The meeting unfolded in clipped voices and orderly turns.His voice threaded through the room with calm authority, and I hated how easily it still found me.
I listened.I spoke when required.I kept my expression neutral, my posture composed.Creed treated me like any other executive.No flicker of recognition.No acknowledgment of the history pressed between us like a fault line.It was discipline, not cruelty.
That made it worse.
Yet, I focused on the agenda, forcing my breathing into something steady.Professional.Composed.That was what he wanted.That was what he was giving.
And it hurt more than anger ever could.
When my turn came, I delivered my report without hesitation.Revenue.Timelines.Risk mitigation.I focused on the numbers because they didn’t look back at me.
Across the table, Creed listened as if I were any other executive.Part of me wanted him to interrupt.To challenge me.Anything but this.
Once my report was complete, I sat straighter, bracing for something that never came.Instead, Creed nodded once, impersonal, and moved on.
It wasn’t dismissal.It was precision.
Decisions were made.Action items assigned.When the meeting adjourned, chairs shifted, low conversations resumed.Creed stood immediately, collecting his folder.
I knew the moment I said his name that I was crossing a line he’d carefully drawn.“Creed.”
He paused, just long enough to turn slightly, but never fully facing me.
“Yes, Peyton?”Polite.Neutral.Controlled.
The sound of my name felt foreign now.
“Could we talk?”I asked quietly.
“If this concerns business,” he replied, already stepping back, “schedule time through my assistant.”
It wasn’t rejection.It was removal.
And then he walked out.
The room felt smaller after he left, as if something essential had been removed.I remained seated long after everyone left, staring at my reflection in the glass tabletop.I had faced men who wanted to ruin me.I had survived threats, leverage, fear sharpened into weapons.
But this—this silence—was something else entirely.
I had kept secrets to protect him.
And in doing so, I had lost him.
Creed hadn’t raised his voice.He hadn’t accused or demanded.He had simply closed the door and left me on the other side of it.
I was safe.
But safety had never felt so lonely.
* * *
IBARELY MADE IT BACKto my office before everything I’d been holding together started to slip.
I shut the door behind me, pressed my forehead briefly against the cool wood, and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Okay,” Mavis said gently.“That look right there...that’s not a ‘productive meeting’ look.”
Mavis sat on my couch like she paid rent—legs crossed, phone in hand, perfectly composed.Dixie stood near the window, coffee cup balanced in her palm, already watching me with that soft-eyed concern she saved for moments that mattered.
