Chapter 6: Cracks in the Facade

Emily spent the day pacing the penthouse like a caged animal.

Every surface gleamed—too perfect, too sterile. She tried reading a book from the floor-to-ceiling shelves (mostly finance tomes and leather-bound classics she had no interest in), but the words blurred. She tried sketching on a notepad she found in a drawer—old habit from her graphic design days—but her hand shook, lines turning jagged.

The anonymous text looped in her mind like a broken record.

Ask him who was really driving that night.

She hadn’t replied. Hadn’t saved the number. Hadn’t even searched for it. But the question festered.

By late afternoon, she gave up pretending to be calm.

She opened her laptop—Alexander had left one on the kitchen island with a sticky note: Use this. Secure network. No personal browsing on unsecured lines. Even his helpful gestures came with warnings.

She typed “Lila” and “Alexander Knight” into the search bar.

The results were sparse at first—old engagement announcements from society pages, a few blurry paparazzi shots of a stunning brunette on Alexander’s arm at galas three years ago. Lila Moreau. French-American heiress. Philanthropist. “Tragic loss” headlines from the accident.

Then she found it: a small article buried in a local news archive.

Heiress Killed in Late-Night Crash on Hudson Parkway. Driver Uninjured.

No name for the driver.

Just a quote from the police: “The passenger was pronounced dead at the scene. The driver, who requested anonymity due to privacy concerns, cooperated fully.”

Emily’s pule thundered in her ears.

Anonymity.

Alexander had said he wasn’t driving.

But somene was.

And that someone had walked away.

She closed the laptop hard enough to make the table rattle.

When the elevator chimed at 7:42 p.m., she was standing by the windows, arms crossed, staring at the city lights like they held answers.

Alexander stepped out—jacket slung over one shoulder, tie gone, shirt collar open. He looked exhausted. Victory lines etched deeper around his mouth.

He stpped when he saw her expression.

“You’re angry,” he said. Not a question.

Emily turned slowly. “Should I not be?”

He set his jacket over a chair. “The board meeting went better than expected. Victoria’s ‘evidence’ was mostly smoke—old photos, insinuations. They bought the marriage. For now.”

Emily didn’t smile. “Good for you.”

He tudied her. “What happened while I was gone?”

She pulled her phone from her pocket, opened the deleted messages folder (she’d recovered it earlier), and held it out.

Alexander took it. Read the single line.

His fae didn’t change, but something in his eyes went very still.

“Who sent this?” he asked, voice dangerously quiet.

“I don’t know. Number was blocked. Message self-deleted after I read it.”

He handed the phone back. “Delete it again. Permanently.”

“Thats all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Emily?” He ran a hand through his hair. “That someone’s digging? Yes. They are. Victoria? A competitor? A journalist? It doesn’t matter. They’re fishing.”

“Fishing for what?” She stepped closer. “Who was driving the car that night, Alexander?”

Silence stretched—long, brittle.

He looked away first. Toward the window. Toward the city that never slept.

“Lila was driving,” he said finally

Emily’s breath caught. “You told me you were supposed to be driving.”

“I was.” Hs voice cracked on the word. “We fought. Badly. She stormed out, took my keys. I let her go. I thought… I thought she’d cool off. Come back. Instead she wrapped the car around a guardrail at ninety miles an hour.”

Emily felt the floor tilt under her.

“But the police said the driver survived.”

“I was in the passenger seat,” he said, so quietly she almost missed it. “I walked away with bruises. She didn’t.”

Emily stared at him.

“You were there.”

He nodded once.

“And you let the world think you weren’t even in the car.”

“I paid for the anonymity. The driver’s identity was sealed. I didn’t want the headlines: ‘Billionaire Survives Crash That Kills Fiancée.’ I didn’t want the pity. Or the questions.” His laugh was bitter. “I got them anyway.”

Emily’s hands clenched at her sides. “You lied to me.”

“I omitted.”

“It’s the same thing when you’re married to someone.”

He turned to face her fully. “I told you I break things. I didn’t tell you I was sitting next to her when she died. Because saying it out loud makes it real again. Every time.”

Tears burned Emily’s eyes—not for Lila, not exactly. For him. For the weight he carried alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

“Because you would look at me the way you’re looking at me now.” His voice broke. “Like I’m a monster who let her die.”

Emily shook her head. “I’m not looking at you like that.”

“Then how are you looking at me?”

“Like a man who’s been punishing himself for three years.”

Alexander closed his eyes.

Emily stepped forward—slowly, carefully—and placed her hand on his chest. Over his heart. It hammered beneath her palm.

“I’m not running,” she said softly.

His eyes opened. Raw. Vulnerable in a way she’d never seen.

“You should.”

“Maybe.” She rose on her toes, brushed her lips against his jaw. “But I’m not.”

He exhaled shakily.

Then his arms came around her—tight, almost desperate. He buried his face in her hair.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured.

Emily wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe not. But I’m here anyway.”

They stood like that for long minutes—rain starting again outside, soft against the glass.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“Tonight,” he said hoarsely, “no more secrets. Ask me anything.”

Emily searched his eyes.

And asked the question that had been burning since the message arrived.

“Who do you think sent that text?”

Alexander’s expression hardened.

“Someone who wants to tear this marriage apart before it even starts.”

He kissed her then—slow, deep, full of everything he hadn’t said.

When they broke apart, both breathing unevenly, he whispered against her lips:

“And they’re going to fail.”

But in the quiet that followed, Emily couldn’t shake the chill.

Because someone knew the truth.

And they were watching.

Waiting.