Updated Oct 22, 2025 • ~14 min read
The text came three days later, at two in the morning.
Paige was wide awake—insomnia had become her constant companion—when the burner phone lit up on her nightstand.
V: Can’t sleep. You up?
She stared at the message for a long moment before responding.
P: Unfortunately yes. Insomnia club?
V: Founding member. Can I call you?
Her finger hovered over the keyboard. This was dangerous territory. Late night calls, vulnerability in the dark—this was how things shifted from business to something else entirely.
P: Okay
The phone rang immediately.
“Hi.” Vincent’s voice was rough, like he’d been drinking or crying or both.
“Hi. How’s your father?”
“Home from the hospital. Weak but alive.” A pause. “I’m at his house. In his study. Looking at photos of Marcus and me as kids, wondering where it all went wrong.”
Paige pulled her knees to her chest, phone pressed to her ear. “You can’t blame yourself for who he became.”
“Can’t I? I knew what he was. I saw it when we were teenagers and I did nothing. I left. Went to college, built my own life, told myself it wasn’t my problem.” His voice cracked. “How many women did he hurt while I was pretending everything was fine?”
“Vincent—”
“Five. That’s how many settlements are in those files I gave you. Five women over ten years. And those are just the ones who took money. How many others were there? How many didn’t come forward because they knew what my family would do?”
The pain in his voice made Paige’s chest ache. “You’re doing something about it now. That matters.”
“Does it? Or am I just assuaging my guilt by making a deal with you? By telling myself that waiting six months is strategic instead of cowardly?”
“I think you’re human. Flawed and complicated and trying to do the right thing in an impossible situation.”
“God, I wish I deserved that generosity.” Vincent let out a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have called. You don’t need to be my therapist on top of everything else.”
“Maybe I need someone to talk to at two a.m. too. Someone who understands what this feels like.”
“What does it feel like?”
Paige closed her eyes. “Like drowning and flying at the same time. Like I’ve made a terrible mistake but also saved my own life. Like I’m the villain and the victim and I can’t tell which is winning.”
“That’s exactly it.” His voice was quiet. “Paige? If you could go back, would you? Would you refuse the money and testify?”
The question hung between them, heavy and impossible.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Some days I think yes. That I should have been brave. But then I remember what it felt like to be under Marcus’s control, to have my whole life dictated by fear, and I think… maybe choosing myself was brave too.”
“It was. It is.” Vincent paused. “I’m going to be in Santa Monica tomorrow. Meeting with the lawyers about my father’s estate. Can I see you after? Just coffee. Or a walk. Something normal.”
“Normal.” Paige laughed softly. “I don’t think we do normal.”
“Then abnormal coffee. Say yes.”
She should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember that every moment with Vincent pulled her deeper into dangerous territory.
“Yes,” she whispered.
They stayed on the phone until almost four, talking about everything and nothing. Movies they loved. Books they’d read. The mundane details of life that felt revolutionary because they were sharing them.
By the time they hung up, dawn was breaking over Los Angeles, and Paige felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.
It was terrifying.
Vincent texted her an address the next afternoon—a coffee shop in Santa Monica, small and tucked away. The kind of place where no one would recognize them.
Paige changed three times before settling on jeans and a soft blue sweater. Casual. Like this was just a friend meeting. Like her heart wasn’t racing at the thought of seeing him.
He was already there when she arrived, seated at a corner table with two coffees. He’d remembered how she took hers—cream, no sugar.
“Hi.” He stood, and for a moment they just looked at each other.
“Hi.” Paige sat, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. “How was the lawyer meeting?”
“Depressing. Lots of talk about wills and estates and what happens when. My father’s convinced he has years left. The doctors give him months.” Vincent’s jaw tightened. “He’s making plans for a future he won’t see.”
“That must be hard.”
“It would be easier if I didn’t resent him for it. For leaving me to clean up this mess. For never seeing what Marcus really was.” Vincent looked at her. “Do you resent your parents? For not seeing the signs with Marcus?”
Paige thought about it. “They live in Arizona. We’re not close. By the time Marcus showed his true colors, I was already isolated from them. They don’t even know the full story of what he did.”
“Do they know about the trial? About your withdrawal?”
“No. I told them it was over, that I’d moved on. They were relieved.” She took a sip of coffee. “Is that terrible? That I lied to them?”
“No. It’s survival.” Vincent reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “That’s all we’re doing, Paige. Surviving the best way we know how.”
The touch sent electricity up her arm. She should pull away. Didn’t.
“Vincent.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” His thumb traced circles on her hand. “But I can’t seem to stay away from you.”
“This is wrong. On so many levels.”
“I know.”
“Your brother—”
“Is a monster who doesn’t deserve to be part of this conversation.” Vincent’s eyes held hers. “What’s between us has nothing to do with him.”
“Everything between us is because of him.”
“Is it? Or is it because you’re the first person I’ve met in years who sees me clearly? Who doesn’t want something from me except honesty?” He leaned closer. “Who makes me want to be the man I should have been all along?”
Paige’s breath caught. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not? Because they’re true? Because they complicate things?” Vincent’s voice was rough. “Paige, I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to convince myself this is just guilt. Just me trying to feel better about bribing you. But it’s not. Every time I hear your voice, every time I see you, I—”
“Don’t.” She pulled her hand back. “Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t make this more complicated than it already is.”
“Too late.” He sat back. “It’s already complicated. We’re already in too deep.”
They were. Paige could feel it—the pull between them that had nothing to do with money or deals or brothers who hurt people. Something real and terrifying that was growing despite every reason it shouldn’t.
“I should go,” she said, but made no move to leave.
“Stay. Please. Just a little longer.”
So she did. They talked for hours, coffee growing cold, afternoon fading to evening. About everything except Marcus, except the deal, except the impossible situation they were in.
And when Vincent walked her to her car, his hand found hers again.
“Come home with me,” he said quietly.
Paige’s heart stuttered. “Vincent—”
“Not for that. Just… I don’t want to be alone tonight. And I don’t think you do either.” His eyes searched hers. “We can order food. Watch a movie. Fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch. I just need you near me.”
Every rational thought in Paige’s head screamed danger. This was how you got hurt. This was how complicated became impossible.
“Okay,” she heard herself say.
Vincent’s penthouse was in Century City—all glass and steel and city views. Modern and impersonal except for the bookshelves lining one wall and the photos scattered on side tables.
“This is beautiful,” Paige said, walking to the window.
“It’s lonely.” Vincent came to stand beside her. “I bought it after Marcus’s arrest. Couldn’t stand being in the family house anymore, surrounded by memories of who we used to be.”
“Who were you? Before?”
“Brothers. Actually brothers, not just by blood. We played basketball in the driveway. Fought over video games. Normal kid stuff.” His voice was wistful. “The violence started in high school. Small things at first—pushing his girlfriend, throwing things when he was angry. My father made excuses. Said he was just passionate, just needed to learn control.”
“But he never did.”
“No. He just got better at hiding it.” Vincent turned to her. “I’m not making excuses for my family. For myself. I just… I want you to know it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Marcus was someone I looked up to.”
“What happened?”
“Power. Money. Parents who never said no.” Vincent’s expression darkened. “And something broken inside him that no amount of therapy or second chances could fix.”
They ordered Thai food and ate on the couch, some action movie playing on the massive TV that neither of them watched. Paige found herself migrating closer, drawn by warmth and the need to not be alone with her thoughts.
Vincent’s arm settled around her shoulders, and she let herself sink into his side.
“This is dangerous,” she murmured.
“I know.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Probably not.”
“But I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.” His hand moved to her hair, fingers threading through it gently. “Stay. At least for tonight.”
Paige tilted her head up, and suddenly his face was inches from hers. She could see the conflict in his eyes—want warring with guilt, need fighting with conscience.
“Vincent,” she whispered.
He kissed her.
It was soft at first, tentative, like he was giving her time to push him away. But Paige didn’t push. She leaned in, hands fisting in his shirt, and kissed him back.
The guilt came later. Right now, there was just this—the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way he held her like she was precious instead of broken.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Vincent rested his forehead against hers.
“We can’t do this,” he said, even as his hands stayed on her waist.
“I know.”
“It’s too complicated. Too wrong.”
“I know that too.”
“But I don’t want to stop.”
“Neither do I.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, three weeks of tension and guilt and impossible feelings pouring out. Vincent pulled her into his lap, and Paige went willingly, desperate for connection, for something that felt real in a life built on lies.
His hands skimmed up her sides, under her sweater, and she gasped against his mouth. This was moving too fast. They should slow down, talk, think about what they were doing.
But thinking was what had gotten her into this mess. Right now, she just wanted to feel.
Vincent’s phone rang.
They froze, still tangled together. He closed his eyes. “I have to check. My father—”
“I know. Answer it.”
He did, and Paige watched his face change from desire to concern to something like fear.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, already moving, setting Paige aside gently. “Twenty minutes.”
“What happened?”
“My father collapsed. They’re taking him to Cedars-Sinai.” Vincent grabbed his keys, his wallet, looking around like he’d forgotten something. “I’m sorry. I have to—”
“Go. Of course. Go.”
He paused at the door. “Paige—”
“We’ll talk later. Just go be with your father.”
He was gone in seconds, leaving Paige alone in his penthouse with kiss-swollen lips and the taste of regret already forming.
She should leave. Should call a car and go home and never do this again.
Instead, she curled up on his couch and waited.
He didn’t come back that night. The burner phone stayed silent.
Paige finally called a car at three a.m., let herself out, and rode home in silence, replaying every moment of the kiss that should never have happened.
The shame hit when she walked into her apartment.
She’d kissed Vincent Hartley. The brother of the man who’d abused her. The man who’d bribed her into silence. The man who was using her to assuage his own guilt.
And she’d liked it. Had wanted more. Had been ready to do more before his phone rang.
Paige stood in her shower until the water ran cold, trying to wash away the feeling of his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers.
It didn’t work.
Nothing worked.
Because the terrible truth was, she didn’t regret it. Didn’t wish it hadn’t happened.
She just wished it didn’t feel so right when everything about it was wrong.
The burner phone finally rang at noon the next day.
“He’s alive,” Vincent said without preamble. “Stable. It was a close call but he’s okay.”
“That’s good.”
“Paige. About last night—”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t handle this conversation right now. “Your father almost died. That’s what matters. Everything else can wait.”
“It can’t. I need to say this.” Vincent’s voice was rough. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. Shouldn’t have asked you to come over. I put you in an impossible position and I’m sorry.”
The words should have been a relief. Instead, they felt like rejection.
“Okay,” Paige said quietly.
“That’s it? Just okay?”
“What do you want me to say, Vincent? That it was a mistake? Fine. It was a mistake. One we won’t make again.”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped. “You’re right. It was a mistake. We need to maintain boundaries. Keep this professional.”
“Professional.” The word tasted bitter. “Right. Because bribing someone into silence is so professional.”
“Paige—”
“I have to go. I’m glad your father’s okay.”
She hung up before he could respond.
The shame curdled into something harder. Anger, maybe. Or just the crushing realization that she’d let herself hope for something that could never exist.
She was the woman Vincent Hartley had bribed. The victim his brother had destroyed. No amount of late-night phone calls or kisses or connection could change those fundamental truths.
She’d been a fool to forget that, even for a moment.
Paige spent the rest of the day trying to bury herself in work, in normalcy, in anything that didn’t involve thinking about the taste of Vincent’s lips or the way his hands had felt on her skin.
It didn’t work.
Because she could still feel him. Could still hear his voice saying her name like a prayer. Could still remember the way he’d looked at her—like she was the only real thing in a world of lies.
And she hated herself for wanting that look back.
For wanting him back.
For wanting anything at all when she should be focused on survival, on getting through the next six months, on making sure Marcus paid for what he’d done.
But the heart didn’t work that way. Didn’t care about logic or reason or all the very good reasons why falling for Vincent Hartley was the worst possible idea.
It just wanted what it wanted.
And what Paige wanted, more than she’d wanted anything in a long time, was to go back to that couch and finish what they’d started.
She went to bed that night with her phone clutched in her hand, hoping he’d call again.
Knowing he wouldn’t.
Understanding, finally, that this was what hell looked like—not fire and brimstone, but wanting someone you couldn’t have while drowning in guilt for wanting them at all.
Welcome to her life.
Welcome to the mess she’d made.
Welcome to falling in love with the devil while trying to escape his brother’s shadow.
There was no way out that didn’t hurt.
Paige was just starting to realize how much.
Reader Reactions