Richard cleared his throat. “It’s not our usual style.”
Mrs. Kent smiled. “There’s personality in it. I think Lila deserves that.” She looked to her husband. “Don’t you?”
Mr. Kent nodded. “Absolutely. We’d like to move forward in this direction, please. More ofthis.”
“Of course,” Richard said smoothly, though his tone had cooled. “If that’s what you prefer.”
Mrs. Kent stood, extending her hand to Tom. “We do. You have a wonderful eye, Mr. Barrett. Refreshing.”
Tom rose and shook her hand.
The door closed behind them, and silence swelled.
Richard remained at the table, eyes on the plans. “Well,” he said at last. “Congratulations, son. Seems bad taste is fashionable again.”
Tom looked at the plans he’d made for his wife. “I like it,” he said quietly.
Richard didn’t reply.
For the first time in years, Tom didn’t chase his approval.
His father was still his boss, he just wasn’t the person he wanted to impress anymore.
Richard followedhim to his office, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Tom looked the snow globe on his desk, catching the weak winter light, glitter drifting in a lazy spiral. Next to it satthe framed photo—Lauren smiling out from behind the streaky roses he’d painted. It wasn’t just architectural bravery Tom needed to show.
His father cleared his throat. “Thomas, we need to discuss the Kent?—”
“If you disrespect my wife again,” Tom said, steady and quiet, “I’ll leave this firm.”
Richard blinked, taken off guard. “Thomas?—”
Tom continued, still not raising his voice. “I won’t work for a man who doesn’t respect my wife, even if that man is my father. Especially if that man is my father.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I’m not fresh out of college anymore,” Tom said. “I can get another job. I can support my wife without this place.”
My wife.
The words sank into him, warm and painful and perfect. Even now—even when she’d told him to leave—even when he didn’t know when she’d be his again—saying it felt right. It steadied him. Something in his chest clicked into place every time.
Richard’s jaw tightened. “Thomas, that’s?—”
“It’s non-negotiable.” Tom’s voice held firm. “I won’t work under a man who sneers at the woman I love. The woman I married. You will not talk about her art or her taste or her work like it’s a joke. Not ever again.”
A moment stretched. Then his father exhaled sharply. “You saved the Kent contract.”
Tom lifted a hand and rested it lightly on the ugly photo frame. The gesture was almost unconscious, but Richard’s eyes followed it.
“I learned it from Lauren,” Tom said. He lifted his gaze. “She taught me bravery.”
Richard’s silence was heavy—not dismissive, but absorbing.
Tom’s voice dropped. “If I stay at this firm, I stay as myself.”
Richard’s eyes flicked to the plans on the desk, then back to Tom. “And your wife?”
