Page 35 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"I tried. She wouldn't take my calls. When I finally tracked her down at Harrison's office, she acted like it was purely business. Said she'd outgrown our partnership and found a better opportunity. As if two years of what I thought was intimacy meant nothing."
"That's horrible, Duncan. I'm sorry."
"It made me stop believing in loyalty. Made me swear off real love, or at least the kind that makes you vulnerable. I decided that business partnerships should stay business, that mixing emotion with business was a recipe for disaster."
I looked at her directly, seeing understanding in her expression. "Until recently."
She shifted in her chair, and I could see her processing my words, grasping the implications.
"I used to think trust was binary," I continued. "You either trusted someone or you didn't. But Meranda taught me it's more complicated. You can trust someone with your business secrets but not your heart. You can trust them to show up for work but not to stay when things get difficult. You can trust them to be competent but not to be honest."
"And now?"
"Now I'm questioning everything I thought I knew about trust. About risk. About what's worth fighting for." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "About whether the possibility of something real is worth the risk of being wrong again."
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Bill's voice carried from the direction of Barbara's room as he spoke to a nurse about medication schedules and visiting hours. Ivy tensed, glancing toward the sound with obvious anxiety.
"I should go," I said, standing quickly.
"Wait." She stood as well, her voice uncertain. "Could you… would you mind driving me home? I took a taxi here, and I'm not sure I trust myself behind the wheel right now. I keep thinking about Mom's reaction to the treatment, and I'm afraid I'll get distracted."
The request surprised me, but I nodded. "Of course."
We waited until Bill's voice faded back into Barbara's room, then made our way to the elevator. The ride to the parking garage was silent, but the air between us felt charged with unfinished conversations and the weight of what I'd shared.
My car was parked on the third level. As I started the engine and pulled out of the garage, Ivy gave me directions to herfather's house. The drive would take twenty minutes, winding through neighborhoods I'd driven through countless times but never really noticed. Now I found myself paying attention to details—the way the streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, the houses with warm lights in their windows, the sense of lives being lived behind those walls.
"How's your mother really doing?" I asked as we merged onto the highway.
"Scared. She tries to hide it, but I can see it in her eyes. The T-cell treatment is experimental, and the side effects are getting worse each time." Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. "I keep thinking about what happens if it doesn't work. What we'll do, how we'll tell the kids…"
"The kids?"
She caught herself, color rising in her cheeks. "I meant—the neighborhood kids. They know her, they ask about her."
I sensed there was more to the story, but I didn't push. "She's strong. She raised you, didn't she?"
That earned me a small smile. "True. But watching someone you love fight for their life… it changes everything. Makes you realize how much time you waste on things that don't matter."
I glanced at her profile in the dim light from the dashboard. "What matters to you?"
"My family. My mother getting better. Finding a way to be honest about the choices I've made without destroying the people I care about."
The conversation turned softer as we drove through the quiet neighborhoods. I found myself talking about things I rarely discussed with anyone—how work had stopped fulfilling me the way it used to, how success felt hollow when you had no one to share it with.
"I've been living someone else's life for years," I admitted. "Following a pattern I created when I was younger and moreambitious. Build the company, make the deals, accumulate wealth and influence. But lately, I wake up and wonder what the point of any of it is."
"So change it."
"It's not that simple. I have obligations, people depending on me. Board members, employees, clients who expect consistency."
"Do you? Or do you have people who've gotten comfortable depending on you? There's a difference between being needed and being used."
The question was more perceptive than I'd expected. "When did you become so wise?"
"Life has a way of teaching you to cut through nonsense pretty quickly when you don't have time for games."
We were nearing her neighborhood now, the houses getting larger, the lawns more manicured. I recognized the area—old money, established families, the kind of neighborhood where Bill Whitmore belonged. I slowed the car, not wanting the drive to end.
