Chapter 7 #2
"Avery." I take her face in my hands, making sure she's looking at me. "I've spent years rebuilding this company. But I'd rather lose it all than lose you."
She kisses me again, fierce and desperate, and I taste promise and fear in equal measure.
The next morning, I arrive at the office to find an emergency board meeting scheduled for 10 AM. The email is vague—"discussing matters of corporate governance and professional standards"—but I know exactly what this is about.
For forty-five minutes, I sit in that boardroom and endure thinly veiled suggestions that instead of a promotion to Senior Legal Counsel like originally proposed, perhaps Avery should transfer to a different department "to avoid any appearance of impropriety.
" Richard leads the charge, his tone condescending as he talks about perception, professional boundaries, and the importance of maintaining clear hierarchies.
"Atty. Cole is exactly where she should be," I say, fighting to keep my voice level. "Her work speaks for itself."
"No one's questioning her competence," Richard says, though that's exactly what he's doing. "But surely, you can see how this... situation... might affect team dynamics. Client relationships. Perhaps a lateral move to our Chicago office—"
"No."
"Dylan, be reasonable. We're thinking about what's best for the company."
"The company needs talented attorneys like Avery Cole. Moving her would be a mistake."
Board member Rose Taylor, usually an ally, sighs. "What about your objectivity, Dylan? Can you honestly say that your relationship with Atty. Cole doesn't affect your judgment?"
"My judgment is fine."
"Is it?" Richard leans forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're putting one person above the needs of hundreds of employees. Your father built this company on principles of—"
"Don't." My voice drops dangerously low. "Don't invoke my father's name to justify your small-minded prejudices."
The room goes silent. I've overplayed my hand, and I know it, but I can't sit here and listen to them tear down everything Avery's accomplished.
"Perhaps we all need time to consider the situation," Rose suggests diplomatically. "This isn't a decision to make hastily."
The meeting ends with nothing resolved, but I can read the writing on the wall. They want Avery gone, and if I keep fighting, they'll start questioning my leadership too.
I drive straight to Avery's apartment, taking the stairs two at a time, my head full of arguments and strategies.
But when she opens the door, I can see in her eyes that she already knows.
She has been crying. Someone from the board probably called her, warned her, made her feel like she's the problem.
"They want me to transfer," she says without preamble.
"They can want whatever they like. You're not going anywhere."
She steps aside to let me in, and I notice a half-empty wine glass on her coffee table.
"I can't be the reason you lose everything you've worked for." Her voice is steady, but her hands shake as she closes the door. "Your reputation, your family's legacy—"
"None of that matters without you."
"Don't say that." She whirls on me, eyes flashing. "You saved that company, Dylan. You protected hundreds of jobs, you made your father proud. And now the board is questioning your judgment because of me."
"Because of them. Because of their narrow-minded—"
She presses her fingers to her temples. "Please, just... Can we at least think that option through?"
"You're seriously considering leaving when you were so close to a promotion? Leaving because things got complicated?"
"I'm trying to protect you!"
"I don't need protection. I need you."
"For how long?" The question explodes out of her. "How long before you resent me for costing you everything? How long before you realize that I'm not worth losing your company over?"
"That will never happen."
"You don't know that." She's spiraling now, pacing her small living room.
The words are out before I can stop them, cruel, sharp, and immediately regrettable. "You're doing exactly what Oliver said you'd do. Running the second things get hard."
Avery flinches like I've struck her, and the look on her face—betrayal, hurt, and confirmation of her worst fears—makes me want to take it back immediately.
"Avery, I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." Her voice is quiet now, defeated. "And you're right. This is what I do. This is who I am."
"No, that's not—"
"I need you to leave." She won't look at me now, arms wrapped around herself. "Please. I just... I need space. A few days. To think."
I want to pull her into my arms and prove that we're worth fighting for. But I've already said too much, pushed too hard, thrown her ex's words in her face like weapons.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'm sorry, Avery. For everything."
And with that, I leave—walk out of her apartment and into the evening air that feels too cold. I sit in my car in her parking garage, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, replaying every word and hating myself for most of them.
My phone buzzes with a text from Jake: Family dinner Sunday. Mom's making that roast you like. You and Avery coming?
I stare at the message, remembering how comfortable Avery was with my family, how natural it felt to have her there.
Instead of answering Jake, I text my father: Can I come over tomorrow?
His response is immediate: Door's always open, son.
I drive home to my too-quiet penthouse, where Avery's coffee mug still sits by the sink, and one of her legal pads is forgotten on my dining table. The space feels hollow without her in it, like all the expensive furniture and floor-to-ceiling views mean nothing if she's not here to share them.
For the first time since meeting Avery, I'm genuinely afraid. Not of losing the company or my reputation, not of the board's threats or office gossip. I'm afraid of losing her—of pushing her away with my careless words, of becoming another reason she believes love means sacrifice.
I'm afraid that in trying to fight for her, I've given her every reason to run.