Chapter 20 - Callahan
I watched her walk away, and the second she turned her back on me, it felt like something lodged itself in my throat.
She was right.
That's what made this so much more painful.
She had agreed to go on that first date with me before she knew how wealthy I was. Before she knew about the company. Before she saw my bank account, the company, and the house she now lived in. She said yes to me when I was just Callahan.
And I had forgotten that.
Somewhere between my fear and my pride, I let myself believe she might only be here because of what I could offer.
Not because of who I was. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, watching as she all but ran out of the room.
I wanted nothing more than to rewind the last five minutes and swallow every word before they left my mouth.
Instead, I exhaled slowly and forced my feet to move. I rushed after her, but when I reached the bathroom, the door was already locked. The sound of water hitting tile echoed through the space.
I dragged a hand through my hair and stepped back, pacing once before finally sitting down at the foot of the bed. My elbows rested on my knees, my hands braced there as if I needed something solid to hold me in place.
What the hell was I supposed to say?
Sorry, I let my insecurities accuse you of something you didn't deserve.
Sorry, I panicked because I like you more than I planned to.
I swallowed hard.
How could I even begin to explain that it wasn't that I thought she was a gold digger? It wasn't that I believed she calculated every move she made around my bank account.
It was that I was scared.
Scared, she didn't like me.
Scared that if the money disappeared tomorrow, so would she.
And somewhere in that fear, I said something that made it sound like I doubted her character.
The shower turned off, and my stomach tightened.
I stayed where I was, hands on my knees, trying to organize my thoughts into something that didn't sound defensive or hollow. As soon as the bathroom door opened, I looked up.
Vani stepped out, a towel wrapped around her. Water still clung to her skin, but her posture was straight. Composed. Her eyes met mine—bright, steady, and so deeply disappointed that it felt like a blade between my ribs.
I put that look there.
I did that.
I could only watch as she walked toward the dresser, not sparing me a glance, as if I were just another piece of furniture in the room.
"You don't need to apologize for the way I feel," she said evenly. "You also have every right to feel the way you do."
"Vani—"
"I'll move my things back into the guest room," she continued, opening a drawer and pulling out clothes with steady hands. "I think it would be better if we kept things... professional."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I tried my best to steady my breathing.
"I'll do my best to remember that this is a business arrangement," she added quietly. "Nothing more."
Business arrangement.
Nothing more.
Every sentence felt like another door closing. Another wall rising.
Panic bloomed in my chest so violently that I stood without realizing it.
"Don't change," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Please."
That made her pause.
She slowly turned to face me. "You want me to pretend none of this happened?"
"No," I said quickly, taking a step toward her. "God, no. I just—"
My words tangled. I wasn't used to this. I wasn't used to needing someone to understand me. I wasn't used to feeling this exposed. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"I've had people stick around because of what I can give them," I continued, forcing myself not to look away. "Because of that, I learned to question everything. and everyone."
"Including me? she said quietly.
"Yes," I admitted, the word tasted bitter on my tongue. "I like you." The confession came out raw and unpolished. "More than I planned to. More than I should in a situation like this. You drive me crazy in such a good way.... It's a strange mix of emotions that's taking me time to get used to."
"I agreed to that date before I knew any of that."
"I know," I said immediately. "That's on me. Can you give me a chance to explain everything?"
Silence stretched between us.
Instead of answering me, Vani pressed her lips together and said, far too calmly, “I need privacy to get dressed.”
I stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at her like she might open up again and give me another chance. She didn’t. So I forced my feet to move, stepping back into the hallway with a heaviness settling in my chest.
The bedroom door shut in my face, leaving me with my racing thoughts. I dragged a hand down my face. If regret had weight, it would have crushed me flat against the floors of this house.
I should have told her.
I should have explained before the wedding.
I shouldn’t have let pride and caution replace communication.
Instead, I had tried to protect myself. And in doing so, I had managed to hurt the one woman I didn’t want to lose. I started pacing.
Back and forth across the floor, my hands dragging through my hair, my mind replaying the conversation that had just unfolded.
Every sentence I’d said sounded worse now.
Sharper. Colder. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, too suffocating.
Every few steps, I rehearsed a different version of what I would say when she finally let me in.
Vani, I didn’t mean it like that.
Vani, I was wrong.
Vani, I trust you.
None of it sounded good enough. None of it erased the fact that I had let her believe—even for a second—that I thought she married me for my money.
The irony was laughable. She had agreed to every one of my ridiculous rules without blinking. She had signed the prenup without negotiating. She had never once asked me for anything beyond access to my card, as if it were part of a performance she was playing.
And I had still found a way to doubt her.
When the door finally opened. I stopped pacing so abruptly that I almost stumbled.
Jeans hugged her legs perfectly. A long-sleeved blouse, the softest shade of pink draped over her torso, modest and elegant at the same time.
Her hair framed her face in that effortless way that always made me forget what I was saying.
A pair of white sneakers dangled from her fingers, and her bag—matching the pink of her blouse—rested on her shoulder.
She looked… beautiful.
Effortlessly so.
And entirely out of reach.
She took one look at me and sighed. The look of disappointment was now replaced with one of exhaustion.
“I’m going book shopping with my sisters,” she smiled slightly.
My mouth opened automatically. “Vani, I—”
“I need your card.”
I blinked. “What?”
She shifted her sneakers into one hand and extended the other toward me, palm up. “Your card. So I can fulfill my role of being a gold digger.”
“I don’t think you’re a gold digger,” I said immediately.
She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she waved her hand in front of me impatiently. “Your card, Callahan.”
“Vani—”
“Any day now.”
There was something almost comical about the way she stood there, hand outstretched, waiting like I was a customer holding up the line. But the humor didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes reflected how tense and guarded she was, and that was my fault.
I sighed, the sound heavy in my chest, and reached into my wallet. For a split second, I considered refusing—not because I didn’t want her to have it, but because I wanted her to stop hiding behind sarcasm and let me fix this.
But I had already done enough damage. So I said nothing and handed it to her. She took it smoothly and slipped it into her purse. Then her eyes flicked up to mine, and she smiled. Wide. Bright. Devastating.
“I’ll be out for the day,” she said sweetly. “Spending your money.”
My jaw tightened.
“And when I get back,” she continued, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, “I’ll decide whether or not I want to listen to you grovel.”
Grovel. The word echoed in my skull.
“If that’s what it takes,” I said quietly.
Something flickered across her face. Surprise? Maybe. But it disappeared just as quickly.
She stepped closer to me then, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Close enough that I had to fight the urge to pull her into my chest and refuse to let her leave until she heard me out. Instead, she reached up and straightened my collar like a dutiful wife seeing her husband off to work.
“You should practice,” she murmured. “I expect a very convincing apology.”
“Vani.”
She paused. I swallowed.
“Please.”
For a second, the sarcasm dropped. Her fingers stilled against my collar. But instead of softening, she withdrew her hand. “See, you're already on the right track. I expect a lot of begging.”
And just like that, she walked away like she owned the air between us.
For a second, my entire body reacted on instinct. My feet shifted. My hand flexed, as if it remembered the weight of her wrist in my palm. Like it remembered how easily I could reach her, how quickly I could pull her back, how close we’d been to… to anything that didn’t feel like this.
I had half a mind to chase after her.
To say her name, loud enough that she’d have to stop. To make her look at me without that expression that said she was done being hurt on my terms. To demand an explanation I wasn’t entitled to. To give one I hadn’t been brave enough to offer.
My chest tightened with it—an ugly, sharp sensation I didn’t have a word for, because if I named it, it would become real. And real meant I couldn’t pretend I was still in control.
She reached the doorway of the dining room and didn’t look back. Not once.
I forced myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, the way I did in boardrooms when someone tried to bait me.
Except this wasn’t business.
This was the woman I’d married on paper and somehow managed to make me feel like a stranger inside my own home.
I took a step forward.
Then another.
“Vani—”
My phone went off. The sound cut through the tension like a gunshot. I swore under my breath and reached for it immediately. I didn’t even check the caller ID before answering. “What is it?”
“Sir,” my assistant’s voice came through, tight and urgent. “There’s a problem at the office that needs your immediate attention.”
Of course, there was.
I closed my eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Define problem.”
“There’s an issue with the financial report sent to the board. The projections are incorrect, and one of the investors has already called demanding clarification.”
My posture straightened automatically. The personal frustration evaporated, replaced by cold, sharp focus. “How did that happen?”
“We’re still looking into it, sir. But they’re threatening to pull out of tomorrow’s meeting if it’s not addressed immediately.”
I glanced down the hallway where Vani had disappeared. She hadn’t come back. She hadn’t even looked back. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I snapped. “Get everyone in the conference room. No one leaves until I do.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ended the call and stood there in the entryway for a beat, staring at nothing.
The noise of my work life had crashed into my personal one like a car accident, scattering everything. My pulse was too hard in my throat. My hands felt cold.
And the worst part was that a stupid, selfish part of me was relieved.
Work didn’t smile at me and walk away.
Work didn’t make me question everything I thought I understood about myself.
Work didn’t have warm eyes that could turn into weapons.
I turned toward the dining room again.
Maria was already moving, efficient as always, her posture straight and her expression politely neutral as she began clearing the untouched plates. The food looked ridiculous now—too perfect, too carefully prepared for a meal that had never actually been about eating.
She glanced up when she saw me, her brows lifting just slightly. “Sir? Is everything alright?”
“No,” I said bluntly. Then, because she deserved better than the edge in my voice, I exhaled and corrected myself. “There’s an issue at the office. I have to go in.”
Her gaze flicked toward the hall where Vani had disappeared. The pause was subtle, but I noticed it. Maria noticed everything.
“Should I—”
“Bag the food,” I interrupted, my mind already sprinting ahead. “Everything untouched. And take it to the nearest shelter.”
Her expression softened, the way it did when she saw the cracks I tried to keep hidden. “Of course, sir.”
I turned away before she could say anything else.
The stairs felt too long, my steps too loud. My mind was already assembling plans. Fix the report. Find the person responsible. Fire them.
And then there was her. The image of that smile followed me into the hallway upstairs like a ghost. I reached the guest wing first.
One room, then another. I checked each one quickly, opening doors and making sure they were all empty before I closed them again.
I strode into my study and yanked open the drawer where I kept the spare keys. The metal clinked softly as I gathered them—master keys, guest rooms, storage closets, anything with a lock. I shoved them into my pocket with more force than necessary.
It was irrational and very much petty. But it was the only thing I could control right now regarding my wife. If she couldn’t physically move out, she would have to stay long enough for me to fix this. For me to explain. For me to… do something.
I didn’t know what, exactly.
But the thought of coming home tonight and finding her gone hit me with a fear so sharp it made my throat burn. I stepped back into the hallway and checked each guest room again, locking them one by one.
Click.
Click.
Click.