Precise.
Devastating.
Because a small, frightened part of Natalie wondered if there was truth in it.
“Get out,” Natalie said, her voice eerily calm.
“Nat, I’m trying to help—”
“You’re trying to help yourself,” Natalie said. “You betrayed me. You destroyed my livelihood. For what? Carter doesn’t love you, Charlotte. He never has. And after this, he never will.”
Charlotte went pale.
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“I know he values loyalty,” Natalie said. “And you just proved you don’t have any. We’re done. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come back.”
“Natalie—”
“I said,” she repeated, “get out.”
Charlotte left.
Natalie closed the door with shaking hands.
Then she slid down to the floor and finally let herself fall apart.
Carter found out about Charlotte’s involvement through his investigator’s report at midnight.
He called Natalie immediately.
Voicemail.
He made a decision the old version of himself would have avoided.
He got in his car and went to Brooklyn.
Gran answered the door in a bathrobe, took one look at his face, and stepped aside.
“She’s in her room,” she said. “Go easy. It’s been a day.”
Natalie was curled on her bed, laptop open, surrounded by tissues.
She looked up when he entered, devastation written all over her face.
“Charlotte,” he said quietly.
“You know,” she replied.
“I know,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea—”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “She’s been in love with you for years, apparently. I just never saw it.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Some best friend I am,” she added.
“You couldn’t have known,” he said.
