CHAPTER NINETEEN
CAROLINE
Hours later, I am still on the floor where Nat left me, sobbing silently into my pillow. My eyes sting, my throat feels raw, and my heart—my foolish heart—aches like something has been ripped out of me.
After so much crying, I come to a few clear, painful decisions.
I am tired—tired of letting people make decisions for me.
Tired of being used and discarded like I don't matter.
From this moment onward, I'm taking myself seriously.
One: I am taking my life back.
Two: I am in control of my life from now on.
Three: I am done pretending everything is fine when it's not.
I push myself up slowly, dizzy from crying, and walk to where I keep my bag. I pull out a few aspirin for my pounding head and make coffee from the warm water left in my flask. It's not so hot—just how I like it.
I sit back on the floor, sipping quietly, staring into nothing.
My eyes drift to the dress hanging neatly on the wall—the one Nat bought for me. My fingers tighten as anger flickers inside me. For a moment, I imagine tearing it apart, burning it, cutting it to shreds.
But then, something steadier takes hold.
I stand, pick up the dress, and walk to the window where my scissors lie. I sit back down, scissors in hand, staring at the fabric. Then my gaze catches the shoes, the bag, and the wig he also bought, lying close to my DVD player.
"No," I whisper. "I won't give you that satisfaction."
I take a deep breath, my voice growing firmer with each word.
"Nat, you're the one who's beyond repair—keeping what I said for years just to hurt me back. You finally got what you wanted. So what now? You gotten to take me sexually, and that's all. I'll wear this dress, rock these things, and move on. I'll date again, get a better job, and love again—if I find someone who deserves me."
Saying it aloud feels like shedding old skin. A strange calm settles over me.
I hang the dress with my other clothes and reach for my phone.
I call Lovett. She picks up on the third ring.
"Hello, babe."
"Hi, dear. Today's Saturday. What's the plan?" I ask.
"I was just about to call you. I'll be over at your place in thirty minutes," she says quickly.
"Okay, I'll wait."
"Please do. I need to get you ready. I'll bring everything you'll need."
She hangs up before I can protest.
Thirty minutes later.
A knock sounds on my door. I open it to find Lovett standing there, arms full of shopping bags. She walks in and drops them on my bed.
I sit on the floor while she settles on my bed, studying my face in silence before sighing softly.
"If this date upsets you that much, you should have called," she says gently. "I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble."
"No, no. I want to go. It's not the date that's upsetting me."
Her eyes soften. "Then what is?"
The tears return before I can stop them. I tell her everything that's happened these past two days—every word, every betrayal, every ache.
She listens quietly until I finish, then pulls me into her arms and holds me close.
"That's so low of him," she says finally. "His loss. But you should have told me, Caro. If I was involved, he wouldn't have fooled both of us."
"I'm sorry, Lovett. I feel like a fool—first Daniel, now Phillip. I must be cursed."
She shakes her head and holds me tighter.
"No, Caro. You're not cursed. You're just a woman who loves deeply. You fall hard, but you rise stronger. That's not weakness—it's power."
She leans back and meets my eyes.
"Now, are you sure you still want to go out tonight? Don't feel pressured. I can tell Nicolas you're unwell."
I sniff and smile faintly. "No, I'll go. I need the distraction. But I can't handle anything sexual—I'm still sore from last night."
Her eyes widen. "Oh my God, was he that good?"
"More than good," I admit with a laugh. "I can barely walk."
Lovett bursts into laughter, and I join her. The sound feels strange—like rediscovering a part of myself I'd buried.
When the laughter fades, I sigh. "So you see, I can't handle—"
"Don't worry," she cuts in with a smile. "Nicolas isn't expecting anything sexual. I told him you don't sleep with men on the first date. He knows better."
"How Nat got me in bed so fast still shocks me," I mutter. "It must have been the wine. Can you believe he had me at the car park?"
Lovett gasps. "You're joking!"
"I wish I was. I must have given everyone there a free live show."
"Are you sure he didn't drug you?" she asks carefully.
I pause. "I… don't know. Maybe. I wasn't watching my drink the whole time."
She checks her wristwatch. "Dear, we need to get ready, or Kim will start his 'you ruined the date' sermon."
"Really?" I tease.
"Yes!" she groans. "He once spent a whole date lecturing me about punctuality. Never again."
We both laugh again. "Then no sermons tonight," I say.
We rush to get dressed. I wear the shoes and bag Nat bought, but not the dress. I choose the one Lovett brought instead. When we're ready, we call an Uber to take us to the restaurant.
NATHANIEL
Matt sits across from me in the sitting room, his glass untouched. Mine's already half-empty. The silence between us hums with tension.
He finally breaks it. "So," he says quietly, "you finally did it."
I glance at him. "Did what?"
He doesn't blink. "You killed her."
I frown. "She's alive, Matt."
"Not her body," he says evenly. "You killed the version of her you've been worshiping all these years."
I stare at him. "You've had too much to drink."
"I haven't had a sip," he replies, pushing the glass aside. "But you—you've been drunk for years, Nat. Drunk on revenge, on obsession, on a woman who stopped being yours a long time ago."
"Stop," I warn. "You don't know what you're talking about."
He leans forward. "Oh, I do. You called it payback. You said you wanted justice. But what you really wanted was worship. You made her your idol—your golden calf—and you've been bowing to her memory ever since she left you. Every plan you made, every move, every thought—it all led back to her."
I slam my glass down hard enough to spill. "You're talking nonsense."
Matt doesn't flinch. "No, I'm talking truth. You built your whole life around her ghost. You studied her, plotted your revenge, and when you finally got close enough—you sacrificed her on your altar of pride. Congratulations, Nat. You've murdered the god you created."
My jaw tightens. "Don't make this poetic, Matt. She deserved what she got."
"Did she?" he asks quietly. "Because from where I'm standing, you look worse than she ever did. You're sitting here hollow, miserable, pretending to be satisfied. You didn't win, Nat—you lost the last bit of yourself that could still feel."
I glare at him. "You think I care?"
He gives a tired smile. "You care. That's why you're still talking about her."
Silence.
He finishes his drink and stands. "You finally killed your idol, Nat—the woman who once ruled your heart. You wanted freedom, but all you've got is emptiness."
He walks to the door, pauses, and adds quietly, "You'll wake up one morning and realize the only person you truly destroyed… was yourself."
He leaves without another word.
I stand there, motionless. His words hang in the air, sharp and heavy.
I pour another drink and swallow it whole, but the burn does nothing to ease the ache.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I did idolize her.
But if that's true… then what am I now, without her?
I set the glass down, grab my jacket, and head for the door.
I call my driver.
"Hello?"
"Hello, sir."
"Where are you?"
"In the compound, sir."
"Good. Get ready—you're taking me out."
"Yes, sir."
I stride out of the house. Maggie, my housekeeper, opens the door and steps aside.
"Thanks, Maggie," I mutter.
The night air hits my face—cold, quiet, unforgiving.
And still, Matt's words follow me out:
You've murdered the idol you built… and now you have nothing left to worship.