Chapter 12: Loose Talk Deserves Consequences

A knock came at the door.

"Sir? Derek's here. Says he's been trying to reach you."

Grant's phone had buzzed more than once, but he'd been too preoccupied to care.

Mrs. Doyle hovered, unsure what to make of his silence, not daring to push further.

After a long moment, Grant pressed a kiss to Nora's forehead every bit the doting husband. "Your birthday's coming up soon. Think about what you want. I need to step out for a bit."

He was gone almost before she registered the words. Only once his footsteps had faded completely did the tension bleed out of her shoulders.

I'd nearly forgotten. My birthday. And right after it that's when I leave.

She stared at nothing, murmuring under her breath. "Grant Pierce. I'm going to make sure you never forget this day."

A slow, sharp smile curved her lips.

---

In the study, Derek noticed the dark cast to Grant's expression, brow furrowed tight, and felt a flicker of unease.

Did something happen with his wife?

He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Nora wasn't the type to pick a fight with anyone, let alone Grant.

Must just be imagining things.

Ever the professional, Derek buried his curiosity. "Sir, I've confirmed that Master Voss arrives in Meridian City next Monday."

Grant seemed distracted, leaning against the window frame, hands in his pockets as he lit a cigarette without much interest. "Regardless of anything else, I need that meeting arranged."

Derek nodded. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Will Vivian be joining, sir?"

Grant held the cigarette between his lips, thinking it over for a long moment. "We'll figure that out once she's further along in her recovery."

Derek studied him quietly. He'd worked for this man long enough to read him fairly well by now.

He knew Grant loved Vivian, that had never been a secret. But three years of marriage to Nora, and not one flicker of real feeling in return?

Sir, she's a good woman. If you don't hold onto her while you still can, I think you'll regret it someday.

He never said it out loud.

---

Nora stood just outside the study door, a fruit tray balanced in her hands, having caught every word of the conversation inside.

Master Voss. One of the most celebrated painting masters alive, the kind of mentor painters spent entire careers hoping to catch the eye of, let alone train under.

So that's why Grant's rushing to secure the meeting. Clearing a path for Vivian, of course.

Shame. Vivian's not going to get that particular blessing after all.

An idea sparked, quiet and sharp. I think I finally know exactly what to give her for a parting gift.

The door opened before she could dwell on it further, stepping in, cutting the conversation short.

Derek caught Grant's eye. "I'll head out now, sir."

Grant hummed an acknowledgment, then noticed Nora in the doorway. "Fruit? Trying to get on someone's good side?"

"It was my own idea," she said simply. "Nobody put me up to it."

She'd overheard Mrs. Doyle mentioned preparing a tray for the study and volunteered to bring it herself the perfect excuse to hear whatever they were discussing.

Grant reached out and ruffled her hair, warmth returning to his expression. "You're too easy on people. Soft-hearted to a fault. I've never met a wife quite like you."

The moment felt almost sweet enough to make her wonder, briefly, if the last two days had been some kind of fever dream.

But this ache in my chest is real. These bruises are real. None of it was a dream.

His lies, his betrayal, Vivian's cruelty stacked one on top of the other. It had gotten hard just to breathe some days, and harder still to sleep at night without the fear catching up to her.

The damage wasn't only physical. Some of it went much deeper than that.

She let out a short, brittle laugh, voice trembling with something close to mockery. "And if I compared myself to Vivian? Would that make me vicious too? Ruthless, like everyone already thinks I am?"

The warmth vanished from Grant's face instantly.

"Nora. There's a limit to how far you can push this. I'd stop while you're ahead."

He turned and walked out without another word.

Nora smiled at his retreating back.

So that's the line, then.

It was always going to be Vivian.

I can rage, I can scream, I can burn the whole house down as long as her name stays out of it. She's the one thing he'll never let me touch.

Untouchable. Unspeakable.

Nora drew a slow breath, closed her eyes, and let the tears slide free. When she opened them again, something in her gaze had gone glacial. She dropped the entire fruit tray into the trash without a second thought.

---

Whatever consequences might have followed Vivian's hospital stay never materialized Grant, at least, didn't pursue it further.

Around the same time, Bea called with good news.

"Nora, I found you a donor. Surgery's scheduled for one week from today. How's everything on your end?"

For a moment, Nora couldn't speak at all. Then warmth flooded through her chest, overwhelming and immediate.

Three years of darkness, and finally a real chance to see again. No one who hadn't lived it could understand what that felt like.

It took her nearly five minutes to steady her voice enough to speak. "Bea. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Bea, hearing the emotion in her voice, softened immediately. "Don't go making me cry too, alright?"

Then, lighter: "Also Miles told me you put that little snake Vivian in the hospital? Honestly? Long overdue."

"People who run their mouths tend to get what's coming to them," Nora said simply.

"I've hated her for years," Bea said. "She's been setting you up since the day she walked into that house. If you hadn't always felt so guilty about the identity swap, I'd have rearranged her face myself a long time ago."

That guilt had shaped nearly two decades of Nora's restraint, the quiet belief that she owed Vivian something, simply for having lived a life that was supposedly meant to be hers.

But patience like that had a limit. And Vivian had spent it all.

She'd framed Nora, and Grant had forced her into an apology for a crime she never committed. A liar playing the victim. A cheat playing the hero.

Why should I hold back anymore?

She wants to frame me for being cruel? Fine. Let's make it true.

Nora had gone all-in that night, fully aware it would infuriate Grant, fully expecting the police call that followed.

But she'd built her own safety net long before any of it happened. Miles Cortland was that net.

With him in her corner, she'd never really been in danger.

And Grant for all his fury was never going to leave her locked up for long. Calling the police had only ever been a lesson, a warning shot. He could love Vivian with his whole chest and still recognize that the child in Nora's belly was his too.

So even once Miles bailed her out, she'd known there'd be no real retaliation waiting for her.

---

After the call with Bea wrapped up, Nora checked the time. One more errand before the day was done.

"Ms. Ashford, you're certain you want to cancel all identification records under this name?" the clerk asked.

"I'm certain," Nora said without hesitation.

Through a contact Miles had arranged, she'd successfully filed to erase every trace of her legal identity, the change would process within five business days.

She walked out into the open street afterward feeling lighter than she had in years.

Almost there. It's almost over.

---

Her birthday arrived before she quite realized it.

Maybe because of the pregnancy, Grant had gone out of his way this year to plan an actual celebration.

She remembered every birthday of her childhood spent at the Ashford estate, technically shared with Vivian, though Nora had always been little more than a spectator at her own party.

Vivian wore the birthday crown. Vivian cut the cake. Vivian blew out the candles while family friends cheered her name, never once glancing Nora's way.

The "celebration" had only ever really been an annual reminder of exactly how adored Vivian was and exactly how invisible Nora had always been by comparison.

She'd stopped looking forward to her birthday a long time ago.

The more Vivian glowed, the more Nora seemed to fade.

Every single year, without fail.

Derek appeared with a garment box, his tone warm. "Mr. Pierce had this made specially. He wants to surprise you tonight."

There'd been a time when a gesture like that from Grant would have brought her to tears of genuine joy. Now, it landed somewhere flat and distant, barely registering at all.

Derek set the dress down carefully. "It's custom, ma'am. You'll turn every head in the room tonight."

"Thank you for bringing it, Derek," Nora said evenly.

"Happy to help, ma'am. Truly."

Finally, Derek thought to himself, pleased. Mr. Pierce is coming around. He's finally starting to see who's actually worth holding onto. He was genuinely glad for her.

"I'll get going, ma'am," he said, and left.

Once he was gone, Nora ran her fingers over the box and lifted the lid.

The fabric beneath was exquisite, fine silk, clearly the work of a master tailor. Her lips curved into something quiet and deliberate.

"Mrs. Doyle? Could you bring me a pair of scissors?”