Page 169 of Sin

Highly valued. That almost makes me laugh. For weeks, strangers called me every filthy name they could type with sticky fingers and a persecution complex while they did nothing to protect me, but sure. Highly valued.

Mara’s shoe nudges mine under the table. Not now, it says.

Fine. I keep my mouth shut.

The meeting ends twenty minutes later with handshakes, legal follow-ups, and the eerie corporate politeness of people discussing a personal disaster with numbered bullet points.

When the board members disappear from the screen, Owen stays seated. Tate does too.

Mara notices and gathers her papers slowly.

“Was there anything else?” she asks.

Owen looks at me. “I owe you an apology.”

That surprises me and I sit very still.

“For how this was handled at the beginning,” he says. “Some of the distance was necessary. Some of it may have felt like exile. That wasn’t our intent.”

“It did,” I say quietly.

His jaw tightens and Tate looks down at the table.

“It felt like exile,” I say, because apparently my mouth has chosen honesty as today’s coping mechanism. “I know why it happened. I understand the legal reasons. I understand the optics. But it felt like everyone was trying to make me disappear until the mess was easier to manage.”

Owen takes that. He doesn’t defend it and I appreciate that more than I want to.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Tate’s voice is softer. “Me too.”

My throat burns.

“Thank you.”

Then Tate adds, “For what it’s worth, the launch team wants you back.”

I blink.

He gives me a small smile. “And Opal has threatened three people with bodily harm in your absence.”

“Only three?”

“She’s losing steam.”

“Impossible.”

“She also labeled your chair a historical landmark and told marketing no one was allowed to touch it.”

A laugh slips out. Tate smiles like he knows exactly how much that cost me.

Owen stands. “Take a few days. Talk to Mara. Decide what you want.”

What I want. What a terrifying phrase. People keep using it like I should know. The problem is, I know too many things I want. I want my job. I want peace. I want my name scrubbed from every hateful corner of the internet. I want Sex Activity Pro and its shiny title and clean escape. I want SINsual and the product line I poured myself into.

I want Sin. I want to not want Sin. I want a version of love that doesn’t require attorneys. No one offers me that one.

After the meeting, Mara and I walk to the elevators together.