Chapter 28

 About Us

I stare at Noah's message for a long time before I type anything back, my thumb hovering over the screen while my father waits patiently by the car, giving me the privacy to work through whatever's unfolding on my phone.

Amara:Not today. Today has been enough for both of us. But soon, yes.

His reply comes almost instantly. **Noah:** Thank you. Take whatever time you need.

I slide the phone into my bag and climb into the car, my father settling in beside me, studying my face with the same careful attention he's given every development over the last year.

"He wants to talk," I say before he can ask. "About us."

"And what do you want?" His voice stays neutral, offering no pressure in either direction.

"I don't know yet." I lean my head back against the seat, exhaustion finally catching up with me after two days of bracing for whatever truth waited in that conference room. "A year ago I would have known instantly. I would have run toward whatever scrap of attention he offered, grateful for it, terrified of losing it."

"And now?"

"Now I actually have to think about it. Really think, not just react out of habit or hope." I turn to look at him. "Is that strange? That the idea of considering it carefully feels almost more frightening than the chaos of the last few weeks?"

My father's expression softens, something like pride flickering behind his eyes. "That's not strange at all, Amara. That's what it looks like to actually have something to lose this time, instead of nothing left to protect."

The drive home passes in comfortable silence, and by the time we reach the estate, Lila comes barreling across the lawn to meet the car, her excitement about some new discovery in the garden pulling my attention fully into the present, away from Noah's message and everything still unresolved between us.

Over the following week, life settles into something resembling normalcy, or at least the version of normalcy I've built for myself since walking away from the Frost penthouse. Mornings at the office, afternoons with Lila, evenings spent going over legal updates with Julian as the case against Isabella moves steadily toward trial. Noah keeps his word, giving me space, though small gestures continue arriving with quiet consistency, no more flowers this time, but texts checking in on Lila, updates on his own progress stepping back from Frost Corporation, careful and unhurried in a way that feels entirely different from the man who once assumed my presence was simply owed to him.

It's Elena who finally pushes the conversation forward, appearing in my office unannounced on a Thursday afternoon with two coffees and an expression that tells me she has an agenda.

"You've been avoiding him." She sets one cup down on my desk, settling into the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. "For a week now."

"I've been busy." I gesture vaguely at the stack of contracts still waiting for review. "The consumer division doesn't run itself, Elena."

"That's not why you're avoiding him, and we both know it." She takes a sip of her own coffee, studying me over the rim of the cup. "You're scared."

"I'm not scared." The denial comes out weaker than I intend, and Elena's raised eyebrow tells me she's not remotely convinced.

"Amara, I've watched you survive things this past year that would have destroyed most people. A public humiliation, losing a baby, discovering your marriage was built on secrets going back decades before you were even born. You handled every single one of those with more strength than I've ever seen from anyone." Her voice softens. "But a genuine conversation with a man who's trying, actually trying, to be honest with you for the first time in your relationship? That's the thing that finally has you running scared."

I set down my pen, letting her words settle uncomfortably in my chest. "What if I let him back in, and it turns out nothing's actually changed? What if I spend another four years hoping he'll finally choose me, only to end up exactly where I started?"

"Then you'll know." Elena leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. "You're not the same woman who spent four years waiting by the door, Amara. You built something entirely your own this past year. You have a business, a life, people who love you regardless of what he does or doesn't do. If it turns out nothing's actually changed, you'll walk away, and you'll survive it, the same way you've survived everything else."

Her words sit with me for the rest of the afternoon, following me home, through dinner with Lila, through the quiet hours after she's tucked into bed and the house settles into its familiar evening stillness.

I finally pick up my phone a little before ten, scrolling to Noah's contact, my thumb hovering over the call button longer than feels entirely reasonable before I finally press it.

He answers on the second ring, his voice carrying a note of surprise. "Amara."

"You said you wanted to talk." My voice comes out steadier than the nervous flutter in my chest suggests. "About us."

There's a pause on the line, and when he speaks again, I can hear him settling into a chair, giving the conversation his full attention. "I did. I do. Whenever you're ready."

"I'm not making any promises," I say carefully. "This isn't me saying I'm ready to trust you again, or that I even know what I want yet. But I'm willing to have the conversation."

"That's more than fair." His voice carries genuine relief, unguarded in a way that surprises me even now. "Can I take you to dinner? Nothing public, nothing performative. Just somewhere quiet, where we can actually talk without an audience."

I consider the offer, weighing it against every instinct built from a year of hard won independence, and find, somewhat to my own surprise, that I'm not entirely opposed to the idea.

"Friday," I say finally. "But Noah, I need you to understand something before we go any further with this."

"Anything."

"I'm not the same woman you married." My voice is firm, certain in a way it's never been before with him. "I'm not going to spend this dinner, or any conversation after it, trying to convince you I'm worth choosing. If you want this, whatever this turns out to be, you're going to have to be the one doing the convincing. I've already proven what I'm capable of on my own."

Silence stretches on the other end of the line, and for a moment I wonder if I've pushed too hard, said too much too soon. Then Noah's voice comes through, low and steady, carrying none of the old cool detachment I remember from four years of marriage.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you now," he says quietly. "Friday, then. I'll pick you up at seven."