Brooke arrived on a Tuesday morning with two suitcases and an opinion about everything.
She stood in the penthouse foyer, hands on her hips, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. "Jesus Christ, Elyse. You live in a museum."
I smiled despite myself. "It's just a home."
"No, babe. This is what God's living room looks like." She turned in a slow circle, taking in the marble floors, the chandelier, the view of Central Park through floor-to-ceiling windows. "I'm never leaving."
"You're staying in the guest wing."
"I'm moving into the guest wing. There's a difference."
She dropped her bags and pulled me into a hug. Hard. The kind that squeezed air out of your lungs. When she let go, her eyes went straight to my belly.
"Look at you," she said quietly. "Look at you."
I blinked fast. "Stop."
"I'm serious. You're glowing. You're happy. You're—" She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Elyse."
I sighed. "Brunch first. Interrogation after."
"Deal."
---
We sat on the terrace with coffee and pastries I didn't touch. Brooke ate three croissants and half a Danish before she put her fork down and looked at me.
"Spill."
I told her about the clinic. About Karson's face. About Delaney's hand on his arm. About the way he'd said *I'm happy for you* like he was reading from a script.
Brooke's jaw tightened with every sentence. By the time I finished, her knuckles were white around her coffee cup.
"Names," she said.
"What?"
"I need names. Addresses. Social security numbers if you have them."
"Brooke—"
"That man watched your father die saving his life. He swore on his grave. Then he handed you to the wolves." Her voice was rising. "And the woman you pulled out of the gutter? The one you paid tuition for? She crawled into your bed while you were signing the checks. This is NOT fine, Elyse."
"I know it's not fine."
"Then why are you sitting here like it's something you have to tolerate?"
I looked down at my hands. "Because I don't know what else to do."
Brooke leaned forward. "You do. You just don't want to do it yet."
She was right. She was always right.
---
Leland came home that evening to find Brooke sprawled on the living room sofa, flipping through a coffee table book about modern architecture.
He stopped in the doorway. "You must be Brooke."
She looked up. "You must be the billionaire."
"Leland."
"I know who you are." She closed the book and sat up. "Sit."
Leland glanced at me. I shrugged. He sat.
Brooke folded her arms. "Prenup?"
"Brooke—" I started.
"Yes," Leland said calmly. "Ironclad. Protects her completely."
"Good. Family?"
"My mother had reservations at first. She doesn't anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because she met Elyse."
Brooke's eyes narrowed. "If you hurt her, I will find you. I don't care how many lawyers you have."
Leland didn't blink. "If I hurt her, you won't need to find me. I'll turn myself in."
They stared at each other. The silence stretched.
Then Brooke nodded once. "You might be acceptable."
Leland's mouth twitched. "High praise."
"Don't get cocky."
I hid my smile behind my water glass.
---
The next afternoon, I took the subway to Brooklyn. Alone. Leland offered the car. I said no. Some trips you have to make yourself.
Valerie's apartment was on the third floor of a walk-up near Prospect Park. The hallway smelled like someone's dinner. Garlic and tomato. The door was painted green.
She opened it before I knocked.
"I heard you on the stairs," she said, pulling me inside. "Sit. I'll make tea."
The apartment was small and warm. Photographs covered every surface. Angelo in his dress uniform. The firehouse crew at a barbecue. Me, maybe seven years old, sitting on my father's shoulders.
I sat on the sofa and stared at that picture until Valerie came back with two mugs.
She handed me one and sat beside me. "You didn't come all this way for tea."
I wrapped my hands around the mug. "I ran into Karson."
She said nothing. Just waited.
"At the clinic. He was there with Delaney. He looked at me like I was something broken he used to own." My voice cracked. "And I just walked away."
"Good."
"But I'm angry, Valerie. I'm so angry I can't breathe sometimes. And I'm afraid—" I stopped.
"Afraid of what?"
"That if I let it out, I'll become someone I don't recognize. That I'll be just as bad as them."
Valerie set her mug down. She took my hands in hers. Her skin was warm and rough.
"Your father didn't raise you to be silent," she said quietly. "He raised you to be strong. Angelo never once swallowed the truth to make someone comfortable. Not once. You've been quiet long enough, baby."
A tear slid down my cheek. Then another.
"He saved Karson's life," I whispered. "And Karson destroyed mine."
"I know."
"How do I live with that?"
Valerie squeezed my hands. "You stop carrying it for him. You put it down. You walk away. And if he follows—" She smiled, small and fierce. "You let him see exactly who you've become."
I nodded. Wiped my face.
She was right.
They were both right.
I'd been quiet long enough.
