Opened Instagram.

A new notification popped up from Seraphina's account—video posted three minutes ago.

I clicked.

She looked terrible. No makeup. Messy hair. Red eyes. In an office. Speaking to camera.

"I owe Lorelei Bennett an apology. What I did—orchestrating harassment, leaking her address, paying for attacks—wrong. Inexcusable. I let jealousy and anger control me. Hurt someone who didn't deserve it."

She paused. Throat working.

"I'm sorry. I know that's not enough. Know sorry doesn't undo damage. But I wanted to say it publicly, same way I hurt you." Another pause. "I'm sorry, Lorelei. For everything."

Video ended.

I stared at black screen.

Felt nothing.

Phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Almost didn't open it. Almost deleted without looking.

But something made me click.

Three words:

I'm sorry too.