Chapter 09
not that boy anymore
Cecily
I wake to the faint rustle of Colin moving around in the closet. By the time I push myself upright, he’s already stepping out, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Oh, you’re awake.” There’s a flicker of surprise in his tone, like he hadn’t expected to be caught in the act of slipping out before dawn.
I don’t answer.
“You’re heading out this early?” I ask instead.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I want to get at least an hour in at the gym before work. Haven’t managed to go once this week.”
“Not even on the days you came home after I was asleep?”
The frustration that crosses his face is brief but clear, a deadlock we’ve fallen into before, his schedule swallowing everything in its path.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips, then to my forehead. “I love you. I’ll see you later.”
When I don’t answer, his thumb sweeps gently along my cheek.
“You’re not going to say it back? What if this is the last time you see me? You wouldn’t want me to leave without hearing it… just once more.”
The words sink deep into my chest. Even imagining something happening to him knocks the air out of me. I don’t know who I’d be without Colin. Not really.
“Don’t say things like that,” I whisper. “I love you. Drive safe.”
Satisfied, he gives me one last kiss before heading out.
What Colin still doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t bring up his hours to nag him. I miss him. We all do. The kids feel every inch of his absence. And after what happened last month—when he let Alicia down—whatever thin thread was holding him and Ethan together has only stretched tighter.
Alicia clings to every moment she gets with him. Ethan… just steps further back.
I’ve barely seen Colin myself these past weeks. Except on the rare evenings he made it home for dinner, or the nights he woke me only to make love and fall asleep again. Otherwise, he’s here mostly on weekends, and even then, half his Saturday still vanishes into work.
Doesn’t he miss us the way we miss him?
I force the thought away. Of course he does.
But sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever figure out how to chase the life he wants without losing the one he already has.
Knowing sleep won’t come back, I slip out of bed and head downstairs to start breakfast, waiting for a reasonable hour to call my mom. Maybe I’ll take the kids over for lunch.
Today feels like one of those days when the familiarity of the house I grew up in might be the only thing steady enough to hold me together.
Colin
When I step off the elevator, I spot Theodora alone, leaning over Margaret’s desk. She’s on the phone, so I just nod and make my way to my office.
A few minutes later, she appears at my door, tapping lightly before stepping inside.
“Good morning, Colin.” There’s a strain in her voice she tries to hide. “I was speaking with Margaret’s husband. She had an accident, and he needed some insurance information she left here in her planner.”
Margaret has been with me for over six years. Reliable, meticulous, the kind of assistant you know you can trust with anything. And she still has young kids at home.
I can only hope the accident isn’t serious. I tell Theodora I’ll cover whatever the insurance doesn’t.
She nods, adding that Margaret’s husband didn’t have many details. He sounded disoriented, only able to mention a surgery.
“I’ll head back to my office,” she says, “and arrange for one of the junior executive assistants to fill in for Margaret during her medical leave.”
“Have Maya Fisher fill in.”
A brief look of surprise crosses her face before she smooths it away.
“Maya… the one hired in June?” She hesitates. “I could send Isabella Wilson instead. She’s been with the company longer and has—”
“Maya Fisher,” I cut in, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. “She’s already accompanied me to meetings, knows how I work, and has assisted Margaret before. I’m not repeating unnecessary instructions for someone I’ve never worked with.”
Theodora’s lips press together before she inclines her head.
“Of course. I’ll see to it.”
Her tone makes it obvious my choice unsettles her, but that’s her problem, not mine. I didn’t build my career by justifying every decision I make, and I’m not about to start now.
The distant hum of traffic rises from the street, drifting up to the terrace. A welcome contrast to the suffocating noise inside.
It’s my father’s birthday, and we’re gathered at my parents’ Upper East Side penthouse, an intimate dinner with family and a handful of their closest friends. The same faces, orbiting the same conversations, resurrecting the same tired, embarrassing stories to squeeze out a laugh or a wince.
I let them entertain themselves. I’m not that boy anymore. Hungry for approval, desperate to belong, always trying to prove myself.
“Missing the view from up here?”
My father’s voice cuts in behind me. I close my eyes for a second. Here we go.
“Not in the least,” I say, dismissive.
“Your mother mentioned there’s a penthouse for sale about twenty minutes from here.”
I turn to face him. We share enough physical resemblance to make the connection undeniable, though I inherited more from my mother.
My father’s eyes are brown, his hair several shades darker than mine, now almost fully gray.
He still carries himself as he always has, with the certainty of a man who assumes he is the largest presence in any room.
“It’s not happening, Dad. We’re happy in our home.”
“Of all places, you had to settle in Brooklyn?”
He says “Brooklyn” like it’s a downgrade. And in Richard Montgomerry’s world, I suppose it is.
I don’t bother replying. I just lift my eyebrows, letting silence do the work.
“Of course. Cecily’s parents live there.”
A pause. Calculated, needling.
“I suppose even my daughter-in-law isn’t entirely perfect.”
I refuse the bait. Cecily is perfect, and mine is the only opinion that matters.
When we first got married, we lived in the penthouse my parents gifted us, not far from here.
But I could see it in her eyes, she didn’t feel at home.
I waited. The timing had to be right, the company was still new, and Jonathan and I had emptied our trust funds into keeping Montgomery Clifford alive.
The moment I could, when Ethan turned three, I surprised her. Left the office early, picked her and Ethan up, and drove them to Brooklyn to show them the house I’d bought. Not next door to her parents, but close enough. Close enough for her to feel supported. Safe.
Years later, my parents still haven’t stopped trying to drag us back across the bridge.
What they’ll never understand is that my marriage isn’t like theirs.
I love my wife. Her happiness comes before everything.
Their marriage was a contract arranged by my grandparents.
To this day, I’m not sure they ever loved each other.
But they were civil, and attentive parents. A different kind of success, I suppose.
“I’ll check if Ceci and the kids are ready to go. Alicia has ballet in the morning.”
He looks like he wants to keep pushing, but instead he takes another sip of whiskey.
I leave him on the terrace, with the view he treasures so much, and go back inside to the only people who matter.
Maya
“Hello, you’ve reached Colin Montgomery’s office. This is Maya Fisher speaking. How can I help you?”
“Oh—sorry,” a woman answers, her voice soft but steady. “Is Margaret there? Or maybe you can put me through to Colin? He hasn’t answered his phone. This is Cecily, his wife.”
She rushes the last part, as if I wouldn’t already know exactly who she is.
Her voice… It’s infuriating. Clear, elegant, warm in that effortless way that feels like it’s been polished by a lifetime of people leaning in to listen. Every syllable perfectly placed, like she never has to raise her tone to be heard.
It’s composed. Confident. Almost regal.
And I hate it instantly.
“So sorry, Mrs. Montgomery,” I say, letting my voice drip with sugar. “He’s in a meeting at the moment. Would you like to leave a message? I’ll make sure he gets it the second he’s free.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough to make me smile.
“Um… could you just ask him to call me back? Thank you—”
“Maya,” I cut in, deliberately slow. “Maya Fisher.”
A beat.
“Thank you, Maya. Have a good day.”
“You too, Mrs. Montgomery.”
The smile on my face evaporates the moment the line goes dead.
“Good luck getting through to him today,” I murmur under my breath.
I pull my purse onto my lap and take out my lipstick, the small perfume vial, my compact mirror. A fresh swipe of color, a spritz at my neck. Then I gather the tablet and the documents he needs to sign and head straight for his office.
Three soft knocks, and I step inside. I don’t wait for permission. I never do.
His eyes lift from the screen, following my every step. He leans back in his chair, gaze fixed on me as I come to stand beside him.
I set the papers down and unlock the tablet, showing him the new spreadsheet I built using the company’s software. Cleaner, faster, more intuitive than the disaster he’d been using.
He studies it, then nods, leaning in, close enough that I know he can smell the perfume I reapplied just minutes ago.
“This is excellent,” he says, and the praise skims down my spine like a hand.
“You did a great job. Use this system from now on and transfer everything else into it.”
His approval burns through me, erasing every dirty look I’ve endured since stepping into Margaret’s position. All the assistants who’d been here longer, who thought seniority alone made them entitled, believed they would be chosen.
Let them glare.
I’m the one he keeps. In more than one way.
Without breaking eye contact, I step back toward the door and quietly turn the lock.
“Maya.” His tone tightens. “There’s a stack of new investment analyses I need to get through.”
I move toward him, slowly, deliberately, then sink to my knees, my hands resting lightly on his thighs.
“I can be quick.”
His smile is slow, loaded, and it makes my pulse thunder.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks.
I unbuckle his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a rhythmic click that fills the heavy silence. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I slowly lower his zipper.
I let my mouth work its magic, and in less than ten minutes, I have him completely undone. Breathless, shattered, forgetting every person and every obligation outside these four walls.
And when it’s over… when he leans down, his voice still rough, and murmurs that he’ll come by my apartment later tonight…
Her perfect little voice stops mattering altogether.