Chapter 251

Chapter 251
Stella's POV

I pushed back through the glass doors, leaving the rain and Vivian's screams behind. The lobby had emptied somewhat, most people having returned to their desks now that the show seemed to be over. Only a few stragglers remained, their eyes following me as I walked toward the elevator.

I kept my expression neutral, my posture that of someone trying very hard to hold herself together. Just another victim of a crazy stalker, nothing to see here.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, finally alone. As they slid shut, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished metal. My hair was plastered to my head from the rain, my blouse soaked through, my throat already showing the beginnings of bruises.

I looked exactly like what I was supposed to be: a frightened young woman who'd just been attacked by her boyfriend's ex-fiancée's unhinged mother.

The image was perfect. And completely false.

As the elevator began its ascent, I let the mask fall completely. My expression hardened, my posture straightened, and the hand at my throat dropped to my side. The frightened victim disappeared, replaced by something much colder, much more dangerous.

Vivian had played her part beautifully. Now it was time for me to play mine.

I rode the elevator up to my floor, stepped out into the quiet corridor, and walked steadily toward my desk. Colleagues looked up as I passed, their expressions ranging from concern to curiosity to poorly-concealed excitement at having witnessed drama.

I ignored them all, sat down at my desk, and calmly pulled up my resignation letter template on my computer. My fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, filling in the necessary details.

Patricia appeared at my elbow, her face pale with worry. "Stella, where are you going? Mr. Wade is waiting for you in his office. He wants to make sure you're—"

"Tell Mr. Wade I quit." The words came out flat, emotionless. I hit print and stood, walking over to collect the paper from the printer.

"You what?" Patricia's voice rose an octave. "Stella, you can't just—"

"I can and I am." I signed the letter with a flourish, folded it neatly, and handed it to her. "Effective immediately. Veridian Sterling Group has no further use for me, and I have no further use for it."

That last part was true, at least. Julian had served his purpose. He'd given me access to Nathan, who'd given me access to information about my grandmother's death. He'd provided cover and credibility while I'd maneuvered the pieces into place. But now Victor was in custody, Vivian had taken the bait, and I no longer needed the protection of Julian's company.

Patricia stared at the resignation letter like it might bite her. "But... but Mr. Wade will want to talk to you. He'll want to—"

"Mr. Wade will understand." I grabbed my bag from under my desk, checked to make sure I had everything I needed. Phone, wallet, keys. Everything else could stay. "Or he won't. Either way, it doesn't matter."

I walked past Patricia, past the gaping colleagues, past the conference room where I'd spent so many hours pretending to care about mergers and acquisitions and market analyses. None of it had ever been real. It had all been a means to an end, and that end was finally in sight.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the parking garage. As they slid shut, I caught one last glimpse of Patricia's shocked face before the metal panels cut off my view of the office forever.

Good riddance.

The car was waiting where I'd left it that morning, a nondescript sedan that drew no attention and left no impression. I slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out of the garage without looking back.

Traffic was light for late afternoon, the rain keeping most people indoors. I drove on autopilot, my mind already several moves ahead, calculating probabilities and contingencies.

Vivian would go home. She'd be furious, terrified, desperate. She'd call Daniel, tell him everything I'd said, everything I'd threatened.

He'd come for me. He'd have to. I knew too much, threatened too much. As long as I was alive, his comfortable life was in danger.

And when he came, I'd be ready.

I pulled into the parking garage of my building, the real one, not the sterile apartment Christian had set me up in. This was the place I'd lived before all of this started, before I'd let Ryder into my life, before I'd ever set foot in the Mellon estate.

The elevator ride up was familiar, comforting in its mundanity. I unlocked my door, stepped inside, and finally allowed myself to breathe.

The apartment was exactly as I'd left it. Sparse, functional, with nothing personal on display except for one wall. That wall was covered in photos, documents, newspaper clippings, all connected by red string in a web of conspiracy and revenge that had taken me years to construct.

Victor's face stared out at me from a dozen different angles. Vivian's too, and Chloe's. All the players in my personal tragedy, mapped out like pieces on a chessboard.

But in the center, larger than all the others, was a photo of my grandmother. Young, beautiful, brilliant. Dead before I ever had a chance to know her.

I walked over to the wall, traced the red string that connected her photo to Victor's, then to Vivian's, then to a blank space where Daniel Miller's picture should be. I'd never been able to find a clear photo of him. He'd been too careful, too paranoid, always staying just out of frame.

But soon, very soon, I'd have more than just a photo. I'd have him in person, right where I wanted him.

My phone buzzed. A text from Christian: Where are you? I saw what happened. Come home. We need to talk.

Home. As if that sterile penthouse could ever be home. As if anywhere could be home for someone like me.

I ignored the text, turned off my phone, and walked over to the window. From here, I could see across the water to Bainbridge Island, where the Mellon estate sat like a rotting tooth in an otherwise beautiful landscape.