Collide Into Ruin

Chase sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table, hands folded neatly in front of him, his expression unreadable. The conversation around him blurred into meaningless noise—profit margins, market expansions, investment strategies. It should have mattered. It usually did. But today?

Today, his mind was a storm of tangled thoughts, a gnawing unease pressing at his ribs. His phone buzzed on the polished wood. He didn't bother checking.

Not until—

SMACK.

A newspaper slammed against the table, jarring him back to the present. Chase blinked, pulse kicking up a notch. Across from him, his business partner, Randall Hayes, stood stiff, eyes flashing with barely contained fury.

"You mind explaining this?" Randall's voice was low, tight.

Chase exhaled sharply, jaw ticking as he picked up the newspaper.

And his world tilted.

The front page was an explosion of scandal.

Hallie Rogers, wrapped in nothing but a towel, stepping out of a cheap motel, her face half-hidden beneath a curtain of damp hair. And next to it—another photo. The setting was different this time. A sleek, high-end hotel. Dim lighting. A man's hands gripping her waist. Their mouths locked. Their bodies tangled in a way that left little to the imagination.

Ryder Evans.

The Marvel star, Hollywood's golden boy, holding her like he owned her.

A slow, acidic burn ignited in Chase's chest.

His grip on the paper tightened, his knuckles whitening. No.

No, no, no.

Then—his eyes landed on her stomach.

And the breath ripped from his lungs.

Hallie was pregnant.

She wasn't just a little, or barely pregnant—she was three, maybe four months along. This photo was taken around that time, about four months ago.

His vision blurred, his mind scrambling, yanking at timelines and memories that no longer made sense.

This was impossible.

Because Hallie had told him she hadn't seen the father since he turned his back on her. She had sworn that the man who did this to her—the man who had left her to deal with this alone—wanted nothing to do with the baby.

And Chase had believed her.

But now?

Now, he knew one thing for sure.

This photo was a lie.

A slow, creeping cold slithered down his spine. The picture of her and Ryder wasn't recent. It couldn't be. Chase knew that moment. He remembered it. He had seen her wear that very dress at a gala—months ago. His heart pounded, a sickening realization settling in his gut. The media had spun this into some salacious affair. 

A Hollywood scandal.

But that wasn't what this was.

This was a cover-up.

And Chase was the fool who had been played.

His fingers curled into the newspaper, crumpling the edges as the memories came rushing back, fast and merciless.

That night.

Hallie. The dimly lit bar. Sabrina Rae throwing her head back in laughter, a martini glass twirling between her fingers. The low hum of music, the scent of expensive perfume and liquor thick in the air.