Chapter 7
I was standing inside the new Beckett Studio headquarters, looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city skyline. The office had once been a warehouse nobody believed could become anything beautiful.
I liked that.
There was something honest about taking something overlooked and proving its value.
The same way I had done with myself.
“Your nine o’clock is here.”
I turned toward my assistant.
“Who is it?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me enough.
“Jonah Harlan.”
For a moment, I said nothing.
Not because I was afraid.
Not because I was hurt.
Simply because hearing his name felt like hearing a song from a life I no longer lived.
“Send him in.”
A few seconds later, Jonah walked through the door.
He looked different.
Not physically.
He still wore expensive suits.
Still carried himself like someone used to controlling every room he entered.
But something was missing.
The certainty.
The arrogance.
The belief that every problem could be solved by saying the right words.
“Orla.”
I nodded.
“Jonah.”
He looked around my office.
The walls were covered with architectural drawings, awards, photographs, and sketches.
My name was everywhere.
Not Harlan.
Not someone else's.
Mine.
“I heard about the expansion,” he said.
“We’re opening offices in three more cities next year.”
He smiled faintly.
“You always wanted that.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“No?”
“I wanted to build meaningful work. The expansion came after.”
That was something I had learned.
Success was never the thing you chased.
It was what happened when you stopped abandoning yourself.
Jonah sat down.
“I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
A silence followed.
The kind of silence that used to make me uncomfortable.
Years ago, I would have filled it.
I would have apologized.
Asked if he was okay.
Made him comfortable.
Now, I simply waited.
Finally, he spoke.
“I owe you more than an apology.”
I looked at him.
“Probably.”
He gave a small, sad laugh.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Another surprise crossed his face.
Not anger.
Maybe respect.
Because for once, I wasn't making his emotions easier.
“I spent a long time thinking you left because of Sabine.”
I said nothing.
“I thought if she disappeared, if the scandal disappeared, if Caldwell was fixed, you would come back.”
He looked down.
“But you weren't leaving because of her.”
“No.”
“You were leaving because you were tired of becoming smaller.”
The words landed quietly.