Chương 3
“Mr. Vance.”
He nodded.
“Martha.”
The warmth between them surprised me.
“You knew?” I asked.
Martha looked uncomfortable.
“I knew who your father was, ma’am.”
She placed the coffee on the table.
“I promised I would never tell Mr. Cross.”
“Why?”
She looked at me sadly.
“Because you asked me not to.”
That was the answer.
Not because Julian was powerful.
Not because my father demanded secrecy.
Because I had made the choice.
I had spent three years protecting a marriage that was already disappearing.
Arthur picked up the coffee cup but did not drink it.
“Tell me everything.”
I sat across from him.
For a moment, I wanted to give him the clean version.
The version where Julian became cruel overnight.
The version where I was completely innocent.
But life was never that simple.
“I ignored things,” I said.
Arthur remained silent.
“I saw signs and convinced myself they had explanations.”
“What signs?”
I looked down at my hands.
“The distance.”
I swallowed.
“The messages.”
“The woman?”
I nodded.
“Chloe Miller.”
Arthur’s expression changed slightly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You know her?”
“I know who she is.”
That answer made me look up.
“What does that mean?”
He placed the cup down.
“It means Chloe Miller has been connected to several companies that compete with Apex.”
I frowned.
“Julian’s company?”
“Yes.”
The room felt colder.
“Are you saying she was using him?”
“I’m saying I don’t know yet.”
That answer mattered.
Three years ago, I might have wanted him to immediately declare Julian a villain.
I might have wanted revenge.
Instead, I heard uncertainty.
And somehow that felt more honest.
Arthur leaned back.
“I saw the news last night.”
“So did I.”
“The report released during the gala concerns Apex’s acquisition deal.”
I looked at him.
“What kind of report?”
“A financial document.”
“Real?”
“That is what everyone is trying to determine.”
I thought about the timing.
The gala.
The message from Chloe.
The sudden collapse of Julian’s perfect evening.
“Do you think Julian did something illegal?”
Arthur did not answer immediately.
“I think powerful people often make mistakes because they believe consequences are for other people.”
That sounded less like an accusation and more like experience.
My father had spent decades around people like Julian.
People who built companies and sometimes forgot that the world existed outside their decisions.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are still married to him.”
The words landed heavily.
I looked away.
“I’m not sure how much longer.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
I gave him a tired laugh.
“That’s not very like you.”
“What?”
“You usually decide everything.”
A faint smile appeared.
“I used to.”
“Used to?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the window.
“Then you left.”
I felt the familiar guilt return.
“Dad.”
“No.”
His voice was gentle.
“Don’t turn this into another apology.”
The room went quiet.
Outside, a truck passed through the neighborhood.
Someone’s dog barked in the distance.
Normal sounds.
Strange sounds.
The world had continued while my life changed.
Arthur stood.
“Come home with me.”
I looked around the room.
The furniture.
The walls.
The photographs.
The life I had fought to keep.
“I need to pack.”
“I can have someone do it.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I need to do it.”
He nodded.
That was the difference between him and Julian.
Julian always wanted the fastest solution.
My father allowed me to choose the difficult one.
Upstairs, packing felt more painful than I expected.
Not because I wanted to stay.
Because leaving made everything real.
I opened the closet.
Most of my clothes were ordinary.
Pieces I had chosen because they would not attract attention.
Pieces that allowed me to disappear.
At the back was a white dress Julian had bought me during our first year of marriage.
I touched the fabric.
I remembered the night he gave it to me.
He had taken me to a small restaurant instead of one of the places where executives went.
He had laughed when the waiter spilled water near his shoes.
He had held my hand under the table.
Back then, he had seemed different.
Or maybe I had only seen what I wanted to see.
I placed the dress back.
Some memories did not deserve to be carried.
My phone rang.
Julian.
I stared at the screen.
For three years, I had waited for him to call.
Now that he finally was, I felt nothing.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice was tense.
Not angry.
Worried.
“At home.”
A pause.
“Clarissa.”
I waited.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”
I closed my eyes.
So that was what mattered.
Not the gala.
Not Chloe.
Not leaving me behind.
“You knew.”
“I found out this morning.”
“How?”
“My assistant saw a report.”
I almost laughed.
“My assistant?”
“Clarissa, listen.”
“No.”
The word surprised both of us.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“I have listened for three years.”
Silence.
“I listened when you said work came first.”
“Clarissa.”
“I listened when you stopped coming home.”
“That’s not fair.”
The response came too quickly.
I felt something shift.
There it was.
The instinct to defend himself.
Not the instinct to understand me.
“Fair?”
I looked around the room.
“Do you know what was unfair?”
He said nothing.
“Standing in front of me last night and acting like I was embarrassing you.”
His breathing changed.
“I was angry.”
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
“You were comfortable.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because this is complicated.”
I looked at the suitcase beside me.
“Your company is complicated.”
“Clarissa.”
“Your relationship with Chloe is complicated.”
His silence answered before he did.
I felt the last piece of hope disappear.
“Was it serious?”
“It's not what you think.”
That was not an answer.
It was the kind of sentence people used when the truth was worse.
“I’ll ask again.”
I gripped the phone.
“Was it serious?”
A long pause followed.
May you like
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
