Page 60 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
She was wrong. I wasn't only protecting myself, but I couldn't explain that without revealing feelings I had no right to burden her with.
I was protecting her career, her future, her dreams of motherhood. I was protecting her from becoming a casualty in Viktoria's war against any woman who might matter to me.
Most of all, I was protecting my own heart from the inevitable moment when she realized that being with me cost more than it was worth.
"I know how this looks," I said. "I know it feels like I'm abandoning you when things get difficult."
"Are you?"
I was drowning in guilt. Regardless of whether it would ever work between us, I felt like I was failing her.
We had a friendship I knew deserved more respect than this.
"No. But I'm asking you to trust me when I say that stepping back now is the only way to preserve what we have long-term."
Tessa finished her wine in one swallow and stood up. "I need to go, Luci."
I watched her gather her purse, noting the way her hands shook slightly.
The urge to stop her, to tell her I loved her and damn the consequences, was almost overwhelming. But love meant wanting what was best for her, even when it tore me apart.
"Tessa." She paused at the edge of the booth. "This doesn't have to change our arrangement."
The smile she gave me was heartbreaking in its sadness. "Doesn't it?"
After she left, I sat alone in the bar for another hour, drinking whiskey and hating myself. I'd seen the depth of her feelings in her reaction, the way my suggestion had wounded her on a level that went beyond professional disappointment.
She was falling in love with me, maybe had already fallen, and I was asking her to step back just when our connection was deepening into something real.
The knowledge that she cared about me as much as I cared about her should have been a victory.
Instead, it felt like the cruelest irony of all—finding love at exactly the moment when claiming it would destroy us both.
17
TESSA
The conference room felt suffocating as I sat in my usual chair, notepad open in front of me, pretending to take meeting notes while my mind spiraled through the misery of the past month.
A month since Lucian had asked me to step back, to be more discreet, to let Daniel handle my project assignments while we waited for the gossip to die down. Four weeks that felt more brutal than any outright rejection could have been.
I'd tried to tell myself it was temporary, that Lucian really was just protecting me, but every day made it clearer that I was slowly disappearing from his world, becoming invisible again after tasting what it felt like to be close to him and have his approval.
We hadn't had sex, hadn't spent any time in closed-door mentoring sessions, and his trip to Singapore had come and gone without a hint of an invitation.
Worst of all, his good morning and good evening messages were cold and terse, never straying from a rigid dialogue that seemed rehearsed.
"The revenue projections for the third quarter are concerning," the client was saying, his presentation slidesclicking past on the wall monitor. "We're seeing inconsistencies that make us question the long-term viability of this partnership."
I'd spent three hours last night analyzing the quarterly data, identifying patterns that explained the apparent inconsistencies.
The solution was straightforward—adjusting the reporting periods to account for seasonal fluctuations would clarify the revenue picture and demonstrate strong underlying growth.
I chimed in, "Actually, if we adjust the?—"
"Thank you, Ms. Wynn," Lucian cut through, silencing me with a single look, then turned to the CFO. "Daniel, what's your assessment of the reporting methodology we've been using?"
The dismissal was polite, but I learned my place. My insights, my analysis, my three hours of work—all irrelevant because Lucian couldn't risk appearing to favor my input over Daniel's more visible expertise.
