Chapter 87
Andrew's POV
Arriving at the parking lot, I found Violet.
She sat alone on a stone bench beside her family's luxury sedan, looking like a broken doll someone had carelessly discarded. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, mascara streaked down her cheeks in dark rivulets. She clutched a soggy cocktail napkin in her trembling hands, staring at nothing.
Perfect.
I approached with calculated concern, my voice pitched just right—sympathetic but not overly familiar. "Violet, I'm sorry tonight's hospitality wasn't what it should have been. You've clearly been through something difficult."
She looked up at me with those devastated blue eyes, and I could practically see the cracks in her composure widening. The sight of Alex slipping that ring onto Grace's finger had shattered something fundamental inside her.
"Would you like me to drive you home?" I offered, gesturing toward my car. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
Violet nodded numbly, too emotionally drained to refuse or even question my motives. She stood unsteadily, and I guided her toward my car with a gentle hand on her elbow.
---
The drive through Starport's financial district started in silence. Violet sat in the passenger seat like a ghost, responding to my attempts at conversation with vacant stares and one-word answers. But when we stopped at a red light at the intersection of Fifth and Madison, something inside her finally snapped.
"Pull over," she whispered, then louder, more urgent: "Pull over now!"
I barely had time to steer toward the curb before she was stumbling out of the car, retching violently into a nearby trash can. All that expensive champagne and caviar, mixed with raw emotion and probably too many cocktails, came pouring out. Gone was the polished Cooper family princess—this was just a heartbroken woman falling apart in public.
I grabbed a silk handkerchief from my jacket pocket and approached her. "Here, take this."
But she knocked it away, the expensive fabric fluttering to the dirty sidewalk. "Why?" she demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"
Finally. Some fight left in her.
I leaned against the car, studying her tear-stained face. "I feel sorry for you, honestly. Everyone in that room tonight knew you and Alex were supposed to be together. The Cooper and Morgan families practically had an understanding, didn't they? You two were perfect for each other—same background, same world, same everything."
Her face crumpled. "You don't understand anything!"
"I understand more than you think," I continued, my voice taking on a more persuasive tone. "Alex and Grace... that marriage happened so fast. Too fast. Marriages built on convenience rarely last, Violet. And when it falls apart—and it will—Alex is going to remember who was there for him all along."
I stepped closer, letting my voice drop to an intimate whisper. "I could help you, if you'd let me. Sometimes waiting patiently for someone to come to their senses isn't enough. Sometimes you have to actively remind them what they're missing."
Violet's eyes met mine, and I saw something dangerous flicker to life behind the tears. Good. That's exactly what I need.
---
But then movement across the street caught my attention. A familiar figure in casual jeans and a canvas messenger bag was hurrying toward the crosswalk—Julie, Grace's assistant. Our eyes met for a split second across the traffic, and her face went pale as recognition hit.
Shit.
Julie immediately changed direction, practically jogging away from us toward a small private medical facility on the corner. I watched her disappear through the glass doors, my mind racing. What was Grace's loyal little assistant doing in this part of town? And why did she look so panicked when she saw me?
This could be a problem.
"Andrew?" Violet's voice pulled my attention back. "What were you saying about helping me?"
I forced a smile, filing away Julie's suspicious behavior for future investigation. "Nothing that can't wait. Let me get you home safely first."
---
Julie's POV
I burst through the medical center's doors, my heart hammering against my ribs. Please tell me Andrew didn't just see me. The elevator couldn't come fast enough—I jabbed the button repeatedly, glancing nervously toward the street through the glass lobby doors.
When the elevator finally arrived, I practically threw myself inside, pressing the button for the third floor. Only when the doors closed did I allow myself to breathe again.
Room 312. I'd memorized the number weeks ago.
I pushed open the door to the cramped three-person room, where Mom lay propped up against thin pillows, looking smaller and frailer than ever. My fourteen-year-old brother Harry was curled up beside her on the narrow bed, both of them squeezed into the corner spot—the cheapest option the hospital offered.
"Hey, Mom." I kept my voice cheerful as I pulled out the bag of supplies I'd brought—protein shakes, her medications, some magazines. "How are you feeling today?"
She managed a weak smile. "Better, sweetheart. The new treatment seems to be helping."
Liar. I could see the pain in her eyes, the way she held herself carefully to avoid jarring movements. But I smiled back anyway, because that's what we did in our family—we pretended everything was manageable.
I pulled Harry aside in the hallway, pressing a small stack of cash into his hands. "For groceries and your school lunch money, okay? And remember what I told you about Mom's medication schedule."
He nodded solemnly, far too serious for a kid his age. "Julie, are you sure we can afford all this? The bills keep coming..."
Mom's cancer treatment is bleeding us dry, and insurance barely covers half of it. But I couldn't tell him that.
"Don't worry about the money, Harry. That's my job."