Chapter 5: The Meeting With Dara
Dara was already seated when Rosalie arrived.
The café was small and neutral — Giancarlo's investigator had suggested it, somewhere neither woman had history with.
A corner table.
Two waters already poured.
Dara had her hands folded on the tabletop and she didn't stand when Rosalie came in.
She was younger than Rosalie had expected.
Late twenties, with tired eyes and a stillness about her that looked like it had been practiced over a long time.
She watched Rosalie lower herself into the chair across from her without speaking.
Rosalie settled.
Set her bag on the floor.
Looked at Dara directly.
"Thank you for coming," Rosalie said.
"I wasn't sure I would," Dara said.
Her voice was even.
"I almost didn't."
"I understand."
"Do you?" There was no hostility in it.
Just a question.
"I think I'm beginning to," Rosalie said.
Dara looked at her for a moment.
Then her eyes dropped to Rosalie's belly.
Something moved across her face — not cruelty.
Something more complicated.
"How long until the baby comes?" she asked.
"Three weeks.
Maybe less."
Dara nodded.
She picked up her water glass and set it back down without drinking.
"I want you to know," she said carefully, "that I did not know he was lying to you.
I thought—" She stopped.
Pressed her lips together.
Started again.
"He told me you knew the arrangement.
That it was mutual.
That you both understood what it was."
"I didn't know," Rosalie said.
"I thought we were a real marriage."
"I know that now." Dara's jaw tightened.
"He told me what he told you.
And he told you what he told me.
And neither of us knew the other was hearing a different story."
"He ran two lives," Rosalie said.
"Yes."
"And his mother helped him."
Dara's eyes came up quickly.
"What do you mean?"
"Millicent knew about you.
She approved the plan.
The marriage to me was about a trust — four point three million that required him to marry someone she chose before his birthday in March.
You were the real relationship.
I was the transaction."
Dara stared at her.
"She knew about me."
"Yes."
"She knew he had a son."
"Yes."
Dara sat back in her chair.
The stillness she'd carried into the room cracked slightly — not into tears, but into something harder.
Her hands came apart on the table.
"She called me once," Dara said slowly.
"About a year ago.
I didn't know who she was at the time.
She said she was a family friend of Caleb's.
She asked me questions about our relationship.
How serious it was.
Whether I intended to marry him." Dara's voice went flat.
"I told her we were already married.
She said, 'How lovely,' and ended the call."
Rosalie felt the shape of it clearly now.
Millicent had called to confirm the secret was contained.
That Dara didn't know.
That the plan was still intact.
"She was checking on her investment," Rosalie said.
Dara looked at her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, she let out a short, dry sound — not quite a laugh, but close.
"We were both used," Dara said.
"Yes."
"By the same man."
"And his mother."
Dara looked down at the table.
When she looked up again, something had shifted behind her eyes.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Fight," Rosalie said simply.
"Millicent is threatening to pursue guardianship of my baby.
I won't allow it.
I have a lawyer.
I have the documents Giancarlo collected.
And now I have the timeline." She paused.
"I could also use a witness."
Dara went very still.
"You want me to testify," she said.
"I want Millicent to understand that both of the women Caleb deceived are standing in the same direction." Rosalie held her gaze.
"You don't owe me anything.
But your son deserves a father who is held accountable.
And I think you know that Millicent will protect Caleb at the expense of everyone else — including your boy."
The silence between them stretched.
Then Dara reached into her bag and placed her phone on the table.
She opened it to a folder of screenshots — messages between her and Caleb going back three years.
"I saved everything," Dara said quietly.
"I don't know why.
I just never deleted them."
Rosalie looked at the screen.
Hundreds of messages.
Dates.
Promises.
Lies written in plain text.
"May I send those to my lawyer?" Rosalie asked.
May you like
Dara slid the phone across the table.
"Send them," she said.
