Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Henry
“The Madison Center,” I told Thompson, my voice steadier than it had any right to be. The family driver nodded his practiced discretion, not even registering the slight tremor in my hands as I sank into the back seat.
Years of imagining every way I might run into Savvy again, and somehow “hired by my almost-fiancée to dump me” hadn’t made the list.
The ring box sat beside me on the leather seat, a silent accusation. I could still see her face as she’d picked it up from the floor. The way her fingers had trembled before that professional mask slammed back into place. Flawless. Colorless. Lifeless. It’s just for show.
Her words cut deeper than she knew. She’d looked right at that ring—my father’s perfect, soulless choice—and saw exactly what it was. A prop in someone else’s production.
The city blurred past my window, but all I could see was how she’d changed. Her chestnut hair was darker now, her blue eyes storm-gray and sharp where they used to sparkle. All that time, I wondered if I’d made the right choice, and now I had my answer in the hardness of her voice when she’d said my name.
Caroline hired her to break up with me. Coincidence? Providence? The pieces started falling into place—that practiced calm in her voice, the way she’d delivered Caroline’s words like she’d done this before. Was that what she was now? A professional heartbreaker? How had she gone from an aspiring wedding planner to ... this?
The answer hit me like a physical blow. Me. This was all because of me.
All those nights, I’d lay awake wondering what had become of her dreams—the wedding planning business with Maddy and Ivy and the future we’d mapped out on lazy Sunday afternoons. Instead, she’d turned her own heartbreak into ... what? A business? A mission? There’d been glimpses of it—the way she’d started with such professional distance, but then I’d seen her hands shake as she’d checked her phone for Caroline’s message, watched her struggle to maintain that careful mask.
I’d knocked her off balance. That much was clear. Made her fumble whatever script she usually followed. But underneath her obvious shock, there’d been something practiced about the setup. How she approached the table, the careful way she’d tried to deliver the news before our shared history had derailed everything.
Thompson cleared his throat softly. “We’re here, Mr. Kingston.”
Madison Center loomed ahead, all gleaming glass and modern angles, nothing like the Victorian architecture my grandfather had spent his life restoring. He would have hated it—probably hated it on his good days when he remembered to .
My phone buzzed. Father. Of course. The news of my failed proposal was probably going through his well-oiled network. I sent it to voicemail, knowing there’d be hell to pay later. But I couldn’t handle another lecture about Kingston men and family obligations right now.
I shoved the ring box into my pocket, trying to forget its presence.
“Will you be requiring the car later, sir?” Thompson’s question pulled me back to the present.
“No, I’ll find my way back.” Back to what? My father's ultimatum? The mess I’d made of everyone’s lives? The ghost of Savvy’s professional mask as she’d delivered someone else’s goodbye?
The lobby of Madison Center gave the impression of a hotel desperately trying to conceal its true purpose. Fresh flower arrangements were swapped out every day. Abstract art adorned the walls, chosen for its serene palette. Even the faint lavender fragrance couldn’t completely overshadow the telltale scent of a hospital.
“Mr. Kingston.” The receptionist’s expression was practiced and professional, like Savvy’s had been before it cracked. “Your grandfather is having a good morning. He’s in his room.”
I nodded my thanks and headed for the elevators. The ride to the fifth floor was familiar and unsettling, each passing level a reminder of the uncertain conversations that awaited me. How many times had I taken this journey, steeling myself for the moment my grandfather’s eyes would meet mine, recognition wavering or dimming like a faulty bulb?
The hallway stretched before me as the elevator doors slid open, the route to his room ingrained in my muscle memory. My feet carried me forward, each step a silent prayer that today would be one of his good days—that the fog of his illness would recede long enough for us to truly connect, even if only for a moment.
I found his door open, warm October sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden. The room was one of the facility’s best suites—a fact my father never failed to mention when discussing the cost. James Morrison sat by the window in his favorite leather chair, watching leaves scatter across the manicured lawn below.
He looked up as I approached, and I held my breath, waiting to see if today’s version of my grandfather would remember me.
His faded blue eyes sharpened. “Henry. You look troubled.”
A squeeze of emotion gripped my chest at the clarity in his voice. These moments were precious now, appearing and vanishing like the sun between storm clouds. I remained standing, taking in the view of the beautiful gardens below. Fall had painted the ornamental pears in shades of burgundy and gold, while late-blooming hydrangeas added splashes of deep purple beneath. Everything about this place was different—too polished, too perfect, like that ring burning a hole in my pocket.
“How do you always know?” The familiar ache of seeing him here, diminished yet still so present, tangled with the raw edges Savvy’s appearance had left behind.
“The same way I know when it’s going to rain.” He tapped his temple, the gesture so achingly familiar it hurt. “Some things you feel in your bones, even when the bones are old and creaky.”
On the side table, familiar faces grinned from silver frames— my parents at their tenth anniversary party, graduation, summers in the Hamptons before his mind slipped. I remembered the day each photo was taken, recalled how he’d stood apart at society events, more comfortable among his beloved buildings than Manhattan’s elite. His smile reached his eyes in every frame—something I hadn’t managed in years.
“I saw her today.” The words tumbled out, dragging years of buried guilt along with them. I sank into the visitor’s chair beside him, my hands gripping the arms as if holding on could keep the flood of memories from swallowing me whole.
His attention moved from the garden. “The girl from college?”
My throat tightened. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. He’d been the only one who’d understood what Savvy meant to me, seeing past her last name and small-town roots to recognize something real.
"Yes, Savvy," I said, dragging out each syllable like it hurt—because it did.
"Ah." One simple sound, but it carried volumes of understanding.
“She...” I swallowed hard, trying to force down the irony. “She was hired to break up with me. By Caroline.”
His laugh startled me, genuine and warm in a way I rarely heard anymore. “Life has a funny way of bringing things full circle, doesn’t it?”
The ring box pressed against my thigh, a constant reminder of everything I’d lost and thrown away. “The day I left her, I broke her, Grandpa.” The words scraped my throat like sandpaper. “She’s different now. Harder.”
“Heartbreak hardens people.” My grandfather’s gaze sharpened, showing me the man who’d built an empire by seeing what others missed. “Did you ever consider that you should have given her the choice? That she was stronger than you gave her credit for?”
The question hit like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs. No, I hadn’t. I’d done exactly what my father did—decided for others, convinced I knew best. I’d become everything I’d sworn I’d never be, wielding power like a weapon, thinking I could protect her by controlling her fate.
“You can’t abandon something because it’s difficult,” he said, looking out at the leaves blowing in the wind. “Sometimes the best things in life come from working through the challenges.”
I stared past him at those falling leaves, remembering how Savvy used to sit in the bookstore window seat, dreaming up futures that now would never be. The future I’d stolen from her with my silence, my cowardice masked as nobility. “I don’t think there’s anything left to rebuild.” The words seemed hollow, echoing my father’s certainty that everything could be reduced to simple profit and loss equations.
“There’s always something worth saving.” He patted my hand, his touch as familiar as my guilt. “If you know where to look. And if you’re willing to do the work.”
His words hung in the air as an aide appeared with his morning coffee service. The moment of clarity was ending—I could see it in the way his eyes clouded, like watching a door slowly close. But he’d given me something to hold on to. Even as his mind betrayed him, his heart remained true.
I stood to leave, but his hand caught my sleeve. “Henry?”
“Yes?”
“Some breaks...” He gestured vaguely toward the garden, where sunlight fractured through autumn leaves. “Some breaks let the light in.”
I kissed his forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave, wondering how many more lucid moments we had left. How many more chances would I have to hear his wisdom before the fog claimed him completely?
“I should go.” I stood, straightening my jacket. “Do you need anything? Books? Music?”
“Bring that girl to visit.” His voice carried a surprising strength.
“Grandpa, I can’t—that’s not possible.”
“Anything’s possible if you want it bad enough.” His eyes held that sharp clarity again. “Humor this old man, Henry. I don’t ask for much.”
The request coiled around my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs. He was right—he never asked for anything, not even when they’d moved him here. While my father demanded the world reshape itself to his will, James Morrison accepted life’s changes with quiet grace.
“I’ll see you soon, Grandpa.”
Outside, the October sun painted Manhattan in shades of gold, but I could only see the storm in Savvy’s eyes when she’d delivered Caroline’s goodbye. My phone buzzed again—probably my father, demanding an update. Instead of answering, I pulled up a different contact and dialed.
“Mason? I need a favor, off the books.”
The line crackled momentarily before Mason’s steady, deep voice answered. “The last time you asked for an off-the-books favor was that mess in the Caymans.”
The Caymans. My jaw tightened at the memory. A too-loud night, too much bourbon, and the reckless spiral that ended in a holding cell. I’d thought I could drink Savvy out of my system and drown her memory in liquor and poor decisions, but it had been impossible. She clung to the corners of my mind, untouchable and relentless, even as I tried to lose myself in the haze.
Mason had been the one to pull me out of it—literally. He’d dragged me from the mess I’d made before it hit the papers, but not before delivering a scathing assessment of my character. He hadn’t minced words. “This isn’t you, Henry,” he’d said. “At least, it didn’t used to be.”
“I need you to find someone for me,” I said, forcing the words past the tightness in my chest. “Savannah Honeysucker.”
A sharp intake of breath sounded on the other end of the line. “Jesus, Henry. Your father?—”
“That’s why this stays between us.”
There was a pause, one that seemed heavier than it should have. Mason wasn’t a man who hesitated often. His answer came, steady and sure. “Give me an hour.”