Chương 5
Not because I wanted to let him back in.
Because some part of me still expected him to knock again.
The old version of me would have waited.
She would have stood there hoping Dominic would say the exact words she needed to hear.
She would have searched his face for proof that he finally understood.
But that woman had spent too long translating disappointment into patience.
I went upstairs.
Leo was awake, making small noises in his crib.
When I picked him up, his tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
The simplicity of that gesture almost hurt.
A newborn did not care about money.
He did not care about reputation.
He did not care about investors or family names or business meetings.
He only knew whether someone was there when he needed them.
I sat in the rocking chair near the window and held him against my chest.
For the first time since leaving the hospital, I allowed myself to admit something I had been avoiding.
I was not only angry.
I was grieving.
Not for the marriage I had.
For the marriage I thought I had.
That afternoon, my father sat across from me in his office at home.
He had printed every document related to Dominic's company.
Stacks of paper covered the desk.
Normally, seeing my father surrounded by reports made me feel safe.
This time, it made everything feel more real.
"I spoke with the legal team," he said.
I looked up.
"About Dominic?"
"About the investment."
He tapped the top folder.
"They are reviewing whether any disclosure obligations were violated."
I nodded slowly.
"What happens if they find something?"
"It depends."
I hated that answer too.
But I was learning that the truth rarely arrived in simple sentences.
My father leaned back.
"Audrey, I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"If Dominic hid the investment because he was afraid you would think he used you, that is wrong."
I looked down.
"But if he continued hiding it because the truth benefited him, that is something else."
The distinction stayed with me.
Because intention mattered.
But so did the damage.
"I keep thinking about every conversation we had," I whispered.
My father watched me carefully.
"Every time he talked about building his company.
Every time he complained that people underestimated him."
I rubbed my thumb across the edge of my coffee cup.
"I defended him."
"You loved him."
"I told people he deserved everything he achieved."
My father's expression softened.
"You believed what he showed you."
That sentence was kind.
Maybe too kind.
Because a small part of me wondered if I should have noticed.
The late nights.
The distance.
The way Dominic became uncomfortable whenever I mentioned my family.
But then I remembered something important.
Trust was not supposed to be a constant investigation.
A marriage was not supposed to feel like a background check.
My father's assistant interrupted us later that evening.
"Mr. Brooks, there is someone here to see Audrey."
I looked toward the doorway.
"Who?"
"Evan Miller."
I almost said no.
I did not know him.
I had no reason to trust him.
But I also knew that ignoring information did not make it disappear.
"Send him in."
Evan was younger than I expected.
Maybe early thirties.
He wore a plain gray sweater and carried no briefcase.
He looked nervous.
Not like someone delivering a dramatic revelation.
Like someone who regretted becoming involved.
"Thank you for meeting with me," he said.
My father remained in the room.
Evan noticed.
"I understand."
"Have a seat," I said.
He sat across from me.
For a few moments, he looked at his hands.
"I should have said something earlier."
"Why didn't you?"
The question came out sharper than I intended.
He nodded.
"Because I needed my job."
That honesty surprised me.
"My wife is pregnant," he continued.
"I have medical bills.
A mortgage.
I kept telling myself I would find the right time."
He looked embarrassed.
"There is never a right time for something like this."
I appreciated that he did not pretend to be brave.
"What exactly happened?"
Evan opened his laptop.
"I was reviewing old funding records because our finance department was preparing for another round."
He turned the screen toward me.
"There were inconsistencies."
I looked at the document.
"These are internal notes."
"Yes."
"What inconsistencies?"
Evan pointed.
"The original investor profile listed the Brooks name as a restricted relationship."
I frowned.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning anyone connected to the Brooks family was supposed to be disclosed if there was a personal relationship."
My stomach tightened.
"But I wasn't involved."
"No."
Evan looked at me.
"You were not."
The clarification mattered.
Because I did not want the truth changed to make me look innocent.
I wanted the truth because it was the truth.
"The issue is here."
He pointed lower.
"The disclosure form was updated six months later."
I leaned closer.
The date.
Six months before my wedding.
"The relationship section was changed."
My throat felt dry.
"What did it say before?"
Evan hesitated.
Then answered.
"Potential personal connection to Brooks family member."
I looked at my father.
His face was unreadable.
"What did Dominic change it to?"
Evan swallowed.
"No known personal connection."
The room went silent.
I felt something inside me collapse.
Not because I was surprised.
Because I was no longer confused.
There was a difference.
Confusion made you search for answers.
Certainty made you decide what to do next.
"Did he know who I was when he changed it?"
Evan looked uncomfortable.
"I cannot prove what he knew."
That was important.
I noticed my father watching him.
"But?"
Evan looked back at the screen.
"But Dominic mentioned your father during a meeting before the change."
My fingers tightened.
"What did he say?"
"He said something like, 'I cannot let them think I got here because of connections.'"
I closed my eyes.
A memory surfaced.
Our first anniversary.
May you like
Dominic and I had been sitting at a small restaurant.
He had been frustrated because another founder accused him of having advantages.
