9; I Wasn’t His Safety Net Anymore

Serelyn’s POV

Darian chose a restaurant he knew I liked. That alone told me he wanted something. For seven years, he had rarely remembered my preferences unless he needed to soften me before asking for money. 

He would reserve a table, order my favorite wine, and act like a considerate husband until the bill arrived or his phone rang with another financial emergency. Then the real conversation would begin.

I arrived at noon and found him sitting near the window, his phone pressed to his ear. 

His free hand moved impatiently across the table as he listened to whoever was speaking.

“No, I said Friday,” he snapped. “I’ll handle it by Friday. Just give me until then.”

He ended the call when he noticed me. For a moment, his expression softened into the familiar smile I had once mistaken for affection.

“You’re late.”

I checked my watch before sitting down, “I’m three minutes early.”

His smile disappeared, “Can we not start arguing?”

“I haven’t started anything.”

A waiter approached. Darian ordered coffee for himself and turned to me.

“Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

He waited until the waiter left before leaning forward.

“I appreciate you coming.”

“You said it was about the company.”

“It is.”

He rubbed his forehead, looking more tired than he had the last time I saw him. 

His shirt was slightly creased, and the skin beneath his eyes looked darker. He had probably spent the morning answering calls from creditors and pretending everything was under control.

I felt no sympathy. Not because I wanted him to suffer, but because I remembered what he had done with the money I gave him in my first life.

Every time I rescued the company, he treated the rescue as proof that he had made the right decisions. He took bigger risks, spent more freely, and returned to me whenever the consequences arrived. My money had become his escape route.

“What happened?” I asked.

Darian exhaled, “We’re dealing with a temporary cash-flow problem.”

There it was, “temporary.”

I almost knew his next sentence before he spoke it.

“Two major clients have delayed payments, and several accounts need to be settled before the end of the week. If we don’t clear them, our suppliers could suspend deliveries.”

“How much?”

He hesitated and I waited. 

“Enough to stabilize things.”

“That’s not an amount, Darian.”

His jaw tightened, “I need $380,000.”

For a moment, I simply looked at him. Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars? 

He didn’t bother asking whether I could help. He didn’t ask whether I had the money available. He had arrived with a number already chosen, as if my role in the meeting was to approve it.

“That’s a substantial amount.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His eyes narrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you walked in here asking for nearly four hundred thousand dollars and haven’t shown me a single account statement.”

He leaned back.

“You’re my wife, Serelyn. This isn’t a business negotiation between strangers.”

“No, so if it were a business negotiation, you would have brought the documents.”

His fingers tightened around his coffee cup, “The company doesn’t have time for an audit. I need the money transferred today so we can keep everything running.”

“And what happens next week?”

“What?”

“When another client delays payment. When another account needs settling. When another supplier threatens to suspend deliveries. What happens then?”

“We deal with that when it happens.”

I stared at him. That was exactly how it had always worked. One temporary rescue became another. One emergency became an excuse for the next. 

Every time I covered a shortfall, Darian treated the money as though it had appeared naturally, without anyone sacrificing anything to provide it.

He had never learned to manage the company without me.

Why would he?

I had always been there to catch him, “I’m not giving you any money.”

His cup stopped halfway to his mouth.

“What?”

“I said no.”

For several seconds, he looked genuinely confused. Then he laughed once, without humor.

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

“Serelyn, this isn’t about Rhett. It’s not about my mother or anyone else in the family. This is my company.”

“Then manage it.”

His expression hardened, “You know how much you’ve invested in it.”

“Exactly.”

I met his eyes.

“I’ve invested enough, and I’m done now.”

He stared at me as though he couldn’t decide whether to shout or plead.

“You put money into this company because you believed in me.”

“I put money into it because I believed you would build something worthwhile.”

“And I did!”

“Then why are you here asking me to save it again?”

His mouth opened, but no answer came. I continued before he could recover.

“You’ve had seven years to make this company stable. I’ve covered operating costs, settled debts, and helped you recover from mistakes that should have forced you to reconsider how you were running the business. Every time something went wrong, you came to me. Every time I paid, you promised things would be different.”

“Business is complicated.”

“So is managing money. I’m managing mine.” 

His face reddened, “Are you doing this because of Lysenna.”

I didn’t bother denying it, “Partly.”

He blinked. Perhaps he had expected me to defend myself. To insist that I was being fair, that I wasn’t angry, that my refusal had nothing to do with the affair. I had spent years making my decisions comfortable for him. I was done.

“You betrayed me,” I said. “Your family spent my money while treating me like an inconvenience. You allowed your mother to blame me for something that was never my fault, and you stood beside her. Now you’ve come here expecting me to protect the company as if none of that matters.”

“I never said it didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He looked away. For a moment, I saw the man I had married under the anger. The man who had once promised that we would build a future together. I remembered the early years, when he had taken my hand and told me he would never let me regret choosing him.

The memory hurt less than I expected. Perhaps because I finally understood that I had been grieving the promise more than the person. Darian leaned forward again.

“Are you really willing to watch everything I have built collapse?”

I looked at him carefully.

“No, my dear husband.”

Relief flickered across his face. Then I finished.

“Ain’t you ashamed of yourself? I’m willing to let you face the consequences of what you’ve built.”

His expression emptied. There was a difference between financing a company and building one. I had supplied the money, but I hadn’t made the decisions. I hadn’t chosen his investments, signed his contracts, or managed his accounts.

I had financed his ambition. He had mistaken that for success. I stood and picked up my bag.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Home.”

“We’re not finished.”

“I am.”

“Serelyn!”

I stopped beside the table. He lowered his voice, glancing at the nearby diners.

“Don’t make a decision you’ll regret.”

I looked at him over my shoulder, “That’s what I used to do.”

Then I walked out.

By the time I reached home, I felt lighter. Not happy, exactly. There was no satisfaction in watching a company struggle, even one belonging to a man who had hurt me. 

But I no longer felt responsible for preventing every bad thing that happened to Darian. I had finally returned his problems to their rightful owner. After changing out of my clothes, I went to the room where I kept the supplies I hadn’t yet moved to Viremont. Several cartons stood beside the wall, waiting to be sorted and transported. I checked the labels before selecting a few items.

Bottled water. Packaged food. Sealed medical supplies.

Then I touched the silver ring. The familiar shift came almost immediately. The room disappeared, replaced by the quiet expanse of the Spatial Sanctuary. Shelves and open storage areas stretched farther than they had when I first entered, though I still didn’t understand exactly how the space expanded.

I placed the supplies in their designated areas, keeping the food separate from the medical equipment. Then I began testing what I had stored.

The first item was a sealed packet of dried food. I checked the packaging, examined the contents, and put it back.

Next came a bottle of water. Its seal remained intact, and the water looked exactly as it had when I brought it inside. Finally, I inspected a sealed medical package.

Nothing had changed. No deterioration. No damage. No sign that time had affected any of them.

Relief loosened the tightness in my chest. The Sanctuary worked.

I hadn’t imagined it, and I wasn’t depending on an ability that might disappear the moment I needed it.

Still, I wasn’t going to make the mistake of treating it as an unlimited solution. I didn’t know all its restrictions. I didn’t know how far it could expand or what would happen if I relied on it too heavily. The space was an advantage, not a reason to abandon ordinary preparation. I still needed physical storage at Viremont. I still needed secure buildings, reliable power, working water systems, and people capable of maintaining them.

The Sanctuary could preserve what I collected. Viremont would give me somewhere to survive. I finished arranging the supplies and stepped back into the room.

For years, I had used my resources to keep other people standing. Now, every dollar and every box of supplies served a different purpose.

Mine.

That was when the truth finally settled in. I didn’t need to destroy Darian’s company. I didn’t need to expose him publicly or ruin his reputation. I only needed to stop holding him up. He had spent seven years believing I would always catch him when he fell. Now he would have to discover what happened when I let go.

My phone rang. I glanced at the screen. The supplier. The same man who had called about the unexpected price increase the previous day. I answered.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Vale.” His voice sounded different this time. Less apologetic, more uncertain. “I’m sorry to bother you again.”

“Is there another problem with the order?”

“Not exactly.”

I waited.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve been reviewing your purchases, and I need to ask you something.”

I glanced toward the cartons beside the wall.

“Go ahead.”

There was a pause. Then he asked the question I had been hoping nobody would ask.

“Why are you preparing for shortages that haven’t happened yet?”