“You’ve been letting him walk all over you—”
“Did you wonder where I was for over a month? Or did you hope I’d died? What about West? You just continued your life happily without the two children weighing you down.” Lottie tilted her head, as if finally seeing her mom for the first time. “What did he promise you, Mom? What was worth your son’s life? Your daughter’s happiness? Did he promise you Jack?”
Her eyes popped. “West died in the tragic plane crash with your father and I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Liar,” Lottie wheezed. “You liar. You think I don’t know about you and Jack?” she screamed. “You love him. You don’t love me.”
Mrs. du Lac paused, looking around at the gathered crowd. Her gaze shifted, searing into mine. “You’re a mother now. What would you do, if your child’s perfect life was about to collapse under the glass heel of one stupid, flighty girl?”
I stepped closer. “I couldn’t care less about your opinion of me. I think it would be rather odd to put stock in the moral ramblings of someone so clearly devoid of them.”
“It’s time for you to go, Mom,” Charlotte said, voice strong.
“But first.” I handed my trash to Mrs. du Lac. “Could you please throw these away for me?”
Mrs. du Lac sputtered, her nostrils flared, then she lifted her chin and walked through a slew of paparazzi at the gates.
> Grayson’s eyes found mine across the police and paparazzi flashes. He pushed through the crowd, when a whirlwind surrounded him—paparazzi, police, greedy partygoers still dressed in their best. They all followed him, glued to his every movement.
Beryl Crowne had just been dethroned, and they saw what I saw, the crown on his head, now straightened.
If he couldn’t get to me, then I’d run to him.
GRAY
Paparazzi swarmed me while I looked for Story. I’d just seen her before they descended. Without any guards, it was a lot fucking harder to get rid of them.
Grayson, how long have you known?
Grayson, how do you feel now that you’re leading the company?
Grayson—
I pushed one out of the way.
Grayson—
And another.
“Grayson.”
I stopped short at one voice saying my name so different than the others. That husky, sweet tone that lived in my blood.
Story stood in the middle of the paparazzi, a fucking vision in white tulle and bare feet. Her wild curls sticking to her face, her plump lips parted.
I shoved the two paparazzi flanking her out of the way.
I wasn’t sure if the pounding in my ears was the sound of my blood, my breathing, or the cameras going off.
Story tilted her neck back to see into my eyes. “Hi, Atlas.”
I crushed her to me, holding her between her shoulder blades.
Breathing her in.
I knew the cameras went off by the heat, and the click click click.
“Who is she?” Flash.