Chapter 21 #2
We follow Owen down the hall. The conference room is full of my brothers.
Tate sits at the table, elbows on his knees, looking like someone took his easygoing charm and crushed it in one hand.
Blaze stands near the windows, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Dante is on his phone, probably trying to keep PR from setting themselves on fire. Foster is there too, quiet and grim.
No one speaks when I enter. That’s worse than yelling.
Then Wilder looks at me. “Tell me it’s not Laurel.”
My hands curl.
Blaze mutters, “Fuck.”
Wilder’s face changes. “Jesus, Sin.”
“Don’t,” I say.
Blaze laughs, but it’s angry. “Don’t? That’s what you’ve got?”
“I said don’t.”
“Because what? Because you’re protecting her now?” His voice rises. “You should have protected her before you started fucking her in your office.”
Tate stands. “Blaze.”
He points at me. “I heard you. I heard her. I thought it was Jenna because I didn’t want to believe my own brother was that reckless. Just like our fucking father.”
Owen’s expression turns lethal.
“Everyone sit down,” he says.
No one moves.
“I said sit down.”
That time, they do.
I remain standing.
Owen turns to me. “You are going to answer questions. Clearly. No temper. No CEO voice. No bullshit.”
Richard steps forward. “My client—”
Owen cuts him a look. “Your client is my brother, my CEO, and currently the biggest compliance disaster I have ever had the displeasure of being related to. He can answer whether the relationship was consensual.”
“It was,” I say.
Owen looks back at me. “Was there any coercion?”
“No.”
“Any promise of promotion, compensation, travel, favorable treatment?”
“No.”
Tate’s jaw tightens at travel. I look at him. His face says he is already thinking about Amsterdam. Seattle. Every trip he helped arrange. My guilt adds another floor to itself.
Owen continues. “Does she report to you?”
“Indirectly.”
“Then yes.”
“Yes.”
“Does she have a current offer from Sex Activity Pro?”
The room goes silent again.
I go still. “How do you know that?”
“Laurel forwarded the email to HR this morning.”
Relief hits so hard I almost sway. Smart. She was sick, hurt, dragged into hell by my marriage, and still smart enough to protect herself. That’s why I love her.
Owen sees something on my face and his eyes narrow.
“Do not look proud right now.”
“I am proud of her.”
The words come out before I can stop them. The room changes and no one breathes.
Owen’s expression goes from angry to something worse. Understanding.
“Oh,” Owen says quietly.
Wilder sinks into a chair. “You love her.”
I say nothing.
I don’t need to.
Blaze scrubs both hands over his face. “Sin.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You can’t know, because if you knew, you wouldn’t have let it get here.”
That hits because it’s true.
“I love her,” I say.
The words are calmer this time. Clearer. Not thrown in Jenna’s pain. Not trapped in my chest. Said in front of the people who know every ugly part of me and still have to decide what to do with this one.
“I love Laurel.”
Tate exhales like the words hurt him personally. Owen closes his eyes for one second. Dante says something under his breath that sounds like a prayer and a curse. Blaze turns away toward the window. Wilder just looks devastated.
Richard clears his throat. “That may be emotionally relevant, but legally—”
Owen points at him. “Do not say legally like I am not about to age ten years before lunch.”
Richard wisely stops talking.
Owen turns back to me. “Here is what is going to happen. Effective immediately, you are removed from any supervisory capacity involving Laurel Cross. Tate will handle product launch decisions with oversight from me and independent HR counsel.”
“Fine.”
“Laurel will be offered independent counsel at company expense. And you will not be alone with her in this building.”
My jaw tightens.
Owen’s eyes flash. “Don’t test me.”
I say nothing.
“You will make no employment decisions involving her. None. If she wants to pursue Sex Activity Pro, no one interferes. If she wants to stay, we build a reporting structure that keeps you out of her career path completely.”
“Fine.”
“And you will prepare a disclosure for shareholders.”
Richard nods. “We’ll draft it.”
“No.” Owen looks at me. “He will draft it. Counsel can make it pretty after.”
I meet his stare. He’s not just angry. He’s hurt. That is harder.
“All right,” I say.
Blaze turns from the window. “And Jenna?”
I glance down at my bare hand.
“We’re getting a divorce.”
No one looks surprised. Somehow, that makes it worse.
“She left last night,” I say. “I spoke to Richard this morning. We’re moving forward.”
Tate leans back in his chair. “Does Laurel know?”
“About the post, yes. About the attorney, no.”
“About you loving her?”
The room goes quiet again. I look at my brother. Tate’s expression is unreadable, but there is no cruelty in it. Only concern.
“For God’s sake,” Owen mutters. “Please tell me you didn’t tell her for the first time during a corporate scandal.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I haven’t told her at all.”
Foster makes a sound. “Jesus Christ.”
Blaze nods slowly. “That tracks.”
I glare at him.
He lifts both hands. “Sorry.”
Dante finally speaks. “You need PR.”
“I know.”
“You need to make sure Jenna doesn’t keep posting.”
“I can’t control Jenna.”
“No,” Dante says. “But her attorney can tell her she’s hurting herself too if this becomes defamatory or damages marital assets.”
Richard nods. “I’ll handle that.”
Wilder looks at me again, and this time his anger is quieter. More dangerous.
“Is she worth it?”
The question should offend me. It doesn’t. It deserves an answer.
“Yes,” I say.
Wilder studies me for a long moment. Then he nods once.
Owen pushes a folder across the table toward me. “Then start acting like she is.”
I pick up the folder. Inside are printed copies of company policy. Workplace relationships. Conflict of interest. Disclosure obligations.
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because Owen brought a policy packet to my personal apocalypse.
He looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Laugh and I will staple that to your forehead.”
For the next hour, we discuss containment. Board and shareholder disclosure. PR statements. HR protocols. Jenna’s post. Laurel’s position. My divorce. My leave from direct launch oversight. It is clinical. Necessary.
Brutal.
Through all of it, my phone sits face down on the table.
I don’t touch it. Not until the meeting ends. Not until my brothers file out one by one, leaving me with Owen.
He pauses at the door.
“You really love her?”
I look up. “Yes.”
He studies me. Then his shoulders lower slightly.
“Then stop making her pay for your cowardice.”
The door closes behind him.
I sit alone in the conference room, the city spread out beneath the windows, my company trembling under my feet, my marriage publicly broken open, and Laurel’s name moving through the building like a spark near gasoline.
For the first time, I don’t think about how to hide.
I think about how to stand in front of it.
How to protect her without owning her.
How to love her without making her smaller.
How to end one life before asking for another.
My phone buzzes. A message from Laurel.
Laurel Cross
I’m guessing everyone knows.
My chest aches as I type back.
Yes.
Her reply comes after a long moment.
Are you okay?
This woman. She’s possibly at risk of losing everything she built. And still asking about me.
I close my eyes. Then I type the truth.
No. But I’m handling it.
I won’t let you face this alone.
Her answer comes back almost immediately.
You may not get to decide that.
I stare at the message. Then I look at the policy folder. At the empty chairs where my brothers sat. At the bare finger where my ring used to be.
She’s right. I don’t get to decide for her anymore. So I type the only thing I can.
Then I’ll ask and pray you let me stay.
For the first time all morning, I feel something steadier than fear.
Not peace, not yet, but resolve.
And hope that everything is going to work out the way it’s supposed to.