32. Duncan
DUNCAN
M onday morning arrived with the kind of crisp autumn air that made the city feel alive.
I'd been awake since five, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise paint the skyline.
For the first time in months, I felt eager to get to the office—not because of deals or meetings, but because Ivy would be there.
She'd been there every day, but the excitement never grew old.
It was how I knew I had made the right decision.
The building was quiet when I arrived, the lobby empty except for security and the cleaning crew finishing their rounds.
I took the elevator up to my floor, savoring the anticipation of seeing her walk through the door in an hour, professional and composed, pretending we hadn't spent the weekend building pillow forts and reading stories about talking animals.
My office felt different now. The space that had once been a refuge from the world had become something else entirely—a place where Ivy organized my calendar, answered my calls, and occasionally looked up from her computer to catch me staring at her.
The mahogany desk that had witnessed countless business negotiations now held reminders of the life we were building together: a crayon drawing from Sammy tucked under my monitor, a photo of the triplets in the corner, a coffee mug with a chip in the rim that Ivy refused to let me throw away.
I settled into my chair and opened my laptop, but my attention kept drifting to the outer office where her desk sat empty.
The morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating the space where she would soon be typing emails and fielding calls, her auburn hair catching the sun whenever she turned her head.
At seven-thirty, I heard the elevator doors open and footsteps echoed in the hallway. I looked up as my office door opened, and there she was—Ivy in a navy dress that hugged her curves, her hair pulled back in a low bun, looking every inch the professional assistant she'd become.
"Good morning," she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
"Good morning." I started to stand, but she was already moving toward me, her professional demeanor melting away as she approached my desk.
"The building's still empty," she said, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "We have maybe ten minutes before anyone else shows up."
"Ten minutes for what?"
Instead of answering, she walked around my desk and turned my chair to face her. Before I could process what was happening, she had straddled my lap, her hands framing my face as she leaned down to brush her lips against mine.
The kiss was soft and unhurried, nothing like the desperate encounters we'd shared in the past. This was playful, sweet, full of promise for the future we were building together.
I could taste the coffee she'd had on her way to work, could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo, could feel the weight of her body settling against mine as if she belonged there.
"I've been thinking about doing that since I woke up," she murmured against my mouth.
"Have you now?"
"Mmm." She kissed me again, deeper this time, her fingers threading through my hair. "I like having you all to myself for a few minutes. No kids demanding breakfast, no phones ringing, no meetings to attend."
"No responsibilities."
"No responsibilities," she agreed, pulling back to look at me. "Just us."
For a moment, we were suspended in time—not the CEO and his assistant, not the parents of three demanding toddlers, not the couple trying to navigate family drama and old wounds. We were simply Duncan and Ivy, two people who had found their way back to each other against all odds.
"I should probably get to work," she said, but she made no move to leave my lap.
"Probably."
"I have emails to answer and calls to return and appointments to schedule."
"Very important work."
"The most important," she said solemnly, then grinned. "But not as important as this."
She kissed me one more time, quick and sweet, then stood up and smoothed her dress. The transformation back to professional mode was almost instantaneous—shoulders straight, expression composed, every inch the efficient assistant.
"I'll be at my desk if you need anything," she said, moving toward the door.
"Ivy."
She paused, hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"
"I love you."
She smiled, the professional mask slipping for just a moment to reveal the woman underneath.
"I love you too."
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips on mine.
I turned back to my laptop, but concentrating on work seemed impossible.
The morning had started perfectly, and I found myself looking forward to the day ahead with an enthusiasm I hadn't felt in years.
Twenty minutes later, my office door burst open without warning. Nick stormed in, his face flushed with anger, already talking before he'd fully entered the room.
"You're actually not signing the retirement papers?" He was angry, dark inky eyes staring down at me.
I looked up from my computer, startled by his sudden entrance. "Nick, I we talked about this?—"
"You told me you were reconsidering. I didn't think you meant you were going to throw away everything we've worked toward." He began pacing in front of my desk, his movements sharp and agitated. "Do you have any idea what this means for my future?"
"Keep your voice down."
"I will not keep my voice down. You've been talking about this for two years, Duncan. Two years that I tried convincing you not to. Then I get behind you and start supporting you and bam, you are changing your mind?"
"I know what I said."
"Then explain to me why you're throwing away your chance at the life you claimed you wanted—no schedules, no board meetings, no employees depending on you.
You could be on a beach in Thailand by Christmas, or hiking through Europe, or doing whatever the hell you wanted to do.
Instead, you're choosing to stay chained to a desk for what?
A woman who kept your children secret for three years? "
"Nick—"
"No, I'm not finished. You told me you were done with Boston, done with the responsibility, done with everything that kept you from living your life.
You said you wanted to disappear, to start fresh somewhere nobody knew your name or your history.
You said you wanted to be free with no strings to tie you down. "
His words were relentless, hammering away at my conscience. I could see the exact moment Ivy appeared in the doorway, her phone in her hand, her face pale with shock.
"Ivy," I started, but she was already backing away.
"I forgot my phone," she said quietly, her voice hollow.
"It's not what you think." But she was already turning, already walking away. I started to follow, but Nick stepped in front of me, his anger replaced by grim satisfaction.
"Let her go, Duncan. She heard the truth. Maybe now, you'll come to your senses."
"Move."
"No. We're going to finish this conversation."
I pushed past him, but by the time I reached the elevator, the doors were already closing. I watched the numbers descend, my heart hammering against my ribs as I realized what had just happened.
By the time I fought free of Nick's arguments and made it home, the house was empty.
No sounds of children playing, no scent of dinner cooking, no sign of the life we'd been building together.
Their things were here, but even Lauren had vanished, like somehow my words had raptured their presence out of my life as quickly as fate had brought them back. And now I was alone.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the vacant rooms, my stomach churning with the realization of what I'd just destroyed.
Ivy heard Nick blast my private thoughts so loudly, I'd be surprised if she ever talked to me again.
An unstable man who wants to run from discomfort has no place being a father, and that was all I was to her now.
What was I going to do?