Chapter 10

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I picked up my phone. Set it down. Picked it up again. And finally opened the conversation thread with Calder.

We hadn't texted much. Most of it was me asking about my mother's recovery. His replies were always a few words, clinical, like everything else about him.

But now I looked at those messages and something felt entirely different.

I thought about the disposable slippers.

I thought about him saying: An adult's regret isn't worth much.

About: His remorse is his business. Whether to forgive him is yours.

And about what he'd said as the elevator doors closed.

I stared at my phone for a long time. Then I typed:

Dr. Ashford — is this how you always pursue someone? This calmly?

The moment I sent it I wanted to take it back.

But a reply came almost instantly.

Depends on the person.

I sat up straighter.

Then another message.

With you — I'm not being very calm at all.

My face went hot. I almost dropped my phone.

I was twenty-seven. I wasn't inexperienced.

But nothing had ever made my chest go numb from just a few words.

The next day, I went to my first meeting at my new job.

It was the due diligence advisory firm that had been part of Sterling Vantage's funding round — they'd seen what I was capable of in the middle of the chaos, and reached out directly. The managing partner wanted me to join as their head of financial risk.

Her name was Lydia Pemberton. The first thing she said to me: "Your ex was an idiot. We're not."

I smiled and took the job on the spot.

Not out of spite. Not to prove something to Ethan.

Because I finally understood: I could never again anchor my life to someone else's. I needed my own ground to stand on.

On my first day, I ran into Ethan outside the building.

He'd been waiting for me — he saw the onboarding paperwork in my hands and his expression curdled.

"You went to work for Lydia Pemberton?"

"Does it concern you?"

"She was the lead consultant on my funding round!" His teeth were clenched. "Wren, this is deliberate. You want to watch me fall."

I looked at him. The exhaustion I felt was so complete it had become peace.

"It wasn't deliberate. She needed someone competent. You don't have what I have. Someone else saw that."

He stared at me for a long moment, then forced it out: "Do you look down on me now?"

"Not now." I said it quietly. "It started when you transferred my mother's surgery funds."

He reached out and caught my wrist.

"If I hadn't taken that money — would we still be getting married?"

I stopped.

Looked at him.

This question barely deserved an answer.

"Ethan — the money didn't end us. You ended us. Someone like you was never fit for marriage."

His grip loosened.

I walked away without looking back.

Three months later, Sterling Vantage Technologies was formally placed under investigation.

Ethan Sterling was brought in for questioning regarding charges including embezzlement, document fraud, and financial misrepresentation.

The news broke during a project meeting.

Lydia slid her phone across the table to me, one eyebrow raised. "Your ex just got handcuffed. How do you feel?"

I scanned the headline, folded my folder closed.

"Good. It suits him."

The room laughed.

But when the laughter settled, I felt something unexpected: emptiness.

Not regret.

The sense that it was finally over.

All the things I thought would chain me for years — I'd walked out of them, one step at a time.

It was raining when I left the office that day.

A black car was parked at the curb. The window came down.

Calder.

I stopped. Walked over. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you to dinner."

"How did you know I'd be out early today?"

"Guessed."

I opened the door and got in. As I buckled my seatbelt, I noticed something on the passenger seat.

A bakery box.

The one I'd mentioned once, offhandedly — the bakery my mother used to get me from when I was sick as a kid.

I stared at it.

Something in my chest went quiet and soft.

"Calder."

"Yes?"

"Do you remember everything?"

He started the car. In the rain-filtered dusk, his profile was still and unhurried.

"Depends on the person."

That word again. I let out a small laugh.

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."