POV Audrey
The front door barely opens before Oliver crashes into me like a small, determined hurricane.
"Mom!" His arms wrap around my waist with desperate strength, his face pressed against my stomach.
"You were gone forever. I counted every single day, and it was basically a million years, and I never want you to go to San Francisco again unless you take me with you."
I drop to my knees, pulling him close until I can breathe in the familiar scent of his shampoo, feel the solid reality of his small body against mine.
"I missed you more than you could possibly imagine, sweetheart. Every single minute felt wrong without you beside me. I kept thinking about what you were doing, whether you were eating properly, if you were giving Mrs. Walker trouble about bedtime."
"I was perfect." He pulls back to grin at me, and Shane's gray eyes sparkle from my son's face. "Mrs. Walker said I was extremely well-behaved, which means I get extra dessert privileges, which means you have to honor her promise because she's the authority when you're gone."
"We'll discuss dessert negotiations later." I brush his hair back from his forehead, drinking in every detail I missed. "Tell me everything. What did you do while I was away? Did you finish your book? Did you practice your piano?"
"I did everything, Mom, I promise. But first—" His expression shifts to eager anticipation. "Did you bring me what I asked for?"
Oh, shit.
I brought nothing. In three days of business meetings and romantic complications, of Shane's hands on my skin and his confession burning through my defenses, I never once remembered to find a gift for my son.
The realization floods me with shame so acute I can barely form words.
"Oliver, I am so sorry." I cup his face in my hands, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "The trip became incredibly hectic with presentations and investors and unexpected complications. I meant to find something perfect for you, but the days slipped away from me, and I failed. That's not an excuse—it's an explanation, and a poor one at that. You deserved better from me."
His shoulders drop for just a moment before he shrugs with the remarkable elasticity of childhood.
"It's okay, Mom. You can bring me two things next time to make up for it. Besides, I have something way more exciting to tell you about—my school project presentation is Monday, and you absolutely have to be there because I've been practicing every single day, and Mrs. Walker says my confidence is through the roof."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world." I pull him into another embrace, gratitude and guilt warring in my chest. "Tell me everything about this presentation while I unpack."
Mrs. Walker appears in the hallway as Oliver drags me toward the stairs, her knowing eyes taking in details I cannot hide.
"Mrs. Lennox, welcome home. I must say, you look remarkably different than when you left—radiant, despite what I'm sure was an exhausting trip. Whatever happened in San Francisco clearly agreed with you. The change is quite striking, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Thank you, Mrs. Walker. I appreciate you holding everything together while I was away." I keep my voice steady, but internally, I spiral. Is the change visible? Can everyone see that I've begun letting Shane into spaces I swore to keep locked? What if his warmth is nothing more than him making the best of our arrangement, exactly as he suggested weeks ago? What if I'm building castles on foundations made of sand?
I force the thoughts away as Oliver chatters about his presentation. I like Shane. Fighting that truth grows harder with every passing day.
* * *
Friday arrives wrapped in professional tension.
The conference room at Lennox Industries gleams with polished wood and nervous energy as we await Shane's team for finalizing investor terms.
Kara sits beside me, her legal documents arranged with military precision, her posture radiating the controlled competence I've relied on for years.
The door opens. Shane enters first, his presence commanding the room's attention, followed closely by Paul Hoffman.
Beside me, Kara stiffens.
"Kara." Paul's voice carries genuine warmth as he approaches our side of the table. "It's been far too long since we've crossed paths professionally. You look wonderful—success clearly suits you. I've followed your career from afar, and I have to say, your work on the Lynch acquisition was nothing short of brilliant."
Kara's response could freeze the Pacific. "I wish I could say it's good to see you, Paul, but honestly, I wish it had been longer still. Perhaps another decade would have been sufficient, though I suspect even that might not be quite enough distance for my taste."
I glance at Shane. He glances back. Neither of us comments, but understanding passes between us—there's history here we don't know, wounds still tender beneath professional veneers.
The meeting proceeds with impressive efficiency. Senior colleagues praise the press release that featured Shane's and my romantic responses, their enthusiasm barely contained behind boardroom decorum.
"The public response has been extraordinary," announces our VP of Communications. "Our stock began climbing immediately after the article dropped. Investors are responding to the personal angle, the authenticity—it's exactly the narrative we needed. The market sees stability, sees partnership, sees a future worth investing in."
Shane smiles—genuinely, without the controlled polish I've grown accustomed to—and winks at me across the table.
The entire room notices. The entire room pretends not to.
Heat floods my face, and I suddenly find my legal documents fascinating.
"We'll reconvene Monday to finalize remaining terms," Shane announces, rising as the meeting concludes. His team gathers their materials while ours does the same, the choreography of successful negotiation playing out in handshakes and satisfied nods.
He catches my elbow as I turn toward the door. "Audrey, what are your plans for the weekend? I thought perhaps we might find some time together, continue what we started in San Francisco."
The question tightens something in my chest. I'm not ready. Not ready for more time together, not ready to speak openly, not ready to face the growing weight of everything I'm hiding from him.
"I'm spending the weekend with Oliver." The confidence in my voice surprises me. "I've already missed too much time with him. He needs me present, focused, entirely his."
Shane accepts this with grace I don't deserve. "Of course. Oliver comes first—that's exactly as it should be. Perhaps next week we can find a moment for ourselves, when your schedule allows. No pressure, no expectations, just... time."
He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek that lingers just long enough to make my pulse stutter. "Give Oliver my best. Tell him to knock them dead at that presentation."
He departs with Paul, leaving me standing in the conference room doorway with the ghost of his lips still warm on my skin.
Movement catches my peripheral vision. My grandfather watches from down the hallway, his expression unreadable save for the slight nod of approval he offers before turning away.
I retreat to my office without comment, closing the door against a world that suddenly feels too complicated to navigate.
Sinking into my chair, I press my palms against my eyes and try to breathe through feelings I cannot name—hope tangled with terror, joy drowning in guilt, love growing in soil poisoned by lies.
Shane treats Oliver as an extension of me. An acceptable complication in our arrangement.
He doesn't know Oliver is an extension of him.
And I have no idea how much longer I can carry this secret before it destroys everything.