Nick’s POV
After my conversation with Reagan, I stepped out of the visitation room feeling like I’d just walked through a storm. My chest was tight, my thoughts heavier than the air I breathed. I wanted justice, but not like this. Seeing Reagan like that, stripped of everything, broken in spirit... it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like a loss.
He’d already been punished long before he was arrested. And I wasn’t God to decide how much more he should pay.
Oliver walked beside , quiet for a while before finally asking, "Will you also see Raymond and Nancy?"
I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets. "No. I don’t have it in right now. If Georgia doesn’t bleed tonight, she’s getting discharged tomorrow, and I’d rather be there when she opens her eyes than waste another second on people who don’t matter anymore."
Ollie smirked faintly, as if proud of my answer. "Fair. Besides, those two will rot where they belong."
"Good," I muttered. "That’s the only part of this that feels right."
We exited the detention center, and the last thing I expected to see was her—Sarah, leaning against her car, parked right beside mine. She looked the sa and yet older, as if the weight of the past few months had aged her too.
When she noticed us, she straightened and gave a faint smile. "I saw Violet leaving. She told you were here. Can we talk, Nick?"
I glanced at Oliver, who gave a knowing look and a quick pat on the shoulder. "I’ll take that as my cue to escape. I’ve got paperwork piling up anyway. Text if you need ."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Thanks, Ollie."
He nodded once and left. Sarah and I stood there in silence for a few seconds, long enough to feel awkward but not long enough to walk away.
"Is there a coffee shop near here?" I finally asked.
"There’s one about a block away," she said. "My treat."
"Lead the way," I said, gesturing for her to go first.
She smiled, just a small one, but it was genuine. And as I followed her down the street, I realized sothing strange.
I didn’t feel angry anymore. Just... tired, calm, and maybe, finally ready to let the past rest.
I ordered an Iced Aricano, sothing quick and cold, easy to finish if the conversation went south, and I needed an excuse to leave. When it ca to Sarah, I’d learned the hard way to manage my expectations.
"Why did you want to talk to ?" I asked once we settled into our seats by the window.
She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the paper cup. "I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything," she began softly, "but I’m begging you, Nick... please do sothing about Reagan."
I leaned back, arms crossing over my chest. "Why should I?" I asked, not because I didn’t already know what she’d say, but because I wanted to see if she’d stand by it.
Sarah swallowed hard, her eyes darting away. "Because Benjamin refused to help him. He said he’s done watching the two of you tear each other apart. Reagan made terrible choices, yes, but he’s paying for them now. He regrets it, Nick. Please, help him before it’s too late."
I raised an eyebrow, studying her. "And if I do? What do I get out of it?"
She looked dead in the eye this ti. "I’ll take full responsibility for Reagan. If he gets out and screws up again, bla . I’ll take it."
I blinked, speechless for a second. Was she serious? Or was this so kind of bad joke? My jaw slackened, and I rubbed the spot between my eyebrows to keep myself from sighing too loud.
"Wait—hold on, Sarah. What exactly are you saying?"
"I an it," she said earnestly. "My family knows everything, his bloodline, his mistakes, and they’re still willing to accept him. My dad even said he’s willing to hand over the company once we get married. He offered it to , but you know that’s not what I want. That’s Reagan’s dream, not mine. You’ll inherit your father’s position, Reagan will take over my dad’s—it’s a win-win, right?"
I ran a hand down my face, torn between laughter and disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself right now?"
"What?" she asked, frowning.
"Do you really think all this, our family’s ss, the years of resentnt, betrayal, everything, was ever about money?" I asked quietly, searching her face.
She froze, clearly confused. "T-Then what else? It started because your grandfather and father chose you as the heir, didn’t it?"
And that was when I realized Reagan hadn’t told her everything. Maybe he was trying to protect her, or maybe he was just ashad. Either way, this wasn’t a conversation I should be having with her.
I stood, grabbed my coffee, and gave her a small, tired smile. "This won’t go anywhere until Reagan tells you the truth himself. And if he hasn’t... then it’s not my story to tell."
She looked up, her eyes pleading. "Nick—"
"I’ll think about your request," I said, cutting her off gently. "But I have to go. My wife’s waiting, and I have work to do."
I didn’t look back as I left the café.
Because if I did, I might’ve said sothing I’d regret—and I’d had enough of regret for one lifeti.
As soon as I stepped out of the café, I loosened my tie and drew a deep breath, letting the cold air calm the storm in my head. "Take to the helipad," I told my driver the mont I got inside the car. As soon as the engine started, I pulled out my phone, scrolling to Vicky’s number.
She answered on the second ring.
[Nick?]
"et at the hotel," I said firmly. "Bring Liam and Dad. There’s sothing important I need to discuss... about Reagan."
There was a short pause on her end before she replied, [Alright. We’ll be there.]
"Thanks, Vicky," I murmured, staring out the window as the city blurred past. "I want to have peace of mind, sothing that I haven’t had for a long ti."
*******
Thank you for the Golden Ticket!
Edna_R2679
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