But the messages kept coming.
He knows he can’t talk his way out of it anymore,the voice hissed.
Anger that had been simmering since my conversation with Ava had ignited into a full flame, then a bonfire as I lay alone in my bed. The silence magnified every whisper in my head, every old reflex, every fear I hadn’t dared name.
The ride passed in quiet efficiency—emails, meeting prep, little fires I put out on instinct while the real one smoldered at the back of my mind.
Ten minutes later, Harold pulled up outside Falkirk’s building. Jennifer, David, and Kevin waited just inside the lobby, coffees in hand and purpose in their posture.
My heels clicked against the marble as I stepped inside.
“Hey,” Jennifer said as I stepped in.
“Ready for today?”
Their expressions answered before their voices did.
I briefed them quickly on our new plan of attack. Their faces lit up.
Kevin’s eyes went wide. “Genius.”
Jennifer’s smile turned sharp. “Hell yeah.”
David nodded once, already running legal contingencies in the back of his mind.
The elevator carried us to Falkirk’s executive floor. My heartbeat matched each soft chime, the pressure inside me rising with every step.
Through the glass, I saw Damien at the head of the table—charcoal suit, commanding posture, mask firmly in place. But vein pulsing at his temple, the tightness around his eyes… those were for me alone.
Or rather—for my absence.
The questions and the accusations burned at the back of my throat, but I swallowed them down.Not here. Not now.
There would be time later—after the meeting, after the performance we both had to give.
I smoothed my skirt and stepped inside.
Damien rose instantly. Concern flickered before he smothered it with professionalism. “Ms.Sinclair.”
“Mr.Holt,” I returned coolly.
A tiny shift in him—shoulders drawing in, breath catching for half a second. Most people wouldn’t have noticed. I did.
Maria smiled warmly. “Ms.Sinclair, good to see you again.”
“You, too,” I said, then turned to Tessa. “Congratulations again. How are you feeling?”
“Large and tired,” she laughed, rubbing her bump. “But good.”
Before I could respond, Nathan Bell slithered through the doorway, practiced and polished. He wore the same smug, too-bright expression, like civility was a costume that never quite fit. “Ms.Sinclair.” “Mr. Bell,” I said.
He blinked, then extended his hand.
I took it with a sugary-sweet smile that made me want to gag. “Always a pleasure.”
“It’s nice to see you as well.”
Damien’s grip on the chair arm went white-knuckled. Every line of him pulling taut.
