Chapter 26
“Eight years.”
“Can you still do the work?”
I looked at the spreadsheet.
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
I did.
Three days later, she offered me the job.
My first paycheck arrived on a Friday.
I stared at the deposit for several minutes.
It was less than Damian once spent on a weekend in Saint-Tropez.
It felt larger than anything he had ever given me.
I bought my parents dinner.
Dad insisted on paying the tip.
Mom stole two packets of sugar from the restaurant and dropped them into her purse.
Some things survive wealth.
Some things survive losing it.
In September, six months after the courthouse, I saw Damian again.
Not because either of us requested it.
Mara’s firm was hosting a panel on development finance and governance.
I had been invited because the Harbor Crown review had quietly changed how several lenders handled ownership certifications.
I almost declined.
Then Priya said, “You do not owe anyone invisibility.”
So I went.
The event was held in a hotel ballroom.
For years, ballrooms had been Damian’s natural habitat.
He could read a room before walking through the door.
Who had money.
Who wanted it.
Who had influence.
Who needed attention.
That evening, I entered alone.
No diamonds.
No Wolfe name.
No husband’s hand at my back steering me toward important people.
I wore a black dress.
Not the original one.
But close enough to make me smile.
Halfway through the reception, I saw him.
Damian stood beside a window with two former colleagues.
He looked thinner.
His hair had grown slightly longer.
He still wore a beautiful suit.
He still carried himself like someone who expected space around him.
But people no longer rotated automatically toward him.
That was the difference.
Power had once entered rooms before he did.
Now he had to enter alone.
Our eyes met.
I considered walking away.
Instead, I stayed.
A few minutes later, he approached.
“Hello, Clara.”
“Damian.”
His gaze moved over my face.
“You look well.”
“So do you.”
It was polite.
Almost absurdly polite.
He glanced at my badge.
Clara Bennett.
Senior Associate.
He smiled faintly.
“Back to property finance.”
“Yes.”
“I heard.”
Of course he had.
“How?”
“People talk.”
“They always did.”
He looked down.
That old tension appeared between us, but it no longer controlled the room.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said.
I had imagined those words many times.
In every fantasy, they felt enormous.