Chapter 29: Bachelor Party

Marcus deserved better than a best man with secrets. He deserved the truth.

The whiskey wasn't working. It was a twenty-five-year-old single malt, smooth as silk and burning like hellfire, but it wasn't doing the one thing I needed it to do. It wasn't drowning out the memory of Aria’s pale face when she collapsed in the boardroom yesterday.

It wasn't silencing the voice in my head that screamed traitor every time Marcus smiled at me.

"To the groom!" James, my younger brother, shouted, raising his glass. "The man who finally convinced a Stone sister to settle down!"

"To Marcus!" the other groomsmen chorused.

I raised my glass. My hand was steady—a lifetime of boardroom poker faces served me well—but my gut was twisting into a knot that no amount of alcohol could loosen.

"To Marcus," I echoed.

We were in the VIP room of The Vault, one of the most exclusive clubs in Manhattan. Leather booths, low lighting, bass that vibrated in your chest, and a price tag that ensured privacy. It was exactly the kind of bachelor party we used to joke about when we were broke college students eating ramen in our dorm.

Now, we owned the city. Or at least, Marcus thought we did.

I knocked back the scotch. It burned, a welcome distraction from the cold fear that had taken up permanent residence in my chest since the paternity test.

"You okay, man?" Marcus clapped a hand on my shoulder, sitting down next to me. His tie was loosened, his face flushed with happiness and top-shelf liquor. "You're knocking those back like water. Trying to forget you have a quarterly review on Monday?"

I forced a smile. "Just celebrating. It's not every day my business partner makes the biggest mistake of his life."

It was our standard joke. Marcus laughed, shaking his head.

"Best decision," he corrected, his eyes getting that glassy, love-struck look. "Sienna is... she's everything, Noah. I know she can be a lot. High maintenance, yeah. But she gets me. She pushes me."

I stared at the amber liquid in my refilled glass. She pushes you to steal my company's secrets, I thought. She pushes her sister to hide a pregnancy.

"She's certainly a force of nature," I said diplomatically.

"She is," Marcus agreed. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice below the thumping music. "Honestly? I was getting cold feet a few months ago. Wondering if we were too different. But lately? Since the engagement? It feels right. Like everything is falling into place."

The knife in my gut twisted. Because she trapped you, I wanted to scream. Because you don't know what I know.

"I'm glad you're happy, Marcus," I said. And I meant it. That was the tragedy. I wanted him to be happy. I just knew that his happiness was built on a foundation of sand that I was currently holding up with my bare hands.

The Entertainment

The door to the VIP room opened, and a group of women walked in. They were stunning, scantily clad, and professional.

The groomsmen cheered.

"Gentlemen," the lead dancer purred, sliding onto the lap of one of the junior VPs.

I sank back into the leather booth, feeling a wave of exhaustion so profound it nearly knocked me out.

A blonde woman with legs that went on for days approached me. She sat on the edge of the table, leaning forward so her perfume wafted over me. It was floral, sweet, cloying.

"You look like you need to relax, handsome," she smiled, tracing a finger down my lapel.

I looked at her. She was objectively beautiful. Five years ago—hell, five months ago—I might have been interested. Or at least entertained.

Now? I felt nothing.

Actually, that wasn't true. I felt irritation.

I compared her to the woman I had walked up four flights of stairs yesterday. Aria, with her messy bun, her oversized hoodie, and her fierce, stubborn refusal to accept help. Aria, who smelled like rain and ginger tea, not synthetic roses.

The dancer’s hand moved to my tie.

"Don't," I said.

It came out sharper than I intended.

She pulled back, surprised. " rough day?"

"Something like that," I muttered. I pulled a stack of bills from my wallet—more than she would make all night—and set it on the table. "You're lovely. But I'm not in the mood. Go buy yourself a drink."

She blinked, looked at the money, then shrugged. "Suit yourself, boss."

She moved on to James, who was laughing at something the VP said.

I watched them. The laughter, the easy camaraderie, the superficial pleasure. I felt like I was watching a species I no longer belonged to.

I wasn't a bachelor anymore. Not really. I was a father-to-be. I was a man entangled in a web of lies so thick I couldn't see the exit.

"Since when do you turn down a sure thing?" Marcus asked, sliding back into the seat beside me. He was drunker now, his words slurring slightly.

"Since I grew up," I said darkly.

Marcus squinted at me. "You've been distant, Noah. For weeks. Ever since the masquerade."

My heart skipped a beat. "Just work, Marcus. The leak investigation is eating me alive."

"It's not just work," Marcus insisted. He put a hand on my arm, his grip heavy. "We're brothers, man. Not by blood, but by everything that matters. You'd tell me if something was wrong, right? If... if there was something I needed to know?"

I looked into his honest, trusting eyes.

The temptation to confess was a physical ache in my throat. I could tell him. Right here, right now. Sienna is leaking our data. Aria is pregnant with my child. I am in love with the woman carrying my baby, and she's your fiancée's twin.

It would end the lies. It would also end the wedding, our partnership, and probably our friendship.

"Of course," I lied. The words tasted like ash. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just... tired of the grind."

Marcus searched my face for a long moment. Then he nodded, satisfied.

"I get it," he said. "Maybe after the wedding, you should take a vacation. Go to that island you're always looking at."

"Maybe," I said.

The Judgment

I excused myself and walked to the bar at the back of the room. I needed distance.

James drifted over a moment later. He wasn't as drunk as the others. He had the West tolerance—a genetic curse and blessing.

"You look miserable," James observed, leaning against the bar.

"It's a bachelor party," I grunted. "Miserable is part of the charm."

"No," James shook his head. "This isn't 'I'm bored' miserable. This is 'I committed a felony' miserable."

I shot him a sharp look. "Don't psychoanalyze me, James. Stick to European markets."

James swirled his drink. "You're my big brother. It's my job to watch your back. And right now, your back looks like it's carrying the weight of the world."

He took a sip, his eyes sharp.

"Is it a woman?"

I froze.

James chuckled humorlessly. "It is. I knew it. The great Noah West, finally brought low. Who is she? Someone unsuitable? A competitor?"

"It's complicated," I rasped.

"It always is with you," James said. "You don't do simple. You do... architectural."

He put a hand on my shoulder.

"Whatever you did," James said quietly, "whatever mess you're in... fix it. Before it breaks you. I haven't seen you look this haunted since Dad left."

The comparison stung.

"I'm a terrible friend," I admitted, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.

James looked at Marcus, who was currently wearing a feather boa and laughing hysterically.

"Did you kill his dog?" James asked.

"No."

"Did you steal money?"

"No."

"Then it's fixable," James decided. "Everything else is just logistics."

I laughed bitterly. Logistics. That was my word. I used it to distance myself from emotion. But there were no logistics for this.

"I don't know if this is fixable, James."

"Then you better start doing damage control," James advised. "Because whatever secret you're keeping... it's eating you alive. And eventually, secrets rot. And they stink up the whole house."

The Message

By 2:00 AM, the party was winding down. The strippers had left, the groomsmen were passing out in the booths, and Marcus was leaning heavily against me as we walked out to the waiting limos.

"Best night ever," Marcus mumbled, his arm slung around my neck. "Love you, man. You're the best."

"Yeah," I said, guiding him into the car. "Love you too, Marc."

I got him into the back seat, instructed the driver to take him to Sienna's apartment (where she was undoubtedly waiting to play the doting fiancée), and closed the door.

I stood on the sidewalk, the cool night air slapping my face.

I was alone.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There was a text notification from an hour ago.

Phoenix: Baby is fine. No more bleeding. I managed to eat some soup. Thank you for today. For catching me.

I stared at the screen.

The knot in my chest loosened, just a fraction.

She was okay. The baby was okay.

I had spent the entire night surrounded by excess—liquor, women, money. But the only thing that felt real, the only thing that mattered, was that simple text message from a woman sitting in a messy apartment in Brooklyn.

I typed back.

Me: Try to sleep. I'll see you Monday. And Aria?

I paused, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Me: You never have to thank me for catching you.

I hit send.

I watched the little Delivered checkmark appear.

James was right. The secret was rotting. It was festering inside the foundation of my life.

But as I hailed a cab to take me back to my empty penthouse, I knew I wouldn't trade the secret for anything. Because the secret was her. And for the first time in my life, I had something worth protecting, even if the cost was my own soul.