I start typing a response, and the words pour out—not about Seamus specifically, but about feeling trapped, about realizing someone doesn't trust you no matter what you do, about the loneliness of being married to someone who won't let you in.
By the time I finish writing, my hands have stopped shaking. The email to Shay sits in my outbox, full of hurt and confusion and the desperate hope that someone, somewhere, actually sees me as more than a liability to be protected against.
I hit send and close my laptop, and in the silence of my beautiful studio in my husband's penthouse, I finally admit the truth to myself: I married a man who doesn’t trust me.
The contract has an exit clause.
I could walk away. Cleanly. Quietly. No explanations required.
The thought settles over me like a door I could open whenever I choose.
I look down at the illustration on my drafting table. Mira, still cupping that fragile green shoot like it might survive if she just believes hard enough.
Maybe it’s naive.
But I’m not ready to give up on something that hasn’t even had the chance to grow yet.
Not today.
I wipe my eyes.
For now, I stay.
Chapter twenty-seven
Seamus
The conference room has floor-to-ceiling windows, and on clear days like this, you can see for miles.
I've always found something reassuring about this view—how it makes everything below look manageable. Problems look smaller from up here. Decisions feel cleaner.
But today, all I can see is Heritage Street somewhere in that grid—and the knowledge that in twenty minutes, the board will vote to break whatever fragile thing Rosanna and I have been building.
Graham is already holding court at the head of the table when I arrive, Malcolm beside him with that expression of patient certainty he wears when he's already decided how a meeting will end. The other board members are settling in—Talia with her tablet full of market analyses, Robert reviewing his notes, Chen looking through the acquisition documents with the careful attention he brings to everything.
"Seamus." Graham gestures to my seat. "Good. We can get started. I know everyone's busy, so let's keep this efficient."
The irony isn’t lost on me. Graham calling for efficiency while we spend an hour discussing a property worth less than this meeting’s billable hours.
But it's not really about the building.
It hasn't been about the building for months.
It’s about reminding me I’m the CEO they allow to implement their decisions.
"First item," Graham continues, pulling up a presentation on the main screen. "Heritage Street acquisition timeline. Malcolm, you want to walk us through the updated projections?"
Malcolm stands, and his presentation is everything I've come to expect—polished, thorough, framing the demolition of a century-old community landmark as responsible corporate leadership.
He talks about market opportunities and development timelines, about investor confidence and competitive positioning.
The building becomes "underutilized commercial space."
The community opposition becomes "manageable public relations considerations."
"The window for acquisition is narrowing," Malcolm says, clicking to a slide that shows competing bids and zoning timelines. "The other interested party has applied for historical designation, which could complicate our timeline significantly if approved."
"You mean my wife?"
