Ordinarily, the ocean is a beautiful sight at this time in the morning.
Not today.
“Xavieris saying it,” I tell her. “Not the community. Not anyone who matters.”
“The donors matter.” Her voice is flat. “The limited partners matter. The board matters. Every potential client who Googles my name and finds this will matter.”
“I’ll fix this,” I tell her.
She finally looks at me. Her brown eyes are exhausted. “How, Corin? How will you fix this?”
“We expose him. Show the community what he’s been doing. The shell companies. The land grabs. All of it.”
“We already did that.” She sets her phone down. “And he still won. Because he controls the narrative in Manhattan, where it actually matters. Where the money is. Where the donors and board members and journalists are.”
I run a hand through my hair. “You’re right. I have to go back. Manhattan. The board is convening an emergency meeting. Keon’s already prepping the jet. You should get packed.”
She exhales slowly. “I think... I think I should go back to Manhattan on my own flight.”
I stared at her. Stunned. “You’reownflight? Why?”
“Before this gets worse.” She’s not even meeting my eyes now, just looking at the floor.
“Amara, you can’t—”
“Corin, I can’t be the reason your foundation fails.” She stands, wrapping her arms around herself. “My one-week extension is up. Actually, I’ve gone over by three days. I’ve been here for seven weeks and three days total. It’s time to go. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
Seven weeks and three days.
I’ve been counting, too, but for different reasons.
“What happened to everything you said?” I ask. “About not running?”
Seven weeks since New Year’s Eve. Since she showed up on that beach and turned my carefully controlled exile into something messy and real.
Three days since she left that sandal outside my study door. Since she told me she wasn’t running anymore.
She doesn’t answer.
“This is exactly what Xavier wants,” I continue. “He wants to isolate me. Destroy my credibility. Make everyone around me scatter so I’m easier to finish off. Don’t let him win.”
“He already won.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Look at what he did. To you. To me. To the clinic. He burned it all down in one morning with a few leaked emails and a hit piece.”
“So werebuild,” I insist.
“With what?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You think donors are going to fund a foundation run by a guy accused of land displacement and advised by a lawyer accused of covering it up? You think families are going to trust us now?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“I need to pack,” she says finally. “I’ll take a commercial flight back tomorrow. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to end this way. And if it’s any consolation, yes, it’s my fault. I’m running. Again. Despite everything I said. Despite...”
She leaves the sentence unfinished, and just walks past me, back into the villa, and I’m left standing on the terrace alone.
I hear her moving through the villa, gathering the few things she’d brought over. Her legal pad and laptop. The spare work clothes. The toiletries she kept in the bathroom. She never fully moved in, even after sleeping in my bed. Most of her belongings, her suitcases, the bulk of her wardrobe, are still at the resort villa she’s been renting.
That’s right, she kept that villa the entire time.
Never canceled the reservation.
