Chapter 9 #2
Victoria’s departure was announced at an all-hands meeting.
Christian handled the honors, reading from a prepared statement about “pursuing exciting new opportunities,” his eyes fixed on the back of the room where she stood, arms folded, jaw set.
No one clapped. No one asked why. It was the corporate version of a funeral—everyone already understood the terms of the loss.
Afterward, I waited until the room cleared. I found her packing her desk, loading the contents of a high-performance life into a single cardboard box. She saw me in the reflection of her monitor and did not turn.
I stood there, hands in pockets, unable to start. “You’ll be missed,” I finally said.
She laughed, but the sound had no edges. “Not by you.”
“That’s not—” I started.
She closed the laptop, slid it into her bag, and faced me for the first time since that night. “It was never about you, Lucas. You were just the only one who bothered to see me.”
I felt the accusation, even if she never said the word.
She shouldered her bag. “You don’t owe me anything. Don’t pretend you do.”
I wanted to say I was sorry, but it felt obChapter, so I just nodded.
On her way out, she paused. “If you’re lucky, she’ll never find out.”
She didn’t mean Bella. She meant the child. I wanted to believe that, in another universe, I might have been a better man.
I went home early that day, stopped at the bakery for Bella’s favorite macaroons, and when she met me at the door, I kissed her so hard she stumbled backward, laughing.
At dinner, Bella sipped her water and studied my face with that uncanny intuition she’d always had. “You seem lighter,” she said.
I shrugged, plating her a second helping of pasta. “Project’s over. The pressure’s gone.”
She nodded, watching me, not buying it.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked.
“Miss what?”
“Having someone at work who understands you. Who gets the pressure, the competition. You and Victoria worked so well together. Are you sad she’s gone?”
I stared at my fork, trying to decide if it was safe to answer honestly. “She was good at her job. It’s going to be harder without her.”
Bella smiled, but there was something brittle about it. “You’ll manage. You always do.”
I wanted to confess, right then, but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, I cleared the plates, loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters three times.
Later, as we lay in bed, Bella curved against me, her hand on my chest, her breath even and slow. “I never told you how scared I was,” she whispered. “After the miscarriages. I thought you’d leave me. That you’d decide you wanted a real family.”
I pulled her in tighter. “You are my family.”
She kissed my jaw, soft as a secret. “Promise me we’ll always tell the truth. Even the ugly parts.”
I promised. I meant it.
The next morning, Hunter texted me: Got time for coffee? Alone.
I met him at a café two blocks from the office, far enough from Ashford Global that no one would see us. He was already there, hood up, sunglasses on, looking less like a CEO and more like a fugitive.
He didn’t bother with small talk. “Christian told me about the kiss.”
I exhaled. “Wasn’t his to tell.”
“He said you’d want to keep it quiet. That you were handling it.”
I nodded. “I am.”
Hunter stared at me over the rim of his cup. “Are you?”
I met his gaze, defiant. “It’s over. She’s leaving.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I ran my hands over my face. “I fucked up, okay? But it’s done. I’m not Dad. I’m not going to repeat the cycle.”
He leaned forward. “You don’t get to decide what Bella needs to know. If you don’t tell her, someone else will.”
I knew he was right, but I hated him for it.
Hunter sat back, folding his arms. “You think you’re protecting her, but you’re only protecting yourself. You want to be the good guy, but you can’t have it both ways.”
I finished my coffee, bitter to the last drop.
He stood to leave. “You tell her, or I will.”
I let him go, unable to move. The words rattled in my head all day, until I finally understood what I had to do.
That night, I watched Bella sleep, her hair splayed across the pillow, one hand on her stomach.
I rehearsed the confession a hundred times—every permutation, every possible reaction.
I wondered if I should wait until after the baby, until she was stronger, until I’d proven myself again.
But every scenario ended the same way: she found out, and it destroyed her.
At 2:13 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, padded to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water. When I came back, Bella was sitting upright, back against the headboard, awake.
She looked at me, calm. “Is it bad news?”
I realized then that she’d always known. Maybe not the details, but the shape of it. The shadow.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands shaking. “I made a mistake.”
She listened, silent, not even blinking.
I opened my mouth, about to tell her everything, when she reached for the drawer in her nightstand.
She pulled out a small, square box, wrapped in blue paper. “Open it,” she said.
Inside was a watch—sleek, silver, elegant. On the back, engraved: You kept us safe.
I stared at it, unable to speak.
She took my hand. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lucas. I never needed that.”
Her eyes were wet, but her voice didn’t waver. “I just need you to come home. Always.”
I pressed the watch to my forehead, trying not to cry.
She slid her arms around me, holding on like I was the one who might disappear.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She kissed me, softly. “We’ll be okay. Promise me?”
I promised, and for the first time in months, I believed it.
But all night, I watched the light on the ceiling shift from gold to gray, the weight of the secret anchored to my wrist.
And I knew it was only a matter of time before it pulled us both under.