The hum of the refrigerator was replaced by the frantic, relentless ping of Reid's phone. Then mine. Then the landline in the hallway.
The Sterling townhouse, which had felt like a fortress just ten minutes ago, now felt like a glass house under siege. I stared at the screen of my phone, the blue light reflecting in my eyes as I scrolled through the comments on the Post article.
"She's a pro. Look at that dress—that's not waitress money."
"Ten million to walk away? I'd have taken it and bought the diner."
"Reid Sterling is being played. Poor guy."
"Poor guy," I whispered, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. "If only they knew the 'poor guy' is the one who drafted the five-million-dollar contract in the first place."
Reid was already on his second phone, his voice a low, serrated edge as he spoke to his head of PR. "I don't care about the cost. Kill the story. Threaten them with a libel suit. No, don't issue a statement yet. We need a counter-move, not a defense."
He slammed the phone down on the marble counter and looked at me. His hair was messy, his t-shirt wrinkled, and his eyes were full of a cold, tactical fire.
"We have to go to the hospice," he said.
"What? No!" I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. "My mom doesn't even know about the contract, Reid. She thinks we're... she thinks this is real. If the cameras follow us there, if the reporters start hounding the nurses—"
"They're already there, Maya," Reid said, his voice softening just a fraction. He walked around the counter, taking my shaking hands in his. "The Post leaked the address of the facility. If we stay here, it looks like we're hiding. It looks like the 'Secret Debt' is a confession. But if we go there—if we show them that this isn't about money, but about family—we take the narrative back."
"By using my dying mother as a prop?" I pulled my hands away, my heart aching. "How is that any better than what Marcus did?"
Reid flinched as if I'd slapped him. The "Ice King" mask flickered, revealing a glimpse of the man who had kissed me in the elevator. "It's not a prop, Maya. It's the truth. The reason you signed that paper was for her. That's the most human, relatable thing about this entire mess. If we show the world that, they won't see a scammer. They'll see a daughter."
I looked at him, searching for the calculation, for the "business move." But all I saw was the same man who had stood up to his uncle.
"Fine," I said, my voice trembling. "But on one condition. No cameras inside her room. You and I go in alone. If I see a single flashbulb near her bed, the contract is over. I don't care about the money."
"Deal," Reid said.
The drive to Queens was a gauntlet. Black SUVs with tinted windows followed us from the moment we cleared the townhouse gates. By the time we reached the Saint Jude's Hospice, the sidewalk was a sea of microphones and long-range lenses.
Reid didn't wait for the security detail to open my door. He did it himself.
The roar of the crowd hit me like a physical wave.
"Maya! Is it true about the ten million?"
"Reid! Are you paying her medical bills in exchange for a marriage?"
Reid ignored them. He reached out, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me tight against his side. It wasn't the "possessive" grip from the gala. It was a shield. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as we pushed through the glass doors.
"Don't look at them," he whispered. "Look at me."
Inside, the hospice was a world of hushed tones and the scent of antiseptic. The chaos stayed behind the glass. We walked down the hallway to Room 412.
My mother, Elena, was sitting up in bed, her frail frame draped in a knitted shawl. She looked smaller every time I saw her, her skin like fine porcelain that had been dropped and glued back together. But when she saw us, her eyes—the same amber-gold as mine—lit up.
"Maya! And Reid!" she chirped, her voice thin but warm. "I saw you on the news this morning. You two looked so... dramatic. All that talk about checks and boardrooms."
I sat on the edge of her bed, taking her hand. It felt like holding a bird's wing. "It was just business, Mom. You know how Reid's family is. They like a bit of theater."
Elena looked past me to Reid, who was standing at the foot of the bed. He looked profoundly out of place in this room full of handmade cards and IV bags, yet he didn't look uncomfortable. He looked... respectful.
"Come here, young man," Elena commanded, patting the mattress.
Reid hesitated for a second, then stepped forward and sat.
"They're saying some mean things about my daughter," Elena said, her gaze sharpening. "They're saying she's only with you for the money. That you're 'buying' her."
My breath hitched. I looked at the floor, the weight of the lie pressing down on my chest like a ton of lead.
"Mrs. Gable," Reid said, his voice steady and unexpectedly gentle. He reached out and took my mother's other hand. "The money is just a number on a page. Your daughter is the most expensive thing in my life, but not because of a check. She's expensive because she's the only thing I have that I'm actually afraid to lose."
He looked at me as he said it. And for the first time, I didn't see the contract. I didn't see the "liability." I saw the truth.
Elena smiled, a slow, knowing expression. "Good. Because if you break her heart, I don't care how many billions you have. I'll find a way to haunt your boardroom."
We stayed for an hour, talking about nothing and everything. For that hour, we weren't the "Billionaire and the Waitress." We were just a couple visiting a mother.
But as we walked back to the lobby, the reality of the war returned. The PR head was waiting by the door, his face pale.
"Mr. Sterling," he whispered. "Cassandra didn't just leak the check. She leaked the original contract. The one with the 'Five Million' signature and the 'No Feelings' clause. It's all over Twitter."
I felt the world go black at the edges. The lie was dead. The truth was out.
And as the reporters outside started screaming my name, I realized that the "damage control" had just failed.
Reid looked at the doors, then at me. His eyes were hard, his jaw set. "Get in the car, Maya."
"Reid, what are we going to do?" I cried, the panic finally breaking through. "The contract... they have the paper!"
Reid turned to the crowd of reporters, his hand tightening on mine. "We're going to do the only thing left to do," he said, his voice echoing in the quiet lobby.
"We're going to tell them the contract was a mistake. Not because it was a lie... but because it's not enough."