CHAPTER 12: THE LOBBY

The car stopped in front of the tower.

Through the glass doors, I could see Ryan clearly. He was standing near the front desk with his hands in his pockets, looking at his phone. He was smiling to himself. I knew that smile. It was the one he wore when he thought he had won.

"Stay here," Damien said.

"No."

He looked at me.

"I want to see it," I said. My voice was small, but I meant it. "He did this to me. I want to be there."

Damien looked at me for a few seconds. Then he nodded once. "Then keep the box. Do not say anything. Let me talk."

"Okay."

Grant opened the door. I stepped out onto the pavement, holding my little box with the plant and the chipped mug. I felt silly. I was in a plain cotton dress and old shoes, walking into the tallest building in the city.

Damien walked in front of me. He did not rush. He pushed the glass doors open and the whole lobby changed.

It was like someone had pressed pause. The receptionists stopped typing. A man carrying coffee stopped in the middle of the floor. Two women near the elevator stopped talking. Everyone just looked at him. Then, one by one, they looked at me.

I wanted to hide behind my box.

Ryan looked up from his phone. For one second, he did not understand. Then he saw me. Then he saw Damien. And the smile on his face fell off completely.

"Uncle," he said. "What... what are you doing here? I thought you were in Zurich this week."

"I came back."

"Why?"

Damien did not answer. He walked up to him slowly, until they were standing close, and said in a very quiet voice, "Where is Voss?"

"Voss?" Ryan's eyes darted to me, then back. "He's... he's on his way. He had a meeting. Why?"

"Call him."

"Uncle, I don't..."

"Call him. Now."

Ryan took out his phone with a hand that was not steady. He pressed a number and held it to his ear. I could hear it ring. Once. Twice. A voice picked up.

"Put it on speaker," Damien said.

Ryan did. And Voss's voice came out, smooth and pleased. "Mr. Ashford? It's done. She's gone. The firm agreed, and Mr. Parker was very..."

He stopped, because Damien had lifted one finger.

"Mr. Voss," Damien said. "This is Damien Ashford."

There was a very long silence on the line.

"Mr. Ashford. Sir. I was, I was only following Mr. Ryan's instructions..."

"You are fired."

"Sir, I..."

"Your office will be cleared by five. Your things will be sent to your home. You will not enter this building again." He did not raise his voice. "That is all."

He took the phone out of Ryan's hand and ended the call himself. Then he put it back in his palm, like he was returning a pen.

The lobby was so quiet I could hear the air conditioner.

"Uncle," Ryan said. His face had gone gray. "You can't just fire our lawyer in front of everyone. He's been with us for ten years."

"He was with *me* for ten years. He has been working for you for two days." Damien looked at him. "Do you know what you did this morning?"

"I, it was a business decision. The firm was a risk. Her name is all over the internet, and..."

"You used the company's name to attack a woman who did nothing to you. You threatened a small business with fourteen employees so that you could hurt her." He paused. "In front of her coworkers."

"She's not just a woman. She's..."

"She is my wife."

Ryan flinched like he'd been hit.

I stood there holding my box. My heart was pounding. I should have felt good. I told myself, *this is what you wanted. This is justice.* But I only felt strange. Cold and a little sick. Because the scariest part was how calm Damien was. He never shouted. He never even moved his hands. He just stood there and spoke, one slow sentence at a time, and Ryan got smaller and smaller until he looked like a boy being scolded in a headmaster's office.

"Here is what will happen," Damien said. "Starting today, you are removed from the client department. Every decision you make will need my signature. You will personally call Mr. Parker and tell him the Ashford contract continues. You will apologize."

"Apologize?" Ryan's voice cracked. "To a *nobody* who runs a tiny office above a flower shop?"

"Yes."

"I won't."

"Then you will explain to the board why I took your seat." Damien tilted his head. "Which would you prefer?"

Ryan's mouth opened. Nothing came out. He looked around the lobby, at the employees, at the guards, at the receptionist who had her hand over her mouth. Everyone was watching. Everyone. And not one of them looked away.

He turned to me. For the first time, he looked straight at me. His eyes were red.

"Lila," he said. His voice was almost a whisper. "Are you happy now?"

I did not know what to say.

I thought about it honestly. I thought about the mall, the lawyer, the comments, the box in my arms. And I thought about the boy who once sat beside me on my balcony, eating cheap noodles, telling me he would never leave.

"No," I said quietly. "I'm not."

Something changed in his face. Just for a moment. It looked almost like he wanted to say something real. But then Damien took a small step forward, and Ryan stepped back, and the moment was gone.

"Go to your office," Damien said. "Make the call."

Ryan went. He walked toward the elevators with his shoulders pulled in, his head down, past all those staring faces. The elevator doors closed behind him with a soft ding.

Damien turned to me. "Come."

We went out the same way. Grant was waiting with the door open. I got in, and for a long time I could not talk.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked, after a while.

"No." I looked down at the box. "I'm just... I've never seen anyone do that. You didn't even yell."

"There is no need."

"It was scary."

"Yes." He said it simply. "That is the point."

I stared out the window. The tower got smaller behind us. I thought, *this is how he runs a company. This is the man everyone is afraid of.* And the strange thing was that I wasn't afraid. I was just tired. And somewhere deep inside, very quietly, I felt something close to safe.

That scared me more than anything.

We went home.

That evening, Damien came to find me in the living room. I was sitting on the sofa with my box on the table, not sure where to put my things. He stood at the door with his hands behind his back, like a man giving a report.

"We should speak about the rules," he said.

"Okay."

"You have your own room. I have mine. You may go anywhere in the house except my study." He paused. "You will not ask me questions about my past. I will not ask about yours."

"Okay."

"Outside, we are a married couple. Inside, you are free." His eyes flicked to my hands, then away. "I will not touch you. Unless it is for show."

"Okay," I said again.

I don't know why, but each *okay* felt a little heavier than the last.

"Good." He gave a short nod. "Mrs. Bell will bring dinner."

"Aren't you eating with me?"

"I have work."

He left. His footsteps went away down the hall.

Dinner came on a tray. I ate half of it and could not finish. Around nine, I took the plate to the kitchen myself, and on my way back, I passed the dining room.

The door was open a little.

Damien was sitting at the long table, alone. The big chandelier was off. Only one small lamp burned at his end. In front of him was a bowl of plain soup and nothing else. He ate very slowly, looking at the empty chairs around him. Twenty chairs. All empty.

He did not look like a billionaire. He did not look like the man who made a whole lobby go silent. He just looked like someone very tired, eating dinner by himself because he had always done it that way.

My chest hurt. I did not know why.

I went upstairs quietly so he would not know I had seen.

In my room, I sat on the bed and took out my phone. I had been scared to look at it all day. But there was a new message. Not from my mother. Not from Hannah. An unknown number.

I opened it.

*Don't be fooled by the soup. Ask your husband why he really chose you.*