Chapter 21
He hadn’t slept.
The few hours he managed were fractured and useless, his thoughts returning again and again to the same empty feeling. So he did what he always did when everything else felt out of control—he went to the office. Early. Before the city had even begun to stir.
He’d tried to focus and failed.
Eventually, he left the stillness of his office.
Her desk sat like a monument untouched, unmoved, empty. Except for the ring.
That sunflower ring. Cheerful and her.
He’d called. He’d texted. Left voice-mails he didn’t even remember recording. Eight calls.
Four texts. Five voice-mails. All unanswered.
He crossed the floor and picked the ring up.
The stones caught the morning light, throwing fractured rainbows across the surface of her desk. For a second, he stood there, staring at it, unable to move. She’d left it behind on purpose. A full stop at the end of whatever they were.
His fingers closed around it, and he slipped it into his pocket and turned toward the elevator.
He needed to talk to someone who understood people—not numbers. Someone who understood connection. He needed to talk to Eleanor Beauchamp.
He pulled out his phone as the elevator doors slid shut. “I need a charter,” he said when the operator picked up.
“Yes, Mr. Wilder. Your flight to Martha’s Vineyard is scheduled—”
“I’m moving it up.”
“To when?” the operator asked.
“Now.”
A pause.
“Now, sir?” the operator asked.
“I’ll pay anything. I want wheels up in forty minutes.” He ended the call.
Thirty minutes later the helicopter cut through the morning air, skimming over the Atlantic. Inside the cabin, he watched the coastline recede, Manhattan’s skyline shrinking until it was a jagged line on the horizon—the distance that now stretched between his old life and whatever came next.
When the island eventually appeared in the distance—a crescent of green rising from the sea—he tried to order his thoughts.
What could Eleanor possibly tell him that would salvage this situation?
He didn’t know. A rare thing, he was acting on impulse rather than calculation.
The realization should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like relief.
The helicopter descended toward the clearing, the helipad tucked between wind-stirred trees and a narrow path that disappeared into the greenery.
He didn’t register much beyond that—only the hush of the blades slowing, the looming presence beyond the trees, and the certainty that there was no turning back.
A figure emerged onto the wide veranda, shielding their eyes against the morning glare. Eleanor Beauchamp, elegant in white linen pants and a pale blue blouse.
She waited as he crossed the lawn. “Ronan,” she said as he reached the porch. “You’re quite early.”
“Mrs. Beauchamp.” He hesitated at the bottom stair. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
“Eleanor, please.” She gestured to the chair beside her. “And it’s not an intrusion. Though I’m curious what brings you here at this hour. Andrew isn’t expected back until before your scheduled meeting.”
He took the offered seat, the wicker creaking beneath him. “That’s fortunate. I was hoping to speak with you.”
Her expression changed, subtle but assessing. “You don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”
“I haven’t.”
“How about some coffee?” she asked. “And perhaps some breakfast?”
“Coffee, yes. Breakfast might be ambitious.”
She signaled to someone inside the house. Moments later, a staff member appeared, carrying a silver tray with coffee and pastries.
“Now,” Eleanor said once they were alone again, passing him a steaming cup, “why are you here?”
He stared into the dark liquid, searching for the right words. How to explain what he barely understood himself.
“I’ve lost her,” he said, the words emerging with unexpected honesty.
Eleanor didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Devney.”
“Yes.”
“And you believe I can help you win her back?” Eleanor’s voice held a tone both wry and sincere.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I expect you to tell me. I only know that you and Andrew have been married for forty years, and when he speaks of you, there’s an emotion I never thought I wanted. Until now.”
Sympathy passed over Eleanor’s expression. She took a sip of her coffee, giving him a moment to collect himself.
“My husband believes the misrepresentation surrounding your engagement is the reason he should withdraw his investment,” she said. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not why you’re here, is it? You’re not here to save the deal.”
He met her gaze. “No. The deal means nothing if I can’t fix what I broke with her.”
Eleanor nodded “Tell me about her.”
“She’s…” He paused, searching for words adequate to describe her.
“She challenges me. Questions me. Makes me see things differently.” He looked down at his hands.
“When we were together, she made me feel like I was someone worth knowing beyond the boardroom.” He looked back up at Eleanor.
“She has this ridiculous pen—covered in rhinestones, shaped like a sunflower. I should have told her to get rid of it, but I didn’t.
Because every time she used it, she’d glance at me, as if daring me to say what was on my mind. And I looked forward to those moments.”
Eleanor studied him for a beat. “And the ring?” she asked.
He reached into his pocket and took out the ring. The metal held the heat of his body.
“I thought it was part of the act. A prop.” He paused, thumb brushing over one of the glass petals. “But then she told the story at the gala. About her grandmother’s sunflower garden. That was the first time I realized it meant more to her.”
Eleanor remained silent, her eyes fixed on him as he turned the ring in his fingers.
“She left it on her desk when she walked out yesterday.” He studied the band, rotating it slowly. “A clear message.”
Eleanor took a long drink of her coffee before responding. “You know, when I met Andrew, he was much like you. Driven. Focused. Shrewd. He saw our relationship as a merger of compatible assets rather than a union of hearts.”
He looked up. The Beauchamps had always seemed the picture of marital harmony.
“Oh yes,” Eleanor continued, noting his expression. “He arranged our first meetings with the romantic spontaneity of a board presentation. Background checks. Character references. A complete dossier on my family connections and social standing.”
“What changed?”
“I walked away.” Eleanor set down her cup with a decisive click. “I told him I wouldn’t be another acquisition, another item on his balance sheet of success. That if he wanted me, he would need to see me as a partner, not an asset.”
He absorbed this, connecting it to Andrew’s words in the conference room. I don’t invest in family men. I invest in whole men.
“How did he respond?” he asked.
“Not well, at first. He made an interesting case—logic, timing, long-term compatibility. Synergy, as you business types like to call it. When I said no, he got annoyed. Then he went silent. And eventually, he realized he was heartbroken.”
“And then?” he asked.
“And then he showed up at my father’s summer house in Newport with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bouquet he’d picked from the roadside.
No plan. No presentation. Himself, open and authentic for perhaps the first time in his life.
” Her eyes grew distant with the memory.
“He said he’d rather have me without a plan than all the success in the world with one.
” She studied him over the rim of her cup.
“He recognized a part of his younger self in you, I suspect. And hoped your Devney might do for you what I did for him.”
He fell silent, turning her words over in his mind. The sunflower ring felt heavy in his palm. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said. “I betrayed her trust. Used her in a scheme after she’d given me everything. And when it blew up, she was the one standing in the center of the explosion.”
“Perhaps the question isn’t how to fix it, but whether you’re willing to risk having no plan at all.” Eleanor’s keen eyes missed nothing. “Whether you’re willing to stand before her with no strategy, no calculation, nothing but the truth of what you feel.”
“And if that’s not enough?” he asked.
“Then at least you’ll have been honest. With her, and with yourself.” Eleanor reached over and closed his fingers around the ring. “That’s the only foundation worth building on. Take it from someone who knows.”
The only sounds were the distant crash of waves against the shore and the call of gulls overhead. He felt some of the tightness inside him ease for the first time in days, maybe even longer. Because he had finally asked the right questions of the right person.
“Thank you,” he said, rising from his chair. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
Eleanor gestured toward the house. “Andrew will be back soon. You might want to freshen up before your meeting. There’s a guest room prepared for you inside.”
He nodded, slipping the ring back into his pocket. As he turned to go, Eleanor spoke again.
“Ronan.”
He paused, looking back.
“Sometimes the most successful negotiations are the ones where you’re willing to lose everything for the right reason.”
Later, he stood in Andrew Beauchamp’s study, watching the older man read through the documents he’d presented. The room exuded old money and power and the subtle scent of success.
Andrew looked up, setting the papers aside. “This is your proposal? To restructure the entire deal?”
“Yes.” He maintained eye contact.
“These terms are less favorable to Oath Capital than our original agreement.”
“Yes.”
“You’re offering me a larger stake for the same investment, with greater board representation and a stronger morality clause.” Andrew eyed him with interest. “Why?”
“Because it’s the offer I should have made from the beginning, based on the merits of the business, not on false impressions or manipulations.”
“And your investors will accept these terms? Your board?”
“They’ll have to.” He met Andrew’s gaze. “It’s my company. My decision.”
Andrew’s mouth twitched, the gesture unreadable. “Even if it costs you personal equity?”
“Even then.”
He tapped the papers, slow and measured. “My wife tells me you arrived early today. That you spent some time in her company.”
“I did.”
“Eleanor has always been an excellent judge of character.” Andrew’s tone was even, though his eyes told a different story. “She sees things I sometimes miss.”
He waited, sensing there was more.
“She believes you’ve learned a valuable lesson from this situation.”
“I have.”
“May I ask what?”
“That authentic connection is worth more than strategic advantage. That being seen—truly seen—by the right person changes everything.” He paused, feeling his way toward a truth he was beginning to understand. “That I’ve spent my life building an empire at the expense of building a life.”
Andrew nodded, as if he had confirmed an important truth. “And Ms. Sinclair? Where does she fit into this new understanding?”
“She’s essential to it,” he admitted. “But I may have realized that too late.”
“Have you?” Andrew rose from his desk and moved to the window, looking out over the grounds sloping down to the ocean. “I’ve found, over a lifetime in business, that it’s rarely too late to correct a mistake, provided one is willing to pay the full price of the correction.”
“I am.”
Andrew turned from the window, approval in his expression. “Then I believe we have a deal, Ronan.” He extended his hand. “The revised terms are acceptable.”
He felt a sudden, immense relief as they shook hands. One crisis averted. But the one that mattered most remained unresolved.
“Thank you,” he said, gathering the signed documents. “Oath Capital will honor your trust.”
“My security alerted me through text that Ms. Sinclair arrived some time ago,” Andrew said. “Rather determined to speak with me. Eleanor’s been keeping her company while we finished here.”
His breath caught. “Devney?”
Andrew nodded. “Apparently she is quite distraught, by all appearances. Said she needed to make things right.” He paused. “Eleanor is rather taken with her. She recognizes a kindred spirit.”
He was already moving toward the door, his pulse pounding. “Where did you say they were?” he asked.
“Eastern veranda. Through the main hall, past the library, then right at the—”
But Ronan was gone, striding through the house with singular focus.
All he could think was that she was here.
He rounded the corner past the library, sunlight streaming through tall windows.
Another turn, and the eastern veranda came into view through the French doors—a wide, covered porch that looked out over the formal garden and the sea beyond.
And there, seated in wicker chairs angled toward the ocean, were two women.
Eleanor, composed and serene. And beside her—Devney.
He recognized her instantly, even from behind.
The ponytail. The gentle slope of her shoulders.
The tension in her posture, like she couldn’t quite let herself relax, even here.
She still wore the same clothes from yesterday.
As if sensing his presence, she turned—enough that he caught a glimpse of her profile.
Even that was enough to see the exhaustion in her expression.
He moved toward the doors, hand reaching for the handle—
And paused as a hand touched his arm.
Andrew stood beside him, having followed from the study. “Give them time,” he said, his gaze moving between Ronan and the women on the veranda. “Some conversations need to reach their natural conclusion.”
He wanted to protest, to push past him and rush to her side. To demand explanations, to offer apologies, to say all the things that had been burning inside him since she’d walked out. But an unspoken message in Andrew’s expression gave him pause.
“What is she doing here?” he asked.
“The same thing you are, I imagine.” Andrew’s gaze held firm. “Trying to fix what matters most.”
Through the glass, he watched as Eleanor reached across the space between the chairs to take Devney’s hand. Whatever Eleanor said made her tense shoulders relax, her head nod in apparent agreement.
“They’ll be finished soon,” Andrew said. “We’ll come back in a few minutes and check on them.”
Ronan nodded, gaze still locked on the veranda. On her.
“Come,” Andrew said, already turning. “While we wait, perhaps you can tell me more about your expansion plans.”
He hesitated. And maybe Andrew was right. Maybe this was the time to compose himself before the most important conversation of his life.
.