The Confrontation

Seraphina was in the bath when the pounding started.

It was not a knock. It was not a polite request for attention. It was a fist hitting wood over and over like a man who had decided that doors were a suggestion.

She climbed out of the tub. Wrapped herself in a robe. Wet hair. No makeup. She padded across the suite on bare feet and looked through the peephole.

Damien.

Her heart stopped.

He was pounding on her door in a black overcoat, his hair a mess, his face like the face of a man who had walked through glass to get there.

"Open the door, Seraphina."

She did not open it.

"Open the door."

"Mr. Cross, it is almost midnight."

"Open. The. Door."

She opened the door three inches and kept the chain on.

"You should not be here."

"Take the chain off."

"No."

"Take the chain off or I will break it."

"Mr. Cross. Go home."

He stared at her through the gap. His chest was heaving. His eyes were wet. She had never seen Damien Cross cry. Not on their wedding day. Not when his grandfather died. Not the night he threw her out.

Tonight, he was crying.

"I need to ask you one question," he said. His voice cracked. "And I need you to answer it."

"I am not answering questions through a door."

He lifted his hand. Held something up where she could see it.

A photograph.

Her wedding day.

Her laughing, head tilted back, one hand on his chest, wearing the necklace he had made her.

Her face.

Aria's face.

"I need to know," he said. "If you are her."

Seraphina could not speak. Could not move.

"Because if you are," he said. "Then I have spent three years grieving a woman I threw away for a lie. And I do not think I can survive finding out I was right."

"Damien."

The name slipped out before she could catch it.

Not Mr. Cross.

Damien.

His face broke.

"Open the door."

Her hand was already moving. She watched it move as if from a very long distance. She slid the chain off. Stepped back.

He walked into the suite.

He closed the door behind him.

He looked at her standing there in a white robe with wet hair and bare feet and no armor, and he dropped to his knees on the marble floor.

"Aria."

She did not answer.

"Aria. Please."

Her legs gave out.

She sat down on the floor across from him. Not close. Far enough that he could not reach her without moving.

He did not move.

"I know what she did," he whispered. "My mother told me tonight. Vanessa paid Marcus. The photos were fake. The receipts were for a different woman. Everything was a lie."

Seraphina closed her eyes.

"Is it you?"

The question was so quiet she almost could not hear it.

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. The man who had destroyed her. The man who had thrown her into the rain. The man who had asked if her baby was his.

The father of her child.

And she smiled. Not a kind smile. A smile like the edge of a knife.

"I told you, Mr. Cross."

"Aria."

"I am the worst thing that is ever going to happen to you."

He stared at her for a long moment from the floor. Not angry. Not hurt. Something worse. Something like awe.

"You are not the worst thing," he said quietly. "You are the only real thing I have ever known. And I threw you into the rain."

She looked away. Could not look at him. Could not.

"Get out."

"Aria."

"Get. Out."

"Tell me about the baby."

Her head snapped up.

"What did you say?"

"I know you were pregnant. I remember. I asked you if the baby was mine. I said that in front of Vanessa. I said that in front of my mother. I said it to your face. I have thought about that sentence every night for three years. I need to know. Did you have it? Did you lose it? Did you give it up? Please. I need to know."

Her phone buzzed on the bed behind her.

She glanced at it.

A video call. Incoming.

From her nanny in London.

She did not think. She stood up. Crossed the room. Answered.

Luna's face filled the screen. Chocolate around her mouth. A stuffed rabbit under one arm.

"Mummy. Mummy look. I lost my tooth."

Seraphina froze.

She turned slowly.

Damien was staring at the phone.

At Luna.

At the child who had his eyes.

Who had his mother's nose.

Who had the same little dimple he had in his left cheek when he smiled, which Luna was doing right now at the camera, showing a pink gap where her baby tooth used to be.

And she knew, in the quiet horrible second before he spoke, that the lie was over.

"Aria," he said. "Is that my daughter?"

The nanny on the screen said something Seraphina did not hear. Luna waved. The camera shook. The call ended.

Seraphina lowered the phone slowly.

Her whole body was shaking.

Damien was still on his knees.

"Say it," he whispered. "Please. Say it out loud. I need to hear you say it."

She looked at the phone in her hand. Then at the man on the floor.

And she opened her mouth to answer him.

The door of the suite burst open.

Vanessa stood in the doorway. Coat buttoned up. Face wet. A phone in her hand. On the screen, a photo. Her and Marcus, three years ago, at a cafe, counting a stack of cash.

"Tell me it is not true, Damien." Her voice cracked. "Tell me you are not on your knees in front of this woman."

Damien stood up slowly.

"Vanessa. Go home."

"She is going to destroy everything we have built."

"We have not built anything."

Vanessa's eyes shifted to Seraphina.

And for the first time since the gala, her face changed. Not confusion. Recognition.

"Oh my god," Vanessa whispered. "It is you."