It happened by accident.
Emery had stepped into the hallway to take a call and stopped short when she heard Grayson's voice.
She wasn't trying to eavesdrop.
But once she heard her name, she couldn't walk away.
"I don't care if Beckett's distracted," Grayson said, laughter undercutting his words. "He can screw whoever he wants - as long as he keeps his mouth shut."
There was a pause. Then:
"I told him to keep Emery happy until the contract's locked. If he caught feelings, that's on him."
Her breath caught.
The blood in her veins turned to ice.
She backed away before she could hear more. She didn't need more. The image was already burned into her mind - Beckett's lips on hers. His hands on her body. His whispered promises.
Had it all been a lie?
By the time she got home, she had made her decision.
Grayson greeted her with a glass of champagne.
"I think it's time we move the wedding up," she said, voice like glass.
He blinked, then smiled. "I thought you'd never say it."
She nodded. Toasted. Swallowed the fizz.
And buried the ache.
Behind closed doors, she cried quietly into a pillow, telling herself that this was what strong women did. They chose logic over love. They did what was expected. And they never let anyone see them fall apart.