18. Duncan
DUNCAN
The company party is happening in a loft in Midtown.
My entire team is here, portfolio founders I've backed, investors I've worked with for years.
There's a bartender mixing craft cocktails and someone hired a DJ who's playing ambient electronic music that's just loud enough to make conversation require effort.
I should be enjoying this. It's my company, my people, a celebration of closing three major deals this quarter. Instead I'm standing near the windows with a bourbon I haven't touched, watching traffic move twenty floors below and thinking about Millie.
Again.
Always.
She's been distant since the wedding. Not cold exactly, but careful in a way that feels like she's pre-building the exit strategy we agreed to weeks ago.
She texts less frequently, answers my calls with clipped replies, and when we appear together for photos she stands just far enough away that I have to close the gap first.
It's driving me insane.
"Duncan." Tobias appears at my elbow with a beer in hand. "You're doing that thing where you stare into the distance like you're contemplating mortality. Stop it. You're making the investors nervous."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You've been weird for weeks." He takes a sip of his beer. "Is this about Millie?"
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
Tobias sighs. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. That's the problem."
"You're going to have to give me more than that."
I take a drink of bourbon that burns going down. "She's pulling away. Setting up the divorce before we're even two weeks into the marriage."
"Maybe she's just being smart. You two have a contract. An end date. She's protecting herself."
"From what?"
"From you, probably. From catching feelings for someone she's supposed to walk away from in a few months." Tobias leans against the window next to me. "Did you think this was going to end differently?"
Yes. I did. I do. I keep hoping that if I just prove myself enough, if I show her that I've actually changed and that what I feel for her is real, she'll decide the contract was a mistake and we can build something that lasts beyond Oscar season.
But she's made it clear she wants the clean break we agreed to. And I'm the idiot who fell in love anyway.
"Duncan Ellington."
The voice comes from behind me, bright and slightly breathless.
I turn and find a woman I vaguely recognize from a conference last year standing there with a glass of wine and a smile that's too wide.
She's wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline, her hair curled in waves that look professionally styled.
"Ashley," she says, extending her hand. "We met at TechCrunch Disrupt. I'm with Greylock now."
I shake her hand because refusing would be rude. "Right. How are you?"
"Great. Really great." She shifts closer, dropping her voice slightly. "I've been meaning to reach out actually. I heard about some of the deals you closed this quarter and I wanted to pick your brain about your strategy for evaluating early-stage founders. Do you have a minute?"
Tobias catches my eye over Ashley's shoulder and mouths "good luck" before disappearing into the crowd like the traitor he is.
"Sure," I say, because saying no would require explaining why I want to be left alone to stare at traffic and obsess over my wife who doesn't want to be my wife anymore.
Ashley launches into a series of questions about due diligence processes and founder dynamics. She's smart, asks good questions, and under normal circumstances I'd probably enjoy this conversation. But I can't focus on anything she's saying because my brain keeps looping back to Millie.
The way she looked at me outside the fundraiser when I told her I meant the vows. The flatness in her voice when she said "Then you're going to get hurt." How she pulled her hand away like touching me was something she had to protect herself from.
"Duncan? Did you hear me?"
I blink and realize Ashley is standing closer than she was thirty seconds ago. Close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and cloying.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you'd be interested in grabbing coffee sometime. Talk more about your investment philosophy." She smiles up at me, her hand coming to rest on my arm. "Maybe next week?"
She's flirting. Actually flirting, with her hand on my arm and her body angled toward mine in a way that's supposed to read as casual interest. Six months ago I might have responded, might have enjoyed the attention from a woman who's attractive and successful and clearly interested.
Now I feel nothing.
Worse than nothing. I feel annoyed that she's touching me, that she's taking up space that belongs to someone else, that I have to stand here and pretend to care about coffee when all I want is to call Millie and ask her why she's running from something that could actually be good.
"I'm married," I say, pulling my arm back.
Ashley's smile falters slightly. "Oh. Right. I saw the Vogue spread, it was beautiful. Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"I just thought maybe—" She stops, recalibrates. "Never mind. It was nice catching up."
She walks away before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd near the bar. I watch her go and feel nothing except relief that the conversation is over.
Tobias reappears a minute later. "That looked painful."
"It was."
"She was hitting on you."
"I know."
"And you completely shut it down." He studies my face. "You're really gone for her, aren't you? For Millie."
I don't answer because the answer is obvious.
I'm obsessed. I think about her when I wake up, when I'm in meetings, when I'm supposed to be reviewing contracts.
I replay conversations we've had, analyze moments for evidence that she feels the same way, torture myself with the knowledge that in four months she's going to walk away and I'll have to watch her do it.
"What are you going to do?" Tobias asks.
"What can I do? We have a contract. She wants a clean break."
"Fuck the contract. Tell her how you feel."
"I tried that. She told me I was going to get hurt."
"Then try again. And keep trying until she either tells you to stop or admits she feels it too.
" Tobias finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on a nearby table.
"Look, I've known you for eight years. I watched you build this company from nothing, close deals that everyone said were impossible, survive a scandal that should have ended your career.
You don't give up when things get hard. So why are you giving up on her? "
Because loving someone who's already planning to leave is the most painful thing I've ever experienced and I don't know how to stop.
I spend the rest of the party making small talk with people whose names I forget five seconds after they introduce themselves.
A founder pitches me on an app that solves a problem nobody has, an investor asks about my plans for the next fund, and someone from my legal team corners me to discuss contract language for a deal that won't close for another six weeks.
Through all of it, I'm thinking about Millie.
About the way she looks when her guard is down, sitting in that director's chair eating Doritos between takes. How she laughed at something her mother said during dinner, genuine and unfiltered. The morning after we slept together when she woke up in my arms and didn't immediately pull away.
Those are the moments I want. Not the performances for cameras or the carefully staged appearances, but the version of her that exists when she thinks nobody's watching. The woman who's brilliant and complicated and terrified of being hurt again.
I want her to trust me enough to stop running.