Chapter 20
She didn’t bother with the overheads, just the desk lamp, its warm circle illuminating her laptop and the stack of files she'd left Friday afternoon. That was before, when she still had something to look forward to after the work was done.
Astoria sat down and opened her laptop.
The weekend had been unbearable. Forty-eight hours of silence in that house, her thoughts circling like vultures over carrion.
She'd tried to work from home—spreadsheets, projections, emails that could have waited until Monday—but the quiet kept pressing in.
She kept reaching for her phone, expecting a text that wasn't coming.
Work was better. Work was always there for her.
She pulled up the quarterly reports and began to read.
Gloria found her at seven, already deep into a financial analysis she'd technically delegated to Marcus three weeks ago.
“You’re here early.” Gloria stood in the doorway, her coat still on, a coffee in hand.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Astoria didn’t look up from her screen. “I want to review the Cascadia projections before the investor meeting on Wednesday. Marcus’s numbers seemed overly optimistic.”
There was a pause, and Astoria could feel Gloria studying her, the same way Gloria had studied her for the last ten years, cataloguing the signs that something was wrong.
“I’ll get you a coffee,” Gloria said finally.
“I’ve already had two cups.”
“I’ll get you breakfast then.”
“I’m not hungry.”
There was another pause, longer this time, and Astoria forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on the screen until she heard Gloria’s footsteps retreat down the hall.
The numbers in the report blurred. She blinked them back into focus and kept working.
By Wednesday, the new pattern had calcified into a routine: office by five-thirty, meetings starting at eight, lunch delivered to her desk and left untouched until Gloria quietly removed it at two.
She had more meetings, more calls, more problems to solve that weren’t her own heart. She always got back home after ten, sometimes eleven, and her sleep came in fragments—two hours here, three hours there, never deep enough to dream.
The investor meeting went flawlessly. Astoria stood at the head of the conference table in her sharpest suit, the Cascadia development plans projected behind her, and delivered a presentation that made three venture capitalists reach for their checkbooks.
She answered every question with precision.
She smiled at the right moments and sustained eye contact that communicated confidence.
No one in that room would have guessed she was running on caffeine and spite.
Afterward, Gerald caught her in the hallway.
“Astoria.” He fell into step behind her, his silvery hair catching the fluorescent light. “I wanted to update you on the case. Rachel Hartwell’s team has filed their pre-trial motions and—”
“I don’t need updates.” The words came out sharper than she intended. She kept walking, her stride too fast and her heels clicking an irritated rhythm. “That’s what I pay you for.”
Gerald’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’ve always wanted to be kept informed.”
“The situation has changed.” She stopped at the elevator, stabbing the button more times than needed. “Handle it and bill me. I don’t want to hear about it unless something requires my direct attention.”
She could feel the heat of his eyes on her. Gerald had been her attorney long enough to know when she was deflecting, to notice she hadn’t asked a single question about strategy or timelines, and definitely to notice that she flinched, almost imperceptibly, when he said Rachel Hartwell’s team.
The elevator dinged open, and Astoria stepped inside. “Let me know if I’m needed.” The doors closed between them.
Thursday morning, Astoria stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and assessed it.
She had dark circles beneath her eyes, visible even through expensive concealer expertly applied.
Her cheekbones were sharper than they’d been a week ago from dropping weight because she was forgetting to eat.
Her skin had a grayish cast under the bright vanity lights, the look of someone who was running on empty.
She looked like hell, like someone who was falling apart.
Good thing appearances are a performance, she thought grimly. And I’ve always been an excellent performer.
She finished applying her makeup, dressed in a blazer and slacks that fit slightly looser than it had last Monday, and drove to the office in silence.
The day passed in a blur of meetings: finance review at nine, conference call with the Portland property managers at ten-thirty, and an afternoon consumed by contract negotiations that required every ounce of focus she could muster.
Between meetings, alone in her office, the mask slipped.
She caught herself staring at nothing, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. Another time, she reached for her phone to text, “Saw the most ridiculous headline today. Made me think of—” Her thumbs stilled when she realized there was no one to text.
Astoria deleted the letters one by one, watching them vanish from the screen, then she set her phone face-down on her desk and pulled up another spreadsheet.
At six o’clock, Gloria appeared in her doorway. “Nancy Ballard called. She wants to see you tomorrow. She said she’ll be in the building for another meeting and asked if you had thirty minutes.”
Nancy Ballard: board member for sixteen years, self-made tech fortune, one of the few people in Astoria’s professional life who’d earned something akin to respect. They weren’t friends—Astoria didn’t have friends—but Nancy had always been direct with her in a way that felt almost like honesty.
“Fine,” Astoria said. “Put her on my calendar.”
Gloria lingered a few beats after the implied dismissal. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“I have work to do.”
“Astoria.” Gloria’s voice softened in a way that made something twist in Astoria’s chest. “Whatever happened, you can’t keep this up. You’re going to burn out.”
For a moment, Astoria almost told her. She almost let the words spill out—I met someone, I let someone in, she left, everyone leaves, Valerie was right about me—but the impulse died as quickly as it rose. What good would it do? Gloria couldn’t fix this; nobody could.
“I’m fine,” Astoria said. She looked up to find Gloria still watching her. “I’ll leave by eight. Promise.”
She left at ten-thirty, driving home through empty streets to a dark house that still smelled faintly of the lilies she’d thrown out three days ago because they reminded her of Miller’s perfume.
She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried since Friday night, standing in her living room after Miller’s taillights had disappeared down the driveway.
The tears had come then—hot and furious, the kind of crying that left her throat raw and her eyes swollen—and then they’d stopped and nothing she did could make them start again.
The numbness was almost worse. At least tears meant feeling something.
Astoria poured herself a glass of wine, drank half of it standing at the kitchen counter, and went to bed without dinner.
Tomorrow, Nancy Ballard would look at her and see exactly what Gloria saw, what Gerald saw, what everyone who looked closely enough could see: that Astoria Shepry was crumbling apart.
She’d have to perform harder, build the walls higher, and become so perfectly controlled that no one could find the cracks.
It was the only way she would survive this.
The next afternoon, Astoria was summoned to the small conference room on the twenty-fourth floor.
Nancy Ballard was already waiting when Astoria arrived, standing at the window with her arms crossed and her sleek black hair pulled back in her usual, no-nonsense twist. She turned when Astoria entered, and her eyes did a quick sweep before her expression settled into something guarded.
“Close the door,” Nancy said.
Astoria did, then gestured toward the table. “Gloria said you wanted thirty minutes. I have a call at three, so—”
“Sit down, Astoria.”
It wasn’t a request. Nancy had built a tech empire from nothing, sold it for nine figures, and spent the last decade serving on boards and funding startups run by women. She didn't tolerate nonsense, and she didn't waste time on pleasantries when something needed to be said.
Astoria complied.
Nancy took the chair across from her, close enough that Astoria couldn’t avoid her gaze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Astoria pretended to be interested in the dust motes floating in a sunbeam slanting in through the window.
“What’s going on with you?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t.” Nancy’s voice was sharp. “I’ve known you for thirteen years.
I watched you build this company from a handful of properties into something extraordinary.
I’ve seen you handle hostile takeover attempts, market crashes, and a global pandemic without breaking a sweat.
” She leaned forward. “And yet, I’ve never seen you like this. ”
Astoria kept her face neutral. “The divorce has been demanding, but I’m managing it.”
“You're not managing anything. You're drowning.” Nancy held up a hand, ticking off points on her fingers.
“You've lost weight, visible even in a week.
You're in this building before dawn and after midnight.
Marcus tells me you're redoing analyses he's already completed.
Jennifer says you seemed distracted in Wednesday's investor meeting, even though you performed well enough to close the deal.” She dropped her hand.
“Something happened, and it's affecting everything.”
The words landed like blows, each one hitting home and unavoidable. Astoria felt her walls straining, the architecture of control threatening to buckle under the weight of someone actually seeing her.
“I’m handling it,” she said and hated how thin her voice sounded.
“You’re not handling it. You’re running away from it, whatever ‘it’ is.” Nancy’s gaze softened uncharacteristically, just slightly. “I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to know, but I’ve watched enough people self-destruct to recognize the signs. And you’re showing all of them.”
Astoria looked away, fixing her eyes on the window and the gray harbor just beyond. Her throat felt tight. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Here’s what I do know,” Nancy continued.
“Valerie wants you to fall apart. She wants you to lose focus, make mistakes, and give her ammunition. Every day you spend barely functioning is a day she gets closer to winning.” She paused.
“Is that what you want? To hand her everything you’ve built because you couldn’t hold yourself together? ”
The words struck something deep. Astoria’s hands curled into fists beneath the table. “No,” she said quietly.
“Then get it together.” Nancy’s voice wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was the voice of someone who’d survived her own battles and knew what it took. “Whatever this is, it’ll pass. But only if you survive it and don’t let it take you down.”
Astoria forced herself to meet Nancy’s eyes. “And if I can’t?”
“You can.” Nancy held her gaze. “You’re the strongest person I know, Astoria.
You clawed your way out of nothing and built an empire.
You survived a marriage with a woman who tried to break you.
You’ll survive this too, but not like this.
Not by running yourself into the ground and pretending you’re fine when anyone with eyes can see you’re not. ”
Astoria felt something cracking inside her chest, something that wanted to break open and spill out all the pain she’d been holding at bay, including the knowledge that Valerie had been right all along: she was impossible to love, and everyone who got close enough to see it eventually left.
She swallowed all of it down, locked it away, and built the wall one brick higher.
“Thank you,” Astoria said, and her voice was more controlled. “I appreciate your concern.”
Nancy studied her, her eyes narrowing. Astoria could see the calculation behind her eyes, whether to push harder or let it go. Finally, Nancy sighed and stood.
“Take care of yourself,” she said. “Whatever happened, it’s not worth losing everything you’ve built. And for what it’s worth, whoever she was, she wasn’t worth this either.”
Astoria’s breath caught. She didn’t dare ask how Nancy knew. It didn’t matter.
The door clicked shut, and Astoria was alone. She sat in the empty conference room and let the silence press in around her. Her hands were shaking—when had that started?—and her eyes burned with tears that wouldn't fall.
Nancy was right. She was falling apart, and everyone could see it. She wasn’t fooling anyone. If she didn’t pull herself together, Valerie would win. The company, the divorce, the narrative—all of it would slip through her fingers while she drowned in grief over a woman who had chosen to walk away.
She refused to let that happen.
She stood taller and straightened her blazer before walking back to her office. She had work to do and a mask to perfect until no one—not Nancy, not Gloria, not anyone—could see the wreckage underneath.
If survival was all she had left, then she would survive. She’d been doing it her whole life.