Falling for My Runaway Bride

Chapter 23:

She didn’t knock.

Of course she didn’t. Athena Sinclaire never knocked. She entered—always—and expected the world to adjust around her.

She stepped through the doorway like she owned it, barely glancing at the worn doormat, the peeling edge of our hallway paint, or the fact that the apartment was clearly not curated to her taste. Her coat was immaculate, cashmere and camel, buttoned to her throat despite the temperature. Her hair was still sleek, her heels too high for someone who'd just walked through four blocks of the city, but then again—maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d been dropped off in a black car two feet from our door and had the driver wait in case she needed to make a quick, triumphant exit.

She surveyed the apartment with a glance so critical it didn’t even need words. Her lips barely moved as she ran a manicured hand along the edge of our couch and casually wiped away a spec of invisible lint.

“Charming,” she murmured, though I was fairly certain she meant depressing.

I didn’t speak.

She took a seat without asking, folding herself gracefully into the middle cushion like she hadn’t just shown up uninvited to the scene of my collapse.

Isabella stood at my side like a human shield. Her voice was tight, chin raised. “Is this the part where the Wicked Witch of the West tries to lure you into her flying monkey cult?”

I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t.

I was too tired.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at me a moment longer, clearly weighing whether she should call the cops preemptively, then grabbed her keys and disappeared down the hall.

The door clicked shut, and we were alone.

My mother crossed one leg over the other, smoothed her skirt, and finally looked at me.

“Well,” she said lightly, “have you had your fun?”

The breath I drew felt sharp.

“Cut the prelude,” I said. “There’s always a deal with you. Just get to the point.”

Her mouth curved, not quite a smile—more like the memory of one. “Still so dramatic. I see Duarte’s influence hasn’t mellowed you.”

“Just say what you came here to say.”

She blinked slowly, as if bored already. “Very well. I’m here to offer you a solution. You’ve made a mess—public, salacious, and regrettably viral. Jeremy’s interview is circulating at every level, and your image is officially circling the drain. And let’s not forget Liam Duarte. His company’s stock dropped three percent this morning. One more wave of headlines, and the board will have his head on a very expensive platter.”

I clenched my jaw. “And?”

“And I can fix it,” she said simply. “I can make the story disappear. I can remind the media that Jeremy has… indiscretions of his own. I can bury his credibility. I can erase the whole narrative before it becomes permanent.”

I waited.

Because I knew the cost was coming.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees like we were just two women having tea.

“All I need is for you to come home. Quietly. Respectfully. You make one public appearance with the family—something tasteful. Then we issue a statement. Regret, exhaustion, the stress of the transition. You take a leave of absence, return to the fold, and let me rebuild your reputation on my terms.”

It landed like a contract on the table.

And I didn’t respond right away. Not because I didn’t know what I wanted to say. But because I knew she wouldn’t let me speak until she was finished.

She gave me a once-over, her expression unreadable.

“You’re not thinking clearly right now,” she added, voice softer. “You’re heartbroken. Embarrassed. And unemployed. And I think you’re beginning to understand that the world isn’t as forgiving as you believed. Do you know how many companies will take a chance on a disgraced heiress who faked her identity to sleep with her boss and got her ex fired on the way out?”

My throat tightened.

“That’s not what happened,” I said.

“No,” she agreed. “But that’s what they believe.”

Silence.

“And I suppose the real question is this—are you really so determined to punish me that you’d let yourself burn just to prove a point?”

I sat back against the wall, arms folded tightly across my chest.

Because I knew what she was doing.

Because it was working.