Chapter 50 Chloe
The glass doors hissed open. The marble floors of the New Orleans headquarters were polished enough to see my own reflection clearly shining back at me.
I was in awe. I hadn’t stepped foot in either the New Orleans or Florida locations since my mother was alive.
It felt strange—like walking through a memory.
I was wearing a simple silk shift dress in white. Repetto ballet flats, the kind you could only buy in Paris, were on my feet—heels were a "no" for now.
I walked past the reception desk, where my cousin Cedrick was finishing a conversation with a group of executives.
When the board had been searching for a new CEO to stabilize the company after my father’s scandal, I put him forward after learning he had an MBA and a Juris Doctor.
He’d beaten every other candidate on merit.
I liked that he was family. I never got to meet my grandparents, but I thought they’d be proud.
He caught my eye and gave me a respectful nod. He was a good man. He was the future.
I made my way to the executive conference room where the final turnover was happening.
Elara was at the head of the table, dressed to the nines in a power suit.
She had picked me up from the airport last night.
Over the last three months, she’d been my hands and feet while I was traveling, managing the messy transition.
Her mother-in-law had been handling Esme by herself.
It was hard to believe there were so many capable women in the world.
I realized when I started being asked questions and shown contracts that I was not suited for this.
I didn't even have a high school diploma.
I waited for her to finish instructing everyone.
When the room finally cleared, Elara let out a long breath and slumped back into her chair, a grin spreading across her face.
"It's done," she said. "You're officially a silent partner in your own empire. No more board meetings, no more paperwork." Her eyes dropped to my waist, her smile softening. "Your belly is so big."
I rested a hand on my stomach. "I know. My back is suffering."
Elara stood up and walked over, leaning against the table. "Have you spoken to him, Chloe? It's been almost six months since you left."
I looked out the window at the New Orleans skyline. I hadn't called him. I hadn't texted. He hadn't, either.
"No. I'm bitter. He's the one who told me to leave," I whispered. "I think I need to, though. I think it's time." I looked down at my belly. "What do I even say to him?"
Elara didn't answer right away. "Honestly?" she said finally. "I don't know. But I don't think this is one of those moments where you say the 'right' thing. I think it's one where you say the true thing."
"I can be truthful."
"He's at Silas's house," Elara said, her voice encouraging. "He went back there last week to help his grandfather with some things. You better go now before you lose your nerve."
The ride in the chauffeured car to the Hart estate felt shorter than I remembered. When I reached the heavy front doors—the same ones I’d walked through as a ghost months ago—I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I reached out and knocked.
The door swung open, and the butler opened his mouth to greet me. But his eyes traveled from my face down to the curve of my belly and then back up. His jaw practically hit the floor. He stammered.
"M-Ms. Landry?"
"Hello, Mr. Broussard," I said, a faint smile on my lips. "Is Killian in?"
"In the library, miss. But... he... he isn't expecting—"
I didn't wait for him to finish. I stepped past him, my flats clicking softly on the hardwood. I walked toward the back of the house.
I stopped at the entrance to the library. Killian was standing by the window, his back to me.
"Killian," I said softly.
He froze. I watched the way his entire body went rigid at the sound of my voice. He didn't turn around immediately. I stepped into the room. Slowly, he turned. His eyes scanned my face first, and then his gaze dropped. The glass of scotch in his hand tilted.
"Chloe," he choked out. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes. That's what happens when you have a lot of unprotected sex," I joked.
Before Killian could find his breath to respond, the heavy thud of a cane echoed in the hallway. Silas Hart rounded the corner, wheeling himself faster than I'd ever seen. The butler must have told him I was here.
"Ha!" the old man whooped, the sound echoing off the library's high ceiling. He threw a hand in the air, his face splitting into a wide grin. "I knew it! I told you. I dreamt of fish."
I laughed. Hearing that come from a seventy-something-year-old white man was hilarious.
"Grandpa, please," Killian breathed, though he still hadn't moved.
"Don't 'Grandpa' me! I told you when you were moping around this house that the girl would be back," Silas said, wheeling himself right up to me and patting my hand with his weathered one. "And she brought a Hart with her. I can feel the stubbornness coming off that belly from here."
Killian set the scotch down on the side table. He took a step toward me, then another, until he was close enough.
"I've missed you, Chloe."
I didn't feel like being nice. "You shouldn't have sent me away."
Grandpa punctuated my comment by shoving Killian with his cane. "You damn sure shouldn't have. Do it again, and I won't have a grandson like you."
“I’m sorry," Killian said, his voice raw. "I was scared—of losing you, of being in the way, of not being enough. I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. I felt vindicated and that was enough for now.