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I shivered. "I can’t even think of that right now. I don’t know when Oliver will wake up. He needs me by his side."
"I’m only conveying to you what he instructed."
"I’m not in the right frame of mind. Can’t we appoint someone in my place until Oliver is well?" I pleaded.
"No, that’s not the way it works. There are things that need your attention since Mr. Fox is... uh... incapacitated."
"Let me get back to you," I said, my voice shaking with frustration and fear.
I hung up and returned to the ICU. Nurses were taking Oliver’s vitals, writing notes on his chart. I sank into the chair beside him.
"You gave me authority to run your company? You’re crazy, Oliver. I need you to come back to me. I can’t do this by myself," I whispered, my voice breaking.
I took his hand in mine, holding it gently. It felt cool, and I noticed dried blood caked under his nails. Despair washed over me. What would happen if he died? The thought was unbearable.
Two days later, I walked into the office of Fox Asset Corporation, taking my place as the interim CEO—the youngest CEO in corporate America at the time. Everyone greeted me with kind words, asking about Oliver's condition, but I knew they whispered behind my back, doubting my ability to run a multibillion-dollar corporation. I had my own doubts, too.
Henri, my right-hand man, got me started. He knew so much about Oliver's schedule and the inner workings of Fox Asset Corp that he should've been the CEO, not me. Following his lead, I spent a month getting up to speed.
I channeled my husband by sitting in his chair, adopting his cool, firm demeanor when it came to business. To my surprise, I realized I had learned more during the year I was his protégé than I thought.
But when it came to handling employees, I couldn't emulate Oliver's way. They started to take advantage of my inexperience, and after a few weeks, I put my foot down. I became a cold-hearted bitch. I knew they hated me, but that was too bad. They could take it up with Oliver when he came back or leave. I was in charge.
I transformed into someone like my brother Finley, barely having enough time to spend with anyone. I ignored my friends, especially Ty. I didn't want to hear anything about my father’s death or Raphael Caruso. It was over, his murder was solved, and I wanted to move on.
Five weeks into my tenure as CEO, Henri asked me about some files he needed for a previous real estate deal. I knew Oliver kept a drawer full of them at the penthouse and promised to look when I got home.
After visiting Oliver, feeding Trouble, and scarfing down a piece of cold mushroom pizza, I headed to Oliver's office. I searched through a hundred files until I found what Henri needed at the back of a wooden cabinet in the corner of the office. Just as I was about to close the drawer, it got stuck.
As I rummaged through the files, trying to get the stubborn drawer to close, my eye caught a folder labeled Leigh Ryerson. I frowned, unfamiliar with the name. Oliver had countless business dealings, many of which I knew nothing about. Curiosity piqued, I pulled out the folder, brought it to his desk, and sat down to flip it open. What I saw made my stomach churn.
Handwritten notes about me. Oliver had meticulously documented details about my father and his connection to Raphael Caruso. My ever-diligent husband had even dated the entries. He knew who killed my father long before Ty had shown him the tape. That explained why he had ramped up security after Caruso approached me at our building.
I read on, discovering that my father had been entangled with Antonio Caruso in a business deal gone sour. Antonio demanded repayment for his lost money. My father was involved in shady dealings, shattering all my illusions about him. Every cherished memory was tainted. Nausea overwhelmed me, and I barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting up my dinner.
Trouble followed me, and I flushed the toilet, sinking to the floor with him in my lap. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into his fur. My entire life felt like a lie. My marriage felt like a lie, and the man I loved had deceived me.
Feeling a bitter resolve, I pushed Trouble off and returned to Oliver's office. There was more to uncover. By the time I finished, I was a wreck. At the back of the folder, I found a plain white envelope labeled Faith. With shaking fingers, I opened it to find an ultrasound picture.
On the back, written in unfamiliar handwriting, were two names: Oliver and Lara. Below that, it said Faith – five months. The pieces clicked into place. Lara's possessiveness, her insistence on their bond—it all made sense now. They had shared a child.
Hate bubbled in my gut as I shoved everything back into the folder and left it on the desk. Oliver had lied to me and shielded me from the truth. I stormed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of scotch and filling half a tumbler.
Even though it was late September, the warm weather persisted. I went outside to the patio, Trouble trotting behind me. I wanted to hurl the glass across the lawn but instead sank onto the grass, taking a sip. The scotch burned as it went down.
I lay back, looking up at the late summer sky, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. At that moment, I wished for Oliver's death, hoping it would spare me from confronting him. Finishing the scotch, I went back inside, leaving the empty glass on the counter before collapsing into bed, clad only in my panties.
Ty looked at me, arms crossed, his eyes reflecting the weight of everything he knew—every detail of the past year and now, what I had discovered the night before. We had been spending a lot of time together lately; he understood my turmoil like no one else.
"I'm sor—" he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
"I don't give a fuck. I just want out."
"Ry, I don't like the man much, but he's still in a coma. You can't divorce him," he said, his voice a mix of concern and frustration.
"I don't want to stay married to him, that's for sure."
"Your whole life is attached to him. You live in his apartment, you work for his company."
