Page 42 of His Secret Merger

"Given recent developments and public concerns regarding Sinclair Holdings subsidiaries, we regretfully must withdraw our planned endowment..."

My throat tightened.

Sinclair Holdings.

The Cut of Her Jib.

The rumors. The bankruptcy. The puzzle pieces slammed into place, one by one. The thing that hit the hardest wasn’t the money. It wasn’t even the foundation’s potential collapse. It was that he hadn’t told me. Not when he asked me to come here to help with the exchange. Not when he pulled me into his world. Not when he pulled me into his arms.

Behind me, I heard the sheets rustle as Damian shifted awake. I closed the tablet softly, set it back where I found it, and turned around just as he scrubbed a hand through his hair and blinked up at me, groggy but smiling.

“You’re up early,” he rasped.

I smiled too. At least, I think I did. The kind of smile that didn't touch my heart.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said lightly, cinching the robe tighter at my waist. "We have a long day ahead."

He didn’t notice the lie. Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Either way, the damage was already done.

I wasn’t angry yet. Not fully. However, the foundation of our trust was cracked. No matter how careful he was or how much I still wanted to believe in him, it was only a matter of time before the whole thing caved in.

After checking his emails, Damian yawned and made his way to the shower. As he stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, drying his hair with another. Casual. Relaxed. Like the foundation of his life, and by extension, mine, wasn’t crumbling around us.

“Room service?” he asked, voice still scratchy from sleep. “Coffee?”

I pulled the robe tighter around myself, ignoring the way my heart hammered against it. There was no good time for this. No right words. So I went for the truth. “How bad is it really?” I asked softly.

He froze, just for a second. A blink, a hesitation before he glanced toward his tablet. But I caught it. Damian dropped the towel onto the armchair and straightened, masking the shift with a lazy shrug. “Not the end of the world,” he said easily. “Minor turbulence. Foundations take hits all the time.”

I stared at him and waited. The lie hovered between us like smoke. Finally, he exhaled sharply, pacing a slow line toward the window. “It’s The Cut of Her Jib,” he said, quieter now. “Thebrand’s folding. Investors pulled out, and now the bankruptcy is in motion.”

I didn’t move.

“And Vérité?” I asked, even though I already knew.

He pivoted, his fingers combing through his wet hair. “It’s bleeding. Some donors are pulling back. They’re concerned about how it looks, especially with Louisa gone. They don’t believe I have the leadership bona fides the foundation needs.” His voice held no trace of anger or surprise—just an underlying weariness.

I stood there, arms wrapped around myself like armor, and asked the only question that mattered. “When were you going to tell me?”

He looked at me then—really looked—and for a second, the mask slipped. “I wasn’t,” he said, rough and raw. “I didn’t want you caught in it. I didn’t want you tainted by association.”

Tainted.The word landed with a thud in my chest. “So you decided for me.”

He flinched—barely, but I saw it. “I thought I was protecting you.”

I nodded slowly, the edges of my vision blurring not from tears, but from the sheer, staggering weight of it. Of everything he hadn’t trusted me to carry.

"You didn’t trust me enough to let me chooseyoueven with your financial difficulties,” I said. Quiet. Final.

Damian’s jaw flexed once—hard. But he didn’t say a word. And that silence? It said everything.

I didn’t wait for him to find the right apology. I didn’t wait for him at all.

I turned away, gathering my clothes from the scattered mess we’d made the night before. Slowly, I pulled my dress pants over my hips and buttoned my blouse with careful, unhurried fingers. My heels slipped on, one after the other, the small clicks against the tiled entryway louder than anything either of us could say. I could feel his gaze on me the entire time—heavy, desperate, silent.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. I didn’t let him see how my heart was breaking in real time.

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