Page 8 of When Hearts Surrender

“It’s time. With rumors of you stepping down from the COO position, the public needs stability from us. For Fleur. They need to see the CEO.” Not to mention, the stock price has been volatile. One wrong move and it’ll plummet.

“But your privacy. Heck, that’s why you don’t let anyone photograph you at events or even at The Orchid,” Ryland murmurs, referring to the exclusive establishment for the rich and the elite, the crowning jewel of our family’s international conglomerate, Fleur Entertainment Holdings. “If you step out there, your privacy will be gone. You can’t go back. And what about your anxiety? Aren’t you worried—”

“Well, what do you expect me to do, dammit! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t—fuck!”

I stop myself, but it’s too late. The poisonous sentiment is out.

Silence fills the line and I hear heavy breathing on his side.

“I…I’m sorry, Maxwell, for putting you in this position. If I hadn’t left—”

“Ignore me. It’s the fucking nerves talking. You know I’ve always supported you leaving Fleur to pursue your dreams of being a professor. And look at how it turned out. You’re happy; you’re smiling again.”

For the past decade, with Ryland as the chief operating officer, he took on all the public duties of the Anderson family and Fleur Entertainment Holdings. Nicknamed “the Prince of the USA,” he diverted the media attention away from me and faced the pressures of being in the primary focus of the media. We’d convene either at the estate or in the offices for strategy, decision making, day-to-day management of the company, but the press and the public relied on him for information.

As his twin, I sensed his discontent in recent years, saw his forced smile whenever we’d meet up with friends at the gentlemen’s club within The Orchid, but he’d brush it off. Until recently, when I found out the depths of his misery and how he almost gave up the woman he loved to be chained to the job and abide by the rules of a ridiculous family trust, which we thankfully unraveled recently.

That has to stop now.

I take off my simple family insignia ring, an ornately carved band with a black agate stone on it, the ring passed down for generations to the firstborn son of the family.

The son impacted by the curse.

The son with the most responsibilities to uphold. The generations of illustrious Andersons. The legacy.

Taking a deep breath, I slide it back on my ring finger.I came to terms with this a long time ago. I’m at peace. I’m as calm as the waters on the lake.

The frigid air and gloomy skies at Lake Superior last month seemed so long ago. A lifetime away. My fingers twitch,every muscle inside me tense and ready to bolt back to the estate, where I can wield my paints and brushes and cast out the turmoil rioting in my mind.

I’m calm. I’m at peace. I accept myself.

The words from my childhood therapist ring in my ears. He died a long time ago, and I haven’t seen anyone else since.Maybe you should.

I pinch myself, concentrating on the present.

They are just people. Focus on the speech, the words. Don’t focus on them.

More affirmations tumble around my mind, phrases I’ve repeated to myself before I need to meet new people. They used to offer me a modicum of confidence, of the calm I so treasured, but now they are as useless as a simple fire extinguisher to a blazing wildfire.

“Maybe Steven can step in. He’s no stranger to the press with his previous dealings at Pietra. Or even Rex. The press loves him.”

I shake my head. Steven Kingsley, our good friend and soon to be brother-in-law, as he’s engaged to my half sister, Grace Peyton, has announced his departure from his high-ranking position at Pietra Capital. He’s planning to take over Ryland’s position at Fleur.

“You know that isn’t enough. Steven’s plans to join Fleur aren’t public yet. And Rex? He’s the life of the party. A great chief marketing officer, but not what the press is looking for. They want the head of the company to tell them everything is fine at Fleur.”

I stare at my dim reflection in the mirror by the doors, placed there for the staff and others to check their appearance before stepping onto the stage. I tug the navy tie around my neck in frustration.The damn tie is crooked.The pinstripes blur in my vision as I fix the offending article of clothing.

My dark brown, almost black, hair is carefully swept up, my face cleanly shaven, the gray suit carefully pressed and immaculate on my six-foot-four frame. I look like the powerful CEO the public believes me to be.

The calm, collected CEO who can make a fucking speech without throwing up.

But my gray eyes hold the panic I’m desperately trying to rein in.

“Ethan can do it too. Nothing like a serious CFO to calm the waters.”

“Fuck, I’m sure Lana can do it better than me!” I shout into the receiver, referring to my sister, the youngest of the five Anderson siblings, our resident PR guru. “I won’t repeat history again—having my younger siblings shoulder a responsibility that should’ve been mine in the first place. You did it for years for me, Ryland, and you were miserable. It’s time for me to step into the spotlight and do the right thing. I can’t hide anymore.”

“I just don’t want you to regret it later. It isn’t worth it.”

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