Chapter 50 Scandal
The elevator ride to my apartment floor was slow.
Tristan stood next to me, his hands in his pockets, staring at the numbers ticking up. He was vibrating with a strange, nervous energy—the aftermath of the slap, the public humiliation, the choice he had just made.
He had chosen me.
The doors opened.
We walked down the hall. I unlocked my door.
He closed the door. He locked it.
Then he turned to me.
"Are you okay?" he asked. He reached out and touched the wine stain on my dress. "It’s soaked."
"It’s fine," I said. "It’s just wine."
"It’s an assault," he said darkly. "If she wasn't a senator’s daughter..."
"Forget Lorelei," I said. "She’s irrelevant, remember?"
He managed a small, tired smile. "Right."
He took off his tuxedo jacket and threw it on the couch. He loosened his tie.
"I need a drink," he said.
"Kitchen. Top shelf. There’s a bottle of scotch Lonnie brought over."
He went to the kitchen. I heard the clink of glass.
I walked to the window. I looked out at the city.
My phone was blowing up.
The City Gossip: SCANDAL AT THE ESTATE! TRISTAN JOHNSTON DUMPS FIANCÉE FOR EX-WIFE!
Twitter: #TeamMinerva is trending.
Text from Lonnie: Did you just stage a coup in a red dress? CALL ME.
I turned off my phone.
Tristan came back with two glasses. He handed me one.
We drank.
The scotch burned, warm and grounding.
"So," he said, setting his glass down on the coffee table. "We’re here."
He walked toward me.
"You said no," he reminded me. "At the party. You said not there. Not tonight."
"I did."
"But we’re not there anymore," he said softly. "We’re here."
He stopped in front of me. He reached out and took my hand.
"Can I kiss you now?"
I looked at him.
I looked at the red mark on his cheek where Lorelei had slapped him. I looked at the exhaustion in his eyes, the hope, the fear.
He had blown up his life for me. He had humiliated himself for me.
He wasn't perfect. He was still possessive, still intense, still broken.
But he was mine.
"Yes," I whispered.
He kissed me.
He pulled me closer. His hands moved over the red silk of my dress, finding the zipper at the back.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
The dress pooled at my feet.
I stood there in my lingerie—black lace.
Tristan looked at me.
"You are..." He shook his head. "You are everything."
He picked me up.
He carried me to the bedroom.
He laid me on the bed—the small, queen-sized bed with the plain white sheets.
He undressed. He took off his shirt, his pants, his shoes.
He lay down beside me.
He didn't rush. He took his time. He touched me everywhere—my arms, my legs, my stomach, my face. He kissed the bruise on my neck from Paris. He kissed the wine stain on my skin.
"I love you," he whispered against my collarbone. "I love you, Minerva."
"I love you too," I said.
And this time, I let myself feel it. I let the love in, past the walls, past the fear.
We made love.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, listening to the city sounds outside.
"Tristan?"
"Mmm?"
"What happens tomorrow?"
He tightened his arm around me.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we deal with the fallout. We deal with the Senator. We deal with the press."
He kissed the top of my head.
"But tonight? Tonight, we just sleep."
I smiled.
I closed my eyes.
I woke up to the sound of Tristan on the phone in the living room. His voice was hard, cold—the Titan was back.
"I don't care what the Senator says, Vane. If he threatens the zoning permits, we sue for extortion. I have the recordings."
I sat up. I put on Tristan’s shirt. I walked into the living room.
Tristan was pacing. He looked up when he saw me. His face softened instantly.
"I have to go," he told Vane. "Handle it."
He hung up.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning. Is it bad?"
"It’s messy," he admitted. "Senator Vance is threatening to pull the permits for the Opera House. He’s calling for a boycott of Veridian. And Lorelei is giving interviews claiming I abused her emotionally."
"Of course she is."
"But," he said, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "It doesn't matter. The stock is holding. The board is nervous but loyal. And Ida..."
"What about Ida?"
"Her lawyer is trying to get her moved to a private facility. Citing 'stress.' But the DA isn't budging. The video is too damning."
"Good."
He kissed me. "Are you ready to go back to the estate?"
I hesitated.
"The estate," I said. "It’s... it’s a lot, Tristan."
"We’ll fix it," he said. "We’re gutting the east wing, remember? We’re making it new."
"I know. But..."
I looked around my small, sterile apartment.
"Can we stay here?" I asked. "Just for a few days? Until the dust settles?"
He looked around the room. He looked at the cheap coffee table, the small kitchen.
"Here?"
"Yes. It’s safe."
He smiled. "You want the billionaire to live in a walk-up?"
"I want the man I love to live with me." I said.
He kissed me again.
"Done," he said. "I’ll have Marco send over some clothes. And maybe a better coffee maker."
We stayed in the apartment for three days.
We ordered takeout. We watched movies. We worked on our laptops at the small kitchen table, our feet touching underneath.
It was a glimpse of what life could have been if we hadn't been Johnstons. If we had just been two people in love.
But the world wouldn't leave us alone.
On Wednesday, my phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Minerva Hayes?"
"Speaking."
"This is Detective Miller. NYPD."
My heart stopped. "Yes?"
"We have a situation," he said. "Regarding Ida Stevens."
"Did she escape?" I asked, gripping the phone.
"No," he said. "She didn't escape. She had a visitor."
"Who?"
"A lawyer," Miller said. "But not her lawyer. A new one. He presented some... interesting documents. Documents that claim Ida Stevens is not competent to stand trial."
"That’s a lie," I said. "She’s perfectly competent."
"The documents are signed by three psychiatrists," Miller said. "And they are petitioning for her immediate transfer to the St. Jude’s Institute."
St. Jude’s.
It wasn't a prison. It was a luxury asylum upstate. It was a spa with locks.
"You can't let them do that," I said. "If she goes there, she’ll buy her way out in a month."
"It’s out of my hands, Ms. Hayes. The judge signed the order an hour ago. She’s being moved tonight."
I hung up.