Chapter 40
MYA
Today is the day I’ll be pitching Project Rebuild.
Months of work, late nights, and second-guessing all boil down to a thirty-minute presentation in front of Worth’s board.
The weight of it presses into my ribs until I can’t breathe.
Beside me, Worth stirs. “You’re awake,” he murmurs.
I hum something noncommittal, staring up at the ceiling.
He props himself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing when he sees my expression. “You’re nervous.”
“Understatement. I’m terrified,” I admit, forcing out a laugh that sounds nothing like me.
“Hey. You’ve got this. You’ve been living and breathing this project for months. No one knows it better than you.”
Worth shifts closer, his hand finding my waist, thumb brushing lazy circles on my skin.
Which would be a lot more comforting if I didn’t feel like a fraud half the time.
I told myself I’d go back to my own room every night to keep lines clean and my head straight, but I never make it past the doorway.
I always end up here, tucked under his arm, stealing warmth I have no business wanting, and I can’t even find the will to be mad about it.
How am I supposed to convince a board I know what I’m doing when I can’t even convince myself to leave Worth’s bed?
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter how much I know if the board has already made up their mind.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I finally look at him. “If they give me funding, it’s only because I’m Mrs. Miller.” The title tastes bitter. “Not because I earned it or I’m good at what I do.”
Worth sits up, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re overthinking it. They wouldn’t have asked for the presentation if they didn’t believe in your work.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” I sit up, too. “You walk into any room and people already respect you. I walk in, and they see the woman sleeping with the boss.”
His jaw flexes. “Having an advantage isn’t always a bad thing, Mya. Everyone uses what they’ve got.”
My stomach drops. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m saying it doesn’t make your work less valuable. It’s not like you didn’t earn this.”
I stare at him, disbelief clawing at my throat. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
He blinks, thrown off. “How?”
“When all of this is over—” I gesture between us, “—you’ll still be Worth Miller, billionaire mogul, CEO, whatever title you want. And I’ll be the ex-wife who slept her way to success. The woman who got ahead because she played the part.”
“Mya—”
“No,” I snap, voice shaking. I press a hand to my chest, trying to keep my heart from breaking out of it. “We’re not the same. And that’s—that’s why we can never be real.”
Something dark flashes in Worth’s eyes. “That’s what you really think?”
I avoid his gaze, and stay silent.
He gets up to pace the room. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t get it. Because for once, I thought someone actually saw me for who I was. Not for the headlines or the bank account or the goddamn last name.” He stops and looks at me, eyes full of fire. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“Worth—”
“No. You’re just like everyone else. You think I’m some guy who only cares about women and money, that this doesn’t mean anything to me. Have I not shown you how much I care about you, Mya?”
The words slice through me. Guilt rises fast, but I force myself to hold my ground. “You’re twisting my words. I’m being realistic. You need to stop living in this fantasy where we could ever actually work. We don’t fit.”
His laugh is humorless. “And who do you think would be the right fit for me then, huh? That redhead you saw me with at the gala?”
I cross my arms, refusing to flinch. “Someone like her makes more sense. Someone who belongs in your world.”
His temper rises. “You don’t get to decide who I want, Mya!”
The shout echoes through the room, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
His eyes burn. “You need to get out of your head and see what’s right in front of you.”
There’s something desperate in his tone, almost pleading. It kills me, because a part of me does see it. All of it. Him. Us. What we could be if I weren’t so damn afraid.
But fear wins. It always does.
I get up, heart pounding. “I need to get ready.”
Before he can say another word, I storm into the bathroom. The sound of the shower masks the shaky breath I let out as the first tear falls.
By the time I’m out of the shower and dressed, the house is quiet. There’s no sign of Worth or Brianna. Just Maggie in the kitchen, fussing with the coffee machine.
“May I?” I ask, coming around the island.
“Oh. Hi, dear. Yes, please do. Worth did something to it before he left.”
“What do you mean?”
“He looked very angry and smacked the top of the machine with a curse when it wouldn’t pour his coffee.”
I sigh. Yes, the things I said were harsh but they needed to be said. Worth has to remember why we’re doing this.
Maggie glances up at me. “What happened?”
“We got into an argument. It’s no big deal.”
She presses her lips together. “I beg to differ. Worth doesn’t get rattled easily, and this morning he looked ready to erupt.”
I swallow. “Yeah. I might’ve hit a nerve.”
Maggie softens. “Don’t let it follow you into today. Fix what you can before you walk into that boardroom.”
I nod, even if my chest feels tight. “You’re right.”
I flip the machine off and on, reseat the portafilter, adjust the grind. It sputters, coughs, then finally pours a steady stream.
“Thank you,” Maggie says softly.
“Of course.” I slip on my blazer and check my phone. If I leave now, I can get to the office on time after a quick stop.
Twenty minutes later, I park in front of my parents’ townhouse and let myself in.
My mom is curled up on the living room sofa, glasses low on her nose, a paperback splayed in her hand. Surprise skitters across her face when she looks up, then melts into a grin.
“Well, look who remembered she has a mother.” She sets the book on the coffee table and opens her arms. “Ever since you got married to that hunk of yours, we’ve barely seen you.”
It hasn’t been that long since Brianna’s birthday, but I can’t remember the last time I visited my parents. I drop my tote by the armchair and throw myself onto the couch beside her. “Hi, Mama.”
She studies me for half a breath. “What’s wrong?”
I exhale. “I have the Project Rebuild presentation today.”
“I know.” Mom nods toward the mantel where my grad photo still sits crooked. “I lit a candle this morning.”
“Thank you.”
“But that’s not why you came.”
I lean back, staring at the ceiling like it might give me all the answers.
“I got into an argument with Worth,” I say, picking around the edges. I’m not ready to uproot the whole truth. “About the project board… and me.”
Her brows lift. “Go on.”
“I told him I’m worried they’ll fund the project because of my new last name, not my work. And that people will think I slept my way into an opportunity.” The words taste ugly coming out. “He said an advantage isn’t always bad. I said he doesn’t understand. Then it got heated.”
My mom is quiet for a moment. “When your father and I got together, people had opinions. He was older, had some money, and everyone said I only dated him because of that, including your grandparents.”
I turn my head. “What did you do?”
“I worked twice as hard, so no one could make me feel like I didn’t belong in the room I earned.”
“That’s the thing,” I whisper. “I don’t want anyone thinking—”
“Sweetheart.” She reaches over and taps my knee. “People will think. That’s what they do. Your job is to know who you are and what you’ve built. If a hand opens a door out of love or partnership, that doesn’t erase your competence. It just means you’re not walking alone.”
I stare at our reflections on the black TV screen. “He said I don’t see him and that I think he’s just money and reputation.”
“Do you?”
I shake my head. “No. I see how he is with Brianna. How he listens and remembers the small things, like how scared I am to fly, or when he checks to see if I’ve eaten when I’ve had long days.
He cares deeply about his friends and family even though he comes off as rude and cold.
He values his employees and their work, even if he rarely shows it.
I see… more.” The admission leaves me exposed.
“And he sees you. Which is why it stung when you threw his last name at him like a weapon.”
I wince. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “But intention and impact aren’t twins.”
Silence again. The words I didn’t say this morning cling to my skin like humidity. I’m falling. This was never supposed to be real.
“Here’s my advice. Don’t shrink yourself to prove you’re not using anyone. And don’t shrink Worth to prove you don’t need him. If you want this project, claim it. If you love this man, tell him the truth—or at least stop lying to yourself.”
I huff a laugh. “What’s the truth?”
“That you’re afraid.” Her smile is a little sad. “Afraid that if you let your feelings sink in too deep, it will still end. Afraid that you’ll lose him. Fear makes people pick fights they don’t mean.”
Something tightens in my chest. I’ve been afraid since the day we lost Dad and the world never went back to normal. I learned early that love can be a trapdoor; one minute you’re standing on solid ground, the next you’re falling, and there’s no way to brace for impact.
Mom must see the thought cross my face. “When your father died, you started building walls and calling them plans. You needed to survive—and I understand that. But, Mya, not everyone who loves you is going to leave.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I open the door and it’s just emptiness again?”
“It might not work. But you’ll still be you. And the you I know is brave, even when she’s shaking. Don’t let old grief make all your new decisions for you. Let it teach you how precious it is when someone stays, and how to stay, too.”
I breathe out, long and shaky. “I have to go. I still need to get to the office.”
My mom stands and kisses my forehead, the same way she used to when I was little and needed comforting. “You will be brilliant. And if they give you anything because of a last name, take it and show them why the first name is what matters.”
I grab my tote and step toward the door, then pivot back. “Mom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Thanks.” I swallow. “For lighting the candle. And for the truth.”
Her eyes shine. “Text me when it’s done, okay?”
“Promise.”
Outside, the air is crisp enough to make me stand a little straighter. I unlock my car and sit with my phone in my hand for five seconds of courage. Then I type:
I didn’t mean what I said this morning. I’m sorry.
I don’t wait for a reply. I start the engine, set the route, and pull into traffic.
I’m ready to stand in front of the board and make sure they remember my name.