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Something twists in my chest. This is why I don’t ask questions. This is why I don’t want to know more about my employees than I absolutely have to. Information creates obligation, and obligation creates weakness.

"I can work longer days," she continues, fighting for composure. "I can split my time with your other assistant if that helps. I just need this job. It’s the best opportunity I’ve ever had. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep it."

There it is again. That phrase.

Whatever it takes.

Every instinct in me wants to demand—Why? Why do you need this? Why this job? What are you not telling me?

I don’t ask.

I can’t afford to ask.

Because if I know the answer—if it’s something like medical bills or a family crisis—I’ll either have to help or live with the knowledge that I didn’t. And either option is a distraction from what I'm born and raised to do. Maintain an empire.

Phil Carlton paid her more than her position requires… but why? There has to be a reason.

"I’m sorry," I say instead, keeping my voice flat. "The decision has been made. It’s not a reflection of your effort. It’s simply unnecessary duplication."

The word sounds hollow even to my own ears, though the reasoning is true. She is a duplication.

She goes very still. Her shoulders rise and fall with one long, slow breath, like she’s trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will.

"Right," she says at last. "Of course."

Her gaze drops to the papers on my desk, then to her lap. "Is there any chance this can be reconsidered?" she asks quietly. "Even temporarily? If I could have just another month to—"

"No."

Because the more time she spends in my orbit, the more I feel that pull. That shift in my focus. That awareness I don’t know what to do with. The more I hear myself barking at my brother for asking if she’s single.

She isn’t the problem. I am. And the only variable I can control is distance.

"I’ve asked HR to include an additional two weeks’ pay in your severance package," I add. Like that makes it better. Like money solves everything. "Four weeks total. More than standard for your level."

Her mouth curves—not into a smile, but into something brittle.

"Generous," she says.

It’s the first time I hear an edge in her voice.

She stands slowly, pressing her palm against her skirt to smooth out wrinkles that aren’t there.

"I’ll collect my things," she says. "And thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Kauffman."

The way she says my name lands harder than it should. Professional, distant, and most important—final. The safest option, for both of us.

I can’t have her in my space anymore.

If I have a type, it’s someone like Sienna—driven, self-contained, comfortable with distance. Aria isn’t that. She's twenty-six. Nine years younger than me and too sweet and optimistic for the compartmentalized life I would give her. A woman like Aria would never be content with scraps, and I have nothing else to offer anyone.

Sienna understood that for four years. Dinner when our schedules aligned. The occasional night at her place when it didn’t. A polished date for whatever gala needed attending. It worked until it didn’t. Until she found someone who made room for her in his life.

If that’s what Sienna wanted, it’s better that she found it with someone else. She never would have gotten that from me.

Aria turns and walks out, closing the door quietly behind her.

I stare at the place she was standing a moment ago and feel my jaw clench. I don’t examine why. Irritation? Definitely—at her, at myself. Mostly at myself. Mostly because I should have done this sooner and not given her false hope that I had any plans to keep her on long-term.