Chapter 91 *
Scarlett's POV
I grabbed my clothes from the chair after Damon left. Changed fast. Winced when the fabric rubbed against the bandages.
The hallway was empty. Everyone was probably dealing with the aftermath downstairs. FBI interviews. Press conferences. The usual chaos.
I slipped out the side exit. The one the staff used for smoke breaks.
I pulled out my phone. Opened the Uber app. While I waited, I typed out the message.
"I've made my decision about the divorce."
My thumb hovered over the send button.
This was it. The point of no return.
I hit send.
Then typed out the rest.
"I don't want anything from you."
"No money. No assets. Nothing."
"Please have your lawyer draw up the papers."
"I'll meet you at the courthouse."
"I'm sorry."
Send.
Block.
Done.
The Uber pulled up. The driver looked bored.
"Scarlett?"
"Yeah."
I climbed in the back. Gave him the address.
He pulled away from the curb. I watched the hospital disappear in the side mirror.
Okay. Let's be real here.
I'm twenty-two years old.
Do you know what twenty-two-year-olds are supposed to be doing? Going to parties. Having stupid drunk conversations at 3 AM. Dating the wrong people and learning from it.
Not getting married to crime lords.
I wanted the messy stuff. The exciting stuff. The kind of crazy relationship where you stay up all night talking and then regret it the next day because you have class.
I wanted to fall in love like an idiot. Make mistakes. Get my heart broken. Break someone else's heart. Figure out who I am and what I want.
Marriage? That was something for later. Way later. Like, a decade later.
When I was older. More settled. Actually ready for that kind of commitment.
But with Damon? It had all happened backwards. Marriage first. Everything else... maybe never.
And yeah, spending time with him had been... intense. Confusing. Sometimes nice.
But that wasn't real. That was just proximity. Forced closeness because of circumstances.
Damon Wolfe was way out of my league. Like, stratospherically out of my league.
The man owned half of New York's underground. Had connections that made senators nervous.
And me? I was a twenty-two-year-old college student who grew up in foster care.
We had nothing in common. Except for one night at a hotel and a pregnancy that turned out to be fake.
That's not exactly a foundation for marriage.
Plus, there was the money thing.
That private hospital suite? Probably cost more per day than most people made in a month.
The medical care. The security. The everything.
How the hell was I supposed to pay that back?
Damon would never take my money. I knew that. He'd probably be offended if I even tried.
So what was I supposed to do? Just accept it? Let him throw money at me like I was some kind of charity case?
No. Absolutely not.
The only way to make this clean was to disappear. Cut all ties. Make it so he couldn't throw money at me even if he wanted to.
The Uber driver took a turn. I leaned my head against the window. Watched the city lights blur past.
Here's the thing people don't get about guys like Damon.
They're used to getting what they want. Used to people falling over themselves to please them.
Being around someone like that? It messes with your head.
Makes you think things are more serious than they actually are.
Damon probably felt protective because we'd been stuck together for a few weeks. Because of the fake pregnancy. Because of the hospital drama.
But that wasn't love. That was just... circumstances.
Once I was gone, he'd realize that. He'd move on.
Find someone from his world. Someone who fit.
And I'd go back to my life.
We'd both be better off.
The Uber pulled up to my building. I paid. Tipped. Got out.
Looked up at the address.
This was my backup plan. A apartment in Manhattan.
Paid for with money I'd earned myself. Money that had nothing to do with the Romano family or Damon Wolfe.
I took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Unlocked the door.
The place was empty. Bare walls. Hardwood floors that needed cleaning.
I spent the next few days making it home.
Scrubbed every surface until my hands were raw. Bought furniture from thrift stores and IKEA.
A bed. A couch. A small table with two chairs.
Nothing expensive. Nothing I couldn't afford to lose.
By the end of the week, the place actually looked decent.
I stood in the middle of the living room. Looked around.
Yeah. This would work.
Time to celebrate.
I pulled out my phone. Ordered Chinese food. The good stuff. Hot pot with all the fixings.
Beef. Lamb. Bok choy. Mushrooms. Glass noodles.
The delivery guy showed up thirty minutes later. I tipped him extra. Carried everything inside.
Set up the hot pot on my tiny table. Got the broth boiling.
Laid out all the ingredients on plates.
This was it. My new life. Starting right now.
I was about to drop the first piece of beef into the pot when someone knocked on the door.
I froze.
Who the hell knew I was here?
I hadn't told anyone. Not a single person.
The knocking came again. Louder this time.
I walked over slowly. Looked through the peephole.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Graham. One of the Romano family's three stupid sons.
My so-called brother. Standing in the hallway looking like he'd just walked off a magazine cover.
Tall. Lean. Hair that looked effortlessly styled but probably took an hour.
He was wearing a Tom Ford shirt. Black. Two buttons undone. Showing off his collarbones. Paired with dark jeans. A Rolex on his wrist. Sunglasses hooked on his collar.
The whole "dangerous but attractive" thing that made teenage girls lose their minds.
I considered not opening the door. Just pretending I wasn't home.
But he'd probably just keep knocking. Make a scene.
I unlocked the door. Pulled it open.
Graham's eyebrows shot up when he saw me. Like he couldn't believe I was actually standing there.
"I just wrapped up this club event downtown," he said. Leaned against the doorframe. "Was heading over to meet some people in the industry. You know, networking."
He gestured vaguely toward the street.
"Then I'm walking past your building and I see someone who looks just like you going inside. I thought, no way. Can't be her."
His eyes narrowed. "But here you are. So what the hell are you doing here?"
The fire rose in my chest. "None of your damn business."
I started to close the door.
He stuck his foot in the gap. Pushed it back open.
"What's with the attitude? I heard you had the balls to leave the family house. Who do you think you are?"
Oh my God.
This guy.
This fucking guy.
Graham Romano. The golden boy. The one who treated Zelda like a princess and me like trash.
The one who'd told me repeatedly that Zelda was his real sister. That I was just some hick who showed up out of nowhere.
"Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" I shot back.