CHAPTER 8

I've been staring at Henry's text for hours. The sun's starting to peek through my window, and I haven't slept at all. My mind kept replaying last night - the warmth of his hand, the sadness in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was worth seeing.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Jayde? Are you awake?"

Mom. I quickly wipe my eyes - when did I start crying? "Come in."

She takes one look at my face and sits on the edge of my bed. "You didn't sleep."

It's not a question. She knows me too well.

"The debt's paid," I tell her, watching her face carefully. "All of it."

Her eyes widen. "What? How?"

I open my mouth to explain, but where do I even start? Sorry Mom, I almost married a billionaire while pretending to be someone else. Sorry, I lied to you.

"Someone..." I swallow hard. "Someone helped us."

"Jayde Clinton." Her voice gets that steel edge it used to have before Dad died. "Tell me everything. Right now."

So I do. Everything spills out - Hattie, the marriage contract, Henry, Declan, all of it. By the end, Mom's crying, and I can't tell if they're happy tears or sad ones.

"My brave, stupid girl," she whispers, pulling me close. "You were going to marry a stranger to save me?"

"You're all I have left," I say into her shoulder. "I couldn't lose you too."

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Henry: "Coffee? The little place on Carter Street. No pretending this time."

Mom sees the message over my shoulder. "Go," she says softly.

"What?"

"You've spent years taking care of me. Maybe it's time to take care of yourself too."

I stare at her, this woman who's been my whole world. "But - "

"No buts." She stands, pulling me up with her. "Get dressed. Wear that blue dress - it brings out your eyes."

Thirty minutes later, I'm standing outside The Daily Grind, the tiny coffee shop Henry mentioned. It's nothing like Lake View - just a simple neighborhood place with mismatched chairs and local art on the walls.

Through the window, I see him. He's wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, looking nothing like the billionaire from last night. He seems... nervous.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push open the door. The bell chimes, and he looks up.

His smile makes my heart skip.

"You came," he says, standing. "I wasn't sure..."

"Neither was I."

We stand there awkwardly until someone bumps past us, breaking the spell.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"Please."

He orders for both of us, and I notice he remembers how I took my coffee at Lake View. It's a small thing, but it makes my chest tight.

"So," he says once we're seated, "no more pretending."

"No more pretending," I agree. "But I don't understand why I'm here."

"Because I can't stop thinking about what you said last night." He leans forward. "About not having a choice."

"Henry - "

"Let me finish. Please." His eyes are intense. "All my life, I've done what was expected. Be the perfect son. Make the right business deals. Marry the right person. But last night..."

He trails off, running a hand through his hair in a way that makes him look young again.

"Last night what?"

"Last night I met someone who chose dignity over money. Who was willing to sacrifice everything for family. Who looked at me and saw just... me."

My coffee goes cold as we talk. About everything and nothing. About his childhood with Hattie, about my dreams of beauty school, about the weight of expectations, and the cost of being true to yourself.

"I got a message from Hattie this morning," he says suddenly. "She's in Paris. With him."

"The one she loves?"

He nods. "A photographer. Someone who sees the world differently." His smile is bittersweet. "I'm happy for her."

"Really?"

"Really. Because last night made me realize something - I want what she has. Someone who chose me, not my name or my money."

My heart pounds. "Henry..."

The door chimes. A familiar voice cuts through the coffee shop.

"Well, isn't this cozy?"

Beatrice Everett stands there, looking elegant and deadly. Behind her, James smirks.

"Did you think we wouldn't find out?" Beatrice's voice is silk over steel. "That we'd let you humiliate our family like this?"

"Mother," Henry starts, but she cuts him off.

"Not you, dear." Her eyes fixed on me like a snake watching its prey. "Her. The little impostor who thinks she can climb her way into our world."

"I'm not - " I begin, but she talks over me.

"Oh, but you are. First, you try to steal my daughter's identity, and now you're after her fiancé?" She laughs, cold and sharp. "How ambitious of you."

Henry stands so fast his chair falls backward. "That's enough."

"Enough? It hasn't even begun." Beatrice pulls out her phone. "Shall I call the police? Fraud is such an ugly charge."

My world spins. After everything, after thinking we were finally free...

"Go ahead," Henry's voice is deadly quiet. "Call them. I'll be happy to tell them how you blackmailed an innocent woman. How you threatened her family. How you tried to force her to commit fraud for your benefit."

Beatrice's face pales. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Henry steps closer to her. "You forget, I have proof. All the contracts, all the threats - everything. How do you think the board would react to that scandal?"

For the first time, I see fear flicker across Beatrice's face.

"Now," Henry continues, "here's what's going to happen. You're going to leave. You're going to forget about Jayde and her mother. And you're going to let Hattie live her life."

"Or what?"

"Or I release everything. Your choice."

The silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap.

Finally, Beatrice straightens her spine. "Come, James. We're leaving."

At the door, she turns back. "You'll regret this, Henry."

"No," he says quietly, reaching for my hand. "I don't think I will."

After they're gone, I realize I'm shaking. Henry's hand tightens around mine.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I don't know." I look up at him. "Why did you do that?"

His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Because some things are worth fighting for."

"Like what?"

His eyes meet mine, and suddenly I can't breathe.

"Like a chance," he says softly. "A real chance. No pretending, no contracts. Just... us."

"Us?" The word feels strange on my tongue. "There can't be an us. We're from different worlds."

"Maybe." He smiles. "Or maybe we're exactly where we're supposed to be."

My phone buzzes - a text from Mom: "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Looking at Henry, at our joined hands, at the simple coffee shop where a billionaire chose to meet me...

Maybe I did.

"So," Henry says, "what happens now?"

For the first time in years, I let myself hope. "I don't know. But I'd like to find out."

His smile is like a sunrise after the longest night.

Sometimes the best love stories aren't about pretending to be someone else.

They're about finally being brave enough to be yourself.