Page 89 of Every Shattered Note
This can’t be happening.Not again.Not after everything I’ve rebuilt.
I spent years cleaning up the ashes of Victor Vaughn’s legacy—paying off the damage, rewriting the narrative, pretending the sins died with him.
And now it’s back.The ghost, the story, the name.
The fucking Vaughns never die.
“I’ll pack,” I say finally.My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
“Good,” Eddie says quietly.“The car’ll be there in thirty.”
He hangs up before I can answer.
The silence that follows is worse than the noise.
Aly’s still standing there.Barefoot.Wearing one of my shirts that hangs too loose on her, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs.She looks out of place and yet so heartbreakingly at home in this room that’s never known peace.Her brows knit together as she studies me—trying to read what I’m not saying.
“Dex, what’s going on?”
I can’t bring myself to face her.My throat feels raw, as if the words are scraping their way out.“They’re reopening something that should’ve stayed buried.”
She takes a step closer, cautious but determined.“What is it?”
“There was an accident.”The word burns.“At least, that’s what my father called it.I don’t know who was there before I arrived to help him.”
I pause, my chest rising too fast, breath catching between what I remember and what I wish I could forget.“I was seventeen,” I continue, quieter now.“And all I wanted was his approval.I thought if I showed up—if I fixed it—he’d finally see me.Instead, he told me to clean it up.The police called it tampering with evidence, but they couldn’t prove who did it or who ...well, they couldn’t prove anything.Prints were smudged, samples gone.It was all too perfectly ruined.My father made sure of that.And when it was over, he blamed me.”
A bitter laugh slips out.“Said I was the one.That they handled it gently because I was a minor who’d made a mistake.When my grandfather stepped in, everything changed.They found out the truth.It was gruesome.My father was in it up to his neck.But my grandfather paid his way out, like he always did.Money fixed everything—except me.”
The words taste like old regret.As if they’ve been sitting in my mouth for years, waiting to poison me again.
Aly hesitates before reaching out, her hand finding my wrist.Her touch is soft, almost hesitant, but it sears through me all the same.It’s not pity.It’s something else—something I can’t afford to feel.
“And they’re blaming you now?”she asks.
“They’ll try—again.”
I finally meet her eyes.“They’ve been trying my whole damn life.”
Her expression shifts—less confusion now, more heartbreak.“Then let me help.”
The words hit harder than anything Eddie said.Harder than the past itself.
I shake my head.“You can’t.This isn’t something you can fix with statements or strategy.This—” I gesture toward the air, the ocean beyond the glass, the name stitched into every piece of me.“This is poison.It stains everyone who gets close.”
Her jaw tightens.“I’m not afraid of stains.”
“You should be.”
She doesn’t back down.“I’m not leaving you.”
And God, I want to believe her.I want to believe I deserve someone who doesn’t look away from the wreckage that trails behind me.Someone who sees it—all of it—and stays anyway.
But I already know how this ends: The cameras will come.The headlines will write themselves.And her name will be dragged through stories she never asked to be a part of.
I’m quiet for a beat too long.My throat burns.There’s no version of this where she doesn’t get hurt.I open my mouth—and the wrong words come out.
“Pack your things,” I say finally, forcing each word out through the knot in my throat.“They’re flying you home on the other jet.”
