Page 33 of Worth the Fall

"Will do sweetheart, but right now…" I nod toward her half-eaten pile of scrambled eggs and grapes. "You need to clean your plate. A princess needs all of her energy to keep the kingdom safe, remember?"

And with that, she nods enthusiastically, shoving the now cold, rubbery eggs into her mouth so fast I have to remind her to slow down so she doesn’t choke.

Work is supposed to be my refuge, the place where I can drown out personal drama with contracts, mergers, and the clean-cut world of finance law. But the moment I step off the elevator, I spot Celine standing near my office door, and my stomach sinks.

She’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through her phone like she owns the building. Her perfectly highlighted hair and ever-present French tip nails were once the things I found attractive about her… but after seeing that same hair spread across my own damn pillow while those nails dug into the back of our neighbor… not so much. When she sees me, her lips curve into a polished smile—the kind she’s perfected over years of charming clients and deflecting confrontation.

"Celine," I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible, "did we have a meeting?"

"Of course not," she says, sliding her phone into her designer bag. "I just thought we could talk."

"About Felicity?"

"Not exactly." She steps into my office without waiting for an invitation, her heels clicking against the floor. "Though she did mention something interesting the other day."

I follow her inside, shutting the door behind me. "What’s this about?"

She perches on the edge of my desk, crossing her legs like she used to when we were still married, when she knew that smallgestures could disarm me. "She mentioned someone named Mia."

The air between us tightens. "And?"

"And," she continues, her tone light but pointed, "I’m curious. Who is this Mia?"

"She’s a friend, a colleague," I say evenly, leaning against the wall. "Felicity met her once. It’s not a big deal."

Celine arches a brow. "Not a big deal? Felicity seems to think she is."

My jaw tightens. "She didn’t—" I start to deny it but remember that I’m single and when Felicity isn’t at my house, I don’t need to answer to her about who I spend my time with. "We went to the park and lunch. That’s it."

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. "Relax, Miguel. I’m just trying to understand. It’s not every day Felicity talks about someone like this."

"I don’t owe you an explanation about who I spend time with," I say, my voice sharper than I intend, "especially not when you’re the one who?—"

"Don’t," she cuts in, her tone suddenly icy. "Don’t bring that up again."

Her deflection only stokes the fire burning in my chest. "Why are you really here, Celine? To question my parenting? To throw shade on my personal life? Because if it’s about Felicity, I’m happy to talk. But if this is just another one of your games?—"

"Games?" she repeats, her eyes narrowing. "You think this is a game? I’m trying to protect our daughter."

"Protect her from what?" I snap, my frustration spilling over. "From a woman who spent one afternoon making her laugh? From me, the parent who’s been here every day since you decided to blow up our family?"

Her face pales, but she recovers quickly, her expression hardening. "You think you’re the hero here? You’re just as much to blame for what happened. You’re the one who?—"

"Stop," I say, cutting her off. "You don’t get to rewrite history, Celine. You made your choices. Now let me make mine."

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The tension between us is palpable, years of unresolved anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Finally, Celine stands, smoothing her blouse with practiced grace.

"Well," she says, her voice cool, "if you’re so confident in your decisions, I’ll leave you to it. But remember, Miguel—Felicity deserves better than your mistakes."

She walks out without looking back, leaving me standing there, fists clenched, the ghost of her words echoing in my head. How she can manage to look me in the eyes and ever say something about my mistakes is beyond me.

"Mr. Ramirez?" Tarryn taps gently on my door. "Are you ready for your morning debrief?"

"Morning, Tarryn." I plaster on a smile and shove the unexpected shit show of a morning to the side. "Of course," I say confidently, "let’s get this day going."

Itext Mia that evening, desperate for some sense of normalcy, for the warmth her words always bring. I don’t tell her about Celine or the argument. Instead, I keep it simple.

Miguel

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