Chapter 7: Behind Closed Door

Claire’s POV

“What did Jason put in his response?” I asked my lawyer the following morning.

I sat opposite her with the photograph printed between us. In it, Ryan and I were holding hands. Anyone looking closely could see that we were standing in a crowded reception, but Jason had cropped the image to remove everyone else.

“He's alleging that you began a relationship with Mr. Bennett before the marriage ended,” she explained. “A photograph of two people holding hands doesn't prove adultery. But he can repeat the allegation publicly and force us to respond.”

I looked at the image again. “He told a room full of people I wasn't his wife. Now he wants to accuse me of betraying him?”

“His claims don't become true because he's made them. Save his messages, avoid arguing with him directly, and let me handle the legal response.”

“I won't apologize for holding someone's hand,” I said. “And I'm not withdrawing the divorce.”

“I'm not asking you to.” She slid the photograph into her file. “I'm asking you not to give him more material to twist.”

Outside her office, I stood in the sunshine and tried to settle my breathing. Jason had managed to reach into another morning, another decision, another part of my life. I hated that I still reacted to his name as though I owed him an explanation.

Ryan called before I reached the corner.

“I've heard Jason is telling people you were involved with me before you separated,” he said. “Someone brought it up at a business meeting.”

“That's his latest story.”

“I can correct it publicly, but I wanted to ask you first.”

I stopped beside a shop window. Last week, Ryan would have assumed he knew the best response. Now he was waiting for mine.

“Please don't issue anything,” I said. “My lawyer is handling it. Until we've reviewed the marriage agreement, I'd rather keep our private conversations private.”

“Understood. If you change your mind, tell me.”

His easy agreement made my throat tighten. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“Are you still coming to Bennett Group this afternoon? The project team wants to review your designs for the separate art commission.”

“I’ll be there. The commission is still under discussion, and I need to earn it regardless of whatever Jason says.”

“And you'll be judged on the work,” Ryan replied.

I spent the next two hours adjusting the proposed installation. I wanted something that made visitors slow down rather than simply admire how much money had been spent. By the time I reached Bennett Group, my shoulders ached from carrying my portfolio, and my head throbbed from too little sleep.

Ryan joined the project meeting halfway through. He listened while I explained the painted panels, the lighting, and how the design would change as people walked past it. When I finished, he studied the drawings longer than anyone else.

“The central panel is too dark,” he said. “It could disappear under the evening lighting.”

“It won't if the lighting team follows the specifications,” I replied. “That's why I included them.”

“And if they don't?”

“Then I'll make them look at the specifications until they do.”

One of the designers laughed. Ryan's mouth twitched, though he kept examining the page.

“You're confident.”

“I'm prepared. There's a difference.” I pointed to a smaller sketch. “Besides, you approved a building with a glass wall facing west. You don't get to complain that sunlight changes things.”

This time Ryan laughed openly. The sound startled me into laughing too. For a few seconds, the room felt ordinary. I wasn't someone's discarded wife or a woman with hospital bills. I was an artist arguing about light with a man who cared enough to listen.

After the meeting, Ryan caught up with me in the corridor.

“You look exhausted,” he said, falling into step beside me. “Have you eaten?”

“Coffee counts if you have enough of it.”

“It doesn't. There's a quiet sitting room near my office. You can rest before going back to the hospital.”

“I don't need special treatment.”

“Then consider it a chair and a glass of water. Neither comes with conditions.”

I wanted to refuse out of habit. Instead, I followed him into a small room overlooking the gardens. He brought tea and sandwiches, then sat at the opposite end of the sofa, leaving me space.

For a while, we ate without speaking. I watched people cross the courtyard below and felt the tension in my shoulders slowly ease.

“Does Victoria know you've agreed to my conditions?” I asked.

“She knows I’m speaking to someone she didn’t choose,” Ryan replied. “That was enough to upset her.”

“Has she always been like that?”

“Since my father died. She helped keep the company together when I was too young to understand what was happening. I owe her a great deal.” He turned his cup in his hands. “But somewhere along the way, gratitude became an obligation to obey.”

I studied him. He spoke about Victoria without cruelty, even after everything she'd threatened. It made me think of how long I'd defended Jason, trying to separate the man I'd loved from the man he'd become.

“I used to eat dinner alone in Jason's house,” I admitted. “I'd hear his car outside and sit up, hoping he'd come in. Most nights, he didn't. Eventually I stopped waiting, but I still set a place for him.”

Ryan looked at me. “That must have been lonely.”

“It was worse when he came home and acted as though I should be grateful.” I picked at the edge of my napkin. “I don't want to live like that again.”

“You shouldn't have to.”

He said it quietly, without offering to fix anything. The simplicity of it hurt. I had spent so long defending my feelings that I wasn't sure what to do when someone accepted them.

“You make it sound easy,” I said.

“I know it isn't.” Ryan paused. “I'm not very good at letting people close either. I tend to solve problems instead of admitting when something hurts.”

“I've noticed,” I replied, and he gave me a rueful smile.

A loose strand of hair fell across my cheek as I turned toward him. Ryan lifted his hand slowly, giving me time to move away. When I didn't, he brushed the strand behind my ear. His fingers barely touched my skin, yet warmth spread through me.

For one breath, I thought he might kiss me. Worse, I wanted him to. Ryan lowered his hand before either of us moved closer, and the space he left felt like a choice I could finally trust.

“I won't assume what you want, Claire,” he said.

I swallowed. “Thank you for letting me decide.” I wished I could tell him how much I wanted him to stay close.

Neither of us mentioned the moment again. He walked me to the lift and reminded me to call if Dad needed anything. I promised I would consider it, knowing I was beginning to trust him for reasons that had nothing to do with a marriage agreement.

My phone rang just as the lift doors opened. It was my lawyer.

“Claire, Jason's attorney contacted me,” she said. “He's willing to stop contesting the divorce, but only if you accept his proposed settlement terms.”

I stepped away from the lift, suddenly cold. “What terms?”

“Jason wants you to sign away any ownership or financial claims you might have to paintings created during your marriage,” she said. “That doesn’t mean he owns them. We’ll challenge the demand and examine the records showing who created and owns each work.”

I gripped my phone. “Including my mother's painting?”