Page 69 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
The tears came harder then, and I buried my face in the cushions, trying to muffle the sound of my sobs. Tomorrow we'd have to figure out how to tell them the truth, how to explain why Mr. Duncan was really Daddy. Tomorrow we'd have to face the mess we'd made.
But tonight, I let myself cry for everything we'd lost and everything we were still trying to find.
28
DUNCAN
Slipping out before Ivy and the triplets woke, I arrived at the office before dawn, the building empty except for security and the cleaning crew. The elevator carried me to my floor in silence, and I walked to my office with the heavy manila envelope Nick had left on my desk the previous evening. The retirement papers. "Final draft," he'd written in his careful handwriting across the top.
I spread the documents across my desk, each page representing months of planning and negotiation. The transition timeline, the financial arrangements, the carefully worded press release announcing my departure. Everything was there, neat and organized, waiting for my signature.
The numbers were generous—more than generous. The board had agreed to a buyout that would set me up for life, let me disappear to whatever quiet corner of the world I chose. I could buy a house on the coast, spend my days reading and walking on the beach, forget about deadlines and board meetings and the constant pressure of running a company.
Six months ago, it had sounded like paradise. Now it felt like exile.
My phone buzzed. Nick's name appeared on the screen and despite not wanting to have this conversation so early in the morning, I answered.
"You're in early," he said. I detected a hint of grumpiness in his tone that matched my mood.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Look over the papers yet?"
I stared at the documents, my pen lying untouched beside them. "I'm reviewing them now."
"The board meets Thursday. They'll want an answer."
"I know."
"Duncan, I hope you're not second-guessing this because of what happened with Ivy. I understand that's complicated, but don't let it derail months of planning."
I leaned back in my chair, watching the sun rise over the city skyline. "I'm close to a decision."
"Close isn't good enough. The board has been patient, but they need certainty. Either you're staying or you're going."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because from where I sit, it looks like you're letting personal feelings cloud your judgment."
The words stung because they carried truth. My feelings for Ivy had changed everything—not just my plans, but my entire perspective on what I wanted from life. The quiet retirement I'd craved felt hollow now, meaningless. I realized what I'd been craving wasn’t an escape from my career or current life, but someone to share it all with. And now I had a real chance at having that, and it all seemed to be going a direction I no longer wanted.
"I'll have an answer by Thursday," I said.
"Good. And Duncan? Whatever you decide, make sure it's based on reality, not wishful thinking."
I ended the call and stared at the papers for another hour, but the words blurred together. Nick had dragged his feet for so long, and now it seemed like he was pushing me instead. It was hard not to be confused by everything, and the last thing I needed was to be given bad advice. I needed time and space to think, and I needed to get some things off my chest.
I gathered the papers up and shoved them back into the envelope. I had other business to attend to in the form of speaking with my old friend who thought of me more like a backstabber than a buddy anymore.
The drive to Bill's house took me through neighborhoods I'd known for decades. Past the coffee shop where he and I used to meet for breakfast meetings. Past the park where we'd sometimes walked when we needed to discuss sensitive business away from the office. Twenty years of friendship, and I was about to risk whatever remained of it.
Bill answered the door himself, his face hardening when he saw me.
"I don't want to talk about Ivy," I said before he could speak.
"Then we have nothing to discuss."
"We have everything to discuss. The children, Bill. Your grandchildren."
