Chapter 286: People Who Made Terrible Decisions

The three fans had been told they could leave.

Their statements were taken. Rina’s arm was wrapped in a compression bandage that ran from her wrist to her elbow. Tess’s camcorder had been copied by an officer who’d handled it like evidence, which it was, and then returned to her with a nod and a receipt. The officer at the front desk had said they were free to go, and they’d nodded and thanked him and walked out the front doors into the cool night air.

Then they stopped.

Mari leaned against the station’s outer wall, her arms crossed against the cold. Rina stood beside her, cradling her bandaged arm the way you’d hold something fragile. Tess sat on the low concrete ledge near the steps, her broken camcorder in her lap, her fingers tracing the cracked screen.

"We should go home," Rina said.

"We should," Mari agreed.

Neither of them moved.

The street was empty. The station’s fluorescent glow spilled through the glass doors, cutting a sharp rectangle of light across the dark pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wound down and faded. The city was asleep, or pretending to be.

"I can’t stop thinking about it," Tess said quietly. "Her face. When she walked out of the club. She didn’t even hesitate."

"The way she kicked that man." Rina shook her head. "I’ve never seen anyone move like that. One second he was reaching for her, and the next he was on the ground making that sound."

"That sound," Mari said. "I’m going to hear that sound for the rest of my life."

"She took down two of them. Sam Pemberton took the other two. And the bodyguard just —" Mari made a vague gesture with her hand. "Pinned the leader like he was nothing. Like she’d been waiting all night for someone to give her an excuse."

They were quiet for a moment. Tess was still tracing the cracks in her camcorder screen. Rina shifted her weight, wincing as her arm moved.

"I want to thank her," Tess said. "And apologize. For following her. For everything we said in the car."

"You called her cold," Mari said.

"I know what I said."

"You said she wasn’t good enough for Noah. You said the industry was full of younger women. Warmer women. You said —"

"I know." Tess looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she hadn’t cried. Not yet. "I was wrong. About all of it. I was wrong the moment we parked outside her office. I was wrong when we followed her across the city. I was wrong when I sat in the backseat and narrated everything like I was making a documentary about whether someone deserved to be loved."

Rina glanced at her. "You’re being hard on yourself."

"I’m being honest. For the first time tonight."

"She knows we followed her," Mari said. "She figured it out at the club. She could have had us arrested for stalking. She didn’t."

"She filed charges for us instead." Rina’s voice was quiet with something like wonder. "Included us in her own complaint. Told the officer we deserved compensation for medical costs and the camcorder. She didn’t have to do that. We were strangers. Worse than strangers. We were following her."

"She didn’t even hesitate," Tess said. "The officer asked who was filing, and she said ’we will.’ Like it was obvious. Like we were always part of it."

They sat with that for a moment. The night air was cool and still.

"I want to apologize," Mari said. "To her face. Not because she needs to hear it. Because I need to say it."

"So do I," Rina said.

Tess nodded. "Then we wait."

The first car arrived ten minutes later.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb. The man who stepped out was tall and broad-shouldered, his coat thrown on over dark clothes. Gilbert Pemberton. The three fans recognized him from business magazines, from charity gala photographs, from the same forums where they tracked Noah’s appearances.

He looked worried. The kind of worried that sat in the jaw and the shoulders.

The second car pulled up right behind him.

Rina grabbed Mari’s arm. "Oh my god."

Noah Hart stepped out.

He was taller in person. The photographs didn’t capture it — the way he unfolded from the car, the way his eyes went immediately to the station doors. His hair was slightly disheveled, falling across his forehead. He hadn’t stopped to fix it. He looked like a man who had been pacing a room for the past hour and had finally decided he couldn’t wait anymore.

"Oh my god," Rina said again. Her voice had gone up half an octave.

Tess had her broken camcorder raised before she remembered herself. She lowered it. Swallowed hard. "I’m not recording. I’m just — standing here. With my hands. Doing nothing."

"Don’t do anything," Mari whispered. "Just — be normal."

"I don’t know how to be normal right now." Rina’s grip on Mari’s arm was iron. "That’s actually Noah Hart. In person. Five feet away from us."

"I know."

"We followed his girlfriend across the city. We took pictures of her. We sat in a car outside the club for three hours. And now he’s standing right there and we have to tell him we did that."

"I know."

"We’re terrible people."

"We’re not terrible people," Mari said. Her voice was steady, though her heart was pounding. "We’re people who made a terrible decision. And now we’re going to apologize for it."

A third car arrived. A man stepped out — sharp suit, tablet in hand, already typing. The fans didn’t recognize him, but they recognized the type. The person you called when things needed to happen.

The station doors opened.

Arianne came out first.

She looked exactly as she had outside the club — coat clean, hair in place, nothing about her suggesting she’d put five men on the ground less than two hours ago. Sam was beside her, her reddened knuckles wrapped loosely in a strip of gauze. Audrey was behind them, and behind Audrey, Angelika Sinclair.

Angelika was still wearing Audrey’s coat. It was too big for her — the shoulders drooping, the sleeves swallowing her wrists. Her own dress was torn at the sleeve, the fabric hanging loose. The bruise on her wrist was darker now, settling into shades of purple and black. Her mascara had dried in tracks down her cheeks, and she hadn’t wiped it away.

Gilbert reached Sam in three strides. He pulled her into his arms without hesitation, one hand pressing flat between her shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of her head.

"You’re okay," he said. His voice was rough. "You’re okay."

"I’m fine." Sam’s voice was muffled against his chest. "I’m fine, Gil. Really. I’m not hurt."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes dropped to her wrapped knuckles. His jaw went tight. "You hit someone."

"Two someones. With my elbows."

"Jesus, Sam."

"They deserved it. You should have heard what they said."

"I don’t care what they said." His voice was sharp and then not sharp, the anger folding into something softer. "I care that you’re okay."

"I’m okay." She put her good hand on his chest. "I promise. I’m okay."

He turned to Audrey. His hands moved to her face, tilting her chin up, checking her eyes, her temple, the line of her jaw. "And you?"

"I stayed back," Audrey said. "I’m fine." She glanced at Angelika. "I just held onto her."

Gilbert looked at Angelika. His gaze was long and assessing — not unkind, but thorough. He knew who she was. Everyone in their circles knew who she was. He knew all of it. He nodded once, a brief acknowledgment, and turned back to Audrey.

Franz went straight to Arianne.

He didn’t run. But he moved faster than Mari had ever seen a person move on a sidewalk without breaking into a jog. His hands found her shoulders first — gripping, checking — and then his eyes swept down her body, over her arms, her torso, her legs, looking for anything out of place.

"I’m fine," she said before he could speak.

"Gil called me. He said there was a fight. He said five men. He said you and Sam —"

"I’m fine. Sam’s fine. Everyone’s fine." She paused, and her mouth twitched at the corner. "You should see the other five."

He didn’t laugh. The tension in his jaw didn’t release. His hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her face, his palm curving along her jaw, his thumb brushing once across her cheekbone. The gesture was so gentle, so unguarded, that Tess had to look down at her lap.

"You’re sure," Franz said.

"I’m sure."

He exhaled. The sound was long and shaky. His shoulders dropped. His forehead touched hers — just for a moment, just long enough for both of them to close their eyes.

And Arianne smiled.

It was small. Not a smile for cameras. Not a smile for an audience. A smile for him, because he was worried, because he’d come, because he was standing on a dark street at two in the morning with his hand on her face.

"That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile," Rina whispered.

"Me too," Mari said.

Tess said nothing. She was still staring at her lap, at her broken camcorder, at the cracked screen that had captured everything tonight except this moment.