Zara's POV
"Did you help him?"
The question hangs in the air between us like poison.
Ethan's face has gone pale. His hand—the one that was holding mine so gently just seconds ago—pulls back like I've burned him.
"I don't know," he says again, and I hear the truth in his voice. The horror. "Zara, I see hundreds of clients a year. Three years ago, I was taking any case that came through the door. If someone asked me about partnership dissolution, I would have—"
"You would have told them exactly how to destroy their partner legally." My voice sounds dead. Empty. "You would have given them a step-by-step plan to steal everything and get away with it."
"I give legal advice. That's my job—"
"Your job is helping people destroy each other!" I stand up so fast the table shakes. Coffee spills everywhere, spreading like blood across the white surface. "You've spent years tearing apart marriages, families, lives. Why wouldn't you help tear apart mine too?"
"Because I didn't know it was you!"
The words echo through the quiet café. People are staring now. I don't care.
"Does that make it better?" I ask quietly. "That you help destroy people's lives as long as you don't know their names?"
He flinches like I've slapped him. Good. He should feel this. He should feel even a fraction of what I felt three years ago.
"I need to leave," I whisper, grabbing my purse.
"Zara, wait—"
"No." I back away from the table. From him. "You said you'd protect me. You said someone was in my corner for once. But you were the one who gave Marcus the weapons to destroy me."
"I don't know that for certain—"
"But you might have. That's enough." Tears blur my vision. "I was starting to trust you. To believe that maybe—" My voice cracks. "God, I'm so stupid. I'm always so stupid."
I turn and run.
Out of the café. Into the street. Into the cold evening air that feels like knives against my skin.
Behind me, I hear Ethan calling my name. But I don't stop.
I can't stop.
Because if I stop, I'll fall apart completely. And I've already fallen apart too many times in front of him.
My phone rings. Ethan. I decline the call.
It rings again. Decline.
Again. Decline.
A text buzzes through: "Please let me explain. Meet me tonight. I'll find out the truth."
I delete it without responding.
Another text: "I know you're scared. I am too. But running won't change what happened."
My fingers hover over the screen. He's right. Running won't change anything. But staying and hearing the truth might destroy what's left of me.
I'm about to turn off my phone when a different text comes through. Unknown number.
"Hello, Zara. Remember me?"
My blood turns to ice.
Only one person texts like that. With that smug, familiar tone.
I open the message thread. Another text appears:
"I heard your celebrity wedding fell apart. Such a shame. Almost like you're cursed. Or maybe you're just not good enough. You never were."
Marcus.
My hands shake so hard I nearly drop my phone.
Another message: "Meet me tomorrow. 10 AM. Bryant Park. Come alone. I have something you need to see. Something about who REALLY destroyed you. Hint: it's not who you think."
I stare at the screen. This is a trap. Obviously. Marcus doesn't help people. He destroys them.
But what if he knows something? What if there really is someone else behind everything?
"Tick tock, Zara. 10 AM. Or I send the photos to every wedding blog in the city."
Photos? What photos?
My phone buzzes again. This time it's an image. I click it with shaking fingers.
It's me and Ethan. From last night. Outside Dante's building. He's holding me while I cry. His arms are around me. My face is buried in his chest.
The angle is wrong—too perfect, too calculated. Someone was watching us. Taking pictures.
The caption reads: "Wedding Planner Zara Kingsley Finds Comfort in Divorce Lawyer's Arms After Celebrity Wedding Disaster—Is This Why Her Weddings Keep Failing?"
No. No, no, no.
Another text: "These go public in 24 hours unless you meet me. Your choice."
I lean against a building wall, my legs giving out. This can't be happening. Not again. Not when I was just starting to rebuild.
My phone rings. Not Ethan this time. Isla.
"Please tell me you're not having a breakdown somewhere alone," she says the second I answer.
"How did you—"
"Because I know you. What happened?"
Everything pours out. The therapy session. The panic attack. Ethan's father calling. The confession that Ethan might have helped Marcus destroy me. Marcus texting with threats and photos.
Isla is quiet for a long moment. Then: "Where are you?"
"I don't know. Some street. Everything looks the same."
"Send me your location. I'm coming to get you."
"Isla, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Because you're my best friend and you're spiraling." Her voice softens. "And because you're about to do something stupid like meet Marcus alone tomorrow, aren't you?"
I don't answer.
"That's what I thought. Don't move. I'll be there in ten minutes."
She hangs up.
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the cold sidewalk. People walk past, carefully avoiding eye contact. Just another broken person in Manhattan. Nothing to see here.
My phone buzzes again. Ethan: "I found my records from three years ago. I need to show you something. Please."
I close my eyes. I don't want to see his records. I don't want to know for sure that he helped destroy my life.
But I need to know.
Another buzz. Not a text this time. An email. From an address I don't recognize.
Subject line: "The Truth About Marcus Reid and Ethan Cross."
My heart stops.
I open it with shaking hands.
The email is short. Just two lines and an attachment.
"Dear Ms. Kingsley, you don't know me, but I know what happened to you three years ago. I know because I helped plan it. The attached document proves that Marcus Reid was hired to destroy you. But he wasn't hired by a competitor or an enemy. He was hired by someone you trusted. Someone who wanted you gone so they could take your place. Open the attachment. Then decide who to trust. Signed, A Friend."
My finger hovers over the attachment. It's a PDF. File name: "Payment Records—Reid Contract.pdf"
I click it.
The document loads slowly. Too slowly. Each second feels like an hour.
When it finally opens, I scan the first page. It's a contract dated three years and two months ago. Before Marcus and Vanessa's betrayal. Before my wedding day disaster.
The contract outlines payment terms: $50,000 upfront. $100,000 upon completion. Completion defined as "complete removal of Zara Kingsley from Ever After Events and destruction of her professional reputation."
My stomach turns.
I scroll down to the signature page. Two signatures. One is Marcus Reid's.
The other signature makes my blood freeze.
Because I recognize the handwriting. I've seen it on birthday cards, Christmas gifts, business documents.
It's Vanessa's father's signature.
David Chen. The man who was like a second father to me in college. Who helped fund my business. Who I trusted completely.
But that's not the worst part.
At the bottom of the contract, there's a note in tiny print:
"Legal consultation provided by E. Cross, Esq. Cross & Associates Law Firm."
Ethan's firm.
Ethan didn't just help Marcus. He helped David Chen and Marcus plan my destruction. Together.
I'm going to be sick.
A car pulls up beside me. Isla jumps out, takes one look at my face, and kneels down. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Worse," I whisper, showing her the document.
She reads it. Her face goes white. Then red. Then purple with rage.
"That son of a—"
"Don't." I stand up on shaking legs. "I need to go. I need to—"
"Where? What are you going to do?"
I look at her. Really look at her. My best friend. The one person who stood by me after Vanessa's betrayal. The one person I still trust.
"I'm going to that meeting with Ethan's father tonight," I say quietly. "But I'm not going with Ethan. I'm going alone."
"Zara, that's insane—"
"He knows something. And I need to hear it from someone who isn't lying to me." I grab her arm. "Come with me. Please. I can't do this alone."
Isla studies my face. Then she nods. "Okay. But we're bringing pepper spray. And calling the police if anything goes wrong."
"Deal."
My phone buzzes. Ethan again: "I'm at the Brighton Hotel. Meeting my father in one hour. Please come. I need you to hear the truth."
I text back one word: "Coming."
But what Ethan doesn't know is that I've already seen the truth. And the truth is that everyone I've ever trusted has betrayed me.
Including him.
Tonight, I'll hear what his father has to say. And then I'll decide if Ethan Cross deserves to be destroyed the way he helped destroy me.