"Like?"
"She runs herself into the ground," I explained. "Work, the merger, everything with my brother—she takes it all on and doesn't stop. Doesn't rest. Doesn't ask for help." I shook my head. "She thinks she has to carry everything alone. That needing support is some kind of weakness."
Todd's face shifted. Understanding.
"And you want to give her a framework," he said. "Something that forces her to slow down."
"Something that gives her permission to. She won't do it for herself. But if it's a rule—if it's something I require of her—then it's not weakness. It's obedience."
He clicked his tongue appreciatively. "You're sneaky, Holt. Always have been."
"I prefer strategic."
He snorted. "Yeah, yeah. So what are you thinking? Specifically?"
"Check-ins," I started, a list forming in my mind. "Something structured. A requirement that she tells me how she's actually doing—not the corporate bullshit she feeds everyone else. The truth." I paused. "And rest. Mandatory downtime. Even if it's just an hour a day where she's not allowed to work, not allowed to think about Falkirk or Elion or any of it."
"Forced relaxation." Todd nodded. "Viv fought me on that one too. Said she didn't need it. That she was fine." He raised an eyebrow. "She was not fine."
"Emma's not fine either. She's running on fumes and pretending she isn't. And every time I'd try to address it, she deflects. Changes the subject. Tells me she's handling it. But now…"
"Now you stop asking and start telling."
"Yeah—" Across the room Emma leaned into Vivian's words, absorbing everything. A woman starving for understanding. "I guess it is time."
A laugh surfaced unbidden, a memory buried under weeks of despair.
Todd angled his head.
"I tried laying down the law a week or so before the accident, you know what she said?" I forced the words around a laugh. "Fuck your orders."
Todd threw his head back and laughed loudly, drawing Emma and Vivian's attention. Both shooting us quizzical looks.
He wiped a tear from his eye. "Really?"
"Yup," I said, laughing along with him.
"She really is a fiery one, isn't she?"
"Yes," I said, her beautiful hazel eyes catching mine. "She is."
Chapter twenty-three
Emma
The city bled past the windows in streaks of light—amber streetlamps, red taillights, the occasional neon glow of a bar sign or bodega. Damien's hand rested on my thigh, warm and steady, his thumb tracing absent patterns against the fabric of my dress.
Vivian's words rattled around in my skull like loose marbles—protocols and rituals, kneeling and braiding, the way she'd served me tea with both hands like it was muscle memory.
"So." Damien's voice cut through the quiet, his thumb stilling. "What did you and Vivian talk about?"
I glanced at him. His attention stayed fixed on the road, but there was a tightness around his mouth that hadn't been there before.
Damien Holt was nervous.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I teased, letting the silence stretch long enough to watch his grip tighten on the steering wheel.
"We talked about... things," I offered, deliberately vague.
