Chapter twenty-seven
Lindsay
Isee my mom's name on my phone and almost let it go to voicemail.
I'm in my guest room. The house is quiet. Arthur is at work. Henry is at school.
I answer on the third ring.
She launches into apologies immediately. Too fast. Too loud. She says she didn't mean it like that. That podcasts twist your words. That people were asking questions and she felt put on the spot.
I stop pacing and press my palm against the window. "You shouldn't have said those things," I say. My voice is steadier than I feel. "Arthur isn't forcing me to do anything."
There's a pause on the line.
"Your sister and I have hardly heard from you since you got your money. What if you never call me back and then I find out you've gotten married or something and I wasn't even invited."
"Ummm..."
"No. NO way." Mom starts freaking out on the other side of the line. "You didn't get married, right? You didn't marry that billionaire boss of yours. Right?"
"I might have."
Then she sighs.
"Oh honey," she says gently, like she's talking to a child instead of a grown woman who just married a billionaire, "he never even looked at you before you had money."
"You are a cog in the wheel," she continues. "You worked for him. He barely knew you. Now suddenly he's your husband?"
I open my mouth to argue.
But my mom isn't done.
"He's using you," she says. "Maybe not maliciously. But men like that don't change their patterns. You just can't see it because now you're the pawn."
"That's not true," I say immediately. It comes out too fast. Too sharp. I tell her Arthur respects me. That he treats me like a partner. That he never once made me feel small when I worked for him. That the money didn't create the marriage. It complicates it.
She listens quietly this time.
"That may all be true," she says. "But answer me this—would he have chosen you if you were still just... you?"
After we hang up, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at nothing.
I tell myself my mom is projecting. That she's trying to find a place in a life she feels shut out of.
Still, the question echoes.
Would Arthur have chosen me without the money?
I think about the ERS office. About Evelyn's words. About how steady he is. How deliberate.
Deliberate doesn't mean manipulative.
But it doesn't mean romantic either.
My phone buzzes with a text from Quinn.
Four outlets reached out for comment. Want me to handle or block?
