HE WOULD RATHER DESTROY ME

The investigation took weeks, not hours. The rental company produced records. The police interviewed the driver. Noah obtained preservation orders for relevant business communications, and Adrian's legal team cooperated with investigators rather than trying to run the case themselves.

Lucas Reed came to see me at the museum one afternoon. He looked uncomfortable in the quiet conservation workshop, as if the smell of varnish were proof he'd entered a world where Julian's influence meant nothing.

“I should have stopped him at the party,” he said.

“Yes.”

He accepted that. “I came because I have something you need to see.”

He handed me copies of messages he'd received from Julian. They showed Julian ordering a private investigator to follow me and demanding updates about my meetings with Adrian. One message, sent shortly before the gala, read: Make sure he understands he can't just walk away.

Another conversation showed Vanessa offering to handle the problem. Julian had responded: Do whatever you have to. Just don't let Sterling take him from me.

“Julian says he never meant anyone to get hurt,” Lucas said.

“But he knew I was being followed.”

“Yes.” Lucas looked down. “I'm sorry.”

I gave the messages to Noah. They were evidence, not absolution. The investigation later established that Vanessa had hired the driver through an intermediary and instructed him to frighten me. The driver lost control while trying to swerve across my path. Julian hadn't authorized the collision directly, but his instructions and his willingness to ignore dangerous methods had helped create the situation.

The more I learned, the more clearly I saw the difference between regret and accountability.

Julian requested a meeting through Noah. Against my brother's advice, I agreed to one conversation in a public courtyard, with Noah nearby and Adrian aware of my decision. I wanted to hear what Julian would say when he could no longer pretend nothing had happened.

He arrived carrying flowers.

“You look well,” he said.

“I'm healing.”

His gaze landed on the faint mark along my arm. His face tightened. “I didn't know Vanessa would do that.”

“You knew she was trying to frighten me.”

“I was angry. I wasn't thinking.”

“You were thinking about what you wanted. That's always been the problem.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Elliot, I love you.”

I had imagined hearing those words so often that I knew exactly how my old self would have reacted. He would have cried. He would have stepped forward. He would have decided that every bruise was somehow worth it.

Now I felt only tired.

“I don't want to hear that from you.”

“I can give you everything Sterling gives you.”

“No, you can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because Adrian never made me afraid to say no.”

Julian's expression hardened. “He's changing you.”

“No. I'm changing myself.”

I stood. “This is the last time we speak privately. All future contact goes through Noah.”

Julian called after me, but I kept walking. I didn't turn around to see whether he was crying. His feelings were finally his responsibility.

That night I found Adrian in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, attempting to rescue a sauce he'd clearly ruined. I stood in the doorway and watched him curse softly at a pan.

“You look very powerful,” I said.

“This sauce is resisting a merger.”

I laughed, and then, unexpectedly, I began to cry.

Adrian set down the spoon and came to me. “What happened?”

“Nothing new. Everything old.” I pressed my face against his chest. “I saw Julian today. I told him no, and I walked away.”

“I'm proud of you.”

“I love you.”

He went still.

I looked up. “I love you, Adrian. Not because you saved me. Not because you waited. Because I like the person I am when I'm with you—and because I love who you are when nobody's watching.”

His eyes shone. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Elliot.” He kissed my forehead, my cheek, and finally my mouth. “I love you too.”

We ate burned pasta on the floor and stayed up talking long after midnight. For once I wasn't afraid of what the next chapter might bring.

At eight the following morning, Noah called.

“We've found something in Vanessa's transactions,” he said. “And Elliot, it's connected to Bennett Restoration's parent company.”

I sat upright. The old future flashed before my eyes: Noah standing in a ruined office.

“Our family?” I asked.

“I'm afraid so.”