He downed the rest of his whisky in one motion. "And even if he pulls the rug out from under me, I'm not broke. I didn't spend a decade just getting coffee and carting audit boxes. My trust fund isn't all I have; I've built my own."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "So, you've got a plan?"
"I always have a plan." Crispin refilled his glass with steady hands. "I'm my father's son, Dorian. I know exactly how to weaponize information. And I know the board. I know every shareholder's weakness. Their gambling habits. Their mistresses. Their offshore accounts. If he wants a war, I'll give him one."
They finished the bottle in silence.
A few days later, Alice had come by, her presence unexpected. He hadn't realised how thin and guarded she looked lately.
"I didn't know about Aria," she'd said quietly. "Not until that awful dinner. But Mum...she knew."
He hadn't replied.
"I'm just glad you're not with Helga," she added. "She was vile in school. I never told you what she did to me; I thought you were in love and wouldn't listen. But I can't forget."
"There were pictures of me. I was heavier back then, and...it got out. There were comments, messages. I nearly... I thought I wouldn't survive it."
His heart clenched. How did he not know?
"What kind of pictures?" he asked finally.
"Nothing explicit," she said softly. "Just bra and knickers, but it was enough. Who enjoys doing things like that? The boy who leaked them took care of it in the end."
Crispin stared at her, rage blooming hot in his chest. "You should have told me."
"I got therapy. I'm stronger now," she said. "I won't go back to who I was. Ever."
And Crispin realised how deeply he had failed the women who mattered most.
He'd been sending messages to Aria, leaving groceries at her door. Once, he sat in the corner of the breakfast shop across from her building just to catch a glimpse of her leaving. He felt like a stalker, but he didn't know what else to do.
The wait was endless and all his fault. All his sins had come back to roost at his doorstep.
Why hadn't he just told her what she meant to him? Why had he rationed his time with her like she was a craving to be suppressed instead of a woman to be cherished?
She brought out the best in him, yet he had treated her like she was nothing.
Now his nights were haunted-some filled with dreams of her, soft and sweet, in his arms again; others were darker, visions of her laughing in someone else's bed. He hated Jacob, the man from the café, for no good reason. Except that he smiled at Aria like he knew her better than Crispin ever had.
And then she'd called, only to say goodbye.
He knew something had gone wrong at work-maybe more than one thing. But she would never accept help, would never take his money. The last time he'd tried to pay her rent, she'd iced him out for two weeks until he'd broken and apologised just to hear her voice again.
Now she was leaving for Oxford.
His birthday was two weeks away.
He'd waited this long.
He could wait a little longer.
Chapter 37
Aria
The call with her landlord lasted seven minutes.
That was all it took to undo ten years.
