Chapter Sixty #2
“It doesn’t.” Sinclair’s honesty was brutal. “Nothing can make up for months of absence. Nothing can erase the pain you’ve endured or the trust he broke. But it’s a start. It’s proof that Rowen is capable of putting you first, even when it cost him everything.”
I sank into one of the chairs facing his desk, my legs suddenly unable to support me. The baby kicked hard, as if protesting the emotional turmoil, and I rubbed the spot absently.
“Did you know?” I asked quietly. “Did you know how much we loved each other? What it would do to us?”
Sinclair’s silence was answer enough.
“You bastard,” I breathed, fresh tears spilling over. “You knew, and you sent him away anyway.”
“I knew,” he confirmed, his voice steady. “And I still sent him away. Because a man in love with a woman is more vulnerable. Because Sylvia St. James would have used you as leverage to control him. The only way to keep you both safe was to remove him from the equation entirely.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“No,” he agreed. “It wasn’t. But I made it anyway because someone had to. Because Rowen was too close to see the danger clearly, and you were too traumatized to protect yourself. So I made the hard choice. The cruel choice. The choice that kept you both alive.”
I wanted to hate him. Wanted to rage at him for playing God with our lives, for deciding what we could and couldn’t handle, for stealing six months that we’d never get back. But I couldn’t. Because somewhere beneath the anger and pain, I knew he was right.
If Rowen had stayed, Sylvia St. James would have found a way to use him against me. Would have threatened my baby, threatened me, and used our connection as a weapon to control him. And Rowen would have done anything to keep us safe, even if it meant surrendering to her completely.
“I hate you,” I breathed, my words lacking conviction.
“I know.” Sinclair took a sip of his whiskey, his expression unreadable. “But you’ll eventually forgive me. Because you understand why I did it, even if you refuse to admit it yet.”
“I loved him more than Travis.” My confession spilled out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. “I loved Rowen more than the father of my baby, and that makes what you did—what he did—hurt so much worse.”
Sinclair’s expression shifted, something that might have been sympathy crossing his features. “I know that, too.”
“How?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you look at him,” he said simply. “The way you’ve looked at him since North Carolina. Travis was your partner, your protector, a friend, if you will. But Rowen is your match, Melissa. Your equal. The person who sees every dark corner of your soul and doesn’t flinch.”
The truth was devastating. I pressed my hands over my face, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm me.
“What do I do now?” I whispered through my fingers. “How do I move forward from this?”
“That’s not for me to decide.” Sinclair’s voice was gentle now, almost kind.
“But if you want my advice, and I know you don’t, I’d say this: Rowen spent several months in hell to build a future where he could choose you, without reservation.
He walked away from power, from the empire, from everything he’d fought, bled, and killed for.
The question isn’t whether he loves you.
The question is whether you can forgive him for the way he showed it. ”
I lowered my hands, meeting his gaze across the desk. “And if I can’t?”
“Then you walk away,” he replied. “You take Danika, you raise Travis’ child, and you build a life without him. You’ve proven you can survive without Rowen. The question is whether you want to.”
The weight of that question settled over me like a shroud. Did I want to? Could I forgive six months of silence, six months of pain, six months of believing I’d been abandoned? Could I trust that he wouldn’t leave again, that he wouldn’t choose power over me the next time Sinclair came calling?
“I need time,” I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. “I need time to think, to process, to figure out what I want.”
“Take all the time you need.” Sinclair raised his glass in a small salute. “But don’t take too long. Life has a way of making decisions for us when we wait too long to make them ourselves.”
I stood, my body heavy with exhaustion and emotion. The baby shifted again, a reminder that I wasn’t just making decisions for myself anymore. Whatever I chose, it would affect this child and shape the life we built together.
“One more thing,” I said, pausing at the door. “Did you tell him to come back today? Did you orchestrate that too?”
Sinclair’s smile was enigmatic. “I told him when the consolidation was complete. When the power structure was stable enough for him to walk away. The timing of his return was his choice, not mine.”
“But you knew he’d come back.”
“I hoped he would,” Sinclair corrected. “But hope and certainty are very different things, Melissa. Even the Devil can’t control everything.”
I left without another word.