CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NASH
NASH
I woke up with a start, struggling to find my bearings in the unfamiliar, darkened room.
Realization crashed over me. I was at the hotel. Where I’d been for the past three nights. Living out of my suitcase, ignoring Clara’s texts, ordering room service I could barely eat.
It was six a.m. Earlier than my normal wake time, but these days my monkey brain barely let me sleep more than a few hours at a time. I’d been waking at the butt crack of dawn even if I was dead tired. I pulled myself out of bed, immediately reaching for my phone.
A text from Clara awaited me, sent last night.
CLARA: When are you going to talk to me?
I swiped my phone off, doubts creeping in. I wanted to talk to her, desperately. But I was so fucking hurt. And I had no handbook for how to deal with this shit.
This is why you’re better off alone.
Nobody to do you dirty.
Nobody to lie to you.
It’s just easier to leave.
My logical brain was more than happy to pore over all the reasons why falling in love with Clara had been an awful idea. But it was getting harder to believe them the longer our separation dragged on.
Truth was, I just wanted her at my side again. But I didn’t know how to get my fucking brain on board.
Off to the gym it was. I headed to the hotel workout room, pumped some iron, got my sweat on, and then got ready for the day. When I breezed into the office, Archer was waiting for me in the conference room.
“Morning,” he said, glancing up from his laptop screen. “Based on the bags under your eyes, I won’t say it’s good.”
I grunted, slipping into the chair across from him. “It’s a morning. I’ll give you that. What’s on the docket for today?”
Archer tapped at his computer for a few more seconds, then looked over at me again. “You still at the hotel?”
“Yeah, why?”
He shook his head, pushing the laptop aside with a sigh. “How long are you planning to punish Clara like this?”
I laughed humorlessly. “I’m not punishing her.”
“You might not think it’s punishment, but I’ve been in her shoes plenty of times. You’re disappointed by someone, or they don’t live up to expectations, then you book it in the other direction and ice them out.”
"This is different." I crossed my arms, instantly annoyed. Archer didn’t look convinced, and I didn’t care. My phone rang with a call from an unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but a tug of dread in my gut convinced me to swipe the phone on right before it stopped ringing.
"This is Nash.”
"Mr. Nightingale, this is Gerald Whitmore.” I didn’t recognize the caller’s voice, nor his faintly British accent. “I’m calling on behalf of your grandfather's inheritance committee."
“Oh my God,” I muttered, hurrying to switch the call to speaker phone. Archer's head snapped up, reading my expression.
"Mr. Whitmore.” I cleared my throat, straightening my tie as though he could see me. “I wasn't expecting to hear from you directly. I’ve been waiting on a response from the legal team."
"Yes, well, recent information has come to our attention that requires immediate discussion." His voice was clipped, professional.
“My wife and I have been eagerly awaiting a date to meet with you and…whoever else is part of the committee,” I said. “We are ready for the interview.”
He paused for just a tad too long. I locked eyes with Archer across the table, and I saw the same panic there that I felt swirling in me. "We won’t be needing an interview. The committee has completed its review of your marriage to Clara Whitehall."
My mouth parted and I struggled to find words. That didn’t seem right. “Well…this is unexpected. Wh-…why…how is this possible?"
“Some information was submitted that voided the necessity of our personal interview process,” he said, still sounding eerily chipper and formal.
"I'm afraid we've determined that your marriage does not meet the criteria outlined in your grandfather's will.
Specifically, the requirement that the marriage be entered into for purposes of love and mutual commitment, not financial gain. "
The room tilted. "What information?"
"Documentation was submitted to family court regarding your wife's custody case, a marriage contract outlining financial arrangements and terms. The court filing was submitted by a third party and reviewed by the committee."
A third party? What fucking third party? It was too much information to process right now. "That contract was submitted as part of Clara's defense—"
"The contents of the contract are quite clear, Mr. Nightingale.
This was a marriage of convenience with explicit terms, executed only for financial gain on both your parts.
Your grandfather's will specifically excludes such arrangements.
" He paused, his voice softening only slightly.
"I'm sorry, but the committee has unanimously voted to deny your petition for inheritance.
The funds will be distributed to the alternate beneficiaries as outlined in the will. "
Everything went loud and hot inside my body at the same time. I felt like my eyes were about to pop out of my head. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I blinked. Breathed. Existed.
“There has to be some kind of appeal process…"
"There is not. The committee's decision is final. I'm very sorry, Mr. Nightingale. I know your grandfather had high hopes for you after an unfortunate separation throughout your childhood. We wish you the best."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone on the conference table, unable to move. I wasn’t sure if thirty seconds or thirty minutes passed.
"Holy fucking shit." Archer's voice seemed to come from very far away. "So that's it? You just…don’t get it?”
"Two billion dollars. Gone." The words tasted like ash. "We don’t even get to find out who our fucking family is.”
The words hung in the air between us like a rancid smell we couldn’t get rid of.
"We said fuck them. Remember? And listen, we can work with this.” Archer pulled out his phone, already switching into crisis mode.
“We sell the Connecticut properties. Maybe the Miami condos too.
That'll free up enough to keep fighting Cross for a few more months, if the Gideon project doesn’t go through. "
"It won't be enough."
"Then we find investors. We pitch the Gideon project to private equity—"
"Who's going to invest in a project that doesn't have permits? That's stuck in a lawsuit with the city?" I shook my head. "We're dead in the water, Arch."
"So what, we just give up? Let Cross win? Let those families in Queens get displaced?"
"I don't know!" The words came out sharp, frustrated. "I don't know what we do. I don't know how to fix this.” I stood abruptly, some thoughts finally congealing within me. “I need to go.”
"Where are you going?"
"To my penthouse. I need to tell Clara." The words felt heavy, final. Like a eulogy. "She should hear it from me."
Archer looked worried, like he didn’t fully believe me. “What are you going to tell her?”
I shrugged. “The truth.” When he looked like he was about to start chastising me about Clara again, I added, "Just start running those numbers. Figure out what we can liquidate. I'll be back as soon as I can."
The penthouse was quiet when I walked in. As soon as I shut the door behind me, regret washed over me. Being here, being home, in the place that had become ours, made me forget all this tension and stress and disappointment.
"Clara?" I called out, heading into the living room. I listened for a sign that she was here, but all I could hear was the thumping of my own heart. Urging me to find her, pull her into my arms, and beg for her forgiveness.
But that didn’t make sense to my head.
And the war within me continued.
Clara walked through the kitchen, eyes red-rimmed, wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants.
She stopped before reaching the foyer, like maybe she wasn’t sure I was real.
As my gaze washed over her, all I could hear was the urging of my heart.
Urging me to go to her, pull her into my arms, and never let go.
But walking further down that path would only bring more pain. More chances for disappointment, for failure. I’d learned this already. How many more times did I need to learn it? With her, it had happened twice.
I wasn’t dumb enough to let it happen a third time.
"Nash." Her voice was hoarse. "You came back."
"We need to talk."
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “Yeah, I’ve been saying that for the past three days."
"A representative from the committee called." I stayed in the foyer, needing the distance. My heart and head were waging war right now, and I had no idea which one was going to win. "They told me they made their decision already, without an interview. They found out about the contract."
Her face fell, lips turning downward. "Oh, no. That’s not—fuck."
"Yep. It's over. We lost." Each word came out flat, emotionless.
She covered her mouth with a hand, eyes welling with tears. "Nash, I'm so sorry. I didn't know they would find out. I had hoped…I…I just didn’t think…"
"No. You didn't think." My words were ice, because that’s what I was used to. And in that moment, I knew my brain had won the battle. "You didn't think about involving me. You didn't think I deserved to be a part of that."
She shook her head. "It wasn't like that! Preston's lawyers— Somehow, they knew. Or suspected. Heather said it was going to come out whether we liked it or not. It was about Mia. I would burn this penthouse to the ground for Mia."
"You should have called me. You should have told me what was happening." The anger was surging again, reminding me of why my head knew it was better to step away from this altogether. “You made decisions about this marriage without me. Decisions that affect all of us.”
Her throat bobbed and she pressed a hand to her forehead. “I wish you had been there with me, Nash. It was high pressure. It was urgent. I needed to take action. It’s not fair that you’re holding this against me."
"What's not fair is three days of you walking around with this secret and not saying a word." I balled my fists, powerless to stop the hurt slashing through me. "I thought we’d had a better understanding than that. I trusted you. Do you get what that means? I fucking trusted you.”
"You can still trust me,” she insisted, the tears streaming down her cheeks now. “We can work through this.”
"We? There is no 'we' Clara." The words came out cold, final. As much as they placated my head, my heart broke from hearing them escape my lips. "Not after you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“Clara, we both knew what this was. From the beginning. It was stupid for either of us to pretend otherwise."
Her chest hitched as she held in a sob, her hand clamped over her mouth. She shook her head, eyes glistening. “You’re being so outrageous right now.”
"Don't." I held up a hand, unable to hear those words. "What was outrageous was us thinking that we had a shot at making this work. I'll make sure you have resources for the custody fight. I'm not going to abandon Mia. But that’s all I can give."
Tears streamed down her face. Her entire being was broken, cracked in two, and I’d been the cause. It hurt me just as much as it was hurting her, but I couldn’t let her know that. All I knew how to do was buck up, put on a facade, and get through it like the pain wasn’t killing me.
I thought the contract would have protected me from this. But I’d fallen for her too fast, too hard, too deep. The only way to stay safe now was to end things, irreparably.
"I thought you loved me," she whispered, her voice thick with tears.
I turned toward the door, my hand stopping at the knob. For a moment, I considered telling her the truth—that I loved her, and I was running, and I didn’t know how to stop running. That the only safe option was to end things, because I was so terrified of being left behind again.
But I said nothing. I walked out and closed the door, heading for the elevator.
I needed to get back to work. To get back to normal. To remember what life felt like without this liability sitting on my chest. This heavy, painful weight that could suffocate me at any time.
Being in love with someone.
I didn’t allow myself to feel anything as I rode the elevator down. Instead, I checked my phone, which had been on silent during our chat. I found a new email in my thread with the Queens residents.
“I think they’re going to begin evicting people next month,” one of the tenants wrote. “The building sold and Mr. Cross said he expects us out by a certain date. If we don’t comply, the police will get involved.”
I stared at the words until they blurred together. I wanted to feel something, to sit up, to take action. But I couldn’t. Because where the fuck would I begin?
Everything was crumbling around me.
I'd lost the inheritance.
I'd lost the battle against Sebastian.
And I’d personally made sure I lost my anchor in the tumultuous sea. My grounding force. My beautiful, hazel-eyed woman that I loved.