Chapter 13: What the Drawer Hid

The echoes of the gala still clung to the inside of Melinda’s skull like an expensive perfume that wouldn’t fade. She sat in James’s penthouse now barefoot, her dress discarded on the chaise, wrapped in a silk robe. The city stretched out beneath her, glittering like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just exposed years of pain with a few razor-edged sentences.

James stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped low around his waist. “You didn’t have to say all that,” he said, not accusing just observing.

Melinda looked at him from the balcony seat. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”

He approached her slowly, water glistening on his chest. “You burned Andrew alive in front of everyone. His reputation won’t recover.”

She gave a half smile. “Good.”

James studied her. “You’re dangerous.”

Melinda tilted her head, gaze sharp. “And you like that.”

A small smile curved his lips. “I do.”

But beneath the charged silence, something in James’s eyes had shifted. Subtle. Flickering. As though her words had shaken something loose in him, something he hadn’t expected to feel.

He turned, heading to the sleek black dresser by the wall, searching for a shirt.

“Top drawer,” Melinda called absently, sipping wine.

He opened it. Then I froze.

A beat.

Another.

“What is it?” she asked, standing now.

He didn’t answer right away. Melinda moved beside him and saw it.

A photo. Old. Slightly bent at the corner.

It was of her.

But not just her.

It was her… and Andrew. Younger. Smiling. Arms around each other. And someone else.

Someone standing behind them with his hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

James.

Melinda stared, her blood turning cold.

“That… can’t be right,” she whispered. “You told me you didn’t know him.”

James stared at the photo, jaw clenched. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t know I knew him.”

Melinda’s hands trembled as she picked up the picture. “This isn’t just a party photo. You were there. You were part of it.”

“I must’ve blocked it out,” James muttered. “That was a dark time for me. My father he made me attend these events. I never cared to remember the people.”

But Melinda didn’t respond. Her thoughts were racing.

Why was James in the photo?

Why was he touching Andrew like they were connected?

And most terrifying of all why did it feel like this wasn’t a coincidence?

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:

“You’re looking in the wrong place. He’s not who you think he is. Meet me tomorrow. Alone.”

Melinda looked up, and for the first time in weeks… she wasn’t sure if she could trust the man standing across from her.

James moved away from the dresser slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. Melinda remained frozen, the photograph still in her hands, her mind trying to grasp the weight of what she was seeing.

“You’re telling me you don’t remember standing next to Andrew like this?” she asked, voice low, sharp like glass.

James turned, his expression serious. “I was at dozens of those elite events growing up, Mel. My father he was obsessed with power, with connections. I was dragged around like a trophy. I never remembered half the people I met. You know I’m not lying to you.”

“But this isn’t just any event,” she said. “Look at this, this is my birthday. This was taken in my mother’s garden. You were there. In my home.”

His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite read something like realization… or regret.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Melinda, I swear to you, if I’d known”

“No,” she cut in, stepping back. “Don’t ‘swear’ anything. You’ve been in my life longer than I realized. And somehow, you never thought to tell me that you and Andrew crossed paths?”

“I didn’t know he was Andrew until the gala,” James said. “And when I saw that look on your face, i …

He paused, exhaling. “I didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had.”

The message on her phone buzzed again.

“Tomorrow. 8 p.m. If you want the truth, come alone. Don’t trust the man you’re sleeping beside.”

Her stomach dropped.

She tucked the phone into her robe pocket and stared out the window, heart hammering.

This wasn’t just about heartbreak anymore. This was about betrayal, about hidden pasts, and about the possibility that James whether knowingly or not had always been part of the storm that destroyed her.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said plainly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t think I’ve been okay since the day Andrew first touched my life.”

James moved to place a hand on her arm, but she flinched before he could reach her.

“I need air,” she whispered. “I need space.”

“I’ll give you that,” he said gently. “But Melinda…” He waited until she looked at him. “Whatever that photo means, I’m not your enemy.”

She gave him a tight, unreadable smile. “We’ll see.”

And with that, she slipped out of the room the photo still clutched in her hand, and the weight of its truth dragging behind her like a ghost she never invited.