I take one breath. Two. Then I walk back out to the terrace, rolling my shoulders like that will make the world normal again.
The second I step outside, I know I’m too late.
Mya looks at me with eyes that are already glossy, phone clutched in her hand. Someone must’ve sent the article to her. Or she saw it herself. Either way, the damage is done.
“Mya—”
She stands so fast her chair scrapes on the ground. Tears well in her eyes. She shakes her head violently, and bolts, heading back into the house.
Amira is up a split second later. “I’ll go.”
“What’s going on?” Henson asks, the easy-night vibe now gone.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “The truth is out.”
“Shit,” Henson mutters.
Griffin swears under his breath too. His brothers and my parents look between us, confused.
“The truth?” My mother frowns. “Worth?”
I’m still staring at the door where Mya disappeared, wanting nothing more than to go after her, to tell her I’ll handle it, that I will burn that magazine down. But I know she needs a second to be mad without me in her face. I force myself to sit back down, even though I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin.
“Worth,” my father says, sharper now. “Explain.”
My fingers tighten around my napkin. “Mya and I… When we got married, it was part of an arrangement.”
Silence.
“You… what?” Bri says, voice tiny and hurt.
My head snaps toward her, heart cracking right down the middle. Christ, I forgot she was still at the table.
“Bri. Piglet.” I stand, reaching for her.
“I can’t believe you two,” she says, eyes filling with tears. “Youlied?”
Then she’s running past me and the house, and out to the back.
“Brianna!” my mother calls, rising.
I’m already moving. “I’ve got her.”
I sprint across the lawn, the ocean wind slapping at us. I know exactly where Bri’s going.
The old cottage sits at the edge of the property, tucked behind the main house. It used to be my childhood home. The one Henson and I paid off for my parents when we finally had the money. Bri loves it out here.
She reaches the porch, drops to her knees in front of the big blue pot, rummages under it, and pulls out the spare key. She jams it in the lock and slams the door behind her.
I catch it just before the latch flips.
“Bri,” I say, breathing hard. “Let me explain.”
“Leave me alone, Dad!”
She runs deeper into the cottage, and I follow her down the hall to the guest room on the left.
Brianna curls herself on the bed, her back to the door, knees pulled up, shoulders tight. She’s angry.