Slowly, I glance back.
He hasn’t moved. His eyes are locked on me. As though he already knows what’s coming and is bracing for the impact.
“If I hadn’t found out,” I ask quietly, my voice steadier than I feel, “how long would you have let me love you?”
The words sit between us, heavy and unforgiving. His breath catches. I see it. Just for a second. Long enough to tell me everything I need to know. My throat tightens, humiliation burning hot under my skin. Asking the question feels like stripping myself bare in front of him, as though admitting I still cared enough to need the answer.
I nod once, accepting his silence as an answer. “That’s what I thought,” I murmur.
I pull the door open and step out before he can speak.
WARREN
The door closes. Just a soft click, but louder than anything else that’s happened today.
I don’t move. Her question hangs in the air, unanswered and unforgiving.
If I hadn’t found out, how long would you have let me love you?
My throat tightens until breathing hurts. Too long. That’s the truth I didn’t say. I would’ve let her love me until it was convenient to tell her the rest. Until I’d dismantled enough of my father’s mess to pretend it was safe. Until I’d convinced myself I could rewrite the rules.I would’ve let her build a life on a lie, because I believed I could control the fallout.
I drag a hand down my face, the weight of it crushing.Christ.
She didn’t ask if I loved her. She already knew the answer to that. She asked how long I would’ve taken from her without giving her the truth.
“For as long as you’d let me,” I murmur to the empty space.
I go up to my office and close the door behind me.
“Anthony,” I say into the phone, my voice stripped of emotion. “I want eyes back on Leoni. Discreet. No contact. No interference. She’s job hunting, I want a list of all the places she visits.”
“Done.”
“And the bank details?”
“Sent this morning.”
I disconnect and open my laptop.
The figures stare back at me in neat, unforgiving rows. Her mother’s accounts. Credit cards pushed past their limits. Interest compounding. Old legal fees stacked on top of grief. Years of quiet drowning.
This was what Isaac had been trying to fix. He wasn’t greedy or over-ambitious. He cared about his family. No wonder my father and I didn’t understand.
I don’t hesitate. One by one, I clear the debts. I wipe out the balances. Close the accounts. Pay off the mortgage in full. Then, quietly, I transfer enough to make sure her mother will never have to choose between heating and eating again.
It won’t bring Isaac back. But it removes the weight that dragged him under in the first place.
And for the first time since Leoni walked out of the office, I feel something settle in my chest. Because for once, I’m not taking. I’m giving back, and it feels… better.
The sun is starting to set, and I realise it’s been an entire day again. I haven’t eaten; I haven’t even had a coffee. Which reminds me, I need to hire an assistant.
Anthony knocks and enters, dropping a file onto my desk without a word.
“List of places Leoni visited today,” he says finally. “CV drops.”
I slide the file toward me and open it. The names jump out immediately; small firms, mid-level consultancies, a couple of places I know well enough to have influence over. Places that value loyalty. Places that won’t eat her alive.
I pick up the phone.
