The Divorced Heiress Is Entering a New Marriage

The next morning, Logan headed downstairs first to make coffee while I washed my face. Before long, he called up the stairs.

“Hazel! You have to see this.”

After drying off my face, I hurried downstairs to find Logan standing in the living room with the television

1. on.

My heart twisted in fear and trepidation, anxious over what fresh hell could await me on that screen. Yet, when I looked, there was no trace of Logan and me at all.

Instead, the screen showed Tina standing on an expensive looking yacht, her arms thrown around a handsome man, with a tropical coastline behind them,

“Oil heiress Tina St. Louis has recently begun a month long excursion cruise with her new boyfriend, model Franco,” the newscaster said. This was apparently their celebrity news update, a segment they always cut into the morning news.

The footage then switched to an interview with Tina while she stands on a dock.

“Franco is such a great guy,” she said, smiling brightly. Her eyes were covered with large sunglasses, so couldn’t tell if it was genuine. “He absolutely dotes on me. Every day for a month he brought me flowers, asking for a date. How could I girl say no to that?” Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

The off–screen interviewer asked, “You recently were romantically tied with Logan Hatfield, heir to the Hatfield Supply Company…” It seemed as if he had more to the question that he wanted to ask, but Tina put her hand on the microphone and dragged it back to herself.

“Logan and I split amicably and went our separate ways. I’d prefer to talk about Franco, if you don’t mind

“Did you know he was married?” the interviewer pressed.

I tensed, not sure how she would respond.

Tina laughed. “Of course I did. We had to do a bit of a cover up, didn’t we? Because his grandfather is such a jerk. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a handsome model that I’d like to kiss.”

The screen returned to the newsroom. “In this strange turn of events,” the newscaster said, “It seems as if Tina is coming out on the side of Logan and Hazel. This reporter, for one, never thought I’d see that. However, her words corroborate everything we’ve been hearing about Logan recently.”

J

“You actually convinced her,” I said, surprised. I’d heard only half of their conversation from the day before, and while I thought Logan had been convincing, genuinely apologizing and then warning Tina about the storm to come, I didn’t know what Tina’s side of the conversation had been.

“She seemed on the fence when we spoke,” Logan said. “Honestly, I’m relieved.”

With Tina out of the way, we only had one foe left to deal with: Senior. Our campaign to release the audio interviews from his wronged employees seemed to be going well to start. Since yesterday. 5 recordings had been released, each gaining more traction than the last.

“People are asking for more,” Maria said when I spoke with her on the phone. They aren’t going to believe what they are going to hear.”

-

At this point, Tammy and Frank Christopher walked down the stairs from the spare bedroom, bright–eyed and ready for the day.

“I’ll make waffles,” Tammy said, heading straight for the kitchen.

Maria, overhearing on the phone, laughed, “I wish I didn’t have to work. I could go for some homemade waffles.”

The waffles were in fact delicious.

While the others worked, Logan, Tammy, Frank, and I mostly sat around the living room, glued to the news and our laptops, waiting for any news. Eventually, Dylan came over as well, eager to not sit in his empty office unable to do anything all day due to being unjustly disbarred.

“What’s the lineup of stories that are being released today?” Dylan asked as he snatched a cold waffle off the counter and then, coming into the living room, collapsed down onto one of the armchairs.

“Five more stories,” I told him. “The nanny story to start. Then the gardener’s, the cook’s, and two of his assistant’s.”

“The one he locked into a closet for getting the type face wrong?” Dylan asked, recalling the story.

“Yes,” I said.

“Dreadful,” Tammy muttered.

Dylan hummed. “When are we going to release what we know about his affair and potential illegitimate child?”

That was a question that remained in contention. The group seemed evenly split on whether to release that info or keep it private. On the side of privacy, our argument was that since the affair partner hadn’t come forward on her own, it would be unfair to uproot her life. We needed her permission first.”

The dissenting side focused more on the end goal. They’d tried to reason that we could keep her name a secret, but… given how easily we were able to come by the records of previous employees, and investigative journalist would likely track her down in no time at all.

As much as I wanted to bring down Senior, I wasn’t going to ruin a mostly innocent person’s life to do it.

Dylan knew that, so I gave him a flat look. He shrugged innocently.

Another breaking celebrity news report flashed on the screen, suddenly claiming our attention. The screen showed Mr. Hatfield Senior trying to walk from his car to his office while being accosted by reporters with microphones from all sides.

“Sir! What do you have to say about the latest allegations?”

“Do you have anything to say to your previous employees?”

“Is it true that you shouted vulgarities your grandson’s nanny?”

“No comment!” Senior shouted, looking stressed. “No comment, you vultures!”

His security pushed the cameras back, and Senior disappeared into his office building, the reporters stopping at the door.

All of us remained quiet for a moment. I, for one, was trying to take in what I had just seen.

“Seems like the pressure is finally on,” Dylan said, the most relaxed out of all of us. He stretched back in his chair. “Now we just wait for the fireworks.”

Around midday, there was a knock on the door. Everyone froze, looking at each other.

“Were we expecting someone?” I asked Logan,

“No,” he replied and stood. I stood as well. “Stay here,” he told me.

“If you are going to answer that door, you aren’t doing it alone,” I replied.

Giving me an exasperated look, he opened his mouth, likely to say something else, when the knocking sounded again.

“Stay,” he said to me, then turned to the door.

Even with that command, I followed along in his shadow. When he noticed he gave me a withering look. At the door, Logan checked through the peephole, then cursed under his breath. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Logan put out his arm, keeping me from getting too close as he opened the door.

Outside on the doorstep stood Logan’s father. He looked as bad as the last time we saw him, with heavy bags under his eyes and a severe slouch to his shoulders. Whatever had been left of his pride, however, seemed to have been stripped from him.

He glanced from me to Logan, and said, “Can we talk?