Page 75 of Shattered Throne
"I've read the contract," I said, loudly.
Gerald shifted in his seat beside me. "Mr. Dubois, perhaps we should review the liability sections more carefully. There are a few provisions that?—"
"It's fine." I reached for a pen.
"Sir, I really must insist?—"
"Gerald." I met his eyes. Held them. "It's fine."
I needed to get out of here. I needed to find Kim. I needed to make sure she was okay, needed to understand what was happening, needed to figure out how Cole Matthews fit into the picture, and whether I still had any chance at all.
The pen moved across the paper. Signature after signature, page after page. Cole signed his sections. Harrison Webb signed as witness. The lawyers exchanged documents, verified seals, and murmured about filing deadlines.
"Congratulations, Mr. Dubois." Harrison Webb extended his hand. "I think this is the beginning of a very profitable partnership."
I shook it. Smiled. Said something appropriate about looking forward to working together.
Cole was still watching me.
"I hope Kim is alright," he said quietly. "If you see her... tell her I'd like to talk. When she's ready."
I didn't respond. Just nodded once, curtly, and turned toward the door.
I found her in the break room.
She was standing by the window, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the city skyline. The afternoon light caught the side of her face, illuminating the tension in her jaw, the slight redness around her eyes. She'd been crying. Or close to it.
"Fancy seeing you here," I said from the doorway.
Kim didn't turn around. "Hey."
I stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. The break room was empty—no curious coworkers, no witnesses to whatever this conversation was about to become. Just the two of us and the distant hum of the coffee maker.
"Hiding out?"
Now she did turn. Her eyes narrowed, that familiar spark of defiance flickering to life. "I'm not hiding. I just needed a break."
"Right." I moved closer. Slowly, like approaching a wild animal. "A break that happened to coincide with our investors arriving."
"Coincidence."
"Kim."
"Xavier."
We stared at each other. Her chin was lifted, her shoulders squared, every line of her body radiating don't push me. But beneath the defiance, I could see the cracks. The tremor in her hands that she was trying to hide. The way she kept blinking, fast, like she was holding something back.
She wasn't going to tell me. Whatever history she had with Cole Matthews, whatever had made her run, she wasn't ready to share it. Maybe she'd never be ready. Maybe I'd spend the next three months of our fake relationship wondering, guessing, piecing together fragments that didn't quite fit.
That should have bothered me. It did bother me, somewhere beneath the surface. But right now, in this moment, it didn't matter.
What mattered was that she was hurting. And I couldn't fix it—didn't even know what it was—but I could do this.
I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms.
She went rigid. Every muscle in her body tensed, her hands coming up to press against my chest like she was about to push me away. I waited. Didn't let go. Just held her, one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head, and waited.
One second. Two. Three.
