Page 46 of I Do, You Don't
“Gideon, I presume,” Matthew says, his voice cutting through the hush. He rises from his chair, a dismissive smirk tugging at his mouth. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I have a deadline. Unless you’re here to give me an exclusive, you’re wasting my time.”
Cold rage coils in my chest. He isn’t remorseful. He’s arrogant.
“An exclusive? Fine, I’ll give you one. You wrote an article blaming Lara for a mistake that was mine alone. You twisted her success into a scam, a cruel joke. That’s a lie. Lara is only a mastermind in business. She’s not using her pain for profit. She’s not a fraud.”
Matthew scoffs, a hollow, humorless sound. “Gideon, you’re the last person who should be talking. You’re the one who ran from her. Weeks gone,and now you barge in here playing the hero? Please. She’s clearly brainwashed you.”
The accusation cuts deep, but it doesn’t break me.
“Brainwashed? No. I’m finally seeing clearly. The lies, the rumors, the scandal, they were all my fault. I was the one blinded, not by Lara or even Delilah, but by my own fear. I let a lie stand in the way of what was real. I was a coward.”
“A coward looking for a headline,” he retorts, the smirk sliding back onto his face. “This is a great scene, Gideon. The ‘groveling hero’ always makes a good hook. But I’m not buying it. What’s your angle? Trying to win her back? Trying to sell a book?”
I draw a steadying breath. “My angle is the truth. And the truth is this: Lara is brave, brilliant, and resilient. In the face of public humiliation and private betrayal, she built a business with her own two hands. In the face of my cowardice, she chose strength.”
My voice cracks, but I press on, forcing the words out. “I’m the one who failed her. I’m the one who refused to listen. I’m the one who believed a lie. I betrayed her trust, and I broke her heart. And for that, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to atone.”
Phones remain raised, still filming. The silence in the newsroom is thick, suffocating. I glance at Matthew, his face is frozen, the smug grin gone, replaced by something raw and uncertain.
I draw one final breath and let the words fall, a confession laid bare.
“I’m sorry, Lara. I’m so sorry.”
The words are small, but they crush me as they leave my lips, yet with them, a weight lifts. The truth is out. The public knows. My debt is no longer hidden in the shadows; it’s here, in the open.
Chapter 20
Lara
Summer winds down, and I’m grateful for it. This year has been one of reinvention, of growth. Business is booming, ironically, a direct consequence of Matthew’s defamatory article. He tried to tear me down, but instead, his words became the headline for a different story: one of strength, not deceit.
I’ve chosen to use that platform to speak my truth, turning every interview into a teaching moment for my clients. We can’t predict the future, I remind them. Sudden bills, illness, job changes, life has a way of ambushing us. My story is proof that we must always be prepared, that we need a backup plan.
What would mine have been? A prenuptial agreement. Not for a future divorce, but for a wedding that never happened. My backup plan would have been a business agreement disguised as a marriage contract, one that ensured the financial repercussions were split evenly. Gideon, like most grooms, might have said,my money is your money, so it doesn’t matter whose credit card the catering goes on.
It would have mattered, and it did.
Now I’m sitting with Calvin and Drew. Calvin is casually absorbed in business, Drew is obsessively stalking Matthew online, and I’m scrolling through client details on my phone.
The air in Calvin’s office carries the rich scent of old leather, laced with the faint, smoky sweetness of expensive whiskey. Sunlight cuts the room into sharp, golden stripes, tracing lines across the polished mahogany desk and pale gray walls. There’s no haze of cigarette smoke here, no clutter, no stacks of files. Just space, silence, and a quiet authority that doesn’t need to be spoken.
Calvin stands behind the desk, a tall, deliberate figure in immaculate tailoring. Even the crease in his trousers feels intentional, another detail in the carefully constructed persona.
On the far wall, Drew is curled into a low black-leather couch, legs folded, laptop balanced on her knees. The cushions are worn, shallow dips carved from hours of late-night battles fought on that spot. Her fingers fly, tapping out another digital strike against Matthew.
I’ve told her to let it go, but she only shakes her head, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and says, “I’m fighting fire with fire.” Her voice carries a rare certainty, righteous, almost. The glow of her laptop spills across her face, a beacon of the war she refuses to abandon.
I see her now, not as the fierce defender she wants to be, but as the girl who was once left broken by a man she loved years ago. A pang of recognition cuts through me, a quiet ache that runs deeper than my own recent pain. Drew understands my heartbreak not only because she’s my sister, but because she’s lived a version of it herself.
Her mousy silence was never a choice, it was a consequence. And watching her stand up for me now, fighting for the belief that I deserve better, is a silent, powerful testament to her own healing. Her fury on my behalf is, in truth, her own justice.
It amazes me how close the three of us have become. From near-strangers to something that finally feels like family.
The room is hushed, the only sound the soft tapping of keys, until Calvin’s phone dings. He inhales sharply, just enough to pull Drew’s and my eyes to him. Without a word, he turns the screen so we can all see.
It’s avideo. At first, the frame wobbles, as if the person holding the phone can’t keep their hand steady. Then it sharpens, comes into focus. I recognize the place instantly: The Pigeon Express newsroom. Glass walls, too clean, too bright, yet also far too cubicle-like. Around the edges, twenty or more staffers hover in silence, some standing, others half-sitting on the arms of rolling chairs. Their faces are tense, expectant, as though waiting for something inevitable and terrible.
At the center of it all, standing alone, is Gideon. No tricks. No edits. Just a man, exposed, forced to carry his own secrets in the open.
