Page 53 of The Billionaire and His Forever

I nod. “Okay. So what do we do in the meantime?”

“Keep our heads down and wait. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but believe me, I’m doing everything I can to figure out this mess. Bowen’s firm and the PI are digging into the banking fraud as we speak, and we’re putting together the best plan of attack to clear your name as soon as possible. I promise, I’m going to fix this.”

I desperately want to believe Graham, but I don’t know if I can. Because as far as I can tell, whether Graham and his team of lawyers can “fix” this or not, my life has already completely imploded.

All thanks to Natasha Ratliff.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abbie

When I was little,I had recurring nightmares in black and white. My dreams were usually in color, but the nightmares…it was almost like they needed one more layer of fright to truly terrify my five-year-old self.

The actual details were always fuzzy when I woke up. The only thing I could be sure of was that I’d been running from something horrible. Something hell-bent on catching me. I’m not sure what that says about my childhood psyche, but the bad dreams started to taper off right around the time I started high school. As if my daytime social anxiety was so omnipresent that I no longer had the headspace for nightmares anymore.

They’ve come roaring back this week, though. Plaguing me with shadowy visions.

I’ve fallen from buildings, from cliffs, from snowy mountain tops. I’ve drowned. Burned. Crashed a car. I’ve lost my voice, lost my ability to use a telephone. I’ve seen Graham and Jude turn their backs on me. Walked through the paper-strewn halls of my old high school, with everyone pointing at me and shoving tabloids in my face. I’ve been lost in a house that’s a maze, unable to find my way out. Some of these dreams sound ridiculous after the fact, but they all leave me tossing and turning, waking with an intense heaviness in the pit of my stomach.

“What are you doing before bed? Watching horror movies?” Amanda asks during our morning FaceTime. Jude is at her lessons, so we can talk candidly.

I mumble out something that kind of sounds like the truth, because I’m embarrassed to admit it. It doesn’t work on Amanda, though, who merely gives methe lookand rolls her eyes. There are definitely perks to having a friend who knows me so well, but right now doesn’t really apply, not when I’m trying to lie to myself.

“If you seriously just said you’ve been staying up late readingall the news articlesabout your case, then I have to say, it is blatantly obvious why you’re having night terrors.” Amanda frowns at me, sternness coloring her voice.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop,” I moan. “Everyone is calling me a homewrecker and a murderess. Can you believe that shit? They were divorced! Becauseshecheated onhim! And it was an overdose! But no. Somehow Natasha’s the media darling again and I’m the villain.”

“I’m sorry, babe. It’s just how the press works. They’ll move on soon enough, just you wait, and then everyone will forget your name,” she soothes.

“I hope you’re right.” I drop onto the couch, sighing in frustration. “I’m just so freaked out that the longer it takes to clear my name, the more likely it is that Graham is going to start doubting my innocence.”

“He would never. He’s been on the phone with his lawyers all day every day, trying to get your name cleared. Don’t forget he was also arrested for attempted murder—he knows it’s total bullshit. And he also knows Natasha better than anyone. He’s not going to abandon you.”

“Yeah.” I chew on my thumbnail, watching the TV switch over from a Swiffer commercial to an ad for a news channel. My picture briefly flashes on screen in a montage of other recent news stories, and my stomach immediately clenches. “Jesus. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It is pretty shitty,” she concedes.

“Pretty shitty?” I scoff. “Amanda, I was arrested on mywedding day. For fuckingmurder.”

“Attemptedmurder. Besides, all the cool kids get arrested for attempted murder these days. You, Graham, that football player from Nebraska. Look at it this way, you two now have something to really bond over. Who else knows what it feels like to have your ex frame you for murder besides you two?”

I know she’s trying to add some levity to the situation to make me feel better, but it’s not working. It’s still too soon. I’m still in the thick of this, for fuck’s sake.

“Maybe you should get out of the apartment for a little while,” Amanda suggests, interrupting my sulking. “Some fresh air might do you good. Plus, a break from screens.”

“I can’t. I tried to walk to the Starbucks on the corner yesterday and I got pointed at on the way there and then stopped by two people before I even set foot inside the door.”

“Peoplestoppedyou?”

“Yup.” My voice is clipped as the memories wash over me. “Apparently they felt it was their duty to tell me I was trash and that they hoped I’d go to jail and stay there. It was so humiliating and awful. So yeah. Not gonna be leaving the building anymore, unless it’s absolutely necessary. Although I guess it doesn’t even matter, since I found a shitty note slipped under the door this morning. Which, it had to be someone who lives here.”

“Assholes,” Amanda commiserates. “What’d it say?”

I’m just about to tell her when I hear a key in the lock. It’s either Natasha or Graham. Please let it be Graham.

“Gah, I need to go. It’s the door. I’ll call you back.”

“Go, go!” Amanda yells and we hang up.

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