Chapter 5
The room went quiet again.
Watching.
Beatrice saw the cops.
All the fight drained out of her in a second.
She collapsed back into her chair, face ashen.
Chloe started crying harder.
Screaming that she was sorry, that she’d been manipulated, that she was just a kid.
The lead officer walked up to Beatrice.
Pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
“Beatrice Hale,” he said, “you are under arrest for felony fraud, grand theft, and arson resulting in great bodily injury.”
He read her her rights.
Cuffed her hands behind her back.
She didn’t fight.
She just stared at me.
Eyes full of hate.
Full of ruin.
“You think you’ve won?” she spat as they led her past the stage. “You’ll always be that ugly, scarred little orphan. No man will ever really love you. He’ll get tired of looking at you. You’ll see.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to.
Liam squeezed my hand so tight his knuckles went white.
Then they cuffed Chloe.
Read her her rights as an accessory to fraud and arson.
She screamed for her mom.
Begged me to forgive her.
Said she’d always been jealous, always wanted to be me, that she’d never meant for anyone to get hurt.
I watched them go.
Watched them get led out the door in handcuffs, past all the people who’d once thought Beatrice was a saint.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Silence.
Then, slowly, one by one, people started clapping.
It started with Liam’s parents.
Then his best man.
Then a few people from the back tables.
Soon the whole room was on their feet.
Clapping. Cheering.
Some of them were crying.
I stood there, holding Liam’s hand, and let it wash over me.
It didn’t fix everything.
The scars were still there.
The memories were still there.
But for the first time, they didn’t feel like chains.
They felt like proof.
Proof that I’d survived.
That I’d fought back.
That I’d won.
The rest of the wedding passed in a blur.
We cut the cake.
We had our first dance.
People came up to me, one by one, to apologize.
To say how brave I was.
How sorry they were they’d ever doubted me.
I accepted their apologies.
But I didn’t forget.
I knew most of them were only sorry because they were scared of losing their jobs.
That was okay.
I didn’t need their love.
I had Liam.
That was more than enough.
That night, we went home to the penthouse Liam had bought us.
High above the city.
Windows looking out over the twinkling lights.
He carried me over the threshold.
Set me down soft in the middle of the living room.
Wrapped his arms around me.
Held me so tight I could barely breathe.
“You did so good,” he whispered into my hair. “So, so good, baby.”
I buried my face in his chest.
And for the first time in three years, I cried.
Not from pain.
May you like
Not from fear.
From pure, overwhelming relief.
