Chapter 8 - The Mountains Are CallingThree days after the gala, the fallout hit the front pages of every major newspaper in North Carolina.
“HALE ENTERPRISES COLLAPSES: EMBEZZLEMENT, FRAUD, AND THE FALL OF A CHARLOTTE ICON.”
The headlines were relentless. Federal investigators seized Marcus’s assets, frozen accounts, and real estate holdings. The half-million-dollar endowment fund was officially restored to the university, with a public addendum acknowledging the true benefactors: the Carter family estate, cleared of all fraudulent debt and returned to Rachel’s rightful ownership.
And as for our fake marriage?
Well, the local gossip columns had a field day trying to figure out whether Nathan Brooks and Rachel Carter were actually legally bound or if it was just the most brilliant, high-stakes bluff in the history of North Carolina socialite drama.
Right now, though, none of that mattered.
We were standing on the wooden wraparound porch of my cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The crisp, pine-scented air filled our lungs, and the sun was dipping below the jagged peaks of the ridge, painting the sky in violent shades of orange, purple, and gold.
Rachel leaned against the railing, wearing one of my old flannel shirts, a steaming mug of coffee cradled between her hands.
"You know," she said quietly, looking out over the endless green canopy of the forest, "when I ran away from Charlotte six years ago, I thought I was running toward safety. But I was just hiding in a different kind of cage."
I walked up behind her, resting my hands on the weathered wooden railing on either side of her hips, bringing my chin close to her shoulder.
"And now?" I asked softly.
Rachel turned her head, her amber eyes catching the dying light of the sunset. She didn't look scared. She looked like a woman who had finally found her way home.
"Now," she smiled, setting her mug down on the ledge and turning around to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck, "the cage is gone."
"Good," I murmured, pulling her close against my chest. "Because I never planned on letting you go back inside anyway."
She laughed—a real, bright, unburdened sound that echoed across the quiet mountain valley.
"Does this mean," she whispered, tilting her head with a playful spark in her eyes, "we actually have to get a marriage license this time? Or are we going to keep letting everyone in Charlotte think we eloped in a frenzy of passion?"
I raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across my face.
"Well," I said, leaning in close until our lips were an inch apart, "considering how well our first fake wedding went... do you really want to ruin our streak?"
May you like
Rachel smiled, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck.
"Let’s not ruin it," she whispered, and kissed me.
