Chapter 3 - The Right Thing

Daniel’s POV

The study door remained closed.

I sat behind my mahogany desk, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. The scotch burned going down, but not enough to erase the hollow ache settling in my chest.

Logical, I reminded myself. This was logical.

I'd spent the last hour running numbers on my laptop, reviewing projections for the Crane Enterprises merger. The figures were impressive—market expansion, increased revenue, strategic positioning that would cement Sterling Holdings as the dominant force in commercial real estate. Everything I'd worked for. Everything that mattered.

So why did my penthouse feel like a mausoleum?

I took another drink and forced myself to focus on the screen. Lydia had sent the updated contract terms an hour ago. Her email was brief, professional, with a single line at the end: Looking forward to our partnership.

Partnership. The word felt heavier than it should.

A soft sound came from the hallway—barely audible over the rain. My hand tightened around the glass. Was she still here? Still packing?

Don't go out there. I took another drink instead.

The numbers on the screen blurred. Forty-two percent projected growth. Strategic acquisition of the Westfield properties. European expansion within eighteen months. I'd built this empire from my father's legacy, transformed it into something greater. Something untouchable.

Amelia didn't understand that world. Couldn't understand the pressure, the constant battles, the necessity of control.

Lydia's voice echoed in my head from our meeting last week. "She's making you soft, Daniel. When was the last time you closed a deal without second-guessing yourself?"

I'd wanted to argue. Wanted to defend Amelia. But the words had died in my throat because Lydia was right.

Three years ago, I would've crushed the Westfield acquisition without hesitation. Now I found myself considering employee welfare, community impact, long-term sustainability over immediate profit. Amelia's influence, creeping into my decisions like water through cracks.

"You've changed," Lydia had continued, her red lips curving into something between concern and satisfaction. "Remember who you were before her. Remember what you're capable of."

I did remember. I remembered being twenty-five and ruthless and unencumbered by sentiment. I remembered Lydia leaving me for a better offer, teaching me the most valuable lesson of my life: love was a liability.

Then Amelia had smiled at me across a charity gala, wine-stained and apologetic, and I'd forgotten everything I'd learned.

Mistake. It had all been a mistake.

I heard footsteps now—soft, hesitant. Moving down the hallway. Away from me.

My jaw clenched. I didn't move.

The Crane deal required focus. Lydia had made that clear. "I need to know you're all in, Daniel. No distractions. No divided attention. Can you give me that?"

I'd said yes. Made my choice. Signed the papers.

Another sound—the suitcase wheels on marble. She was leaving.

Good. I refreshed the spreadsheet, watching numbers recalculate. This is what needs to happen.

But my eyes drifted to the corner of my desk where a book lay forgotten. Jane Eyre. Amelia had been reading it three months ago, had tried to tell me about it over dinner. I'd been on my phone, responding to emails, half-listening.

"It's about a woman who refuses to compromise herself for love," she'd said quietly. "Even when it breaks her heart."

I'd looked up briefly. "Sounds impractical."

She'd smiled—that sad, small smile I'd grown accustomed to. "Maybe. Or maybe it's brave."

I picked up the book now, its pages worn. A passage was underlined in pencil: "I would always rather be happy than dignified."

Something twisted in my chest. I set it down quickly, reaching for my scotch instead.

The front door opened. Then closed.

The silence that followed was absolute.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against hardwood. Walked to the window. The rain streaked down the glass, blurring the city lights below. Somewhere down there, Amelia was getting into a car. Driving away. Starting over.

Without me.

This is what you wanted, I told myself. Control. Clarity. No complications.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

I turned, staring at the screen. A text from Lydia: "You did the right thing. See you tomorrow."

I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. The right thing. Yes. Of course.

But my other hand was still gripping the scotch glass so tightly my knuckles had gone white.

I typed back: "See you then."

The message sent. The screen went dark.

And in the reflection, I saw a man I barely recognized—standing alone in an empty penthouse, surrounded by everything he'd built and nothing that mattered.

I drained the scotch in one long swallow.

The rain continued to fall.

My phone buzzed again.

But this time it wasn't a text. It was a notification—a calendar reminder I'd forgotten to delete: Amelia's birthday dinner reservation, 7 PM.

That was tomorrow.

I stared at the screen, my chest suddenly tight. Tomorrow. Her twenty-eighth birthday. The one I'd promised to make special after missing the last two.

The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the desk.

And in the silence of the penthouse, I heard nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the rain outside and the ghost of her voice whispering, "I loved you."

My phone lit up one more time—another message from Lydia: "Don't forget. Breakfast meeting at 8. We have a lot to celebrate."

I looked at the two messages on my screen. Then at the book on my desk. Then at the empty hallway beyond my door.

And for the first time in three years, I wondered if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life.