Chapter 2: The Lie Between Us

For one suspended second, Edmond said nothing.

The music continued pounding through the bar, absurdly cheerful against the violence still vibrating in the air. A server crouched several feet away, gathering broken glass with trembling hands. Around them, curious strangers pretended not to stare.

Sheila held Edmond's gaze and repeated, "Apologize."

His jaw tightened.

Thurston looked between them as if he had stepped into an alternate reality. "Edmond, you do not owe this man—"

"I'm sorry."

The words were flat, clipped, and clearly forced, but they landed with enough weight to silence everyone nearby.

Simon gave a humorless laugh and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "You call that an apology?"

Edmond's eyes shifted toward him. Whatever restraint Sheila's presence had imposed vanished from his expression, leaving behind something dangerously calm.

"It is the only one you're getting."

Simon surged forward, but Sheila caught his arm before he could take a step. "Enough. We are leaving."

"Sheila—"

"Please."

The single word stopped him. Simon looked down at her hand gripping his sleeve, then at her pale face. His anger did not disappear, but concern slowly replaced it.

"Fine," he muttered.

Sheila turned without another glance at Edmond and guided Simon toward the exit. She kept her spine straight until the cold night air struck her face. Only then did she realize that she had been holding her breath.

Behind her, the bar door opened.

She knew who it was without looking.

"Sheila."

Three years had not weakened the effect of her name in his voice. It still slipped beneath her skin and found every place she had failed to protect.

Simon stopped beside her. "Do you want me to handle him?"

"Get in the car," she said quietly.

"I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"You're bleeding. There is a first-aid kit in the glove compartment. Give me two minutes."

Simon clearly wanted to argue, but something in her expression convinced him. He walked toward his car, though he remained close enough to intervene.

Sheila finally faced Edmond.

Thurston stood several yards behind him, speaking urgently into his phone. Edmond's knuckles were split, and a thin line of blood ran down the side of his hand. He did not seem to notice.

"What do you want?" she asked.

His gaze moved briefly toward Simon. "Is he really your boyfriend?"

A bitter laugh escaped her. "You followed me outside to ask that?"

"Answer me."

The old arrogance in the command ignited her anger, and she welcomed it. Anger was easier to survive than grief.

"You lost the right to demand answers from me three years ago."

"I lost it?" His voice lowered. "You stood in front of everyone we knew and told me I meant nothing to you. Then you disappeared."

"And you recovered beautifully." Her eyes burned, but she refused to blink. "Congratulations on becoming a father."

Something changed in his face. Not guilt. Not surprise exactly. Confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Sheila's heart stumbled, but she forced herself to remain still. "The child at the airport. He called you Daddy."

For the first time that night, Edmond looked genuinely caught off guard. Then understanding flickered across his features.

"Leo is not my son."

The city seemed to fall silent around her.

Sheila stared at him. "I saw him run into your arms."

"He is my cousin's child. His father died last year." Edmond's tone had lost its sharpness. "He calls me Daddy when he is frightened or excited. His mother has been trying to correct him."

Relief struck Sheila so suddenly that it was almost painful.

She hated herself for it.

She hated the warmth that rushed into her frozen chest and the reckless, humiliating hope that tried to rise with it. She crushed both immediately.

"That has nothing to do with me," she said.

Edmond watched her too closely. "Then why did you look like you were about to collapse when you saw us?"

"I had just gotten off a long flight."

"You always were a terrible liar."

The accusation sliced straight through her.

Sheila took a step toward him before she could stop herself. "You know nothing about the lies I tell or why I tell them."

His eyes darkened. "Then explain the one that ended us."

Her pulse thundered.

For one treacherous instant, the truth pressed against her teeth. She saw the hospital corridor from three years ago, smelled antiseptic, and heard the measured voice warning her what would happen if she remained in Edmond's life.

She remembered the documents laid before her and the photographs that proved how easily powerful people could destroy York's work and everyone attached to it.

She had chosen the lie because it had been the only weapon she possessed.

And she had used it perfectly.

"There is nothing to explain," she said.

The faint vulnerability that had appeared in Edmond's expression vanished.

"Of course not."

He stepped back, and the distance felt strangely like a door closing.

Sheila should have been relieved. Instead, the ache returned sharper than before.

"Stay away from Simon," she said. "Whatever problem you have with me, do not drag him into it."

"He dragged himself into it when he started talking about you."

"What did he say?"

Edmond's mouth curved without humor. "Ask your boyfriend."

"He is not—"

She stopped.

Edmond went utterly still.

Sheila closed her eyes for half a second, furious at her own mistake.

"Not what?" he asked.

"Not your concern."

She turned away, but his hand closed around her wrist.

The contact was brief. Bare skin against bare skin. Yet the shock of it tore through them both.

Sheila looked down at his fingers. Edmond released her immediately, as though he had touched fire.

"Do not touch me," she whispered.

His hand curled at his side. "You never used to say that."

"A lot has changed."

"Not enough."

She looked up.

His composure had cracked just enough for her to see what lay beneath it: anger, exhaustion, and an old wound that looked far too much like her own.

Before either of them could speak again, Thurston approached. "Edmond, the driver is here. We need to go before someone posts footage of this online."

Edmond did not look away from Sheila. "This conversation is not over."

"It ended three years ago."

"No," he said softly. "You ended it. That is not the same thing."

He walked away before she could answer.

Simon came to her side a moment later, pressing a folded tissue to his lip. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

He gave her a long look. "You say that a lot when you clearly aren't."

Sheila opened the passenger door. "What did you say to him?"

Simon hesitated.

Her hand tightened around the handle. "Simon."

"He heard me talking to one of the investors," he admitted. "The man asked whether you and I were serious. I said I intended to be."

She stared at him.

"I know we are not actually together," Simon continued quickly. "I was still playing along with what you said at the hotel. Then Halley appeared and told me to stop using your name for attention. I told him at least I would not throw you away and replace you with a family. He hit me."

Sheila rubbed her aching temple. "You should not have said that."

"He should not have punched me."

"Both things can be true."

Simon leaned against the car. "For a man who hates you, he looked ready to kill me for wanting you."

Sheila's throat tightened.

"He doesn't want me," she said. "He wants to win."

She climbed into the car before Simon could challenge the lie.

Across the street, hidden behind the dark glass of a waiting sedan, Edmond watched her leave.

Thurston sat beside him, holding an ice pack against Edmond's injured hand. "You apologized to that man. You followed her outside. And now you're staring at her car like it contains the last oxygen tank on earth."

Edmond remained silent.

"Tell me one thing," Thurston pressed. "Do you still love her?"

The sedan carrying Sheila disappeared around the corner.

Edmond looked down at the blood drying across his knuckles.

"No," he said.

But his voice sounded exactly like hers had three years ago.