Synopsis-
When a spoiled heiress breaks down in a small town, the last thing she expects is to fall for the brooding local mechanic. But as sparks fly and secrets unravel, their worlds collide in a love story that could cost them everything.
Chapter One: Breakdown in Maplewood
The purr of Brielle Kingsley’s luxury sports car had long turned into a frustrated sputter. She slammed her manicured hands against the steering wheel, glaring at the glowing dashboard like it had personally insulted her. The open road of rural nowhere stretched endlessly ahead, with only golden fields and rustling trees for company.
“This cannot be happening,” she muttered, stepping out in four-inch heels that sank immediately into the soft dirt shoulder. Her phone had no signal. Her patience had expired. And her silk scarf did absolutely nothing to protect her from the creeping dusk chill.
An hour later, a tow truck finally arrived—its paint chipped, its logo faded, and its driver maddeningly slow. He gave her a nod and a barely-there smile before hooking up her car. No conversation. No charm. Just duty.
That changed when she arrived at the garage.
“Kingsley?” the man behind the counter drawled, wiping his hands on a rag as he emerged from beneath a lifted Chevy. “Like the hotel Kingsleys?”
Brielle raised an eyebrow, not used to being recognized in places that smelled of motor oil and old coffee. “That’s right. Is there a problem?”
He looked her up and down—Louis Vuitton luggage, oversized sunglasses despite the sunset, and a look of disdain like the whole town offended her. “Only that your car’s a mess and you don’t seem built for waiting.”
“And you seem built for grunting,” she shot back.
The mechanic smirked. “Name’s Jace. You can wait inside, princess. But it’s not a five-star lobby.”
She stepped inside the dusty waiting room and wrinkled her nose at the battered vinyl chairs, the wall calendar stuck in the wrong year, and the distinct scent of gasoline. She tried her phone again. Still no signal.
“How long will this take?” she called out.
Jace didn’t look up from under the hood. “Depends how much money your daddy wants to throw at it.”
Brielle froze. She opened her mouth for a biting retort—but closed it again.
This place was everything she had run from: simple, grimy, slow.
And yet, when Jace finally looked up and met her eyes, there was something else there—something not entirely dismissive. Something curious.
She straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
Let him underestimate her.
Let this place swallow her whole.
She wasn’t going anywhere just yet.
Chapter Two: Oil & Attitude
The morning sun peeked through grimy windows, casting long stripes of light across the garage floor. Brielle sat stiffly in a cracked vinyl chair, clutching her designer handbag like it was armor. She hadn’t slept. The sounds of metal clanging and engines groaning had haunted the tiny room above the garage where she’d tried—and failed—to rest.
Jace walked past her without a word, his jeans stained and his white T-shirt clinging to his back with sweat. He reached for a wrench, his jaw tight as he worked under the hood of her car.
“You could at least pretend to be civil,” she snapped, arms crossed.
He didn’t glance her way. “I’m not the one who asked for sparkling water at a gas station last night.”
“It was a request,” she huffed. “Not a demand.”
“Princess,” he said, finally turning toward her, “you glared at the guy like he spat in your champagne.”
Brielle bristled. “For the record, I haven’t touched champagne in weeks.”
“Must be rough,” he deadpanned, wiping grease from his hands.
They stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between them thick with irritation—and something else neither would name. Then she broke it with a dramatic sigh.
“Is there a decent coffee shop in this town or are we stuck with vending machines and trucker brew?”
Jace’s lips twitched. “There’s Betty’s. Two blocks down. Real coffee. Locals only.”
“Do I look like I care about your local-only policy?”
He leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “You look like you’d start a war over almond milk.”
Brielle narrowed her eyes but stood, brushing imaginary dust from her blouse. “I’ll manage.”
She was halfway to the door when he called out, “Try the lemon muffins. They’re decent. Like you—once you stop talking.”
She paused, turning just enough for him to catch the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
“I’ll let them know their mechanic moonlights as a food critic.”
Jace chuckled softly as she left, the garage door creaking shut behind her.
He hadn’t expected her to last more than a night.
But this spoiled heiress wasn’t walking away just yet.
Chapter Three: The Spare Key
Rain slashed against the garage windows as thunder cracked overhead. The storm had rolled in fast, trapping Brielle at the garage long after sunset. Her plans to escape this town—this maddening mechanic—were drenched, literally and metaphorically.
Jace stood by the office door, arms crossed, watching the downpour with a guarded expression. “Roads are flooding. Power lines down on the main route.”
“Perfect,” Brielle muttered, hugging her coat tighter around her. “The universe really has it out for me.”
He turned to her, eyes narrowing. “You can’t drive out in this. Motel’s booked with travelers caught in the storm.”
She looked up sharply. “Then where exactly am I supposed to sleep? On a tire stack?”
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and walked over to a set of keys hanging on the wall. “Come on.”
She followed him hesitantly through a narrow hallway that led to a staircase tucked behind the garage. At the top was a modest apartment—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and the lingering scent of motor oil. It was warm, though. Dry.
“You live up here?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah. It’s not a penthouse, but it doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not,” he replied flatly. “You can have the couch. There’s extra blankets in the closet. Bathroom’s through there. Try not to break anything.”
Brielle dropped her bag on the floor and sat carefully on the couch. “You act like I’m made of glass.”
He shrugged. “Glass wouldn’t glare at me every five minutes.”
Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the thunder outside. Jace went to the kitchen and started a kettle. After a pause, he spoke again—softer this time.
“You really ran away from all that? The glitz and glam?”
Brielle didn’t answer right away. She stared out the window, eyes distant. “Sometimes… the spotlight burns more than it shines.”
He studied her in the dim light. For the first time, she didn’t look like a spoiled heiress or a tabloid queen. She looked… tired. Real.
“Tea?” he offered, holding out a chipped mug.
She took it slowly, their fingers brushing.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
And for a brief moment, the storm outside wasn’t the loudest thing in the room.
Chapter Four: Maplewood Under Moonlight
The rain had passed, leaving the streets of Maplewood Hollow slick and glistening beneath a pale moon. The air smelled of wet earth and fading summer, and the town—quiet by day—had fallen into an even deeper hush by night.
Jace stood outside the garage, leaning against his truck, watching the last of the clouds drift across the sky. He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see Brielle, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts over her designer top, her heels traded for worn sneakers she must have borrowed from the entry closet.
“You look… almost human,” he said, lips twitching.
She raised an eyebrow. “You look almost charming.”
He chuckled and nodded toward the road. “Come on. You’ve been cooped up all day. Let me show you the town. Won’t take long.”
They walked in silence at first. The streets were lit by antique lamp posts and the occasional flicker of a porchlight. Brielle took in the small-town charm she once rolled her eyes at: the bakery with its crooked sign, the hardware store with dusty window displays, the movie theater still showing Casablanca.
“It’s like time forgot this place,” she said.
Jace shrugged. “Or maybe it just never needed to change.”
They reached the edge of Maplewood Park, where a small lake shimmered under the moonlight. Fireflies hovered over the grass like scattered stars.
Jace sat on a bench near the water and nodded for her to join him.
“Why’d you leave?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated, wrapping her arms around herself. “Because I was tired of pretending. Of being someone people either envied or hated. No one ever asked how I felt. They just wanted my last name.”
Jace looked at her, not with pity—but understanding.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.
“Neither are you,” she whispered.
They fell into silence, a stillness that felt strangely safe.
When she turned to look at him, their faces were closer than either of them had realized. His hand brushed against hers on the bench, hesitant. Her breath caught.
Their eyes locked.
And for a moment, the world slowed.
He leaned in just slightly—but stopped.
So did she.
They pulled back at the same time, hearts pounding, a current of something unspoken thick between them.
Jace stood first. “We should get back.”
Brielle nodded, her voice soft. “Yeah. Okay.”
They walked side by side under the stars, both wondering what might’ve happened if either of them had leaned in just a little further.
Chapter Five: Shadows of the Past
The next morning, Brielle stood at the garage counter, absentmindedly flipping through an old magazine while Jace worked beneath her car. The fragile ease they’d found during last night’s walk still lingered, unspoken but undeniable.
Then her phone buzzed.
Three missed calls. Two voicemails. And a flood of texts from unknown numbers.
Her breath hitched.
Somewhere, somehow, the paparazzi had found her.
She stepped outside for air, the magazine forgotten. Jace noticed her face pale as she stared at her screen and followed her out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Everything okay?” he asked, brow furrowed.
She tucked the phone away like it burned her. “It’s nothing. Just… noise from the life I left behind.”
Jace studied her for a moment but didn’t press. “Noise can still follow you, even out here.”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes were distant, troubled.
Later that afternoon, as Jace closed up the garage, he stood in the back room alone, gazing at an old photograph on the wall. A younger version of himself stood beside a woman with sunlit hair and a laugh frozen in time. Her name had once slipped so easily from his mouth—Rachel.
He hadn’t spoken it aloud in years.
He shoved the door closed before the memories could flood in, but it was too late. The guilt settled on his shoulders like an old coat.
That night, Brielle sat curled on the couch upstairs, pretending to read. She glanced up when she heard the floorboards creak and saw Jace standing there, arms crossed, gaze distant.
“Do you ever feel like your past is just… waiting around the corner, ready to bite?” she asked, not sure why she said it.
Jace didn’t move. His voice was low, almost a growl. “Mine already did.”
He left before she could reply, retreating to his room and closing the door behind him.
Brielle stared at the closed door, heart tightening.
They were both running from ghosts.
The difference was—his still lived in this town.
Chapter Six: The Ex-Factor
The next morning brought with it a crackling tension in the air—one Brielle couldn’t quite place. She stood outside the garage sipping lukewarm coffee from Betty’s, the warmth doing little to settle the unease stirring in her stomach.
A sleek black car pulled up, too shiny, too loud, and far too familiar.
Grayson Vale stepped out like he was stepping onto a red carpet—perfectly pressed shirt, smug smirk, and designer shoes that clearly hadn’t touched dirt in years. He adjusted his cufflinks like the world revolved around him.
Brielle’s heart sank.
“Darling,” he drawled, arms wide, voice syrupy with condescension. “Did you really think you could disappear from me this easily?”
She didn’t move. “What are you doing here, Grayson?”
He offered a forced chuckle and looked around with distaste. “Charming little village. Smells like diesel and… desperation.”
“Leave,” she said, voice icy.
Before he could answer, Jace stepped out of the garage, wiping grease from his hands. He took in the tailored suit, the slick hair, and the way Grayson looked at Brielle like she was a misplaced asset.
“Friend of yours?” Jace asked flatly.
“Fiancé,” Grayson answered, grinning. “Ex, technically. But not for long.”
Brielle shot him a glare. “In your dreams.”
Jace’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t mention an ex.”
Brielle turned to him, frustration flickering in her eyes. “Because he’s not important.”
“Oh, I’m very important,” Grayson interjected, pulling a folded document from his coat. “Your father made sure of that.”
He handed it to her—an official memo from the Kingsley estate lawyers.
The words were sharp: You must return to New York within thirty days to claim your inheritance and board seat at Kingsley Hotels, or forfeit all rights.
Brielle stared at it, color draining from her face. Jace watched her closely.
Grayson leaned in. “You’re playing house with a mechanic, sweetheart. But we both know where you belong.”
Jace stepped forward, eyes cold. “You should go.”
“Or what?” Grayson smirked. “You’ll smudge my suit?”
“Try me,” Jace said, his voice low and lethal.
Grayson scoffed but backed away, sliding back into his car. “Tick-tock, Brielle. You can’t run forever.”
As the engine roared to life and faded into the distance, silence fell between Brielle and Jace.
She opened her mouth to explain, but he was already walking back toward the garage.
And the space between them—once shrinking—had never felt wider.
Chapter Seven: Grease & Glitter
The Maplewood Hollow annual fair transformed the sleepy town into a whirl of lights, laughter, and music. Brielle wandered between booths lined with hay bales and string lights, the scent of kettle corn and fried dough in the air. Children ran past with sticky fingers and painted faces, while a folk band played softly from the town square gazebo.
She looked nothing like the woman who’d arrived days ago. Her heels were traded for ankle boots. Her hair, once meticulously styled, tumbled freely over her shoulders. And her eyes—though still guarded—had a softness that hadn’t been there before.
Jace spotted her across the lot, standing by the carousel, watching the lights spin. He wiped his hands on a napkin, discarded his half-eaten hot dog, and made his way over.
“Didn’t think glitter and funnel cake were your scene,” he said.
“I needed something… normal,” she replied, not looking at him. “And this is the most normal thing I’ve seen in weeks.”
They walked through the fair together, brushing shoulders occasionally but neither pulling away. At the pie-eating contest, Jace smirked. “You’d last five seconds.”
“I’d win. With dignity,” she shot back.
“Then it wouldn’t be a real contest,” he laughed.
As the evening sky faded to deep indigo, lanterns floated above the lake and music gave way to a slow, soulful tune. Couples gathered under the string lights to dance, and Brielle hesitated—until Jace offered his hand.
They moved slowly, her arms around his neck, his hands resting carefully at her waist. Neither spoke. The air between them was thick with everything they weren’t saying.
“You still haven’t asked about the letter,” she murmured against his chest.
“I figured you’d tell me when you’re ready,” he said softly.
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering. “I didn’t want to lie. I just didn’t know how to explain any of it.”
His fingers brushed her cheek. “You don’t have to explain right now.”
She leaned in, her breath catching as his lips hovered close to hers.
And then they kissed.
It wasn’t tentative or unsure—it was deep, hungry, months of loneliness colliding with a sliver of hope. Around them, the music faded into static, the crowd disappeared, and all that existed was the warmth of his mouth and the safety of his touch.
But the moment shattered like glass when Grayson’s voice sliced through the night behind them.
“Well. Isn’t this cozy?”
They broke apart. Grayson stood at the edge of the crowd, holding up his phone.
“Thought you might want to see this,” he said, tossing it to Brielle.
On the screen: an email. Her inheritance. The thirty-day deadline. The looming board meeting.
“You have nine days left, darling,” Grayson said coldly. “Enjoy your fairy tale. It ends soon.”
As he walked away, Brielle’s hands trembled.
And Jace? He didn’t say a word.
He just stepped back—and let the space open again between them.
Chapter Eight: Cracks in the Engine
The garage felt colder than usual the next morning, despite the sun streaming through the high windows. Jace worked silently beneath a rusted pickup truck, wrench in hand, but his focus was off. Every slam of metal, every turn of the bolt was harder than it needed to be.
Brielle stood in the doorway, arms crossed, holding a cup of coffee she’d brought him—black, just the way he liked it. He didn’t even glance up.
“I brought you this,” she said gently.
“Thanks,” he muttered, not reaching for it.
She stepped forward, placing the cup on the workbench beside him. “Can we talk?”
“I’m working.”
“Jace…”
He slid out from beneath the truck and stood slowly, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes were hard, unreadable. “How long have you known about the inheritance deadline?”
Her heart thudded. “I found out the day Grayson showed up.”
He stared at her. “That’s a lie.”
“No, it’s not. I mean—I didn’t know the details until he handed me the letter at the fair.”
“But you knew something was coming. You knew there was a clock ticking, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” she said, voice rising in defense. “I didn’t want to drag you into all of that.”
“You didn’t think it mattered?” he repeated, stepping closer. “You let me fall into something real with you—while your entire life, your future, was built on something you were never going to stay for.”
“That’s not true!”
“Then what is true, Brielle?” he snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re still deciding if I was just a detour or a distraction.”
She flinched, pain flashing across her face. “You think I planned this? That I wanted to fall for some grumpy mechanic in a town with one coffee shop and no cell service?”
He laughed bitterly. “So I’m a punchline now?”
“No!” she cried. “You’re… you’re the only thing that’s felt real to me in years.”
They stood there in tense silence, the air thick with things said and unsaid. Jace’s shoulders rose and fell with ragged breath.
“I can’t do this,” he said finally, voice low. “I won’t be your escape plan. Or your secret.”
She stepped forward, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away.
“Go home, Brielle.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
As she turned to leave, the cup of coffee still steamed on the bench—untouched, growing colder by the second.
Chapter Nine: Ghosts & Garage Doors
Rain tapped softly against the windows of the garage as Jace sat alone in the back room, the overhead light flickering slightly. Tools were scattered across the bench, forgotten. In his hands, he held a worn photograph—creased and stained from years of quiet torment. In it, a girl smiled wide and bright, arms wrapped around his waist. Rachel.
The one he couldn’t save.
The one who never made it out of that night.
Cal sat across from him, sipping from a dented thermos. He’d been Jace’s best friend since high school—the only one who knew the full story.
“It’s happening again,” Jace muttered. “I let someone in. And just like before, it’s all turning to ash.”
Cal didn’t speak right away. He just took another sip, eyes never leaving Jace’s face. “Brielle isn’t Rachel.”
“No. But I am still me.”
Jace’s voice cracked slightly, and he gripped the edge of the bench like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “If I’d just told Rachel to wait. If I hadn’t let her leave that night—”
“Stop,” Cal interrupted firmly. “That wasn’t your fault, Jace. You’ve paid for that night every day since. But Brielle? She’s not the one dragging you back there. You are.”
Meanwhile, across town, Brielle sat on a bench outside Betty’s Café, the cup of herbal tea cooling rapidly in her hands. Her makeup had long since worn off, her eyes rimmed red from tears she hadn’t meant to cry. She’d never begged for anything in her life—not approval, not attention.
But she would’ve begged for Jace.
And now, he wouldn’t even look at her.
She hadn’t meant to keep things from him. She had only wanted a moment where she wasn’t the heiress, the Kingsley legacy, the walking headline. With Jace, she’d glimpsed something simpler—something sacred.
But now that door had slammed shut.
When she returned to the garage later that evening, she didn’t go inside. She stood outside the side window, just out of sight, watching as Jace stared at the photograph in his hand.
She saw his pain. His stillness. The way he blinked fast, like trying to stop memories from surfacing.
Then he reached out… and set the photo facedown on the table.
And in that small gesture, she saw the cracks in his armor—fractures born of grief, not arrogance.
She stepped back quietly, heart aching.
If he couldn’t let her in now, she would find another way.
Because she wasn’t ready to give up on him.
Not yet.
Chapter Ten: Ticking Clocks
The black town car rolled into Maplewood Hollow with a chill that had nothing to do with the early morning fog. Out stepped Victoria Kingsley—flawless in a gray cashmere coat and oversized sunglasses, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement like a metronome counting down the seconds Brielle had left.
Inside Betty’s Café, Brielle sat at her usual table near the window, sipping coffee that had long gone cold. Her phone buzzed once. Then again. Then the door swung open, and in walked the last person she ever wanted to see.
“Mother,” she said flatly, setting her cup down.
Victoria removed her sunglasses with dramatic precision, revealing cool, calculating eyes that scanned the café like it offended her.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” she said, sliding into the seat across from her. “It smells like fried butter and broken dreams.”
Brielle leaned back. “What do you want?”
Victoria pulled a sleek envelope from her handbag and placed it on the table. “Your father’s lawyers are concerned. You’ve gone rogue. Ignored calls. And now the board is restless. If you don’t return by next week, you forfeit your entire stake in Kingsley International.”
“I’m aware,” Brielle said coolly. “And I’m not coming back.”
Victoria’s expression didn’t change, but her tone sharpened. “You would give up everything—your legacy, your birthright—for what? A fling with a mechanic?”
“It’s not a fling.”
“It’s a delusion,” Victoria snapped. “That man will never understand who you are. He doesn’t belong in our world.”
“Maybe I don’t belong in yours either.”
The air between them turned ice cold.
Victoria stood slowly. “You have six days, Brielle. Choose wisely.”
Back at the garage, Jace stood at his workbench, arms crossed, eyes following Brielle as she approached. She was tense—shaken in that quiet way she always tried to hide.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, then shook her head. “My mother’s here.”
Jace stiffened. “She find the pitchforks and torches yet?”
“She brought something worse,” Brielle whispered, pulling the envelope from her coat. “An ultimatum.”
He watched her, carefully. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Part of me wants to burn it all down. The money. The name. The whole empire.”
“And the other part?”
She looked up at him, eyes brimming with fear and longing. “Is terrified of losing everything. Including you.”
For a moment, Jace stepped forward, like he might pull her in. But he stopped short, tension drawing tight between them.
“I don’t want to be your reason for throwing your life away.”
Brielle’s voice broke. “What if you’re the only part that ever felt real?”
He didn’t answer.
And as she turned to leave, the unopened envelope still in her hand, the ticking of that invisible clock grew louder with every step.
Chapter Eleven: The Burned Letter
The storm returned with a vengeance that night—wind howling, rain pounding on the roof of the garage apartment like fists of the past demanding to be let in.
Jace was in the back room alone, organizing shelves that didn’t need organizing, mind restless and raw. He reached for an old cigar box tucked behind a crate of spark plugs—one he hadn’t opened in years. Inside were faded photos, a rusted locket, and a bundle of old letters tied together with worn twine.
He paused, fingers brushing across one letter in particular. It wasn’t in his handwriting.
He frowned.
Upstairs, Brielle paced in her borrowed flannel, still clutching the envelope from her mother. She hadn’t opened it—not out of defiance, but fear. Her entire future, laid out in sterile corporate clauses. She needed air. Space. Something to distract her from the weight of the decision hanging over her.
She wandered downstairs, the faint scent of motor oil grounding her more than she wanted to admit. When she pushed open the office door, she saw Jace standing over the cigar box, a half-burned letter trembling in his hand.
“What’s that?” she asked gently.
He didn’t look at her. “A letter Rachel never sent. At least, I thought she didn’t.”
She stepped closer, watching him with quiet concern. “Is it from her?”
“No,” he said slowly, unfolding the page. “It’s about her. But it’s not her handwriting.”
Brielle leaned in. The writing was elegant, practiced—older. A different voice entirely.
“I handled it. She’ll never know. He’ll never tell.”
Jace’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t just some random note. Someone knew what happened that night wasn’t an accident.”
Brielle’s heart pounded. “Are you saying Rachel didn’t just… crash?”
“I always blamed myself,” Jace said, eyes dark. “But what if someone else was involved? Someone who wanted her out of the way?”
He dropped the letter onto the desk, flames of old guilt rekindling with fury.
“We need to find out who wrote this,” Brielle whispered. “It could change everything.”
Jace met her gaze, something fierce flickering in his eyes for the first time in days.
“Then let’s find out,” he said.
Outside, the storm roared louder.
But inside, for the first time, they were no longer running from the past.
They were chasing it.
Chapter Twelve: The Other Driver
The next morning dawned gray and heavy, the clouds hanging low like the town itself held its breath. Brielle sat at the diner counter flipping through Rachel’s yearbook—borrowed from the local library—while Jace poured over old records from his glove compartment, every page a possible puzzle piece.
“I recognize this handwriting,” Brielle murmured suddenly, holding up the mysterious letter. “It’s careful. Expensive penmanship. My mother’s friends all wrote like this. It’s trained.”
Jace looked up, skeptical. “You think someone from your world was involved in mine?”
She didn’t blink. “They’ve intersected before. My father knew Rachel’s father. They crossed paths through some real estate deal years ago.”
That set off a chain reaction in Jace’s mind. Faces. Memories. A man in a silver Aston Martin, sharply dressed, visiting Rachel’s father in the days before her accident. The man had smiled too wide. Talked too smooth.
Grayson Vale.
Brielle’s breath caught. “He was there that night, wasn’t he?”
Jace’s silence confirmed it.
They tracked down a retired deputy who had worked the case years ago—a man with tired eyes and a face weathered by truth buried too long. He remembered the accident. The twisted metal. The hush money.
“There was another car,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone sped off. We never caught them. But I always thought… it wasn’t an accident. Not with how quick the Kingsleys’ lawyers got involved.”
Brielle stiffened. “My family’s lawyers?”
He nodded. “They scrubbed the scene clean in hours. Said it was to protect ‘business interests.’”
Later that afternoon, Brielle confronted Grayson outside a boutique hotel in the next town over. She didn’t wait for pleasantries.
“Where were you the night Rachel died?”
He froze. “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind you should’ve answered years ago,” she hissed, holding up the burned letter. “You were there. You left her. You let Jace believe he was the one who—”
Grayson grabbed her wrist, hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” she snapped. “You paid someone to take the fall. Who else helped you?”
But before he could reply, tires screeched nearby—Jace’s truck had pulled up. He leapt out, rage simmering behind his eyes.
“Get away from her.”
Grayson stepped back with a mocking laugh. “You really think this changes anything? You’re nothing but a greasy nobody. She’ll leave you the second she remembers who she is.”
Jace lunged—but Brielle held him back.
“Let him rot in his lies,” she whispered.
But as Grayson slipped into his car, he gave one final look—a warning, cold and deliberate.
“You’re playing with fire,” he said. “And you don’t even know who’s holding the match.”
Then he peeled off, tires screaming down the road.
And in the echo of his departure, Jace and Brielle stood side by side—both realizing they had only just struck the surface of something darker, deeper, and far more dangerous than either of them had imagined.
Chapter Thirteen: The Reckoning
The garage was dead silent, except for the ticking of the old wall clock—each second landing like a hammer between Jace’s ribs. He sat on the floor of the back room, the burned letter in his hands and a bottle of untouched whiskey at his side. The truth clawed at his chest: he hadn’t killed Rachel.
But someone else had.
And he’d let himself rot in that guilt for years.
The door creaked open. Brielle stepped inside, her expression carved from stone.
“He confessed,” she said, voice low and brittle. “Grayson admitted it.”
Jace didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“He was driving that night,” she continued, stepping closer. “He and Rachel had been fighting. He chased her when she left. She swerved to avoid him. Lost control.”
Jace’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the letter.
“He paid someone to say they were behind the wheel. That person took the fall, the Kingsleys buried it under hush money, and you—” her voice cracked “—you believed it was your fault.”
He stared ahead, numb.
“I let her leave,” he whispered. “I was angry. I thought if I gave her space…”
“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” Brielle said, kneeling beside him. “But you didn’t kill her, Jace.”
“I might as well have,” he rasped. “I let him get away with it.”
Tears welled in Brielle’s eyes. “We’ll go to the police.”
Jace shook his head. “That won’t fix this.”
“It will if you let it.”
He turned to look at her then—really look. The woman who’d crashed into his life, unraveling everything he thought he knew about love, loyalty, and forgiveness. She’d stood by him through everything. And now she was asking him to stand by her.
But he couldn’t.
“I need to be alone,” he said quietly.
Brielle’s heart cracked. “You’re pushing me away again.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth? Or yourself?”
He stood, backing away from her. “Go. Go back to New York. Take the inheritance. Reclaim your throne. That’s your world.”
She stood slowly, her voice shaking. “My world was you.”
The silence between them was louder than any storm.
Brielle turned and walked out without looking back.
And Jace, for the second time in his life, let the woman he loved walk away—this time knowing exactly what he was losing.
Chapter Fourteen: Two Worlds Collide
The Manhattan skyline glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Kingsley boardroom, but Brielle barely noticed. She sat at the head of the long mahogany table, lawyers on either side, her inheritance documents spread before her like a crown she no longer wanted.
Every word was weighted. Every signature line a chain.
Her mother sat across from her, cold and triumphant. “You’ve made the right decision, darling. The company needs you. It’s your duty.”
Brielle stared down at the final page. Her hand hovered over the pen.
Then she spoke—calmly. Clearly.
“No.”
Victoria blinked. “Excuse me?”
Brielle pushed the documents away. “I’m not signing.”
“You’ll lose everything.”
Brielle stood. “Then I’ll start over. Without this empire. Without your control. Without a last name that’s weighed me down my entire life.”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“No, Mother. For the first time in my life—I’m being honest.”
She walked out of the room without another word, leaving shocked board members in her wake.
Back in Maplewood Hollow, the sky hung low and gray. Jace stood in the garage, surrounded by silence and routine—until headlights flashed across the window.
He turned just as Brielle stepped out of a beat-up rental car, wind tousling her hair, rain threatening overhead. She walked into the garage like she belonged there—like she never should’ve left.
“Thought you’d be on a private jet by now,” Jace said, voice low.
“I walked out of the boardroom,” she said simply. “Left the company. The inheritance. Everything.”
Jace stared at her, stunned. “Why?”
She stepped closer. “Because I realized the only place I ever felt free… was here. With you. Covered in grease and drowning in your silence.”
His eyes softened. “You didn’t have to give it all up for me.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I gave it up for me. But I came back for you.”
He took a step toward her, then froze.
And in that moment, fate twisted once more.
The screech of brakes outside.
A shout.
And the shattering sound of metal against metal.
Jace bolted outside to find a car spun out on the road—his neighbor’s truck, overturned.
But he didn’t notice the figure running into the street behind him, didn’t hear Brielle call his name—
Not until the second car hit.
Brielle’s scream cut through the night as Jace’s body hit the pavement, his head slamming against the curb.
The world tilted.
Blood pooled beneath him.
And all Brielle could do was fall to her knees, cradling his head, begging him not to leave her—not now—not when they had finally chosen each other.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
But time, for her, had already stopped.
Chapter Fifteen: Home Is You
The hospital room was hushed, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the occasional soft rustle of linen as Brielle adjusted Jace’s blanket. His face was pale against the pillow, his jaw bruised, a thin bandage wrapped around his head. Machines blinked around him, but to Brielle, none of it mattered—only the rise and fall of his chest.
She hadn’t left his side in three days.
Not to sleep. Not to shower. Not even when her mother had appeared at the door and tried, once more, to pull her away.
“He made his choice,” Victoria had whispered coldly. “And now look where it landed him.”
“No,” Brielle had replied, voice like steel. “I made mine. And I’m staying.”
Now, as evening sunlight painted golden streaks across the white walls, Jace stirred. A low groan escaped his lips, and his hand twitched. Brielle sat up, breath catching.
“Jace?” she whispered, reaching for his fingers.
His eyes fluttered open—confused at first, then focusing slowly on her face.
“You’re here,” he rasped.
A sob escaped her lips. “I never left.”
His voice was weak, but his eyes were clear. “You… okay?”
“I should be asking you that,” she laughed through her tears. “You nearly died.”
He tried to sit up and winced. “Still feel like I might’ve.”
She eased him back down, brushing his hair gently from his forehead. “You’re safe now. I promise.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and something settled in his gaze. A quiet certainty.
“I thought I lost you,” he said.
“You almost did,” she whispered. “And I realized something lying next to you these last few days.”
“What?”
“That home isn’t the place I left. Or the name I gave up. It’s… you.”
Jace blinked hard, chest rising with emotion he didn’t know how to contain. “I don’t have a ring,” he said, voice cracking, “and I’m probably not supposed to be moving, but if I don’t say it now, I might never—”
She cut him off with a kiss. Soft. Certain. Full of every second they’d nearly lost.
“Ask me anyway,” she whispered against his lips.
He smiled, the first real one in days. “Brielle Kingsley… will you stay with me? For good?”
Her answer was immediate. “Yes. Always.”
Outside the window, the sky bloomed with twilight.
Down the hall, nurses smiled as they passed.
And in the shadows of the hospital parking lot, a figure stood watching—a man in a dark coat holding a file marked: KINGSLEY ESTATE – FRAUD INVESTIGATION: ACTIVE.
He lit a cigarette.
And turned to walk away.
For now.
