Chapter 84
Chapter 84
Chapter 84: “If I Can’t Have It”
POV: Pearl
I shouldn’t have gone to that party.
I knew it the second I saw her, Elizabeth, standing beside Jackson like they were something real. Like she belonged there. Like she hadn’t stolen everything that should’ve been mine.
I watched her smile up at him, her hand resting on her stomach. People stared at her like she was some kind of miracle. Not the runaway. Not the failure. Not the girl who caused a scandal. Just… glowing and adored.
And Jackson.
He looked at her like nothing else mattered. Like she was his whole world.
It made my blood boil.
I barely made it through the night. I plastered on fake smiles, let people compliment my dress, my hair, my poise, like I hadn’t been holding myself together by a thread. But every time I looked at them, I felt like something inside me cracked.
When it finally ended, I didn’t go home. I didn’t want to be alone. I needed something, someone, to remind me I still mattered. That I could still get under someone’s skin.
So I called Timothy.
He didn’t ask questions when I said I was coming over. He never did.
\---
He opened the door shirtless, like he knew what I came for. I pushed past him, tossing my bag on the couch.
"You didn’t say much on the phone," he said, closing the door behind us.
"I didn’t need to."
He looked at me for a second, like he wanted to say something else, but he stayed quiet. That was the thing about Timothy, he never needed to understand me to want me.
We ended up in his bedroom within minutes. It was fast, rushed, messy. I didn’t care. I didn’t want slow or sweet. I wanted to forget how Elizabeth looked in that stupid gold dress. I wanted to erase the image of Jackson’s hand on her back. I wanted to be wanted. Needed. Claimed.
At one point, I closed my eyes and let the heat take over. Let the tension spill out of me in broken gasps. When I moaned, I didn’t even think, I just let it out.
"Jackson—"
His body froze above me.
I opened my eyes slowly, heart racing.
He pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. “Did you just say Jackson?”
I sat up too, hair sticking to my face. "Don’t."
He turned to look at me, his face tight with something between anger and disbelief. "You did. You moaned his name."
I rolled my eyes. "You're making it a big deal."
"It is a big deal!" he snapped. "You’re in my bed, Pearl. I’m not some replacement for your ex-fiancé."
I scoffed. "You were never a replacement. Just a mistake I kept going back to."
That shut him up.
He looked like I’d slapped him, but I didn’t care. I was tired. Drained. And still angry. Not at him. At her.
I stood and walked to the bathroom, grabbing one of his shirts on the way. I needed a second to breathe. To pull myself together.
When I came back out, he was still sitting there, shirtless, his expression unreadable.
"Why him?" he finally asked. "You cheated on him with me. You let him go. Why are you still holding on?"
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Because he was mine before she got him."
"You broke him, Pearl."
I glared at him. "No. She put herself where she didn’t belong."
He looked away, shaking his head. "You can’t compete with what they have now."
I moved closer, voice dropping. "Watch me."
\---
I left an hour later, ignoring the way Timothy didn’t kiss me goodbye. I didn’t want him. Not really. He was a distraction. A comfort on nights I didn’t want to be alone. But he wasn’t Jackson.
No one was.
As I drove home, my phone buzzed. A photo of Elizabeth and Jackson had just gone up online. He was holding her hand, his other resting gently over her stomach. The caption was simple: “Lucky to love her.”
I felt something tighten in my chest. Not heartbreak. Not sadness. Rage.
He was supposed to love me.
I threw my phone into the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Fine.
If they wanted to play perfect, I’d show them what real chaos looked like.
\---
The next morning, I sat at the dining table in my apartment, laptop open, coffee going cold. I stared at the screen for a long time before opening a new tab and searching her name.
Elizabeth Warren-Sinclair.
Still hyphenated, even after everything.
I scrolled through articles. Some about her art, others about the scandal from months ago. Then, pieces about her pregnancy announcement with Jackson. One headline read: Second Chance Love: Inside the Unexpected Reconciliation of the Billionaire and the Artist.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I clicked open my contacts and found a number I hadn't used in a while. A journalist. One of the many people I used to give “tips” to when I needed the spotlight to shine somewhere else.
I typed out a message.
> “I have something you’ll want to hear. But it’s off the record, until I say otherwise.”
I stared at it for a second. Then hit send.
My hands were steady. My breathing even.
I wasn’t going to play fair anymore.
\---
Later that day, I stopped by a boutique and bought a new dress. One that hugged all the right places. Then I booked a table at Jackson’s favorite restaurant, just in case.
I didn’t plan to bump into them that night, but if I did, I’d be ready.
I walked out of the shop and into the street, slipping my sunglasses on. For a second, I caught my reflection in a window. I looked polished. Confident. In control.
But deep down, I knew what I really looked like.
A woman who had everything, lost it, and now didn’t know how to live without it.
But that didn’t matter.
Because if I couldn’t have happiness, neither could they.
\---
That evening, Timothy called. I let it ring.
Then he texted.
> “I didn’t mean to snap. But you need to stop chasing someone who isn’t chasing you.”
I stared at the message for a while. Then I deleted it.
He didn’t understand.
None of them did.
Elizabeth might think she’s safe now, playing house with Jackson, painting like she’s finally found peace, but I know her better than she thinks.
I know what makes her insecure.
What makes her run.
And I was done playing the quiet sister.
She could paint her little world all she wanted.
I was going to burn holes in the canvas.