Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
sam
New York always felt different after a long trip.
It’s like the city had shifted slightly in my absence. It has the same skyline, the same noise, but not quite the same version of me returning to it.
And to be honest, that’s something I really like and enjoy.
After I got home, I slept for ten hours straight. No alarm, no Rose banging around in the kitchen, just me and the silence of our overpriced, over-loved Upper East Side apartment.
When I finally opened my eyes, everything felt… heavier. Not in a jetlag kind of way, also yes, but it was more like an emotional whiplash. I stared at the ceiling for a while before reaching for my phone.
‘Max Hayes’, just a name on the screen, but my thumb hesitated. Against my better judgment, I called him. He picked up after two rings. His voice sounded softer than I remembered. He sounded kinda tired.
We talked for about three minutes, enough time for him to tell me that he wanted to see me. He was planning a family dinner so he could tell us more about what’s going on. Naomi, Susan, him, and of course, me.
“Okay," I said. “I’ll come.”
I wasn’t sure why I agreed to this. Maybe it was guilt, maybe. Or maybe it was more curiosity. Or maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see if this man who shaped so much of my life without ever really knowing me at all, had finally started to shrink in the shadow he always cast.
Walking into my childhood home always made me straighten my spine and hold my head high. Maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was childhood trauma.
What the hell do I know? I’ll talk to my therapist about this later.
This wasn’t a house to raise some kids and build a family. This was a house built for power. It has marble floors, white walls, and an oil painting of my father looming in the hallway like a corporate god.
Who the fuck does that in their home? Well, a narcissist.
Susan greeted me at the door like she didn’t resent every decision I’d ever made.
“You’re late, but I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her lips curving into what I assumed was her version of a smile.
Fuck her. “Traffic was bad,” I said, brushing past her perfume cloud. It smelled like wealth and disapproval.
Naomi was already in the living room, with a glass of red in hand. Her posture was straight, and her bun was tighter than the tension in the air. I gave her a quick hug; the kind you give coworkers at awkward holiday parties.
“Glad you made it,” she said, not sounding particularly glad, but not as cold as I expected.
She sounded warmer, like she did over the phone.
“Wouldn’t miss a family gathering,” I replied, my tone edged just enough to sting if you knew me well.
Naomi did. She arched an eyebrow, took a deep breath, but said nothing.
“Shall we sit?” Dad’s voice came from behind us, slightly raspy, slightly slower than I’m used to. He looked… older. More fragile than I remembered. Still sharp in a navy blazer and slacks, but softer if that makes sense.
We gathered around the long mahogany dining table. The food was plated. There was steak, roasted potatoes, and sautéed greens. Probably catered by someone with no idea this family hadn’t eaten together in months.
The clink of silverware filled the silence until Dad cleared his throat. “I’ll just get to it,” he said, looking at Naomi, then at me. “I have liver cancer. It’s treatable, not terminal. But it’s going to take some time and energy to manage.” I didn’t speak. Naomi nodded once. “Stage?” she asked.
“Two,” he replied. “Caught relatively early given my lifestyle.” Susan reached over and placed a hand on him.
Her diamond bracelet glittered. “We thank God for it,” she said.
“We’re optimistic.” I bit into my steak and chewed, as if it were the only thing keeping me from talking.
“As you may know, I’m stepping back from the company,” Dad continued.
“Effective immediately. It’s what my doctors are advising. I need to rest and focus on treatment.”
I already knew that part. What I didn’t know was how he’d spin it. “I’ve asked the board to transition Naomi into Head of Legal,” he said, turning to her. “It’s time.” Oh, there it is. The spin.
“I’m ready,” Naomi said without hesitation. “I’ve been ready.” Of course, she has. “And Samantha,” he added, and I knew this was coming. I could feel the weight of it pressing down like a storm front.
“There’s an opportunity for you, too. We’d like to bring you on as an International Business Strategist.” I almost laughed. Strategist.
That’s what they called it when they wanted to lure the black sheep of the family back into the pen. “Because I speak four languages and have a passport with more stamps than diamonds on Susan’s jewelry box? No offense,” I asked, forcing a smile.
Dad sighed. “Because you understand global movement. The culture, the trends we’re living in. You’ve seen how people work, how they think. We could use that.”
“Right,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Because nothing says family like roping your daughter into a corporate empire she’s spent her adult life avoiding.”
“You’d be paid well,” Susan chimed in, as if that mattered to me.
“Seven figures. You’ll have travel perks, full autonomy of your work, and your own office.
” She talks like she still works at the company, but in truth, she’s just the mistress-turned-wife now.
“I already have travel perks and full autonomy.”
“I think that if you really care about your father, you might think about it,” she replied sharply. That one landed. I looked at Dad again. He looked tired, but hopeful. And for once, not in a manipulative way, more like in a real ‘I want you there’ way.
Like maybe he really meant it.
“I just want to offer you the choice,” he said, softer this time.
“You don’t have to say yes tonight. But I hope you’ll consider it.
” Naomi leaned forward. “You can still keep flying or doing whatever it is you do, Samantha. But this? This is our legacy. One day it won’t be a choice, it’ll be an obligation. ”
“Good to know the guilt hasn’t aged a day,” I said, standing.
“Samantha,” Dad warned.
“I’ll think about it,” I replied, grabbing my coat. “I will. But please don’t expect me to pretend like this isn’t complicated for me.” Naomi stood too, ever the collected one.
“It’s family. It’s always complicated.” I turned to her. “Maybe for you it's a legacy, but for me, it’s something I had to escape just to breathe.” Susan opened her mouth, but Dad raised a hand. “Let her go. Let her think.” I nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”
And with that, I walked out, into the cold air, into the night, into the city that still felt more like home than that house ever did.
I get to my apartment, but hesitate at the entrance.
I need a walk.
New York was quiet tonight. The steam rising from subway grates, the occasional honk, the rhythm of footsteps that weren’t mine.
I walked aimlessly, past boutiques I couldn’t afford or didn’t want to.
Cafés where I once dreamt about becoming a writer, galleries that felt like therapy.
All these little places I’d built a life outside the shadow of my last name.
And yet tonight, that shadow had followed me home.
When I finally stepped back into the apartment, it was like being wrapped in a version of myself I still liked.
Warm lights, the smell of Rose’s overpriced candles.
The distant hum of our shared playlist in the background.
Rose was curled up on the couch, wearing a hoodie and holding two glasses of wine.
“You’re late,” she said, but her eyes were soft, curious. She already knew. “I needed a walk,” I murmured, kicking off my boots with more force than necessary.
“I know. I’ve been following your location for the past hour or so,” I laughed and flopped onto the couch beside her and accepted the wine. She waited. She always did.
“Talk to me,” she said. Just that. No pressure, no judgment.
Just an open door and a key already in my hand.
So, I did. I told her everything. I told her about the dinner and the infamous oil painting of my father that is still hanging there like a warning.
Naomi’s too-easy yes, like she’d been rehearsing it since birth.
The job offer. International Business Strategist, what a laugh.
As if putting a pretty title on it would make it feel less like a trap.
But mostly, I told her about my father. Even though I always felt neglected by him, by my mom, by all of it, he looked softer tonight, more human, and that shook me more than the word cancer ever could.
Rose didn’t interrupt me. She just nodded in all the right moments and sipped her wine while I talked. Her eyes were doing that thing they always did, wide and understanding, reflecting everything I didn’t want to say out loud.
“I just…” I exhaled slowly.
“I don’t want to owe them anything, Rose. Not my time, not my mind, not even my fucking language skills. I worked so hard to be something outside of Hayes, outside of him, and now he’s dangling a seven-figure role like a consolation prize.”
Rose didn’t speak. She just reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear like she used to do when I was sick or heartbroken or halfway through a breakdown.
And then, softly, “You don’t owe them, Sam.
But maybe, just maybe, you owe yourself the chance to do something big.
Something that uses every part of you. And this could be that. On your terms, obviously.”
I looked at her, the lump in my throat rising like a wave. “So… take the job?” She shrugged. “Try it. Take the money. Run the game. Make it yours. And if it sucks? Walk away. But don’t say no just because it’s them. Don’t let spite make your choices.”
I swallowed hard. God, I hated when she made sense. “I just don’t know if I can go back to that world without losing myself.”