Chapter 61

CHAPTER 61

MARIGOLD

S itting in front of my dad's Christmas tree, I couldn't help but marvel at how this fake thing had lasted so many years. I remembered the day my mom bought it at an after-Christmas sale.

The branches were still sturdy enough to hold up the ornament I made in third grade—the one that looked like a deformed reindeer. The poor tree was shedding more plastic needles than ever before. Every time someone walked by and accidentally brushed against the thing, it lost more needles. I already thought of it as a tall Charlie Brown tree but it was starting to resemble it more every day.

Every year, we put in a new pine air freshener. It was my mom's thing. She wanted our fake tree to be as real as possible. I inhaled the scent and was flooded with memories of my mom.

In my lap was my open laptop. On the screen, a big, glaring button screamed at me: Go Live Now .

I had been sitting like this for an hour. My finger hovered over the button. The hesitation was ridiculous, considering I'd been up for the last few nights scrolling through every hateful comment and meme that the internet could throw at Zayn.

Somehow, the entire public seemed to have forgotten I existed. Or, if they remembered, they had neatly pinned all the blame on him. Zayn, the lying billionaire, cheating the world out of what exactly? A fake engagement? They acted like we'd single-handedly caused a global crisis. If people showed half as much outrage over real problems, the world would be a much better place.

It was killing me. And the worst part was, he didn't deserve it. Hell, I didn't deserve it either, but I was getting off scot-free compared to him. I couldn't sit here in my living room, pretending it was all fine while the man I loved was getting skewered.

My dad told me not to read the comments, but I had to. People were brutal. They had sunk their little cyber fangs into his neck and they were not letting up. They had torn him apart in the worst feeding frenzy I had ever seen.

They were treating him like he was a monster. The women that claimed to have been used and abused by him were the worst. Some I believed had been with him. Others were clearly full of shit.

I should know. I knew the man intimately. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't the evil person they were describing. I had a feeling the bitter bitches complaining about him never calling them after one night were jealous. They were pissed because they didn't snare him.

All their comments were made because he wouldn't give them the time of day or a ring on their finger. They were the real gold-diggers. They were the ones that were pissed because they couldn't land a white whale. I had learned a lot about the Bancroft family and their massive fortune. All of the people on the internet slamming them had never actually met one of the family. They had no idea they were real people with real feelings.

And the children. Uncle Zayn was loved by his nephews and nieces. They didn't need to read this horrible stuff about him.

I had to step up. I had to do something to try and help him. In my mind, I was doing this for the family. Enough was enough. Zayn had his flaws, sure. He was arrogant, pompous, and often out of touch with reality. He was a billionaire after all, living in a world that was far removed from ordinary life.

But he also had a good heart. He cared about his family and he cared about me.

He was my Zayn whether the world liked it or not.

I placed my finger over the "Go Live Now" button again and hesitated for another second. I lifted my head, hoping to avoid looking like I had three chins and went for it.

The little "Live" icon popped up in the corner, and suddenly I was staring at myself on the screen, my face framed by twinkling lights and mismatched ornaments behind me. I looked nervous, but I plastered on a smile that felt about as real as the tree behind me.

"Hey, everyone," I started, my voice cracking like I was twelve again. "I'm Marigold Reed. Some of you probably know me as ‘Zayn Bancroft's Fake Fiancée,' and, well, that's not a title I ever thought I'd have."

That got a little laugh out of me. Always a good sign when you're laughing at your own disaster of a life, right?

"Let me just start by saying the lie that has been exposed, manipulated, and twisted into something it isn't is not what you think. This whole fake engagement thing? It was my fault."

I took a breath, waiting for the shockwave of angry comments that I imagined would flood in, but they didn't. At least, not yet. I glanced in the corner and noticed the viewer count steadily climbing.

"This all began because I—well, I got a little ahead of myself. A little insecure. You know how it is. You go to a wedding full of people from your past, and suddenly, you feel like you've got to be something more, someone bigger. They'd all moved on to bigger things, impressive things, and there I was, feeling like I hadn't quite lived up to anything. I was so uncomfortable—so out of my element. I felt small, like everyone had a microscope and they were examining me."

I could picture the reception hall in my mind, the faces of my old classmates, their judgmental stares. All of it flooding back now as I sat in front of my webcam, sharing my sob story with the internet.

"I wanted to impress them. So, I lied. I panicked. I told them Zayn and I were engaged. Not because it was some grand scheme or anything. I wasn't trying to scam anyone or pull a fast one. I just didn't want to feel like I was falling behind. I guess you could call it imposter syndrome. I didn't feel like being ‘just' me was enough. And that's when Zayn, bless his heart, stepped in. He heard my lie at the wedding and, instead of exposing me, played along. With all the grace and charm he could muster, he pretended to be my fiancé. He took the reins of my lie and made it into a beautiful thing. A wonderful ruse that fooled everyone."

I paused for a moment, letting the words sink into the minds of those watching before continuing. "So you see, Zayn Bancroft is not the villain here. If anything, he's the knight in shining armor who tried to protect a damsel in distress. He saved me. He could have laughed at me or recoiled in horror at the thought of being hooked up with a nobody like me. But he didn't. He stepped up and gave me the self-confidence I needed to get through that day."

And there it was, out in the open. That ugly, uncomfortable truth I'd been trying to ignore for months.

"I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought, about how I was being perceived, that I didn't take the time to actually figure out who I am. I stressed, I complained, and I let myself get paralyzed by this idea that I wasn't enough. And that's when I dragged Zayn into it."

My hands started to fidget in my lap. I clasped them together and focused on the camera. It felt a little like I was talking to the younger version of myself—the one who believed in magic and thought New York would be the answer to everything.

"Zayn helped me get unstuck," I said softly. "In a lot of ways. He didn't know it at the time, but being around him, going through this with him, it showed me that I don't need to lie or pretend to be someone I'm not. I'm Marigold Reed. The only daughter to parents who worked their asses off to give me a good life. The small-town girl who fell in love with New York. The girl who loves hard and believes that people are good, even if they sometimes do stupid things—like me."

I laughed again, this time more out of nerves than humor. My throat tightened, and I blinked a couple of times to keep from tearing up. The words I hadn't realized I needed to say were pouring out now, faster than I could stop them.

"I'm a girl who tells the truth, despite what I've done these last few months. And the truth is I messed up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for lying, I'm sorry for dragging Zayn into this, and I'm sorry for not being upfront from the start. I'm sorry I didn't speak up sooner. What is being done to and said about Zayn Bancroft is horrific. People should be ashamed of themselves. The man did nothing wrong except step up for a total stranger. That's a man. That's a good man."

I paused, wondering if I should say the next part. But it needed to be said.

"And Zayn—if you ever hear this—thank you. Thank you for being the best fake fiancé I could've asked for. For unlocking a part of my soul that I'd hidden away for so long. For being you. I know things didn't end the way we wanted, but you deserve better than what's happening right now. I'm so sorry I left you holding the bag. Don't listen to the bullshit. You. Are. A. Good. Man."

The air in the room felt too still, too quiet. I glanced up at the angel on top of the tree. God, it was ugly. But my mom had loved it, and I couldn't help but smile.

"That's all," I said, letting out a deep breath. "Thank you for listening."

I clicked the button to end the livestream. My screen faded to black and I let out the breath I'd been half-holding. Just like that, it was over.

For a moment, I sat there, staring at the dark reflection of myself. The silence was almost too loud. Was that a thing? Too loud silence? It felt like it was screaming at me.

Either way, I felt lighter. Like I'd finally peeled off a suffocating layer of guilt that had been weighing me down for days. Sure, the internet might not forgive me, but at least I'd said my piece. I'd done something. I tried to save Zayn. I hoped he knew how sorry I was. Mostly, I hoped falling on my sword helped him. I hoped people backed off.

It was Christmas. Where was the holiday cheer and love and all the other bullshit?

I leaned back, rubbing my eyes, and caught a glimpse of the little angel topper again. The thing looked like it had survived a hurricane, but somehow, that made it feel right at home in what was the chaos of my life. It was ugly as sin, but it was part of the family.

"Guess that makes two of us, huh?" I muttered to the angel, cracking a grin at my own expense.

Suddenly, a buzz from my phone jolted me back to reality. A text from Elaine.

Saw you live. Proud of you. Ready for the world to explode now?

I sighed, already bracing myself for the inevitable backlash.

Bring it on, I texted back, throwing my phone onto the couch.

In my mind, it couldn't get any worse. If anything, the anger would be directed at me. I was ready to take it.

I glanced at the computer again, wondering how long it would take for people to start tearing my confession apart. But surprisingly, I didn't feel that anxious about it. Maybe because, for the first time in a long while, I felt like I'd done something that was really, truly me. Not a version of me that I thought the world wanted to see but the real deal.

It wasn't perfect. It was messy, uncomfortable, and ugly. Like the tree. Like the angel. Like life.

But it was mine.

And for the first time in months, that felt like enough.