Page 65 of The Southern Submission

He runs a hand over his face and nods for me to continue. I swallow the lump in my throat at his restraint. I don’t deserve his patience and grace. It’s too much to ask for.

With trembling fingers, I scroll down to the code section of the backup, which isn’t as current as the site Archer is holdinghostage, but it’s exactly what I need to help Payton now. I click the toggle that converts the site to code and turn the laptop toward Payton. I point at a section I think will be useful for him.

“Archer built this for me when we were together. I wanted something professional looking for my articles when I started interviewing. He coded the whole thing and showed me where he put his signature.”

My voice is high and shaky, but I’m doing this to help him, even if he’ll never speak to me again after what I’ve done. I’ve already lost absolutely everything, the least I can do is offer this crumb of help.

“The narcissist made sure I knew exactly how he did everything and how special it was that my site would have his name in multiple places. He wanted to own anything he did for me. I’ve always hated that, but I didn’t know how to get rid of it without crashing the site, so I pretended it didn’t exist. When we broke up, I got a new domain and used a VPN to access the site for the Haute List. Archer never gave me credit to consider doing it this way, until now, so I think that’s why he hadn’t put it together before that the site he built is the skeleton of the Haute List. I think the last few Haute List stories I wrote pissed him off because I painted an unflattering picture of him and he went snooping to see what he’d find. It was a mistake doing that, and now I’m paying for it in the worst way.”

Payton scrolls through and highlights a section of code. “This is the same signature he used in the code for the program that got into the Olympus servers.” He scrolls up and highlights another section where it saysArcher Donovan has the biggest dick and fucks like a beast. “Shit like this is pretty incriminating if you’re able to corroborate the timeframe and can pinpoint when he built this site, somehow. Anyone canbuild a website and write code to say whatever you want it to. It doesn’t matter that he admitted to building your site in the post he made today. He didn’t put his name on it, only the bow and arrow reference like his signature.”

“I have a video of him coding, typing that exact phrase,” I say, hurriedly tapping the screen he just highlighted. “I took it while he was feeling particularly pleased with himself and was gloating. I kept it after we broke up because it was proof that he was a narcissist and I could show it to people if I ever had to defend myself against him with those allegations.”

I open my phone, tapping on my photo library to pull up the very first video I transferred when I got my new phone here in Atlanta. It shows a twenty-three-year-old Archer sitting at a desk typing into a laptop and voicing what he’s coding out loud as he laughs. I ask him about the site he’s creating for me, and he answers in a condescending tone that it’ll be the best thing I’ll ever have because he’s building the whole thing for me. I have the camera trained on the computer screen, with Archer in the frame, and it’s more than incriminating.

“It should more than corroborate anything you need.” I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. I’m still waiting for Payton to lose his shit on me. I press my face into my knees, feeling too much shame to look at him.

“Why, Ainsley?” Payton’s voice is guttural, full of hurt and anger. I hate that I’ve made him feel that.

I pull my face up enough to look at the table. “Why what?”

“Why would you give me this information now?”

I sit up a little straighter and bring my gaze to his chest but still can’t meet his eyes. “You need the information to connect Archer to his crimes. This is the only way. I’d rather you hate me while I lose everything than keep it from you and let him get away with fucking over more people withoutrepercussions. He deserves everything that’s coming to him. And so do I.”

“What do you think you deserve?” His voice is so different. Hard, not at all the humorous jokester who’s constantly pushing my buttons and trying to rile me up with innuendo. I miss him and he’s sitting right next to me. It breaks my heart more that I’m the one who put this distance between us.

“Whatever terrible things you think are fitting for the last two years of stories I’ve posted about your family and business. Never speaking to me again.” A tear slips down my cheek at the last words and I turn my face away to swipe at it. I can’t even muster up the anger to put up my normal guard when I need it most.

Payton shifts, and I wish it was to reach out to hold me. He only crosses his arms over his chest and it creates more of a boundary between us that makes me ache for him.

“Tell me why you started the Haute List.” His voice is so cold and distant. I hate the change.

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling all of the emotions, especially guilt at having kept this from him as we’ve grown closer, even fallen in love. I nod, knowing I owe him this much because no matter how hard this will be for me, I’ve put him through worse.

“Archer fucked with my head before I left New York,” I say, trying to make him understand the place I was in when I came to Atlanta. “He was rich, entitled, didn’t care who he hurt when he wanted something, and was willing to use others for his gain. I watched too many people just like him do the same thing in New York. Celebrities, businessmen, socialites, politicians, nepo babies, tech bros, you name it. I was so sick of the class divide and unstoppable arrogance, the unchecked and rampant misdeeds of the wealthiest people who should begiving back and doing the most for others. When Archer and his father used me like they did, I’d had it. I realized I was just another tool for people like them to get what they wanted—in their case, more money when they had more than they knew what to do with.” I shift in my seat, wishing I could curl up. I’m so exposed.

“What happened when you’d had enough?” he asks, his voice rumbling and deep, but not in the way that tells me I’m his Princess. This tone is all rebuke, and I feel small and selfish when I hear it.

“I’d had too much wine one night after I’d moved to town.The Real Housewives of Atlantawas playing and more celebrities were acting out while I was reading the financial news on my computer as I gathered information for an article. I saw the story of Olympus International buying out Donner Investments. I felt like things would never change, just one billion-dollar business buying another, perpetuating the cycle of wealth and arrogance. I wanted a way for normal people to see what billionaires and celebrities were like in their private lives. If there was an anonymous site we could share tips and post photos, or stories could be published that called them out on their bullshit on occasion, it might make them realize they were being watched and held accountable. I didn’t expect it to change anyone on an intrinsic level, and I knew it would be a gossip site at heart, so it had to be fun and light. I’m still able to add my love of research and journalism to the stories on occasion, digging into celebrities, or businessmen, sometimes finding real dirt, and exposing things I’m sure no one wants to ever see the light of day. The Haute List has been my way of feeling accomplished when the Gazette has been such a letdown compared to what I could have had before Archer ruined me. It’s my way of getting back at people just like him,”I finish weakly.

Shame fills my cheeks with heat, my hands fisting in my lap, wishing I could hold onto Payton, knowing he’s one of those people. I targeted the Olsens because they reminded me of Archer and Andreas Donovan. From the outside, Olympus International looked just like Donner Investments had, and they’d bought out Donner Investments, so in my mind, they were worse. Why shouldn’t I have vilified the Olsens and made them the main characters of my gossip blog?

“Were you ever planning to stop?” Payton asks.

“No,” I answer honestly. “Not before I met you.” I swallow past the desert in my throat. “The Haute List basically runs itself now, with tips and leads coming in around the clock. Any time I open it, I have something to write about, and it gets incredible traffic. If I monetized the site, it would be an insane source of income, but I’ve never wanted to profit off of gossip because that would make me just as bad as the people I report on. This has always been a way to even the playing field and bring you down to our level. But, now that I’ve gotten to know you as a person, and know your family, I’m finding it really hard to write about you.”

“As it fucking should. We’re just people, Ainsley. We never asked to be made into entertainment for anyone to speculate on.”

He drags a hand through his hair, staring at me, his face holding something close to disgust on it. I look away quickly, my stomach flipping, heart racing. I wipe my hands against my shorts to try to get rid of the sweat that’s making them clammy, but nothing seems to be working for me right now.

“You’ve had so many opportunities to tell me about the Haute List and you never fucking said a word. You’ve just gone along with this fake relationship, even when it became real,writing about yourself and looking like a backwater nobody for fuck’s sake. Why did you put yourself down and disparage your accomplishments as part of your coverage? You couldn’t even fucking tell me this when I told you about Archer being the hacker. You kept the code on the website to yourself and told me you were sorry he did that to us, and let me go on thinking I’d never have a way to connect him to his crimes. Why the hell would you tell me at all if you wouldn’t tell me then, before I fucked you, gave myself to you, fell in love with you?”

I feel my anger seeping back into my body. I grasp the tendrils and yank it back into place where it feels good. I’ve missed this armor. “Why would I tell you about the Haute List? It’s anonymous for a reason. No one is supposed to know who’s behind the site, especially the people I write about the most. I was terrified of you finding out, and this is exactly why. I couldn’t exactly talk myself up or give myself a glowing review when I’m nothing compared to you. I was being a realist when I wrote about Ainsley Montgomery dating Payton Olsen on the site. I have nothing to show for myself when you think of it. I write for a tiny paper that prides itself on picking up every strip mall opening and follows PTA drama like it’s the Supreme Court. I dropped out of a master’s program and have a few controversial stories that pop up if you dig back far enough, so I keep a low profile to ensure I don’t make big enough waves to uncover them. When paired with you, I look like an uneducated, lowlife journalist eager to get a story out of you that you’re pity fucking so your family will stop trying to set you up. I’m a means to an end, and I think my usefulness has come to an end.”

“Like hell it has.” Payton stands and paces across the room. “I’m not fucking done with you, but I’m mad as hellright now. I want to punish you for everything you’ve kept from me, not for what you did. That I can get past. It’s the secrets and not trusting me that fucking broke me, Ainsley. You should have come to me as soon as you knew there was a problem with Archer. You submitted to me, told me you trusted me to take care of you, then wouldn’t let me when you needed it the most. I’m going to remind you of that commitment. Now get your ass into the bedroom and put your shit back where it belongs.”

My jaw drops at his assertions, unsure how he could say that. There’s no way he means it. This is unforgivable and will always hang over my head. I don't want to be in a relationship with another man who holds an unfair advantage over me. He’ll use this against me, eventually.

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