The press conference was called hastily.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Not in the rain.
Not with flashbulbs reflecting off wet pavement.
Not with Cole standing at the center like a man sentenced to confess a crime he hadn't realized he committed until it was far too late.
Vivien stood to his right, in a cream coat and smudged eyeliner, trying to look solemn.
His publicist whispered something.
He didn't hear it.
Cole stepped forward.
A hundred cameras clicked.
A dozen voices shouted questions at once.
"Is it true your wife jumped?"
"Why didn't you make a statement sooner?"
"Did Vivien have anything to do with this?"
"Is Jade alive?"
"Were you having an affair?"
He raised one hand.
The silence that followed was too complete, like everyone had stopped breathing.
His jaw tightened. His knuckles were white.
"I didn't come here to answer speculation," he began, voice low.
"I came here… because the woman I married is missing. And it's my fault."
The silence deepened.
Vivien turned sharply toward him.
Cole didn't look at her.
"I spent months telling myself that distance was kindness. That coldness was clarity. That I wasn't hurting her—I was helping her accept what we both already knew."
He inhaled sharply.
"I didn't love her the way she deserved. But she did. She loved me. Through every silence. Through every humiliation. She loved me even when I didn't deserve it."
A reporter near the front stepped forward. "Mr. Blaine, are you confirming your affair with Miss Vivien—?"
"I'm confirming," Cole interrupted, "that I never fought for my wife."
Vivien let out a soft gasp.
He turned his head slightly, barely glancing at her. "And I never asked you to."
There was no hiding now.
No rehearsed lines.
No damage control.
Just a man standing under storm clouds with guilt pouring down heavier than the rain.
"She lost our child," he said, voice cracking. "Alone. And I—"
He looked down. Pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes.
"I made her feel like it was her fault."
Someone whispered in the crowd. A camera zoomed in on his shaking shoulders.
"I told myself she was dramatic. Jealous. Clingy. I let everyone believe it. Even her own family. I watched them turn their backs on her and I said nothing. Because it was easier."
He looked up.
"I let the world paint her as a villain. And now she's gone. Maybe forever."
The silence in the courtyard was deafening.
"I don't know where Jade is," he finished. "But if she can hear this… I want her to know: I see her now. And I'm sorry. For everything."
He didn't wait for more questions.
He stepped away from the podium. Past the cameras. Past the questions.
Vivien tried to catch his arm. "Cole, what are you doing?"
He looked at her like she was a stranger.
"I'm done lying."
And then he walked into the dark—into whatever reckoning waited beyond the lights.
The video went viral before Cole even made it home.
Clips of him—wet-haired and broken-voiced—spread across social media like wildfire.
Hashtags multiplied by the minute.
Some sympathetic.
Most savage.
#WhereIsJade
#BlaineScandal
#HeDidThis
#JusticeForJade
Cole's law firm released a carefully worded statement that night, distancing themselves from "personal matters currently under public scrutiny." His partners called him for an emergency meeting. He didn't answer.
He sat on the edge of the bed Jade used to sleep in, staring at the untouched side.
Vivien stormed in an hour later, heels clacking, soaked trench coat clinging to her limbs.
"Are you insane?" she snapped. "You just tanked your career! Do you know how many clients are pulling out?"
He didn't look up.
"You didn't deny the affair. You basically called me a homewrecker."
"You were," he said simply.
Vivien flinched.
"You think groveling in front of the press is going to bring her back?" she hissed. "She's gone, Cole. If she's even alive."
He finally turned to face her.
"You used my name to invite her to that party. You let her walk into a room full of people waiting to laugh at her. And then you stood beside me while she crumbled."
Vivien's lips parted, but no words came.
Cole stood. Walked past her. His voice was barely audible.
"You didn't push her off that cliff, Vivien. But you helped lead her there."
The next day, headlines devoured every word he'd said.
"COLE BLAINE CONFESSES GUILT IN JADE'S DISAPPEARANCE"
"JADE WAS NEVER WANTED – A HUSBAND'S COLD ADMISSION"
"WHO FAILED HER FIRST? COLE OR SOCIETY?"
The public turned.
There were candlelight vigils outside Jade's childhood home.
Handwritten signs left at the gate.
You were never the villain.
You were just too gentle for people who only understood power.
Come home, Jade.
Her brother issued a statement—cold, clinical, and defensive.
"She was unstable," it read. "Our family did everything to support her. We are cooperating with authorities."
Cole read the statement in silence, then shut off his phone.
He no longer cared how it made him look.
He only cared that no one—no one—had truly protected Jade when it mattered.
And now… she was gone.