24. Duncan
DUNCAN
I watched Ivy walk through my office door, and the sight of her made my chest constrict.
She moved with the careful composure of someone approaching their own execution, her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion written across her features.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her usually pristine appearance showed signs of strain—wrinkled blouse, hair that hadn't been properly styled, pale complexion like she'd been running on coffee and adrenaline.
I hated how tired she looked. Hated how my first instinct was still to comfort her, to pull her close and smooth away the worry lines that had appeared between her eyebrows.
Most of all, I hated how completely idiotic I felt for not seeing the truth sooner, and guilty now having seen the way she'd been struggling after I knew and yet did nothing.
"Close the door," I said, my voice coming out more clipped than I'd intended.
She turned and pushed the door shut with hands that trembled slightly. When she faced me again, her chin was lifted in that stubborn way I'd come to recognize, but her eyes betrayed her fear.
"Sit down." I gestured to the chair across from my desk.
She perched on the edge of the seat, back straight, hands folded in her lap. The distance between us felt calculated, necessary. If she got too close, I'd lose what little control I'd managed to rebuild over the past forty-eight hours.
"I need to ask you some questions," I began, keeping my tone neutral. "And I need honest answers. No more lies, no more evasions."
She nodded, though I could see her swallow hard.
"When did you find out you were pregnant?"
"Eight weeks after we—" She stopped, corrected herself. "Eight weeks after that night. I was debating, college or that internship, and well…"
"And you never once considered telling me?"
Her composure cracked slightly. "I thought about it constantly. But I was terrified, Duncan. You'd already been through one scandal with a younger woman. I convinced myself that telling you would only make everything worse."
"Worse for who?"
"For everyone. For you, for me, for the babies." Her voice grew smaller. "I was twenty and scared and completely overwhelmed. I thought I was protecting all of us."
I leaned back in my chair, studying her face. "What was your long-term plan, Ivy? Were you going to let me go their entire childhood without knowing they existed?"
"I don't know." The admission came out as barely a whisper. "I kept telling myself I'd figure it out eventually. That I'd find the right time, the right words. But the longer I waited, the harder it became."
"Three years, Ivy. Three years of birthdays and first steps and bedtime stories that I missed because you decided I didn't deserve to know."
Tears began sliding down her cheeks. "I know. I know what I took from you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I stood up and walked to the window, needing the physical distance. The city sprawled below us, indifferent to the chaos unfolding in this office. "Do you have any idea what it's been doing to me these past three days? Thinking about everything I've missed?"
"Duncan—"
"Their first words. Their first Christmas. Did they crawl early? Walk early? Do they have nightmares? Food allergies? Are they afraid of the dark?" The questions poured out of me, each one a reminder of how much I didn't know about my own children.
"Sammy walked first, at ten months. Elena and Chrissy followed a week later," she said quietly. "They all love books. Elena's afraid of thunderstorms, but Chrissy thinks they're exciting. Sammy has your stubborn streak—when he decides he doesn't want to do something, there's no changing his mind."
I turned back to face her. "You're telling me about them now, but that doesn't change the fact that I should have been there. I should have been the one reading them those books, comforting Elena during storms, dealing with Sammy's stubborn phases."
"I know." Her voice broke on the words. "I know I was wrong. I know I was selfish. But I was so young, and I was scared, and I thought?—"
"You thought what? That I wouldn't want them? That I'd abandon them?"
"I thought you'd stay out of obligation, not love. I thought you'd resent me for trapping you." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "And I thought the media would tear us apart. Another scandal, another young woman trying to trap the wealthy businessman."
The mention of media attention made my jaw clench. She wasn't wrong—the press would have had a field day with the story. But that didn't excuse keeping my children from me.
"So you made the decision for me," I said. "You decided I wasn't trustworthy enough to handle the situation properly."
"That's not?—"
"That's exactly what you did." I moved back to my desk, gripping the edge. "You looked at me and decided I wasn't the kind of man who could be a good father. You decided I was too weak or too selfish or too damaged to be trusted with the truth."
"No, Duncan. That's not what I thought."
"Then what?" I demanded. "What exactly did you think would happen if you told me?"
She was crying openly now, her careful composure completely shattered. "I thought you'd break my heart. I thought you'd do the right thing because you had to, not because you wanted to. And I thought I'd rather raise them alone than watch you slowly grow to hate me for ruining your life."
Her words gutted me, not because they were wrong, but because they revealed how little she'd understood about what I wanted. How little she'd trusted me to make the right choice.
"You know what the worst part is?" I said, my voice hoarse. "I've been here before. I've been lied to by someone I trusted, someone I thought I knew. Someone who promised we were partners, then stabbed me in the back the moment it benefited her."
Meranda's face flashed through my mind—the woman who'd been my business partner, my confidant, my almost-lover. The woman who'd betrayed me so completely that I'd spent years rebuilding not just my business, but my ability to trust anyone.
"I swore I'd never be blindsided again," I continued. "I promised myself I'd never let anyone have that kind of power over me. And then you walked into my office, and I let you in. I let you get close. I started falling for you all over again."
"Duncan, please?—"
"And the whole time, you were keeping the biggest secret of my life from me. You were letting me fall in love with you while hiding my own children."
I'd admitted more than I'd meant to, revealed more vulnerability than I was comfortable with. But the truth was out now, and I couldn't take it back.
"I never meant for any of this to happen," she whispered.
"But it did happen. And now I have to figure out how to move forward knowing that the woman I—" I stopped myself, not ready to say the word love out loud again.
It was true, but I didn't want to pile guilt on her shoulders any more than I already had.
"Knowing that you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth about the most important things. "
She stood up slowly, and smoothed her hands down her skirt. "What happens now?"
I looked at her—really looked at her. Despite everything, despite the lies and the betrayal and the years of deception, I still wanted her. Still felt that pull I'd never experienced with anyone else. The realization made me angry all over again.
"Now I have to figure out how to be a father to children who don't know me," I said. "And you have to figure out how to co-parent with someone you clearly don't trust."
"I do trust you."
"No, you don't. If you trusted me, you would have told me the truth from the beginning. You would have given me the chance to prove what kind of man I am."
She took a step toward me, and I saw something shift in her expression. "You're right. I didn't trust you. I was too scared and too proud and too convinced that I knew better than everyone else." Her voice grew stronger. "But I'm telling you now. I'm trying to make it right."
"Three years too late."
"I know. But I'm hoping it's not too late for us to figure this out together."
I stared at her, feeling the familiar war between my heart and my head. My heart wanted to forgive her, to pull her into my arms and promise that we'd work through this together. My head reminded me that trust, once broken, was nearly impossible to repair.
"I don't know if I can do this, Ivy."
"Do what?"
"Trust you again. Let you back in. Risk getting hurt again."
She moved closer, and I could smell her perfume, see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. "I'm not asking you to trust me completely. I'm asking you to let me earn it back."
"And if you can't?"
"Then at least our children will have their father."
The mention of the children—our children—made something inside me crack. Despite everything, despite the betrayal and the lies, they were innocent in all of this. They deserved to know their father, and I deserved to know them.
"This changes nothing between us," I said, my voice strained. "Yes, I'm hurt. Yes, I'm angry. But I'm not walking away. Not from you, and not from them."
Relief flooded her features. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I don't know what this looks like. I don't know how to be a father, and I don't know if I can forgive you for keeping them from me."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because I'm not sure I understand it myself."
The space between us felt charged, electric. Despite everything that had happened, despite the anger and the hurt, I still wanted her. Still needed her in ways that terrified me.
I reached for her before I could stop myself, pulling her toward me. She came willingly, her hands finding my chest as I backed her against the edge of my desk. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, but she didn't pull away.
"I hate that I still want you," I said, my voice rough.
"Duncan—"
I kissed her before she could finish the sentence, my mouth claiming hers with a desperation that bordered on violence.
She responded immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kissed me back with equal fervor.
This wasn't gentle or romantic—this was raw need, the physical manifestation of everything we couldn't say.
I lifted her onto my desk, stepping between her legs as she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I groaned against her mouth. This was madness, kissing her in my office while my anger still burned hot in my chest. But I couldn't stop.
She pulled back slightly, breathing hard. "I love you," she whispered.
The words should have made me happy. Instead, they made me want to put my fist through the wall. "Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't get to say that after lying to me for years."
She flinched, but didn't look away. "I love you anyway."
I was about to respond when the door opened without warning. Nick Martinez stepped into the office, his attention focused on the papers in his hand.
"Duncan, I need you to look at these contracts before?—"
He looked up and froze. Ivy scrambled off my desk, her face burning with mortification as she tried to smooth her disheveled hair. I stepped back, putting distance between us, but the damage was done.
Nick's eyes moved between us, taking in Ivy's flushed face and my rumpled shirt. A slow smile spread across his features.
"Well," he said, closing the door behind him. "This is interesting."