Chapter 161 Don't Act Innocent Reese My jaw flexed. “Come again?” She met my eyes, defiant. “Roman told me himself. Said you were screwing Dahlia behind his back. Said you were the one who got her pregnant.” She said it so casually, like she hadn’t just thrown a match into gasoline. Pregnant. I laughed once. “That’s cute. Roman’s rewriting history again. He's really losing it.” “Don’t play innocent.” Her voice trembled now, anger laced with something raw. “You were always in that house. Always with her. You looked at her like—” “Like what?” I cut in. “Like I cared about her? So that's a crime now? You think I’d touch my brother’s wife?” “Don’t act innocent,” she snapped. “You and Dahlia were close. Too close—” “So what?” I cut in, leaning closer. “You think that means I’d sleep with my brother’s wife? You think I’m that stupid?” She faltered, but only for a second. “Roman believes it. And honestly, I don’t blame him.” “So you'd believe the words of a man who is out to get you?” I mocked her. “You're not exactly what I remember, Penny.” “Rather believe that than believe anything that comes out of your mouth, Reese.” I let out a slow exhale, forcing myself to keep my voice calm. “You know, it’s funny how everyone loves rewriting history when it suits them. I was the villain. Dahlia was the victim. Roman was the poor, heartbroken husband. Convenient, isn’t it?” Her expression softened slightly—just barely. “Then tell me, Reese. Tell me what really happened.” I leaned back, smiling. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” “Try me.” I shook my head, signaling the bartender for another drink. “Another time, sweetheart. Tonight, I’m just here to enjoy your company. Unless you’d rather sit here alone crying over your no-show Romeo.”Her nostrils flared. “You’re still the same arrogant bastard.” “Consistency’s a virtue.” She folded her arms, chin tilting high. “I know you did it. You don't have to lie to me, Reese. We're way past that point already.” I shrugged. “You believed Roman. You've already picked a side, Penny. My fate is already sealed.” Her eyes flashed. “He was her husband, Reese! Why would he lie?” “Because he needs someone to blame,” I said quietly. “Roman’s made a career out of pointing fingers. First me, now his fiancée, next it’ll be you.” She shook her head, but her conviction faltered. “You’re twisting it.” “Am I?” I leaned closer. “Look at me, Penelope. Do I look like a man who’d do that?” She opened her mouth, closed it again. Something wavered behind her eyes. “Look at me,” I repeated, softer this time. “Please, baby.” She tried to pull back but I caught her arm—not hard, just enough to stop her retreat. The contact sent a flicker of heat up my arm.“Search my face,” I murmured. “If I’m lying, you’ll know.” For a long, silent moment she did. Her breathing hitched, her lashes glistened. The defiance melted first, then the grief came—sudden, sharp. “She was my sister,” she whispered, tears welling. “And she’s gone. None of this should even matter anymore.” “I know.” My voice surprised even me—low, almost gentle. “But she’s gone because of him, not me” She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. I didn’t hesitate to make use of the opportunity, so I reached out. When she didn’t pull away, I drew her in. Her forehead found my chest, and the scent of her hair hit me. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the sound of her muffled breath and the bass rolling under our feet. “Believe me,” I said against her hair. “Please, baby.” She nodded once, barely. Then straightened, swiping at her tears. “I… I need air.” “Then let’s sit. Just for a minute.” She hesitated, then agreed. We didn’t talk for a while. I ordered another round. She drank, slower this time, color returning to her cheeks. When she finally spoke, her tone was lighter. “I shouldn’t be here. I have court in the morning.” “Senator White’s prodigal son?” I teased. “Nine a.m., right?” She blinked. “How did you—?” “I read,” I said smoothly. “Big case.” She sighed. “Too big. If I don’t nail it, I’m finished.” “You’ll nail it,” I said. “You always do. You're the best there is.” She gave a small, weary laugh. “You almost sound sincere.” “Maybe I am.” I winked. “Just like old times. I'm always here to cheer you on. Go, Penny!” I cheered. She giggled—literally fucking giggled. Then she stopped, probably realising what she'd done. Our eyes met. “I'm glad I ran into you here.” I said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “After all these years, you still take my breath away.” She blushed. “Likewise.” We talked for a while. About the firm. About the whispers she swore she now heard when she walked past colleagues. About how the fear of Roman now seemed to haunt her in every courtroom she entered. I listened—every word a thread I’d tug later. Another drink appeared, then another. Her tension ebbed, replaced by a tipsy sort of warmth. She started to smile again. When she laughed—really laughed—I knew I had her. Completely. At some point her hand even brushed my knee. I let it linger. She did too, casually glancing at it. “Maybe you haven’t changed,” she said softly. “Maybe I’ve just learned how to fake it better.” She shook her head, amused. “You’re impossible.” “Consistent,” I corrected. Her gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second before she looked away as the music slowed to a lazy R&B pulse. For a heartbeat I thought she might lean in. Instead, she stood, shaky on her heels. “I should go.” “Already? We were just getting nostalgic.” She reached for her purse. “I need sleep. Big day tomorrow.” “Then make tonight count,” I said quietly.She hesitated—tempted, conflicted, the same war I’d seen in a hundred eyes before hers. Then she smiled sadly. “Good night, Reese. It was nice running into you.” “Your loss.” She smiled. “I'll take that with pride.” She started for the exit, weaving through the crowd. I watched her go, the curve of her shoulders, the flash of beige fabric under colored lights. Then I smiled. I tossed a few bills on the counter, finished my whiskey, and rose. The night air seeped in through the open doors, heavy with rain and exhaust. I could already picture her outside—finding the car, not noticing the tires. I’d seen to them earlier. A tiny puncture in each, enough to strand her where I'd conveniently drive by. She’d curse, check her phone, realize the late hour, and remember the man who hadn’t quite let her go. Me. I stepped out of the club, zipping my jacket as the bouncer nodded me through. The city hummed beyond the curb, wet streets reflecting neon lights. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.Phase one was almost complete. Almost. By morning, Penelope would be tired, confused, and just desperate enough to take help from the last man she should trust. And I’d be waiting—keys in hand, car ready, smile ready. But first things first, the night wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.