Chapter 18

Queen of the Room

The Montgomery Group boardroom fills quickly, executives filing in with tablets and coffee, and I take my seat at the head of the table for the consumer division's quarterly review, no longer the woman who used to sit quietly on the sidelines watching decisions get made by everyone but her.

"Revenue projections for the new skincare line are exceeding initial estimates by eighteen percent." I click through to the next slide without needing to glance at my notes, the numbers second nature to me now after months of living inside them. "We're recommending an accelerated rollout into the three additional markets by end of quarter."

Around the table, heads nod, pens move across notepads, and nobody in this room flinches anymore at the sound of my voice carrying the meeting instead of trailing quietly behind someone else's. My father sits at the far end, arms crossed, a small, unmistakable pride tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches me field questions from the head of finance without missing a beat.

The meeting runs long, but by the time it wraps, the room empties with a round of genuine congratulations instead of the polite, skeptical nods I got in my first few months here. Julian catches my arm as I gather my things.

"That was clean." He grins, falling into step beside me as we head toward my office. "Even Whitmore looked impressed, and he's never impressed by anything."

"He asked me three follow up questions specifically designed to catch me off guard." I roll my eyes, though I can't fully suppress the small flush of satisfaction warming my chest. "I've learned to expect it from him by now."

"You handled it like you've been doing this for a decade instead of six months." Julian's voice softens slightly as we reach my office door. "Your father isn't the only one who's proud of you, you know."

Before I can respond, my assistant appears at the end of the hallway, slightly out of breath. "Ms. Montgomery, there's someone here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he's insisting it's urgent."

My stomach tightens on instinct, some old, worn reflex from four years of bracing for bad news. "Who is it?"

She hesitates, glancing briefly toward the lobby before answering. "Mr. Frost."

Julian's expression sharpens immediately, protective in a way that's become second nature to him over the last six months. "Do you want me to handle it?"

"No." I smooth down the front of my blazer, steadying myself. "I'll see him."

Noah is waiting in the small reception area outside my office, dressed down from his usual tailored suits, wearing dark jeans and a simple button down that somehow makes him look younger, less armored than the version of him I married. He stands the moment he sees me, and something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe, at the sight of me in this space, moving through it like I've always belonged here.

"You didn't have an appointment." I keep my voice professional, controlled, refusing to let six months of hard won composure crack just because he's standing in front of me again.

"I know. I'm sorry for showing up unannounced." His hands are shoved into his pockets, and there's a restlessness to him I've never once seen before, none of the cool, controlled billionaire from our marriage. "I wanted to talk to you about something, and I didn't trust myself to say it over the phone."

"I'm actually in the middle of my day, Noah." I gesture vaguely toward my office. "If this is about Lila's schedule, you can talk to my assistant."

"It's not about Lila." He takes a small step forward, then visibly stops himself, keeping the distance I've maintained between us for six months. "It's about the gala tomorrow night. The Children's Hospital fundraiser. I know you're attending, my mother's foundation is a co-sponsor and I saw your name on the guest list."

"And?"

"And I wanted to ask if you'd let me sit at your table." His voice is quieter now, stripped of the confidence he usually wears like armor. "Not as your husband. Not even as your ex husband trying to win something back. Just as Lila's father, sitting near the two people who matter most to me in that entire room."

I study him for a long moment, watching the way his jaw tightens like he's bracing for rejection, the way his eyes hold mine steadily despite it. Six months ago, the old Amara would have said yes immediately, desperate for any scrap of his attention, terrified of disappointing him even in something this small.

"I'll think about it." My voice comes out even, controlled. "I'm not promising anything, Noah."

"That's more than fair." Something in his shoulders loosens slightly, like he expected an outright no and is grateful for anything short of it. "Thank you for even considering it."

He turns to leave, then pauses, glancing back at me with an expression I can't quite decipher. "For what it's worth, watching you walk through this building, seeing your name on the door of that office, it's the proudest I've felt in years. I know I don't have any right to say that, but I needed you to hear it anyway."

He disappears down the hallway before I can respond, and I stand frozen for a long moment, my heart doing something complicated and unwelcome in my chest.

Julian appears at my elbow, having clearly witnessed the entire exchange from a discreet distance. "You okay?"

"I don't know." I press my fingers briefly against my temple, trying to steady the strange tangle of feelings unraveling inside me. "Six months ago I would have known exactly how to answer that. Now I'm not so sure."

"That's not a bad thing, Amara." Julian's voice is gentle. "It just means you're finally allowed to want something for yourself, instead of just reacting to what he wants from you."

I nod slowly, though the thought sits uneasily in my chest as I head back into my office, my mind already drifting toward tomorrow night, toward navy ballrooms and crystal chandeliers and a version of myself that walked into a gala once before, hopeful and unguarded, only to be shattered in front of three hundred strangers.

I'm not that woman anymore.

But as I sit down at my desk and pull up the seating chart for tomorrow's fundraiser, my cursor hovering uncertainly over the empty space beside my name, I realize I haven't fully decided who I am instead.