Chapter 7

When Naomi walked back into Grant Industries that afternoon, she was carrying the pin on her lapel, the trust documents in her bag, and a quiet certainty that had been growing in her chest all the way there.

She didn't announce herself. She took the elevator to the eighteenth floor and walked past the receptionist without a word. She saw Debra standing by her office door, and Naomi met her eyes and gave a small nod. Debra nodded back, something passing between them that didn't need to be said.

Marcus was in the conference room. He stood at the far window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city — the same pose she'd seen him take a thousand times, always when he wanted to seem thoughtful, reflective. The performance continued even now.

He turned when she entered. His face was carefully composed, but Naomi could see the cracks — the red-rimmed eyes, the shaking hands he was trying to hide by keeping them in his pockets.

"Thank you for coming," he said, and his voice was softer than she'd expected. "I wasn't sure you would."

"You said you wanted to talk. I told you I'd come." She set her bag on the table, took out the envelope, and set it beside her. "So talk."

Marcus let out a long breath. He moved from the window to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from her. He didn't look at the envelope.

"I need you to understand something," he said. "I know you think this is about the money. I know you think I married you because of the company. But that's not... it wasn't all of it."

Naomi said nothing.

"I loved you," Marcus said. "At the beginning — I loved you. You were the first person who ever looked at me like I was enough. Like I wasn't just the son of a man who'd lost everything." He paused. "You were the first person who believed in me."

"I believed in you," Naomi said, quietly. "I believed in you for ten years. I let you turn my father's company into your story, because I thought that was what love meant. I thought if I loved you enough, the truth wouldn't matter."