He opened a drawer and pulled out something he hadn’t touched in years—a journal his mother had given him before she died. A leather-bound book where he’d once written his most private thoughts, before he’d learned to suppress them entirely.
He turned to find an empty page, only to have it stare back at him for a moment.
Archer picked up a pen and began to write. Not a business plan. Not a strategic outline.
A letter to Morgan.
Explaining everything.
Starting with the hardest words he’d ever had to put on paper: “I’m sorry. I was afraid. Not of you, but of how much you made me feel.”
The pen moved across the page, years of carefully maintained barriers crumbling with each word. For the first time since his mother’s death, Archer Sullivan allowed himself to be completely vulnerable on the page.
Whether Morgan would ever read these words was uncertain. But writing them felt like the first honest thing he’d done in years.
22
Morgan
Morgan’s hands shook slightly as she juggled the three grocery bags, her key already out to let herself into Tessa’s place. The familiar weight of her friend’s spare key felt like an anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Her chest felt hollow, as if someone had scooped out everything vital and left only an aching emptiness.
Tessa’s guest room had always been her safe haven—a refuge she’d used sparingly but gratefully over the years. After her parents died. After a particularly brutal project failure at work. But this time felt different. This time, she was running from something more complex than a bad breakup or a work crisis. This was betrayal on a level she couldn’t fully comprehend.
She’d texted Tessa earlier:I know who Archer is. Bringing ice cream. Lots of it.
Tessa’s response had been immediate:Get the good stuff. Trashy TV awaits.
The apartment was quiet as Morgan dropped the bags on the kitchen counter. Three different flavors of premium ice cream—chocolate fudge brownie, salted caramel, and strawberry cheesecake. Bags of chips. Chocolate. The kind of comfort food arsenal reserved for true emotional emergencies. She moved mechanically, her body functioning on autopilot while her mind continued to replay the moment everything shattered.
The tears hadn’t fallen yet. That scared her more than anything. Shouldn’t she be crying? Screaming? Instead, she felt numb, as if her emotions had short-circuited from overload.
How could one small discovery change everything so completely? Archer Sullivan. CEO. The man behind the acquisition. The man who had touched her so intimately, who had made her feel seen in ways no one ever had—and who had been hiding his entire identity from her.
Was any of it real? The tenderness in the darkness? The way his hands had moved over her body with such reverence? The moment he’d saved her from Jason, appearing likesome dark guardian angel? Had it all been calculated, planned, part of some elaborate corporate scheme?
Morgan began pulling out bowls and spoons, creating a fortress of comfort food on Tessa’s coffee table. The methodical actions kept the spiral of thoughts at bay. Archer knowing about Vertex from the beginning. The perfectly timed rescue. The way he’d gathered information so carefully, asking questions that now seemed like intelligence gathering rather than genuine interest.
She remembered his penthouse—the luxury, the perfect views, the sense of power that emanated from every carefully selected piece. How had she not realized? The signs had been right in front of her all along. The way Alexandra Winters had responded to his name. The resources at his disposal. Even his friends’ deference, which she’d attributed to his natural leadership, now seemed like something else entirely.
Had she been nothing more than a potential corporate asset? A convenient source of inside information? The thought made her stomach turn. She’d given him so much of herself—her trust, her body, her growing feelings. All while he’d hidden the most fundamental truth about himself.
The sound of a key in the lock startled her from her spiraling thoughts.
“I smell ice cream and impending drama!” Tessa called out, dropping her work bag by the door. Her cheerful tone faltered when she caught sight of Morgan’s face. “Oh, honey.”
Morgan managed a weak smile. “I came prepared.” she gestured to her mountain of junk food.
Tessa took one look at her and said nothing more. Just grabbed two spoons and the chocolate fudge brownie ice cream, settling onto the couch and patting the space beside her. No questions, no demands for explanation. Just quiet solidarity.
“I got wine too,” Morgan said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. “The emergency red.”
“We’ll save that for round two,” Tessa replied, already digging into the ice cream. “Start with sugar. Then alcohol. Then either a tearful breakthrough or passing out. The Morgan Reeves Emotional Crisis Protocol.”
Despite everything, Morgan felt a ghost of a smile touch her lips. Tessa knew her too well.
They started with a truly terrible reality dating show, the kind so bad it was almost good. Contestants made fools of themselves for love while Morgan and Tessa ate ice cream straight from the container. Morgan appreciated the mindless distraction, the way Tessadidn’t push, didn’t interrogate. Just sat, spoon in ice cream, occasionally making snarky commentary that drew reluctant chuckles from Morgan.
As the evening wore on and multiple episodes blurred together, the dam finally began to crack. The numbness receding just enough for pain to seep through.
