Chapter 27
RING SHOPPING AND REGRET
VICTOR
Eight days after the gala, I'm standing in a jewelry store in the Diamond District watching Roman Ellis pick up custom wedding rings while trying not to think about the fact that I'm supposed to be at a wedding right now.
The invitation to Amelia Beaumont’s wedding seemed a no-brainer at the time.
With the arrangement that Harper and I had set up, attending events together was always priority number one, and with her mother’s blessing, it was yet another opportunity prove that I could play the part of the appropriate husband.
Mission unaccomplished, apparently.
Today, the December has turned Manhattan into a frozen hellscape—twenty degrees with wind that could chafe a penguin’s ass, a biting cold that seeps into your bones and stays there.
Inside the jewelry store, it's warm and bright and filled with symbols of love and commitment that make me want to set something on fire.
Within minutes of arriving, I know that this was a mistake.
Coming with Roman to pick up his rings. Agreeing to be his Best Man. Pretending I'm fine when I'm very clearly not fine.
"Mr. Ellis," the jeweler—a small man with thick glasses and careful hands—sets two small boxes on the velvet display mat. "Your rings are ready."
Roman opens the first box, and even I have to admit the rings are beautiful, simple platinum bands with some kind of engraving inside that I can't see from here.
"Perfect," Roman says, his voice doing something I've never heard before—going soft, vulnerable.
The jeweler smiles. "The inscription came out beautifully. 'Two souls, one journey.' Very romantic."
"It's from a poem Calli loves."
"Your fiancée has excellent taste."
"She does. Which is why she's marrying me despite my many flaws."
The jeweler laughs. "Love is about accepting flaws, yes? The Japanese have a concept—kintsugi. The art of repairing broken pottery with gold. The idea is that the breakage and repair become part of the object's history, making it more beautiful."
"That's very poetic," Roman says.
"It's very true. We are all broken in some way. Love is finding someone who sees the cracks and chooses to fill them with gold instead of walking away."
The words wash over me like an acid bath—stinging wherever they touch me. They settle inside my chest, burning.
"Victor?" Roman's voice cuts through my spiral. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"You look like you're about to throw up."
“I said I'm fine."
Roman exchanges a look with the jeweler that clearly says "he is not fine."
"We'll take them," Roman says, pulling out his credit card. "Thank you for the beautiful work."
"My pleasure. And congratulations on your wedding. I hope you have many happy years together."
"Thank you."
We leave the store, and the December cold hits like a slap, and Roman immediately whirls on me, blue eyes burning worse than the sharp, acerbic weather.
"Okay. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"You've been sulking for eight days. That's not nothing."
"I don't sulk."
"You absolutely sulk. You've been sulking since the gala. Since you fired Harper and—" He freezes, glowering. "Are you still convinced you made the right decision?"
"Yes."
“Bull. Shit.”
"She was in contact with FoodFirst. About confidential acquisition information. That's a fireable offense."
"She told them no."
"After considering it. After weighing her options."
“Maybe she was desperate. Or scared. Or didn't know how to ask for help." Roman stops walking and turns to face me fully, running a hand through his dark auburn hair. "Victor. I'm going to say this once, as your friend. You fucked up."
"I protected my company."
"You protected yourself.” Roman crosses his arms. "She told FoodFirst no. She walked away from money she desperately needed because she loved you more."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I talked to Rachel. Who talked to Harper's sister Margot. Who confirmed that Harper told Vanessa Chu to go to hell. Before you even asked her to be your girlfriend."
“What the—“ My jaw works. “I guess I can thank Rachel for your current wealth of knowledge.”
He reaches out, placing one oversize hand on my shoulder.
"Rachel is worried about you. Shit, we all are. Because you're miserable, Victor. You won the board vote. You kept your job. You should be celebrating. Instead, you're here, sulking in the Diamond District while your wife—"
"Ex-wife. Soon to be ex-wife."
"—is at her sister's wedding. Alone. Probably miserable too."
I inhale deeply, taking in a mouthful of cold air that freezes my lungs.
The freeze-burn is a welcome distraction from the twisting that my stomach is doing right now, thinking about exactly where Harper is right now.
At the courthouse. Watching Amelia marry her fiancé Declan. Then heading to her parents' house in Queens for the reception.
The reception I was invited to.
By Harper's mother, who put me on the guest list before anyone could stop her. Who sent me a follow-up text three days ago asking if I had any dietary restrictions and whether I preferred red or white wine.
I didn't respond.
Because going to that wedding would mean seeing Harper. Talking to Harper. Admitting that I've spent the past eight days staring at video game wedding memorabilia and wondering if I made the worst mistake of my goddamn life.
"I can't go," I say finally.
"Why not?"
"Because I fired her. Called her a liar. I compared her to Isabelle." My voice drops. "I destroyed her, Roman. And I don't know how to fix that."
"You start by showing up."
"Showing up isn't enough."
"It's a start." Roman puts his hand on my shoulder. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to be a relationship expert. I spent years convinced I was too broken for anything real. But Calli—she saw through all that. She saw the parts of me I tried to hide, and she loved me anyway."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because you didn't accuse Calli of corporate espionage and fire her at a public event."
"No, but I did plenty of other stupid shit. And she forgave me. Because that's what love is—choosing someone even when they're being an idiot."
"Harper doesn't love me anymore. Not after what I did."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. Because I know what I said to her. I know how I looked at her. And I know that if someone did that to me, I'd never forgive them."
Roman is quiet for a moment.
"So what are you going to do? Just give up? Sign the divorce papers and pretend the past two months didn't happen?"
"It's the smart thing to do."
"It’s that Victor the Cowardly CEO thing to do.”
I snort, shrugging his hand from my shoulder.
My best friends mean the world to me. They have since Harvard Business School. But honestly, if I thought I could get away with decking them on a regular basis, I would risk the assault charges.
"I need to get back to work," I say, changing the subject.
"It's Saturday."
"Work doesn't care about weekends."
“Dude, come on—“
"I'll see you at the rehearsal dinner next Friday. Congratulations on the rings. They're beautiful."
I walk away before he can argue, heading toward the subway that will take me back to the office.
Because work helps.
Work has always helped.
When things ended with Isabelle, I buried myself in StreamEats. Built the company into something successful. Proved I didn't need anyone.
It should work now.
Except it doesn't.
Because I didn't love Isabelle. Not really. I thought I did, but looking back, what I loved was the idea of her. The performance. The image of what we could be together.
But Harper?
Harper is different.
Harper made me laugh. Harper challenged me. Harper fit into my life in ways I didn't know were possible—cooking in my kitchen, charming my friends, showing up at Thanksgiving with her sisters and making my penthouse feel like a home.
Harper made me want to be better.
And I destroyed her anyway.
* * *
The office is nearly empty when I arrive.
Saturday afternoon.
Most people are home with their families. Living their lives.
I take the elevator to the executive floor and head to my office, passing Rachel's empty desk and the conference rooms where we film content.
Where Harper used to film Weeknight Wins.
I don't go in.
Instead, I head to my office, close the door, and try to focus on work.
There's always work to do. Emails to answer. Strategy to plan. The CulinaryVision-FoodFirst partnership to counter.
I open my laptop, staring at the screen.
Can't focus.
Because all I can think about is Harper's face when I showed her those screenshots. The way her expression crumbled. The way she tried to explain and I wouldn't listen.
The way she said "I love you" like it was the last true thing she had left.
I close my laptop. This isn't working.
I stand, intending to leave, when I hear voices in the hallway.
One voice, specifically.
Patricia Franklin.
I freeze.
"—I appreciate you sending those screenshots," Patricia is saying. "They were very useful."
I move closer to my office door, listening.
"And you're certain Ms. Beaumont turned down your offer?" Patricia continues. She's on the phone, her voice carrying down the empty hallway.
My blood goes cold.
"Thanksgiving weekend, you said? Before Mr. Kade asked her to be his girlfriend?" A pause. "Interesting. And she hasn't contacted you since?"
Another pause.
"No, I agree. It's unfortunate that the information came to light after the board vote. If we'd known earlier, we could have used it to remove Mr. Kade entirely." Patricia's voice is cool, professional. "But at least we've successfully ended their relationship. That was the primary objective."
I open my office door very quietly.
Patricia is standing near the conference room, phone to her ear, completely unaware that I'm fifteen feet away.
"Yes, the StreamEats-FoodFirst partnership is still on track," she continues. "Once Victor is removed—and he will be removed eventually—I'll be positioned to take over as interim CEO. Then we can move forward with the merger."
My hands curl into fists.