Updated Nov 25, 2025 • ~10 min read
I showed up at Paisley’s apartment at seven am.
She opened the door looking guilty. Good.
“Morgana—”
“We’re going to talk. Now. No more phone conversations where you can hang up when uncomfortable.”
She let me in. Her apartment was smaller than I remembered. Less glamorous. Post-Warren, she’d downsized significantly.
“Coffee?” she offered.
“Answers.”
We sat. Tension thick enough to cut.
“Why did you release that footage?” I asked.
“I told you. To protect you.”
“That’s what you tell yourself. But I want the real reason. The one you’re afraid to say out loud.”
She looked away. “I don’t know what—”
“Paisley. You bribed hotel security to get surveillance footage of my husband. That’s not sisterly concern. That’s obsession. So tell me the truth. Why are you trying to destroy my marriage?”
Long silence. Then, quietly: “Because you got the fairy tale I was supposed to have.”
There it was.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m furious!” She stood. Paced. “You crashed my wedding. Humiliated me on live television. And somehow you ended up with the billionaire. The happy ending. The real love story. While I’m here, alone, dealing with the fallout from Warren’s crimes. How is that fair?”
“It’s not. But that doesn’t justify sabotage.”
“You don’t get it, Morgana. My entire life imploded that day. When you crashed my wedding. Everyone saw. Everyone judged. I lost Warren. Lost my reputation. Lost everything. And you? You got famous. Got Leander. Got a reality show and a documentary career and a fucking fairytale.”
“You think this is a fairytale? My marriage is built on lies and manipulation!”
“At least you have a marriage! At least someone chose you! Leander could’ve picked anyone. He picked you. Over billions of dollars. Over his ex-girlfriend. Over everything. When was the last time someone chose me?”
Her voice broke on the last word.
I softened slightly. “Pais, I didn’t steal your life.”
“Didn’t you? You crashed my wedding to save me. But I think part of you enjoyed it. Enjoyed being the hero. Enjoyed the spotlight. And when Leander showed up, you took that too.”
“I didn’t take anything—”
“You took what should’ve been mine! The grand gesture. The man who chooses love over money. The story everyone wants. I was supposed to have that with Warren. Instead I got embarrassed and you got everything.”
“So you decided to burn my marriage? Make me as miserable as you?”
“I decided to show you the truth. That Leander is no different than Warren. That your fairy tale is as fake as mine was.”
“Except it’s not. Leander made mistakes. Huge ones. But he’s trying. Warren never tried. He just used you.”
“And Leander hasn’t used you? He knew you were being manipulated! He participated in your manipulation! How is that better?”
“Because he confessed. Because he’s trying to make it right. Because he chose me over fourteen billion dollars. Warren would never do that.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Yes I do. And so do you. That’s why you’re so angry. Not at Leander. At Warren. For not being the man you needed. But you can’t punish him anymore, so you’re punishing me instead.”
She sat heavily. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just—I see you with Leander and I’m so angry. At him. At you. At myself for marrying Warren in the first place. For not seeing what you saw. For being so stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid. You were in love with someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“Like you’re in love with Leander?”
“Maybe. Probably. But I’m going into it with eyes open. I know he’s flawed. I know we’re built on lies. I’m choosing him anyway.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“It’s honest.”
Paisley looked at me. Really looked. “I’m sorry. For the leak. For trying to sabotage you. For being so bitter I couldn’t be happy for you.”
“I’m sorry I crashed your wedding on live television. That I didn’t find a better way. That my happy ending came from your disaster.”
“Not your fault. I chose Warren. You just stopped me from marrying him.”
“Still. I could’ve been gentler.”
“No. You couldn’t. I wouldn’t have listened. You did what you had to do. I just wish it hadn’t cost me so much.”
We sat in shared pain. Sisters who’d hurt each other in the name of protection.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“You stop leaking surveillance footage. I stop feeling guilty for being happy. We try to rebuild something real. Not sisterly obligation. Actual relationship.”
“I’d like that. If you can forgive me.”
“I can forgive you. But Paisley, you have to stop. No more revenge plots. No more trying to protect me by destroying my choices. I’m an adult. I get to make my own mistakes.”
“Even if the mistakes hurt you?”
“Especially then. That’s what being an adult means.”
My phone buzzed. Leander.
Helena Drake just called. Someone leaked the original contract with Mia. The one with all the manipulation details. It’s going to run tomorrow. We need to get ahead of this.
I showed Paisley the text. “Did you leak the contract too?”
“No. I only leaked the kiss footage. I don’t have access to legal contracts.”
“Then who does?”
We looked at each other. Same thought.
“Someone inside Mia’s organization,” I said. “Someone with access to all her files.”
“Or someone Mia pissed off,” Paisley added. “She’s made a lot of enemies.”
I called Leander. “The contract leak isn’t Paisley. Someone else has access to Mia’s files.”
“I’m at her office now. She’s in crisis mode. Her entire operation is being exposed. Someone hacked her servers and downloaded everything.”
“Who?”
“She’s claiming it’s Bradford Alford. Revenge for exposing his son’s attempted murder. But I think it’s someone closer. Someone who worked for her.”
“Can you narrow it down?”
“She fired three people last month. Any of them could want revenge.”
“Get names. We’ll investigate. In the meantime, we need to prepare for the contract going public.”
“It’s going to be bad, Morgana. The contract spells out exactly how she planned to manipulate you. Down to the psychological tactics. When people see that—”
“They’ll see I was targeted by a predator. That’s not on me.”
“They’ll also see I agreed to it. That’s on me.”
“Then we own it. Together. Like we’ve been doing.”
“Together,” he agreed. “Come home? Please? I miss you.”
Did I want to go home? To the penthouse that represented everything complicated about us?
“I’ll come home. But Leander? We need actual couples therapy. Not performance. Real therapy. Because we’re a mess and we need professional help to not be.”
“Already called three therapists. Have consultations scheduled for tomorrow.”
“You called three therapists?”
“I’m motivated. You left. I don’t want that to happen again.”
Despite everything, I smiled. “See you soon.”
After I hung up, Paisley said, “You’re going back to him.”
“I am.”
“Even after everything?”
“Especially after everything. Because the alternative—walking away from something real because it’s complicated—that’s worse than trying and failing.”
“When did you get so brave?”
“When I crashed your wedding and accidentally changed my life. Turns out public humiliation builds character.”
She laughed. Actual laughter. First time in months.
“I’m glad you’re happy, Morgana. Really. I’m sorry I tried to ruin it.”
“I’m sorry I built my happiness on your disaster.”
“That’s not—okay, partially true. But I chose Warren. You just stopped me from making it permanent. That’s not building on disaster. That’s collateral rescue.”
I hugged her. Tight. My sister. Flawed and jealous and human.
“We’re going to be okay,” I said. “Both of us. Eventually.”
“Promise?”
“No. But I’m hopeful. That’s enough.”
I left. Headed back to the penthouse. To my husband. To our complicated, messy, real relationship.
Traffic was brutal. I sat in gridlock, thinking about everything that had happened in four months. Wedding crash. Fake engagement. Reality show. Corporate conspiracy. Assassination attempt. Real wedding. Public disaster.
And through it all, one constant: Leander.
Flawed. Calculating. Mine.
I arrived home—I could call it home now—to find him cooking. Actually cooking.
“You cook?” I asked.
“I’m following a recipe. That counts.”
“What are you making?”
“Apology dinner. It’s going poorly.”
I looked at the kitchen. Chaos. Burned vegetables. Something smoking in the pan.
“You’re a disaster.”
“I’m trying. There’s a difference.”
I kissed him. Right there in the disaster kitchen. “I know. I appreciate it.”
“You’re staying?”
“I’m staying. But we’re doing therapy. And you’re never keeping secrets again. Even ones you think are protecting me.”
“Deal. Also, we need to order takeout because I’ve ruined dinner.”
We ordered Thai. Ate it sitting on the couch. No cameras. No performance. Just us.
“Helena Drake called again,” Leander said between bites. “Wants an exclusive about the contract leak. Says if we get ahead of it, we can control the narrative.”
“Do we want to control the narrative? Or do we want to just let the truth be the truth?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means maybe we stop trying to manage optics. Stop calculating every move. Just be honest and let the pieces fall where they may.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“It’s freeing. We’ve been performing for months. I’m tired of it. What if we just… stopped?”
“People will judge us.”
“People are already judging us. Let them. I’d rather be honestly flawed than performatively perfect.”
He considered this. “Okay. No more narrative control. We tell Helena the truth. All of it. And accept whatever comes.”
“All of it? Including the kiss? The manipulation? Everything?”
“Everything. Nothing held back. Total transparency.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. But I trust you. If you think honesty is the move, I’m in.”
We scheduled the interview for the next day. Helena Drake would get the full story. Everything we’d hidden. Everything that made us look bad.
And for the first time since the wedding crash, I felt like I could breathe.
Because we were done performing.
Done calculating.
Done trying to be anything other than what we were: two people who’d met through manipulation and chosen to stay through honesty.
That night, lying in bed, Leander said, “I’m scared the interview will destroy us.”
“Me too.”
“But you still want to do it?”
“I want to stop being scared of the truth. This seems like a good start.”
“What if people hate us?”
“Then they hate us. At least they’ll hate the real us. Not the version Mia created.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’m not wise. I’m exhausted. There’s a difference. Exhaustion looks like wisdom when you’re desperate enough.”
He laughed. Pulled me close. “I love you. Even when you’re cynical.”
“Especially when I’m cynical. That’s when I’m most honest.”
“Fair point.”
We fell asleep tangled together. Married. Messy. Honest.
Tomorrow we’d tell Helena Drake everything.
And watch the world decide what to do with our truth.
But tonight, we had each other.
And that felt like enough.
Even if tomorrow destroyed us.
We’d be destroyed honestly.
Together.
Finally real.
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