Page 95 of True Colors

Sure, it hurts now. It’s not just that I’m not presenting—I’m not observing, either. I’ve been cut out entirely.

As I turn those thoughts, a realization lands with a dull, nauseating finality.

Luther doesn’t only think I’m unfit to speak—he doesn’t want me to be seen. I am something to be managed quietly, behind the scenes. Something embarrassing.

There were those who treated me that way in university and at work. Dot changed that. She showed me that my stutter didn’t need to be overcome, that I could work through my anxiety, that she’d give me room and space to be the best version of myself.

I think then of Luther’s words—gentle, apologetic, reasonable. “You did everything right.”

Apparently, that still isn’t enough.

I let shame wash through me without trying to outrun it. I’ve survived worse things than this.

But this hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I know it’s because this time it isn’t a stranger dismissing me—it’s the man I trusted, the man I fell in love with, the man I now have to fall out of love with.

CHAPTER 22

Luther

Idon’t text or call Anouk after that awful conversation with her, even though I desperately want to connect and reassure myself that we’re fine, we’re still together, still a couple.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her face—the hope, the hurt, the hollowed-out look she tried so hard to hide. I tell myself it’s just a work presentation, that she won’t end us over business.

I tell myself that I need to focus on the presentation now and deal with the situation with Anouk later.

It’s a lie.

There will be no dealing with anything later, and I know it, which is why I don’t text or call her. I know it’s over. I know it’s done, no matter how much I don’t want it to be.

“All okay?” Erin asks.

“Yes,” I snap. “Why do you keep asking?”

“Because you look angry, Luther,” she says coolly.

I inhale slowly and tug at the cuffs of my dress shirt. I’m wearing a suit—something I almost never do. I want to look ready. I want my father and my Godfather to see a CEO, not a kid playing dress-up.

The boardroom hums with the kind of energy that only power creates.

The polished table. The aligned water bottles. Screens lit and waiting. The team assembled.

Vijay.

Erin.

Benjamin.

Dot.

Pallavi.

But no Anouk.

My stomach drops.

“Dot,” I ask, my voice low, “where’s Anouk?”

Dot’s head snaps toward me. If looks could bruise, I’d already be in traction. “She’s not presenting.”