TUDOR
It was late now. The press had begun to clear out—camera crews packing up, wires being wound, lights dimming one by one until the street was cast in its usual shadows. But I came just in time—just enough for them to get the shot. Me, stepping out of the black car with just the right touch of urgency. The devoted husband arriving home to his scandal-ridden wife. The man of honor. The savior.
Not the puppet master behind it all.
Flashes exploded the moment my foot touched the pavement. Blinding. Obnoxious. But necessary. I gave them what they wanted—half a look, jaw clenched just right, a glint of sorrow in my eyes. The image would sell: loyal, stoic, heartbroken. And yet, perfectly composed.
I moved toward the house, not fast, not slow—just the pace of a man dreading what he'd find. The cameras loved it.
Inside, the silence hit me first. That heavy, wet kind of silence that clings to the air after a storm. And there she was—Millie. Sitting at the foot of the stairs like some shattered porcelain doll someone had tried to glue back together. Her hair was in knots, eyeliner smeared like war paint, cheeks stained with the tracks of too many tears. Her dress looked rumpled, like she'd slept in it—or hadn't slept at all.
The second she saw me, she jerked upright, her whole body trembling like a violin string pulled too tight. Wide, glassy eyes locked on mine. Hope. Terror. Shame. All of it wrapped in one fragile expression.
Pathetic.
Still, I had a role to play. Just a little longer. The grand finale was coming, but it wasn't time yet.
I walked past her without a word. Her shoulder brushed mine, and she flinched like I'd slapped her. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, to beg, to confess, but nothing came out. I could practically feel the desperation radiating from her like heat.
I made it to the bottom of the stairs, paused, my back to her.
"What else are you hiding from me?"
Dead silence.
Then, a small, shaky breath.
"I… I…"
"Right." I cut her off. I didn't want to hear it. Not really. But I had to pretend I did. I had to wear the mask a bit longer.
Her hands trembled as they lifted toward me, hovered, then dropped. Defeated. She sank back onto the step like her legs couldn't hold her up.
"I'm not a bad person, Tudor. I swear," she said softly, her voice hoarse from crying. "I've never hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt you."
"You're not a bad person?" I turned my head slightly, just enough for her to catch the disappointment in my profile. "Then why lie? Why bury your past like it's a corpse?"
Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up again.
"Because I wasn't proud of what I did," she whispered. "I gave up my child when I was just a girl. I was scared and lost, and I thought… I thought no one would understand. How do you explain something like that without sounding heartless?"
I let the silence stretch, heavy and punishing. Then, finally, I sighed—long and slow, like a man wrestling with betrayal and the desire to forgive.
"You could've told me. You should have. Everyone makes mistakes. But hiding it? That's what makes it hard to believe anything else."
She looked away, eyes squeezed shut. A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't speak again.
I took a step upward, ready to end the performance for the night. But then—
"I was the reason my dad died."
I froze.
My hand gripped the bannister just a little tighter.
Damn it. I was this close to walking away. But now? She had cracked open another secret. Another piece of the tragic puzzle.
I turned slowly, every movement calculated. Face softened. Eyebrows drawn together, just slightly. I was the image of compassion.
"What do you mean?" I asked gently, stepping down again.
She let out a hollow laugh—joyless and bitter. Her fingers twisted in her lap.
"He was driving me to college," she said. "I begged him to stop at this shady gas station because I was thirsty. He didn't want to, said we should keep going, but I insisted. And while he was waiting for me in the car… a trailer… it hit him. Killed him instantly."
Her voice broke.
"If I hadn't begged him to stop, he'd still be alive. He was everything to me. And I… I got him killed."
She looked up at me, eyes brimming with grief.
"That's when everything spiraled. I stopped caring about school, about myself. I got into the wrong crowd. Got pregnant. I gave the baby up because I didn't think I deserved to be a mother. I felt cursed."
She pressed her hands to her chest as if trying to keep herself from falling apart again.
"That was my rock bottom. That's when I decided to start over. Become someone else. Someone better. That's who I was when I met you."
I nodded slowly, lowering myself to sit beside her. I reached out, brushing her knuckles gently.
"No one deserves that kind of pain," I murmured, my voice low and warm—exactly the way she needed it to be. "You've been through hell. I just wish you had trusted me with the truth."
She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around me. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing all over again. I held her. One hand on her back. The other smoothing her hair like I actually gave a damn.
"I'm sorry for everything," she choked out. "I never wanted it to come back like this. Not here. Not now. I love you, Tudor. More than anything."
I closed my eyes. Forced myself to say it.
"I love you too, Millie."
The lie came so easily now.
She relaxed into me like a child in her father's arms. I dabbed at her tears with my sleeve, let a tender smile touch my lips.
"Your eyes are so red. Have you been crying all day?" I asked, my tone teasing but soft.
She laughed weakly, brushing hair from her face.
"I thought you were going to leave me."
"That'll never happen, Millie," I said, and for once, I almost believed it myself. "If only you knew how much I love you."
She blushed, looking down. Shy. Embarrassed.
"Ugh, I look like a mess. I need to go fix myself up."
"You look beautiful to me," I said again, because lies were easier than truth.
She giggled and turned to climb the stairs, pausing only to take my hand in hers. She squeezed it with a dramatic smile, eyes shining, then let go and disappeared upstairs.
Once she was gone, I let my smile fall away.
I descended the steps slowly and made my way to the living room. The moment I reached the bar, I pulled out my phone and dialed.
Damien answered on the first ring.
"It's time to drop the next bombshell," I said flatly.
No response. He didn't need one.
The call ended.
I poured myself a glass of scotch. Sat back in the leather chair by the fireplace. Took a slow sip.
The next move had already begun.