Lured into Lies by Melanie Martins

Chapter 11

Manhattan, November 13, 2020

Petra Van Gatt

After spending the afternoon studying in the library, I crack the door open and step into the condo. Maria welcomes me with a stern look, which is quite unusual for her. She helps me to take my coat off, but before she goes to hang it, she leans in and whispers, “You are late for dinner… again.” And she insists on the last word. I glance at my watch, and I can’t help rolling my eyes because dinner started only ten minutes ago. It’s just a private casual dinner between my fiancé and I, for fuck’s sake! Dad never had any fixed hour to have dinner, but with Alex, jeez, he’s obsessed with punctuality and schedules.

“Alright. Thanks, Maria.” I give her a small smile before stepping into the dining room and find Alex there, who is not so pleased by my tardiness.

“Not only do you hate punctuality, but you also seem to hate having a private chauffeur who wants to ensure you arrive on time,” he points out, most likely because I used Ubers the whole day and ignored Zach, who was trying to know where I was.

“I told you I didn’t want one.” I reach for my chair, pulling it away to sit. “If you want to know where I went this morning, I went to talk to my dad.”

“And you left without saying a word,” he says, sounding rather annoyed. “You could’ve at least texted me.” He pauses for a beat, and since I don’t display any remorse, he adds, “I was worried about you.”

I notice Maria walking into the dining room, carrying two plates, which she places in front of each of us.

“Okay, um, I was in a hurry.” Leaving his stupid remarks behind, I change the subject and say, “I’ve got something to tell you…” Alex squints slightly, his eyes in curiosity, but he takes his cutlery and starts cutting his food anyway. “Dad agreed to give me fifteen percent of the company, which will allow me to have a seat at the board and prevent you from being voted out in the future.”

All of a sudden, though, he freezes, staring at me, his lips slightly parting in surprise. “He did?”

“Yep,” I tell him, carrying a victorious smile. “There’s just a small request from his side though…”

He, on the other hand, remains just as serious. “Which is?”

“You have to do the same,” I tell him, slightly anxious for his reaction.

Alex blinks twice, confused. “You mean both of us have to give you fifteen percent?” He sounds rather bothered, which is definitely not what I had anticipated.

“Um, that’s the idea, yes…” And since Alex doesn’t seem convinced, I add, “I’ll be able to prevent anyone from voting you out, just like that.”

“I see…” He nods pensively, taking his cutlery again to start eating. “Can I have a thought about it?”

I frown my brows, a bit hurt by his question. “What do you need to think about?” As he’s chewing, I add, “With the new charges pressed against you, there’s a strong chance that Joshua and Mike side with my dad and stab you in the back. But if I have a vote, I can prevent it. Seems quite an easy decision to me.”

He drinks some water, wipes his mouth, and once his eyes meet mine again, he says, “Unless you decide otherwise…”

My heart skips a beat instantly at his comment, leaving me barely able to articulate. “What?” And as I look at the uneasiness laced on his face, I ask, “So you don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do,” he replies instantly. But his uneasiness to give me fifteen percent tells me otherwise. “It’s just…” He looks away, searching for the best words. “What if one day you hate me and want me out? Or what if your dad somehow turns you against me?”

“My dad won’t manage to turn me against you. Never.” I pause, seeing something new in his expression. “And I promise I won’t vote you out, even if I’m mad at you.”

Alex draws out a breath as he thinks something through. I see his chest rise and fall once more before he continues, “I really appreciate that you’re trying to help me out. It’s really nice of you. Just give me some time to think about it, alright?” His tone is polite and calculated, which means he’s already made up his mind and he’s just lying for the sake of politeness and to have a pleasant dinner.

My jaw drops at his answer, and my heart does the same. “Sure…” I mumble before looking away, tears building in my eyes. The fact he doesn’t trust me as I thought he did hurts much more than I’d like to admit. I’m doing this for us! Yet, here he is excluding me… again. I’ve got no words to express how deeply disappointed I am in his decision. Or lack of. The dining room plunges into a freezing silence matching the glass table and the interior design. Nothing but the cutlery touching the plates and cutting the food can be heard. It’s unpleasant, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s awkward. While Alex seems to be pretty relaxed as he keeps eating, I’ve got a knot in my stomach at the realization that Dad might have granted this request because he knew Alex wouldn’t agree to it. My appetite is gone, and I feel drained. Emotionally drained. I keep ruminating why on earth Alex wouldn’t agree to it. We’re getting married after all. Doesn’t it mean anything to him? I feel tempted to leave the dining room and let him eat alone, but it’d be a childish move and won’t solve anything. I can’t keep storming out. After a few more moments in total silence, without either one of us speaking, I look up at him and ask, “Have you thought about it yet?”

Alex lets out a quick chuckle but doesn’t say a word. Then after a few more beats of silence, his eyes alight on me, and he says, “I met with Amanda today.”

“What!” I freeze on the spot, barely believing the words that came out of his mouth. Immediately, all I want is to throw up and my hands become shaky. “Why?” The question is louder and angrier than I expected. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind my straightforwardness and usual curiosity.

“To persuade her to drop the case.”

“You met with her alone?” I sound worried and irritated, but I truly don’t care.

“Yes.” He, on the other hand, answers the question without any remorse.

Wow. Despite his honesty, the fact that they met alone doesn’t appease me. “She accused you of sexual assault, and yet you thought it was okay to meet her alone?”

“I know it was risky—”

“Risky?” I repeat, louder. “No, it was reckless and stupid!” And before he can say something else, I ask, “Where did you meet her?”

He seems to hesitate, which makes my heart pulsing even harder. “At her place.”

A gasp rolls off my lips, and his words paralyze me. Holding my breath for a moment, I’m unable to move, unable to think, unable to speak. I just look at him, disappointment setting in. Could he have cheated on me to silence her?

“We just spoke about the case,” he adds, trying to comfort me. “But at least I’ve got a recorded confession of hers that it’s all for revenge.”

I frown my brows in confusion. “How did you get her to confess something like that?”

He shrugs. “I know how to make her speak.”

No matter the reason he went there, the fact he met with his ex at her place doesn’t sit well with me at all. “So you were mad at me because I didn’t tell you I went to see my dad, but you can go and see your ex and that’s totally fine?”

“I wasn’t mad,” he points out. “Just worried.”

“Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” I ask, my tone rising.

“I’m telling you now. Just like you did.”

I rub my eyelids tiredly; my body is entirely numb. This dinner must be the worst we have ever had. My heart is bouncing so hard inside my chest that it hurts. “Did you do anything with her?”

“What?” he snaps back.

“Did you do anything with her?” I repeat, louder, my eyes squinted like they could throw bullets at him.

“Of course not,” he answers in outrage. “I just went there to talk and be able to record it.”

I lean back on my chair and, crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “Then I want to listen to the whole thing.”

His attention goes back to his plate, and before he brings one more bite into his mouth, he says, “I sent it to Ryan. I don’t have it with me.”

“I want a copy,” I tell him straight away.

“Petra…”

“I want a copy by tomorrow evening,” I repeat, insisting. I get up from my seat and simply say, “I’m gonna get some rest. Night.” And leave the dining room with a stomp in my step.

* * *

Alexander Van Dieren

“Is Ms. Van Gatt done with her meal?” Maria’s question pulls me back to earth, and I nod without feeling like saying anything.

Fuck! Petra is such a fucking stubborn woman. I might have found it cute when she was a child, but not now that she’s my fiancée and almost my wife. As Maria leaves the dining room, I take my iPhone and make a phone call.

“Don’t tell me you have been arrested?” Ryan starts as he picks the call.

I give a quick chuckle before saying, “That would’ve been easier.”

“What happened?”

“We need to talk…” I tell him, my voice just above a whisper. “Can I pass over?”

Ryan draws out a breath. “Now?” he asks, annoyance thick in his tone. “I promised the kids I’d read them a story. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have time enough before I get there.”

I hear nothing but silence on the other side. “I hope it’s really urgent.”

“It is. I will be there in half an hour.”

And before I can hang up, he says, “Half an hour? Your home is like ten blocks away.”

“I’m gonna finish my meal first, so that you can have some time with your kids.”

“Alright, I appreciate that.”

“See you later.” And I hang up just in time when Maria enters the room with the main dish. A smile pulls up my lips at the steam curling up from the plate. But my smile disappears just as fast when I look in front me to the empty chair. This was not the evening I had anticipated, and I hope it won’t be a recurring thing. “Thank you, Maria,” I say as she leaves the room, bowing her head slightly.

Just a year ago, eating alone in this dining room wouldn’t bother me at all. Heck, I would even welcome the silence and solitude. Yet now, for some odd reason, it feels empty and uncomfortable. So I eat my meal, pretty self-conscious of the silence surrounding me, and knowing perfectly well I’d have preferred Petra to be here. I feel tempted to go and call her, but since she’s the one who decided to leave, I refrain from doing so.

After dinner, I leave the dining room and find Maria in the entryway. “I’m gonna go out, kindly make sure Ms. Van Gatt has eaten something before I’m back,” I instruct as I put on my coat. “If she doesn’t eat, please let me know.”

“Sure.”

Once I stand in front of Ryan’s entrance door, I call him instead of pressing the doorbell, so as not to make too much noise. A few seconds later, the door opens wide, and I find Ryan in casual attire instead of his usual suit. “Thanks for doing this,” I tell him as he gestures for me to get in.

“Let’s go to my office…”

I haven’t been here in ages, but aside from the updated pictures in the frames, nothing has really changed. Quietly enough, we go upstairs to his office, and Ryan opens the door, inviting me in. His office is modern but cozy, with more family pictures hanging on the walls, which is something I’d never seen in my parents’ house. Old paintings of our ancestors yes, but photos of my sisters and I? Can’t think of any. I stand in front of the perfect family picture of Ryan, his wife, and his two kids, and I can’t help but ask him, “Are you happy?”

“Eh…” A bit troubled by my question, he walks closer and stands beside me, looking at the same photograph. “We have our days, of course, but overall, yeah. I don’t regret it.”

I keep observing the other framed photos hanging on the wall, and I wonder why my parents never did the same with us. “How long have you been married for?”

“Uh, twenty years, I think…”

“Wow,” I utter. “That’s a long time.”

“I married at thirty-eight,” he tells me. “With a prenup, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Ryan goes to the bar cart on the other side of the room. “Water, Macallan, a Diet Coke? I don’t have normal…”

“I’m good, thank you.” I sit in the armchair as I wait for him to come back.

“So,” he begins, before clearing his throat and drinking some water. “What happened to you?”

Once he’s well seated on the sofa beside me, I say, “Petra wants a copy of the entire talk I had with Amanda.”

“Shit.” I’ve never heard Ryan curse before, which doesn’t reassure me. “Well, I don’t like to say that to a client but… you are screwed.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

He lets out a breath, looking away as he thinks something through. “Why did you even tell her about that?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone else to do it,” I point out. “It’d have been a matter of time until Amanda or Eric told her, which would be so much worse. I just didn’t expect she’d request a copy of the whole thing…” Ryan remains quietly listening, carrying some worry in his gaze. “I’m sure there is a way we can cut some parts that are… well…”

“Too personal?”

“Exactly.”

He considers me for an instant. “Alright, I’m sure we can edit it.” He goes to his desk to take his laptop with him and sits back. “But I can’t give an edited audio to the judge. We can play just the part of the confession in the courtroom, but I can’t edit evidence.”

“That should be fine.”

I leave the armchair and sit beside him as he opens his laptop. Then he checks the file I sent him and says, “You have two hours worth of audio; this is gonna take time.”

“Play it,” I instruct.

Despite knowing Ryan would rather go to sleep, he presses play, and we wait for the first interaction.

“My lawyer told me I was a fool to meet you alone,” I hear Amanda saying as she opens the door of her apartment.

"Mine too.” My tone matches with her playfulness, and Ryan gives me the look. “I know it’s your favorite.” That’s when I showed her the bottle of wine I was holding.

“You still remember my favorite wine?”

“Of course. After ten years, it’s kinda hard to forget.”

Ryan keeps looking at me, most likely wondering if we should cut that part or not.

I nod at him in return, and he opens FinalCut Pro to start editing the audio.

“You are so in trouble…” he mutters, his eyes glued to his screen. “If the whole thing is you and Amanda giggling and flirting, you are done for.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of moments where we have a more serious tone.”

“Pray for them to be enough.”

After cutting that part, the next minutes are nothing special—Amanda just invites me in, and we get into the house, some small talk here and there, until she opens the bottle and we clink our glasses, celebrating her revenge.

“You can’t help it, can you?” Ryan says as he pauses the audio again.

But I remain confused, and narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

“Your tone, your teasing, your sarcasm for her to laugh,” he explains.

“The goal was for her to speak. I didn’t expect Petra to request a copy of it.”

He shakes his head without saying anything further, but presses play again.

The great thing about Ryan is that he knows when and where to cut, as if he were in my shoes.

After one hour of listening and editing Amanda and I drinking, laughing, and talking about our past, she starts getting really personal, too much actually…

“Are you taking Petra to the annual Venetian ceremony?” The question itself nearly shivers me.

“No,that is something that will remain between us.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “So you won’t take her next year even if she’s your wife?”

“Correct,” I hear myself saying. “I don’t intend to go there ever again.”

Ryan pauses right there. “I imagine this whole Venetian thing is to be cut?”

“You know me well.”

After a few more minutes, we finally get to the confession part.

“Those accusations of sexual assault were such a low blow, though,” I sound extremely tipsy by now, and we almost laugh at the end. “Why on earth did you accuse me of that?”

I can hear Amanda drinking some more wine, and I know at that moment she is sitting on my lap and gazing at me non-stop, pure lust in her eyes. “Because you broke my heart… And now I have to break yours…”

Silence ensues as I know she was fixating on my lips to kiss me.

“Alright, I should probably go.” I remember exactly how I felt. If I didn’t put an end to it, Amanda would’ve kissed me, and I’m not sure how I’d have reacted. One thing I do know: I’d have hated it once I’d have been fully sober again. “I don’t want to be accused of sexual assault again.”

“Stay a bit more…”

“Amanda…”

Ryan presses pause again. “This is absolutely perfect. If the judge accept this audio as evidence, she’s roasted.” He then resumes the audio, and I can hear when I finally manage to pull Amanda away and stand up. Then we just say goodbye to each other; there is the sound of a kiss, but it’s one on the cheek, so there isn’t any reason to cut it out; I’m sure Petra knows the difference. “If you have a change of heart before the big day, let me know,” Amanda whispers near my ear before I leave her apartment. And I can’t help but laugh at Ryan’s expression as he cuts this last part.

“Well, with everything we edited, I think you might stand a chance.”

“Thank you for this, Ryan.” I put a hand on his shoulder, smiling at him with gratitude for what he has just done. “I really appreciate it.”

Ryan returns the smile, and I feel like a huge weight has finally been lifted off my shoulders. “Alright, let me just save this as a new copy and send it to you.”

As I look quietly at him, his gaze pinned on the screen, I say, “Um, I know it’s late, but…” I let my words trail off as I think how to approach the subject. “Petra spoke to her dad today, and he agreed to give her fifteen percent of the company…if I give her the same. It’d give her voting rights, and that would prevent him from getting rid of me in the future.”

“So what are you scared of then?” His gaze doesn’t even leave the screen as he finishes sending me the copy.

“That’s how my dad got kicked out of his firm. He needed one more vote to go, and it came from my mom.”

“Mm, I see…” He closes his laptop and remains ruminating for a while before looking at me. “And you are afraid Petra will do the same?”

A gush of air leaves my lips at the reality check. “Maybe not now, but who knows what things will be like in ten years… It’s a lifetime seat.”

“So is marriage,” he says sincerely. “Look, Roy is no longer someone you can trust to have your back, but your future wife should be. Maybe a partnership agreement with voting clauses should be enough.” There’s a small pause, before he adds, “Unless you intend to divorce her afterward…”

“I don’t, but what about her?” My elbows are on my knees and my hands entwined as I tell him my biggest fear. “What if she wakes up one day and realizes she married an old man? Or what if she cheats with a younger lad…”

“Something tells me that won’t happen,” Ryan answers back. “I’ve met many couples in my life, and very few women looked at their partners the way Petra looks at you. That woman loves you. Even a blind man can see that.”

My lips curve up at his comforting words. “Thanks.”

“However, I don’t think doing a prenup is a bad idea.” I let out a quick chuckle; Ryan is now back in attorney mode. “Have you thought about doing one?”

“We won’t get married here,” I tell him. “Dutch laws are different. Whatever is mine remains mine, and vice-versa. I don’t need a prenup.”

“It doesn’t matter if you get married in the Netherlands or in Japan. It’s where you reside that matters. And you are both gonna stay living here, no?”

I draw out a breath before nodding at him.

“Look, I love my wife, and I never doubted she loved me back. Doing a prenup is just a formal agreement if things go south. How the assets will be split up, the alimony, child support…all that baloney.”

“After our heated argument tonight…” I let my words trail off, uneasiness setting in. “I’m not even sure how I am gonna bring this up.”

“Tell her a prenup is beneficial for both of you. It’s something people who bring businesses, real estate, and inheritances into a relationship need to have.” Ryan makes it seems like it’s no big deal. “Which is also her case, right?”

“Yeah, she has a fund and Roy’s inheritance,” I answer. “But I doubt Petra is worried about me wanting to take it away from her.”

“And what about Tess? Doesn’t she have something on that side too?”

“Tess?”

“Yes, she has a house in the Netherlands and ownership of a nonprofit, isn’t that what you told me before?” he asks.

“Ah, yeah, I think so.”

Despite wanting to leave this subject behind, Ryan keeps pitching me the premarital agreement. “A good prenup must be fair and protect both parties. I will draft you one, and then you tell me what you think about it.”

“Alright, thanks for everything,” I tell him for the sake of politeness as we both raise up from our seats, ready to leave his office. “I’ll keep you updated on the prenup situation.”