Chapter 2

"What if I tell you not to go?"

Cyrus paused for half a second as he fastened his cufflinks.

"Zara, don't make me think you're being unreasonable."

He opened the door. By the time the first low rumble of thunder sounded, he was already stepping into the elevator.

He'd even taken all fifty notes he'd written for Quinn with him, yet he'd failed to notice the corner of the paper peeking out from beneath the tablecloth.

The words on it were unmistakable: intrauterine pregnancy, seven weeks.

I picked up my phone and called my attorney.

The call had barely connected when hurried footsteps sounded outside. Cyrus had come back.

He pushed open the door. "Where's the spare key to Quinn's place?"

I took it from the drawer and placed it in his palm.

"Keep it. She needs you more often than I do. It'll be more convenient if you have it."

"I told you, she's just afraid of thunder."

"Yeah. I know."

My calm only darkened his expression. He caught my wrist, his thumb pressing against the red mark where the glass jar had cut me.

"Zara Spencer, if you have something to say, say it. Enough with the passive-aggressive comments."

"Was asking for a divorce not direct enough?"

His grip tightened abruptly.

My attorney's voice came from the phone on the coffee table. "Ms. Spencer? Are you still there?"

Cyrus glanced at the screen and ended the call for me.

"If you're done with this, get some rest. We have a proposal meeting for the Greenwood Theater project at the office tomorrow."

"That's my project."

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't let your personal feelings interfere with your work."

He released me and slipped the spare key into his pocket.

"Don't eat the cake. An almond allergy isn't something to mess around with. I'll bring you something else when I get back."

The door closed behind him again.

He didn't come home that night.

When I arrived at the office the next morning, the meeting was already underway. Projected on the screen were the restoration plans I'd spent two years developing.

Quinn was the one presenting them.

Her voice faltered when she saw me.

Cyrus sat at the head of the table.

"Keep going."

Quinn gave a small smile. "The key to the Greenwood Theater project isn't demolishing the existing building and starting over. It's restoring the original design while preserving the existing structure. That's the approach I've championed ever since I returned from overseas."

Applause filled the conference room.

I remained in the doorway.

"Your approach?"

Quinn hurried toward me. "Zara, don't misunderstand. Mr. Lane said you haven't been feeling well lately, so he asked me to present for you."

"Then why is your name on the proposal?"

Her face went pale, and she turned to Cyrus.

He capped his pen.

"The investors put more weight on international experience. The proposal has a better chance of being approved with Quinn's name on it."

"Those are my plans."

"The project belongs to the company."

"They include original restoration data left by my father. That doesn't belong to the company."

Cyrus checked his watch.

"You're my wife. What difference does it make whether you or Quinn gets the project?"

Quinn lowered her voice. "Zara, my name is only on it temporarily. Once the project gets underway, I'll explain everything to the team."

"When? After you win an award for it, or after you collect your share of the profits?"

Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

Cyrus set his pen down hard on the table.

"Enough. Quinn brought in an overseas team for this project. It's not like she's taking credit for your work without contributing anything."

"So I should thank her?"

"You could at least stop humiliating her in front of everyone."

The room fell silent.

Suddenly, I remembered the first time I'd proposed restoring the Greenwood Theater three years ago. Cyrus had called it too risky and refused to greenlight the project.

Three months after Quinn returned from overseas, the same project had somehow become her signature work.

So the project had never been the problem.

I simply hadn't been worth the risk.

My stomach suddenly lurched. I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.

Cyrus followed soon after and held out a cup of warm water.

"Did you skip breakfast?"

I didn't take it.

He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a ginger candy, unwrapped it, and set it beside my hand.

"Have this for now. Don't make yourself sick."

I stared at the candy, and despite everything, something in my chest softened for a fleeting moment.

Then Quinn appeared in the doorway with a soft laugh.

"Cyrus, you still do that?

"I used to get carsick every time we went anywhere, so you always kept ginger candy in your pocket. Does Zara get carsick too?"

Whatever warmth I'd felt vanished instantly.

I tossed the candy into the trash.

Cyrus frowned.

"If you don't want it, fine. Why waste it?"

"You're right." I wiped my hands with a paper towel. "From now on, I'll leave anything that isn't mine alone."

When I returned to the conference room, I walked straight to the projector and unplugged it in front of everyone.

"This proposal is no longer authorized for use.

"The original data belongs to my father's studio. Without my permission, anyone who uses it will be violating the studio's copyright."

Quinn's expression changed.

"But Cyrus already said I could lead the project."

I looked at her.

"Then have him draw the plans for you."

Cyrus rose, his voice turning colder.

"Zara, reinstate the authorization by this afternoon."

"Not happening."

"Your father's old studio is still inside the project's demolition zone."

He buttoned his suit jacket, his tone perfectly even.

"Every day you hold up the proposal is one day sooner the site gets cleared. If you want to save everything your father left behind in that studio, stop being difficult."

With that, he slid a site-clearance notice across the table toward me.

Cyrus Lane's signature was already at the bottom.