POV Owen
“Say it like you mean it,” DA Vale mutters.
I stare at her through the tinted glass of the surveillance van, jaw tight. “You want me to humiliate her. Not protect her.”
She adjusts her earpiece, cool as ice. “Silas’s men monitor everything—your comms, your socials, even your security feeds. If he believes you’re still tied to her emotionally, he’ll never bite the bait. You need to cut her clean.”
I swallow hard. “She’ll hate me.”
Vale shrugs. “Better hate than a bullet.”
Outside, reporters already crowd the street in front of the courthouse. They smell blood—mine, hers, doesn’t matter. The DA leaked the address of this “incident” to the press an hour ago, framing it as another scandal in the Tate marriage. All I have to do is make it real.
I grab my phone, open the draft Vale wrote for me, and delete every line. If I’m going to break the woman I love, it won’t be scripted.
When the black sedan stops at the curb, flashes explode like grenades. The noise is deafening—shutters clicking, voices screaming our names.
“Noelle! Is it true the marriage is over?”
“Did you find out about the deal?”
“Are you taking Luna and leaving?”
Then she steps out.
Noelle looks like she hasn’t slept—hair pulled into a trembling knot, eyes ringed with exhaustion and love she’s trying to hide. Her heels click against the pavement like tiny thunderclaps.
When she spots me, she stops. For a moment, there’s just silence, heavy and unbearable.
Then I begin the act. I reach into my jacket and toss the ring she gave me. It clatters on the concrete, a sound sharp enough to split bone.
The crowd gasps.
“Noelle Tate,” I say loud enough for the cameras. “I’m done pretending this marriage isn’t a cage. You wanted a hero—turns out, I’m not one.”
Her lips part. “Owen—don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I sneer, forcing venom into my voice. “Don’t tell the truth? That we’re a headline, not a family?”
She takes a step closer, eyes shining. “You said you’d come back.”
“Yeah,” I bite out. “Then I remembered what I was coming back to—lies, pity, a name that’s already poison.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Vale’s voice crackles in my earpiece: Perfect. Keep going.
Noelle’s voice breaks. “You think I did this to you?”
“I think you made me forget who I am,” I snarl, my throat burning. “And I’m done forgetting.”
Her face—God, her face—collapses like glass under too much pressure. She covers her mouth, tears spilling fast, the cameras eating her alive.
“Get out of my life,” I finish. “For good.”
And then I walk away. Each step feels like a knife dragged through my chest. Reporters swarm her as she crumples, and I force myself not to turn around. If I do, it’s over. If I do, Silas wins.
Vale’s voice hums through the line, pleased. “Well done, Mr. Tate. Now he’ll believe you’re free to be used again.”
I rip the earpiece out and throw it on the ground. That night, the penthouse is dark except for the city lights bleeding through the windows.
I told Rhea to keep the team downstairs, to give me one hour—just one. She didn’t argue. She just said, “She deserves that much.”
When I unlock the door, I hear nothing at first. Then, soft sobs from the bedroom.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the same clothes as earlier, mascara streaked, the ring I threw resting in her palm. When she looks up and sees me, she goes still.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispers.
“I had to see you before I go.”
Her jaw trembles. “Go where? You already went.”
I step closer. “It was for the cameras, Noelle. For the mission. You know that.”
She stands, voice rising. “I don’t know that! All I know is you looked me in the eye and called our life a cage. You let them film me breaking!”
I swallow hard. “If Silas thinks I still love you, he’ll use you to get to me.”
“So you destroy me to save me?” she snaps. “Do you hear how insane that sounds?”
“Better broken than buried,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
I reach for her hand, but she jerks away. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t touch me unless you mean it.”
“I always mean it.”
“Then prove it,” she demands, voice cracking. “Tell me the truth. Are you coming back?”
I take a step forward, closing the distance, cupping her face in my hands. “I swear on everything that’s left in me—I’ll come back.”
She laughs through tears. And then she’s kissing me—hard, angry, desperate. I lose myself in it.
Our mouths crash, teeth scrape, her tears mix with my sweat. She pushes me back against the wall, ripping at my shirt, and I let her because I need it too—the reminder that we’re still alive.
“Say it again,” she gasps against my mouth.
“I’ll come back.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving half-moon marks. “Liar.”
“Then let me prove it,” I growl, and kiss her again until she stops shaking.
The rest is chaos and tenderness—clothes tearing, soft curses, the kind of love that feels more like war. She whispers my name like it’s a wound and a prayer all at once.
When it’s over, she lies against my chest, breathing hard. The city hums below us, unaware that two people just promised eternity and called it goodbye.
“You’ll disappear in the morning,” she murmurs.
“I have to.”
“I know.”
Her fingers trail down my arm, memorizing it. “If I ever stop believing you’ll come back…”
I turn my head toward her. “You won’t.”
But Noelle doesn’t answer. Instead, she gets up quietly, moving to the drawer where Luna’s art supplies are. She pulls out a sheet of stickers—small, silver moons.
When she comes back, she crouches by my boots.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She peels one sticker and presses it inside the left boot, where the leather curves near the heel. “A reminder.”
I frown. “Of what?”
Noelle looks up at me, eyes soft but steady. “Of where home is.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. So I just watch her—this woman who’s been everything the world told me I didn’t deserve.
She stands, smoothing the sticker down one last time. “Come back to me, Owen. Don’t let this be the last time we’re whole.”
I cup her face again, memorizing every tear, every freckle, every breath. “You’re my gravity, Noelle. I’ll always find my way back.”
She smiles faintly through her tears. “Then follow the moon.”
I press my lips to hers one final time—slow, deep, desperate. Then I pull on my jacket, tuck the boot with her silver moon under my arm, and head for the door.
Rhea’s waiting in the hall. “You ready?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I say. “But I’m going anyway.”
Noelle stands in the doorway behind me, arms wrapped around herself. Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it. “Don’t let the moon set without you.”
I nod once and step into the dark.