CHAPTER 7

I found the email at 9:14 a.m. The subject line was painfully ordinary. Re: Coastal Development — Material Supply Suspension. I opened it once. Then again. The words were still there. The primary steel supplier was withdrawing from the foundation phase, effective immediately. No negotiation. No transition period. Just a polite explanation about "concerns regarding project stability and leadership continuity."

I leaned back in my chair. Someone was trying to stop the project. And they had chosen the one thing that could actually slow me down. I reached for the phone. "Marcus. Conference room. Now."

He appeared less than a minute later. "What happened?"

I turned the laptop toward him. He read the email. His expression changed. "That's impossible."

"Apparently not."

"They've supplied this project for years."

"Which means someone gave them a reason to change their mind overnight."

Marcus looked at me. "You think this is connected to—"

"I think someone wants me gone."

He didn't argue. Twenty minutes later, we were on the phone with the supplier's regional director. He gave us the same polished explanation. Risk. Reputation. Leadership uncertainty. I listened until he finished. Then I spoke. "You're withdrawing from an active contract without completing the required notice period."

Silence. "I suggest you review the termination clause before making another statement about risk."

"Ms. Monroe, this isn't personal."

"Good. Then let's keep it professional."

I listed the penalties attached to the withdrawal and reminded him exactly how much the company stood to lose if they breached the agreement. The silence on the other end grew longer. Finally, his tone changed. "What would it take to resolve this?"

"Restore the order."

"That's all?"

"No."

I looked at Marcus. "Your written confirmation by eleven."

The call ended. Marcus stared at me. "You haven't changed."

I closed the laptop. "Yes, I have."

He didn't answer. Because we both knew I had.

By eleven, the steel order was restored. The team relaxed almost immediately. I didn't. I knew enough about people to understand that problems rarely appeared alone. Someone had tested the door. They had learned it was locked. That didn't mean they wouldn't try the window.

I spent the afternoon buried in the project. For the first time since returning, I almost forgot what had happened to me. Almost.

At 6:30, Marcus dropped a file on my desk. "There's something else."

I looked up. "What?"

"The board wants you to attend tomorrow's executive meeting."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "They're questioning whether you're in a position to lead the project."

My fingers went still. "Who questioned it?"

"The chairman."

"Of course."

"Rosalie…"

"I'll be there."

He nodded. Then he paused at the door. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

I looked back at the plans. "I know."

He left. I stayed until after eight. When I finally walked outside, the street was almost empty. Then I saw him. Sheriff. He stood beside the black car parked across from the building. My first instinct was to turn around. My second was to keep walking. I chose the second.

He stepped forward. "Rosalie."

I kept moving. "Please."

I stopped. Not because I wanted to hear him. Because I was tired of running every time his voice entered the room. I turned. "What?"

He looked at me for several seconds. "I saw the original medical records."

My face didn't change. "The twins were mine."

The words landed harder than they should have. I looked away. "I know."

His expression tightened. "I didn't."

"No."

"I believed—"

"You believed what you wanted to believe."

He went quiet. I looked back at him. "You didn't ask me."

His jaw tightened. "You didn't give me a chance to explain."

"You didn't ask me to explain."

He had no answer. And somehow, that silence hurt more than an argument. I folded my arms. "What do you want?"

"I want to apologize."

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. "An apology?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

His eyes dropped. "For leaving you there."

My chest tightened. For one horrible second, I was back on that floor. Blood beneath me. My hands shaking. My voice disappearing. His footsteps moving away. I swallowed. "You did more than leave me."

He looked at me. "You chose someone else while I was bleeding."

His face changed. "I know."

"No. You don't."

My voice cracked. I hated that it did. I took a breath and forced it steady. "You don't know what it feels like to hear a doctor tell you there is nothing they can do."

He said nothing. "You don't know what it feels like to wake up and realize the two lives you were already loving are gone."

His eyes remained on mine. "And you don't know what it feels like to realize the person you thought would protect you was the person who left you on that floor."

Silence. I wiped the corner of my eye before the tear could fall. "I don't need you to understand."

"Rosalie—"

"I need you to stay away from me."

He looked like he wanted to say something. I didn't give him the chance. "And make sure my brother's trust remains untouched."

"It will."

"Good."

I turned away. "Rosalie."

I stopped but didn't look back. "I am sorry."

For a moment, I closed my eyes. Then I walked away. I didn't cry. Not until I reached my apartment. I locked the door behind me and stood against it. The silence swallowed me. I walked to the bedroom, sat on the mattress, and stared at the empty wall.

Then my phone rang. Marcus. I answered. "What's wrong?"

"The board meeting tomorrow has changed."

I frowned. "How?"

"They aren't just questioning your leadership."

My stomach tightened. "What else?"

A pause. "Someone submitted a formal request to remove you from the coastal project."

I sat up. "Who?"

"It's anonymous."

My grip tightened around the phone. "Send it to me."

"I already did."

I opened my laptop. The document was waiting. I read the first paragraph. Then the second. My expression slowly hardened. They hadn't questioned my work. They had questioned my personal stability. They had described my recent hospitalization. My marriage. My pregnancy. My loss. Private details. Details that should never have left the hospital.

I stared at the screen. Someone wasn't trying to take my project anymore. They were trying to make everyone believe I was incapable of leading it. I closed the laptop. My hands stopped shaking. For the first time that night, I smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind that came when someone finally gave me a reason to fight.

"Fine."

I stood. "If that's the game you want…"

I picked up my phone. "…I'll play.”