Page 63 of The Billionaire and His Forever

One fifty-four-minute train, a brief number six subway ride, and a half-mile walk later, I step through the doors of Mount Sinai hospital. The place is a swirl of activity, so it’s easy to make my way up to Natasha’s floor without being noticed. The closer I get to her room, though, the more my heart begins to thud. What if this doesn’t work? What if they find me in her room and have me arrested again? I don’t have Bowen to save me anymore.I don’t have anyone.

But this is my last chance to clear my name. My only chance.

So I lift my chin, stroll past the nurses’ station like I’m in a hurry, and confidently open the door to Natasha’s room like I belong there. My stomach is in knots the whole time, but the act clearly works, because no one stops me.

Inside the room, I see Natasha propped up on a pile of pillows, tapping away at her phone as the television blares. She has her hair and makeup done—maybe not as immaculately as usual, but pretty close—but under the fluorescent lighting, in her thin hospital gown, she somehow looks smaller, less dangerous. Still, I know better than to trust appearances. I won’t let my guard down. Not for a second.

Natasha turns to look at me, surely expecting a doctor or a nurse. The double take she does is almost Oscar-worthy.

“What the hell areyoudoing here?” she hisses, scrambling for the nurse call button.

“Wait.” I hold out a hand. “Please. I just want to talk.”

“Get out,” she says, her thumb hovering over the button. “You have three seconds to leave or else I’m pushing this. Though I’m sure the police would love to have you back in cuffs.”

“I’m done,” I blurt, the words rushing out of me in a tumble. “With all of it. You can have your life back. Graham and Jude, the estate, everything. I don’t want it anymore.”

Natasha doesn’t lower her hand, but she doesn’t push the button, either. “I’m listening.”

“I came here to apologize. I just want to put this behind me and try to move on.” I shake my head and swallow hard.

Her smile is smug. “Well. I knew you’d eventually come to your senses. I didn’t expect it to be so soon, but I suppose an attempted murder charge really helps one to reconsider one’s priorities, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how everything got so out of control. How I got in this deep. I guess, ever since I first met you, I was just…so in awe of you.” I look down at my feet. “I mean, you had it all. You were talented and glamorous and beautiful and rich. And you had the perfect life and the perfect husband. And that’s what I wanted. I wanted tobeNatasha Ratliff. To be perfect, too.”

“A childish fantasy. Not that I blame you for trying. You come from nothing. Of course you were hungry for more.” Natasha nods solemnly, but I can feel her glee radiating off her.

“It just kills me that this is how it all turned out.” I sink into a plastic chair and sigh heavily, the weight of the last few months bearing down on me. “After dealing with the tabloids and the paparazzi, my reputation going down the drain, the legal troubles…God, it was all for nothing in the end. It’s just not worth it—I can’t live like this. I’m not strong enough. You won.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Abbie. It takes grace to admit defeat. And I respect that you made the effort to tell me face to face.” She sounds absolutely delighted. “To be honest, I’m glad you realized you were in over your head. Before it was too late.”

“I just want it to be over. I want to go home. But my dad won’t even talk to me now.” I look up, blinking back tears. “Is there any way—no. I shouldn’t even ask.”

“Do go on,” she coaxes, eating it up.

I hesitate, and then continue. “It’s just that…if you recant your statement, and I’m not a suspect anymore…maybe my parents will forgive me. Maybe I’ll be able to go back home.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Natasha tuts. “You know, I was just like you once. Ambitious. Idealistic. A dreamer, even—but hungry for what I wanted. Willing to do whatever it took to achieve my goals, and fuck anybody who tried to get in my way. Do you know what my secret was? I figured out how to turn everything into an opportunity.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, gazing at her with adulation as I scoot my chair closer. “I thought that’s what I did.”

“You certainly tried. But you lack experience! You’re too trustful, too naïve. You had no contingency plan in place.” Natasha is all but gloating. “Youalwaysneed a contingency plan. You have to be able to launch yourself off of setbacks. To pivot. Move on to Plan B, or C, or X.”

“I’m…not sure I understand,” I murmur.

“No, of course you don’t. You’re still so young, so green. You’re not ruthless enough.” She shakes her head. “But take me, for example. Do you think I meant to OD, or end up in a coma? Of course not.And yet.I was able to work it to my advantage. I took control of the narrative. Blaming you was the perfect way to stop the wedding. So you see, it’s just like I said. You have to learn to seize every opportunity. That’s the difference between you and me.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, a zing of hope pumps through my veins.

“That’s not what’s different between us, Natasha.” I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket and hold it up, showing her that it’s recording. “I see opportunities, too. I’m just not a liar.”

Shock and rage bloom on her face as she realizes that I have her entire confession in the palm of my hand. “No.”

As she starts cursing up a storm, I bolt for the door. Thank God she’s hooked up to all those machines and monitors and can’t jump out of the bed to throttle me, because I’m sure she wants to.

“What have you done, you littlecunt?” she screams at my back.

I pause in the doorway, glancing over my shoulder at her one last time before I go.

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