Instead, I found him sitting behind his desk with my proposal in front of him and an expression that made my stomach sink.
“This is good work,” he said without preamble.
“Thank you.” I braced myself for thebutI knew was coming.
“But I need you to understand something. You’re here to recover, not to work. And your therapy is just as important.”
The dismissal was gentle but absolute. He was telling me, as clearly as possible, that my ideas weren’t welcome, that my skills weren’t needed, that my place in his world was temporary and narrowly defined.
“I know why I’m here,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m here because you feel responsible for me. Because Jude would expect you to take care of his little sister.”
“That’s not?—”
“It’s exactly that.” I stood, my proposal still lying on his desk between us like evidence of my presumption. “And I get it. I do. But I can’t keep pretending this is anything other than what it is.”
“What do you think this was?”
“Charity. Obligation. You were doing your duty until someone else could take over the burden.”
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face with those dark eyes that always seemed to see too much. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I expected.
“You’re not a burden, Willa.”
“Then what am I?”
The question hung between us. I watched him struggle with an answer he either couldn’t or wouldn’t give. Finally, he looked down at the proposal again.
“You’re someone who went through hell and deserved a chance to heal without worrying about proving herself to anyone.”
It was a kind answer. A careful one. But it wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. It wasn’t the one that would make me feel like anything more than a project to be managed.
“Right,” I said. “Message received. I’ll stick to filing from now on.”
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me at the door.
“For what it’s worth, your ideas were brilliant. In different circumstances?—”
“But these aren’t different circumstances.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “They are not. You just have to take things slow.”
“I know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just hate feeling useless. You know I can do more.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzed on the desk, cutting him off. He glanced at it, sighed, and muttered, “I need to take this,” before answering.
The moment slipped away. Whatever he might have said next remained unspoken, lingering in the space between us.
That night, lying in the guest room of his perfect penthouse, surrounded by luxury I hadn’t earned and kindness I couldn’t repay, I finally understood exactly where I stood. I was safe there, cared for, protected from the world that had tried to destroy me.
But I wasn’t home. I wasn’t family. I wasn’t someone Kieran Cross chose to have in his life.
I was someone he was stuck with, until he figured out how to unstick himself.
10KIERAN
She didn’t belong here.
I watched Willa try to navigate my world and felt the familiar guilt gnaw at me, the kind that lingered for weeks and never quite loosened its grip. She sat at the small desk Rebecca had set up for her in the reception area, dark hair falling across her face as she concentrated on updating client files. Against the steel and glass, the clean lines and cold surfaces, she looked painfully out of place, and the sight made my chest ache.
