Chapter 11 - The Beggar in Designer Clothes
That evening, the California sky broke into an uncharacteristic, torrential downpour.
I walked out of Vanguard Century Tower through the private executive entrance, surrounded by Julian and my security team. The rain hammered against the concrete, washing away the smog and heat of the city.
Just past the perimeter barrier, huddled beneath an umbrella that had been bent inside out by the wind, stood Ryan.
He was wearing the same stained designer tuxedo pants from the night before, a soaked t-shirt, and no jacket. His wet hair hung in limp strings over his eyes. When he saw me emerge, he broke past the security cordon, falling to his knees directly in a pool of muddy rainwater before Julian could even block him.
"Mara!" he wept, the rain plastering his face, his voice competing with the roar of thunder. "Please! Just five minutes! Just let me talk to you!"
Julian moved to push him away, but I raised my hand, stopping him.
I looked down at Ryan Devereaux.
The leading man. The sex symbol. The man who had looked at me across a breakfast table two weeks ago and told me I was the love of his life, while planning my quiet disposal.
"What do you want, Ryan?" I asked, my voice carrying cleanly through the rain.
"I have nothing left," he sobbed, wrapping his trembling hands around the hem of my trousers, not caring about the mud or the cameras from passing cars. "My agents fired me. The guild is revoking my membership. Brielle went on another podcast and called me a monster. The landlord at her place wouldn't even let me inside the lobby. I don't have enough money for a hotel room, Mara. I don't have twenty dollars for a sandwich."
He looked up at me, tears mixing with the rain streaming down his cheeks.
"I made a mistake! A terrible, monstrous mistake! But we loved each other! You held my hand when my mother died! I held you when your father passed away! How can you erase ten years in twenty-four hours? Please... just let me sleep in the guest house. I'll do anything. I'll sign whatever you want. Just don't throw me into the street like a stray dog!"
I looked into his eyes, searching for even a glimmer of real remorse. But I only saw panic. I saw a narcissist grieving the death of his reflection, not the pain he had inflicted.
"When I was lying on the cold bathroom floor, Ryan," I said softly, "bleeding into our carpet, begging you to call an ambulance... what did you say to me?"
Ryan flinched as if struck by a whip.
"You told me I was being dramatic," I continued, every word landing like lead. "You told me that your career couldn't wait for my weakness. You stepped over my body to fix your tie in the mirror."
"Mara... I panicked—"
"No," I cut him off, stepping backward, pulling my trouser hem free from his muddy grip. "You chose your mirror over my life. And now, Ryan... you have your mirror. You can look at yourself every single day and remember that you had everything—a fortune, a loyal wife, a home, and a future—and you traded it all for thirty seconds of flashing lights on a red carpet."
I turned my back on him and walked toward the waiting car.
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"Mara! Don't leave me! Mara!" Ryan screamed, his voice turning into an animal howl as Julian pushed him firmly back into the mud and closed the door behind me.
***
