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Because he isn't.

Because his face is wearing that careful, polished expression I used to see from the other side of his desk—the one he puts on right before he tells a room full of executives exactly how things are going to go and expects them to accept it.

I know that face. I used to schedule meetings around that face.

I make myself keep moving.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I try for normal. I try for the woman who was painting upstairs five minutes ago and not the one who's been checking her phone every eleven minutes for two days. If I'm being honest, I don't think I pull it off.

"Come upstairs," I say softly. "I'm sure you want to get out of that suit. We can talk after you get comfortable."

His expression doesn't change.

"No."

The word hits harder than it should.

My brows pull together. "No?"

"I'm not staying long." He straightens from the table, but the motion looks stiff—almost uncomfortable—like his whole body is resisting being here. "I need to get back into town tonight."

Something cold slips down my spine.

Then he says, "I just came out to tell you the good news."

Good news.

The words should lift something in me. Instead they make everything sharper. Because nothing about him looks relieved. Or lighter. Or even certain. His shoulders are locked too tight. His jaw is set. This is a man who moves through rooms like he owns them—which, to be fair, he usually does.

Right now he looks like a man forcing himself to stand still.

I stare at him.

"What good news?"

He exhales once through his nose.

"The trust is willing to release us from the arrangement."

For a second, I don't understand what he just said.

The sentence lands in pieces.

Release.

Arrangement.

Like we're discussing a lease. Like some contract term got shortened and now we're both supposed to nod and be reasonable about it.

I blink at him. "What?"

"The marriage clause is satisfied enough that they're willing to let us unwind it now." His voice is even. Careful. "We don't have to stay in this for the full year."

I just look at him.

And this is the part that throws me the most—Everett is not a man who says things he doesn't mean. He's too precise for that. Too controlled. He doesn't throw words around. He places them. Every single one.

So if he's saying this, he means it.