Chapter 15
“You don’t get to tell me to stop anymore.”
A camera shutter clicked.
Julian and I both turned.
At the far end of the corridor stood a reporter.
Her phone was raised.
My heart dropped.
Julian moved immediately.
“Delete that.”
The reporter lowered the device.
“Mr. Duval—”
“I said delete it.”
And suddenly there he was again.
The man I had spent ten years protecting from the consequences of his own reactions.
I looked at the reporter.
“What did you record?”
Her eyes moved between us.
“Only the last few seconds.”
Julian turned toward me.
“Khloe, don’t.”
Two years earlier, those words would have controlled me.
Don’t embarrass me.
Don’t make this public.
Don’t create a problem.
Don’t say what happened.
I stared at him.
Then I looked at the reporter.
“My divorce was not caused by infertility.”
Julian went rigid.
The reporter’s eyes widened.
I continued.
“I am not discussing private medical details beyond what is mine to share. But the public story that I destroyed my marriage because I could not give Julian a child is false.”
“Khloe.”
I looked directly at him.
This time, when I spoke, my voice did not shake.
“I carried your silence for two years.”
Then I walked back toward the ballroom.
Behind me, the reporter asked Julian a question.
He didn’t answer.
For once, he was the one left standing in a hallway with no idea how to control the story.
Chapter 4: When the truth entered the room
Gabriel knew something had happened before I reached the table.
He stood.
“What is it?”
“I spoke to Julian.”
His expression darkened.
“And?”
“I spoke to a reporter.”
That surprised him.
I sat down.
Gabriel followed.
“What did you say?”
“The truth.”
He studied me.
“How much of it?”
“Enough.”
He nodded.
No panic.
No lecture about reputation.
No question about what it might do to his name.
I almost laughed from relief.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What would you like me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something about crisis communications?”
“Do you want crisis communications?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
I looked at him.
“Julian would already have six people making calls.”
“I’m not Julian.”
“No.”
My voice softened.
“You’re really not.”
His hand found mine beneath the table.
The next hour passed strangely.
I smiled when people spoke to me.
I listened to speeches.
I applauded scholarship recipients.
Meanwhile, my phone began vibrating.