“...I was protecting your interests, Beatrice. You’re a brand. This 'romance' would have been the biggest thing in Hollywood. We could have controlled the narrative...”
The officers listened, their expressions shifting from duty to disgust. One of them looked at Marcus, who had gone a sickly shade of grey.
“That’s... that’s taken out of context!” Marcus sputtered. “He’s a manipulator! He edited it!”
“It’s a raw file, Officer.” Arthur said, handing over the phone. “Check the metadata. It hasn't been touched.”
“The lead officer, a woman with a tired, honest face, looked at Beatrice. “Miss, is this true? Has he been holding you against your will?”
Beatrice looked Marcus dead in the eye. “The only person holding me against my will for the last five years has been him.”
She pointed at Marcus.
“He created the kidnapping story to protect his investment. He harassed us across three states. He’s the one who should be in handcuffs.”
The officer turned to Marcus. “Sir, I think you need to come with us to the station. We have some questions about filing a false police report.”
“You can't be serious!” Marcus yelled. “Do you know who I am?”
“I know you’re making a scene on a private roof.” the officer said, taking his arm. “Let’s go.”
As they led Marcus away, he turned back to Beatrice, his face twisted with spite. “You’re finished, Beatrice! You’ll never work in this town again! You’re nothing without me!”
Beatrice didn't flinch. “I’m finally something, Marcus. I’m myself.”
The roof went silent again. The officers left them alone, sensing the weight of the moment.
Arthur stood there, his phone still in the officer’s hand, his camera on the ledge. He felt a strange, lightheaded sensation. It was over. The machine had been broken.
“What now?” he asked.
Beatrice walked over to the ledge and picked up his Leica. She handed it back to him.
“Now,” she said, “we go to Maine. But first...”
She took his hand and led him to the edge of the roof, overlooking the sparkling carpet of Manhattan.
“Take one last photo, Arthur. Not for the channel. For us.”
Arthur framed the shot. The city was a sea of gold and silver, the sky a bruised velvet. Beatrice stood in the center of it, her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes bright with a freedom that no script could ever write.
He clicked the shutter.
It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
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