CHAPTER 21

I am not a woman, I'm a god

I am not a martyr, I'm a problem

I am not a legend, I'm a fraud

So keep your heart 'cause I already got one

~ Halsey, I am not a woman, I'm a god

BPOV

"Okay," I sighed, opening my laptop and eying the women surrounding me at my dining room table. The room was used less for dining and more as a conference room these days, but at least it was big enough for everybody to spread out.

Because everything, every single part of my career was now managed in-house, so to speak. My main points of contact on a daily basis were always Heidi, Claire, and Kate. But this was a much larger meeting with a few hundred things on the agenda so everyone was here. Olivia was here and had become an excellent head of marketing. She had a small team below her and had proven herself as an integral member of my team. She sat beside Adeline and Jared representing the legal side of things. Adeline liked to do things more by the book and was a practicing attorney, while Jared taught and liked to find the more devious ways around the law. I appreciated both sides of the coin so I liked to hear both of their opinions.

A majority of those in on the meeting were here via a conference call, but there were plenty of them: people in charge of product development and distribution and a dozen other aspects that went into releasing three albums and a feature film and planning a tour.

I pulled up the masters for the first album on my computer. folklore.

"Nobody can get mad at me," I prefaced, eying Heidi who I knew was the one who was always the most vocal.

"Oh, God," Claire sighed. "What did you do?"

"Nothing bad," I said quickly. "I mean, the first album is twenty-nine songs. So–"

"You know the average album is about twelve songs these days, don't you?" Heidi protested. "You could get two, three albums–"

"I already have three albums and this first one is twenty-nine songs. It's the movie soundtrack, so we're just going with the same name for each: folklore. We're only doing one single. It's not really, radio-focused stuff. It's, well, here," I stuttered, stupidly embarrassed as I pressed play on the one single I'd release from the album.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

And if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I'd stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

It was the one song that summed up that time for me. The one that I felt told the story I needed to for that moment. folklore in itself was an exposé on just how fucked up life could get. The story of a girl who fell in love with someone she thought was her savior. Someone who would be by her side forever, who would always be her saving grace. It was a metaphor for what acting had been for me in my late teenage years.

I loved it. Would do anything for it. Even when it constantly broke me. Even after every betrayal and knife to the back. But there was only so much physical and emotional abuse a woman could take before she reached her breaking point. Which is the turning point of the film, the one where I decide to finally, finally, put myself first. Trust myself. Find myself. And Edward.

But if there was one song anyone took away from the film, I wanted it to be my tears ricochet. If there was one song that haunted Lawrence's nightmares, I wanted it to be that.

Once it ended, I was quick to move on with the meeting. "After that–"

"Sorry for the interruption," Edward said, knocking softly on the doorframe and leaning against it with an air of confidence I couldn't help but admire. His eyes met mine, emeralds sparkling with a hint of excitement. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

I nodded, standing from my seat at the head of the table. "I'll be back. You can discuss the boring stuff without me," I half joked, grabbing Edward's hand and following as he led me to the living room.

Emmett, Jasper, and Aiden all sat in the chairs facing the television. Edward led me to the couch, sitting beside me. Overall, an odd gathering.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, eying everyone as Edward turned on the television.

"Everything is wonderful," he answered, oddly chipper.

I frowned over at him.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek and nodded toward the television. "I wanted you to see it live."

I turned toward the television, reading the Breaking News headline running along the bottom of the screen. FBI CONCLUDES INVESTIGATION INTO STRING OF CORRUPTION CENTERING AROUND CHICAGO POLICE DEPARTMENT.

I opened my mouth to ask one of the dozens of questions I suddenly had. Edward turned the volume up on the television where a slightly familiar looking man took his spot behind a podium wired with a dozen microphones. He was standing on the steps of the courthouse where my trial had been held.

I had a quick flash of him in a dark, gloomy interrogation room. Sitting across from me and reading off hundreds of things he assumed Edward was guilty of. Eric. No. Erikson?

"The Chicago Police Department has been found to be the center of an intricate ring of fraud spanning countless other states and departments. Criminal charges are in the process of being filed against more than three dozen high ranking officials within the department for evidence tampering, coerced confessions, perjury, witness tampering, false arrest, bribery, and the illegal sale of seized property including, but not limited to, various illegal substances."

"Shit," I gasped, turning toward Edward.

He nodded toward the screen again. "Wait for it."

The man on the screen paused. Looking down at what I assumed was his speech in front of him before turning back up toward the camera. "One of the more notable instances of the Chicago Police Department's corruption is the handling of the high profile arrest and trial of Isabella Cullen nearly thirty years ago."

My heart stopped, just for a moment before it began pounding against my ribcage. My palms broke out in a cold sweat. The firm squeeze of Edward's hand against my shoulder did little to comfort me.

"The investigation into the death of Aro Volturi never had sufficient evidence to name Isabella Cullen as a suspect or anything other than a victim of a breaking and entering and assault by the deceased.

"The Chicago Police Department has operated on deep rooted prejudices and bribes for as far back as our records show, and starting today there will be new leadership put in place throughout the city to get it back on track."

The man took a breath. Looking almost uncomfortable as he finished. "The FBI would like to issue a formal apology to Isabella Cullen for the severe mishandling of her situation and for the continued harassment her and her family have received from the Chicago Police Department in the years since. As well as to everyone in the city who has been mistreated by those in charge of their protection."

He went on to answer questions from the crowd of reporters. I could only hear about every other word through the ringing in my ears.

"What–" I gasped, finally tearing my eyes away from the screen to glance at my shockingly calm husband. "What does that mean?"

He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone. "It means the FBI has gone on the record to say that you never should have been on trial. Never should have been considered a suspect in anything."

"But, I–" I gasped, not sure what I was going to say. What I was supposed to say.

"My God," Heidi gasped. I assumed the room was now full of everyone from the meeting, but I couldn't seem to focus my vision.

"This… it changes everything," Claire gasped.

I sucked in a shaky breath.

My entire life since I was twenty-four had been defined by that moment. It was brought up in every review of my work, every mention of my name always had to include the disclaimer that I had been on trial in my twenties.

Rightly so.

Except not anymore.

Edward kept a firm grip on my hand as he pulled me to my feet. I never would have made it to my office with him if he hadn't supported a majority of my weight as I stumbled alongside him.

His arms were around me before the door clicked closed behind him. I wasn't sure when the tears started, but as soon as we were alone they were impossible to fight.

"I don't–I don't understand," I gasped out.

"My business trip a few weeks ago was to DC. I gave Erikson the information."

"But–why?"

His arms tightened around me, hands firm against my back. His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke quietly. "Because I've been working toward getting you that apology since you were arrested."

I pulled away from him with a gasp. Just enough to meet his eyes. "Edward, I don't…"

I didn't deserve it. I did it. I deserved to still be in prison.

"I know," he said fiercely. "I know what you did for me and I know that it's held you back ever since. But you–you deserve everything, Bella. You deserve this opportunity to finally, finally be able to reach your potential without that–me–holding you back."

My head was fuzzy, eyes annoyingly blurry with tears streaming down my face. "I'd do it all over again if I needed to," I told him quietly. "For you."

I think he smiled at me. It was hard to make out through the tears. "I know," he told me, pressing his lips to my temple. "But you won't have to. All you have to do now is show the world what it's been stupid enough to overlook for so long."

I took three deep breaths. Three deep, lungfuls of air to try and alleviate the adrenaline that had rushed my system. Because Claire was right; that apology and the assurance from an organization as trusted as the FBI that I had been innocent from the first day would change everything.

Still, I didn't like the idea that Edward felt like he had anything to make up for. Or the insinuation that he had held me back at all. "You didn't have to do that, Edward," I whispered.

He cupped my cheeks, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I wanted to. Besides," he said, shrugging it off as if he hadn't just changed everything. "You know me. Always on that vigilante shit."

I coughed out a laugh.

–Love|Power–

It was still surreal. The idea that I was no longer that girl. The one that always came with a warning label, the one people said they'd like more if they didn't have to hate her at the same time.

Yeah I like her music but it's a shame she's a criminal.

The movie looks good but I can't support someone who would do that.

She's a legend, but for the wrong reasons.

In the span of approximately twenty-four hours that girl had been erased.

With three days left in the tracking week I had four songs re-enter the top ten on the music chart with absolutely zero promotion from me or my team (Look What You Made Me Do at number one, I Did Something Bad at number three, Hold Me Down at number six, and Bad Blood at number nine). All five of my albums–Badlands, Hopeless Kingdom, Lover, reputation, and reputation revived–all charted in the top 50 in album sales for the week. Every single, nearly every song I had ever released gained momentum and charted. Even the album Peter and I just put out not that long ago, We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, the one that ended up with me being booed off stage at the Grammys, rose on the charts.

Aiden, having inherited his father's cockiness, reminded me every chance he got that he told me people liked my other albums aside from my main three.

Personally, a week later, I was still in shock.

But I put on my best smile and nervously patted my dress as I regretted fighting against Claire's insistence that I suffer through media training again. The dress was simple; white with a shift silhouette that went down to my mid-thigh. Gold embellishments on the short sleeves and pockets and neckline. I tapped my golden heel nervously as I stood behind the curtain, making sure to stop as soon as I heard my introduction.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the unearthly talented, Isabella Cullen!"

There was a moment of pure fear as the curtain slid open, before anyone started clapping, that I was petrified they would start booing. Scared that the last week had been a dream that was leading up to a nightmare.

There was no booing. There were hundreds of smiling faces and boisterous cheers that lasted as I walked over and hugged The Tonight Show host, not stopping as I took a seat across from him. Cheers that were still going strong as I nervously crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap.

"They are never that excited to see me," he chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned toward me from across his desk.

"I'm just relieved nobody started to boo," I breathed out, taking a deep breath to attempt to relax.

"We'd never let that happen to you here. This is your first late night appearance in years, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's been a while. My publicist keeps telling me I have to do media training, which, if you've ever done it, you know how mind-numbing it is, so I keep refusing. But I was standing back there and instantly regretted it because I have no idea how to do this anymore. So, moral of the story is always listen to your publicist."

He threw his head back with a laugh. "Don't I know it."

I chuckled. "You would."

He was engaged to his publicist. Started out with a scandal of their own considering he was technically married when they met, but I wasn't one to judge. They seemed perfectly matched when Edward and I met her earlier.

"So," he said calmly, sitting back in his chair and eying me with a conspiratorial grin. "Anything new?"

"Oh, you know," I sighed. "I was repeatedly stabbed in the back by a man who has been the closest thing to a father I had ever had. Called a fraud and a failure and a fake. I was booed off stage at the Grammys. Quite the traumatizing experience, if I'm being honest. Filmed a movie. Wrote some music. The usual."

"Just an average few months for you."

I nodded. "Exactly."

"What about last week? Did you know that apology was coming?"

I took a deep breath. "No. I didn't."

"It had to have felt pretty damn good, finally getting it," he said softly. Surprisingly sincere.

"Yeah. I–to be honest, it's still kind of weird. Surreal. Because I've been that girl for so long, you know? The one nobody ever believed. And now everyone does. Now everyone and their mother suddenly feels free to stream my music or consider themselves a fan and I–you know, I appreciate it. I'm glad they can in clean conscience enjoy my work. But, I mean, the ones I'm really, truly, thankful for are the ones that never left. The people that believed me from the beginning and never felt the need to bash me on the internet or use my name as clickbait."

"You are one of the more mentioned women on the internet," he said politely.

"It's something you learn to live with, but this last week has been different from ever before. I don't go online much, don't have the time these days, but my son does. He sent me a couple videos the other day and one was this woman who had gone to like, twenty shows of mine since she was fifteen. She raised her daughter on my music. Now her and her daughter and all of her friends are already planning outfits to a tour that hasn't even been announced yet. They're the ones that make it all worth it. The reason why I, well, why I want to say thank you in any way I can."

He smiled, recognizing his cue. "And what way is that?"
"The last few weeks have been a little insane. And so, I guess as a way to say thank you to everyone whether they've been along for the ride since the beginning or not, I figured it was a good time to release the soundtrack to my upcoming film, folklore."

"Well, I'll be damned," he said with a smile. "Quite the thank you. When is it out?"

I gave him a delicate shrug. "Meet me at midnight and we'll see what happens."

"Illusive as ever," he smiled. "Now, if the film is called folklore, I have to ask about this," he said, holding up a photo of my performance from the VMA's a month ago with the IF I CAN'T HAVE LOVE, I WANT POWERlogo behind me.

I smirked over at him. "I can't give away all of my secrets."

I blamed the mental haze I had been in since the apology on the decision I had made to agree to the game. Even Claire had been shocked when I shrugged it off yesterday when she asked.

But if I was doing the show in the first place, why not go all out?

I sincerely regretted it as I sat down at the table full of 'food' I had decided it was better not to look too closely at.

"Oh, no," I mumbled underneath my breath right as the cameras started back up again.

He was explaining the game, but I had already been told the rules so I could tune out the repeat and hope for the world to hate me again so I didn't have to touch anything on the table.

"I hope your writers took advantage of the situation," I told him. "Because there's no way in hell I'm eating any of this."

He beamed at me, a boyish delight on his face as we started the game. "Ladies first," he said, twisting the table around. "I'll give you–"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not eating anything."

He chuckled, settling on something that smelled absolutely vile as he picked up a card. "Streaming companies haven't been subtle about their desire to have exclusivity on folklore," he started. "How much was the last bid on the project?"

I smiled across the table at him. The smile I knew Edward always told me was the perfect mixture of sexy and cocky. It was a reflexive habit sometimes. "The last meeting I had on the subject was before the apology," I told him. "Since then I'm told my stock, so to speak, has gone up. But the last number I heard was around… $500."

"Million," he clarified.

I nodded. "Yes."

He shook his head. "And I've got you sitting at a table full of salmon smoothies."

I threw up a little bit in my mouth. "I'll forgive you. Eventually."

Because as much as I was fighting the urge to throw up, I could admit the entire show was turning out to be fun. I got some shit off my chest and I couldn't help but laugh at the question for him as I picked up the card.

"Rank my three visual albums in order from best to worst: Welcome to the Badlands, Hopeless Kingdom, and reputation."

He cursed underneath his breath, shaking his head and eying whatever had ended up in front of him.

"You can do it," I told him. "I've heard much worse."

"Oh, I can't do it. I'm not adding to the multitude of criticism," he said, picking up something that looked alarmingly like an insect and popping it into his mouth.

"Oh, my God," I gasped. I had been kind of hoping it was fake food. But the crunch told me it absolutely wasn't.

He smirked over at me, taking a few large gulps of the water beside him before twisting the table and picking up another card. "You've been known to say what's on your mind, no matter what. Is there anything you regret going on the record about?"

I let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, so many things," I joked, before actually thinking it through. "There really aren't many things I regret, my temper gets the best of me sometimes but usually for good reason. Oh! Okay. There is one. I have this very blurry memory–I think I repressed it after the fact–when I was on trial. Embry Call was particularly irritating that day and I'm pretty sure I made some, well, I'm not sure how to say it on television but I'm pretty sure I recalled a fairly graphic instance with my husband in his office. I think I'd take that back if I could."

He looked slightly shocked across from me. Whether from my honesty or answer, I wasn't sure. "You've called out predators in the industry, made very public claims about incredibly connected people, spent weeks under oath on the stand, and the one thing you'd take back is your admission that you had sex with your husband?"

My head cocked to the side. "Yeah, I mean, I guess so."

He shook his head with a laugh, motioning toward the table. "We have time for one more," he said with a kind smile.

I nodded, grabbing a card. And throwing my head back with a laugh as I read it. "Would you ever invite me to host the show in your absence?"

He beamed at me from across the table. "Oh, absolutely."

"I did, once. Years ago. I'm a little offended at the question. I think I did a pretty good job. I mean, half of the guests dropped out because I was nearly convicted of murder, but we've got that all cleared up now."

"So you'd accept the offer?"

I smiled at him. "Sure. You and your fiance ever start having kids and you need a break, give me a call."

–Love|Power–

I slid my feet out of my heels as soon as we walked through the front door. I stumbled over toward the couch, flopping down and pulling the blanket thrown over the back over me.

Edward came around the side, smirking down at me for a moment before his lips brushed against mine. He started to pull away, but I was quick to put a stop to it and bury my fingers in his hair to keep him in place. Even with the upside down angle and the exhaustion from the day seeping into my bones the kiss made my toes curl.

Eventually he pulled away, both of us taking a moment to catch our breath. It wasn't until my brain had recuperated a sufficient amount of oxygen that I realized he was still staring at me. Studying me.

"What?" I asked, sitting up and brushing my fingers across my face and coming up empty with anything worthy of the stare.

His lips twitched with a smile, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. "Sometimes I just can't believe you're still mine, is all."

I sat back on the couch, pulling my legs up underneath me and piling the blanket in a comforting ball in my lap. "I hate to break it to you, but you're stuck with me."

He sat down beside me and I curled myself into his side. After a few blissfully calm and quiet moments I grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. "It's still early. We could fly back home and make it at a reasonable hour."

"No," he answered quickly. "If we go home you're going to get back to work that much faster. I think we could both use a night of reprieve from everything back home."

I sighed against his shoulder, not bothering to argue with him. He was right–if we got on a plane to head home right now I would spend the flight working and then be too wired when we got home to sleep so I'd work some more. He'd do the same.

"A whole night with no cameras lurking around or kids barging in or family deciding we need another family dinner?"

"Fucking heaven," he sighed, his head falling back against the couch.

I smiled up at him, even as his eyes fluttered closed. Because while it was well and good that the public didn't hate me anymore, it was all a lie. If they knew the truth they would leave me behind in the blink of an eye.

Edward knew everything. Knew me. And he was still here.

I leaned forward to kiss the tense muscle in his neck until it relaxed. Then I moved to his jaw until it did the same. Then I was suddenly airborne as he tossed me over his shoulder with ease, his hand resting on my ass as I admired his.

The world went back to rightside up when he set me down at the foot of the bed. His hands fell to my hips, pulling me into him as he kissed me. The kind of kiss that immediately made my mind mush.

Mush until I felt him grind his cock against me and was suddenly desperate for him. I dropped to my knees, getting his belt and slacks out of my way as quickly as possible before sliding my tongue over the head of his cock.

I couldn't help but smile as he groaned above me.

The man made marvelous noises. Let out impressive strings of curses as I took him down my throat and said wonderfully dirty things as his fingers knotted in my hair and his hips flexed as he fought the urge to fuck my mouth.

Before I could nod with permission he pulled me to my feet, kissing away my frown as he impatiently broke the zipper of the very expensive dress I had been wearing.

We ended up in the center of the bed, all urgency disappearing from both of us as his hands slid down my bare waist, fingers tracing random patterns back up my spine before he repeated the process again.

He kissed me until my lungs burned and I refused to let there be more than a hairs breadth of space between us.

I only had so much patience. Because my urgency returned and as I straddled his waist and slid down onto his cock, nails flexing into his chest as I did.

Edward let out a string of curses, fingers tensing against my hips.

This. I realized. This was all I needed. No career accomplishment or revenge plot ever felt as good as this. Ever gave me the same sense of peace or fulfillment or contentment as he did.

It was the last cognitive thought I had of the evening.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this one. I love it for a dozen different reasons ;) I'll see ya next time!

Lyrics from the middle of the chapter are from my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift.