I trail off, unable to put words to the chaos inside me.
—You think I’d be relieved if you left, don’t you? he says suddenly.
How did he?—
—I… it would make sense, I deflect. Our marriage started as a practical arrangement. You got your inheritance. I got some respectability back. Mission accomplished, in a way.
—Is that really what you think? That everything between us—the cabin in the storm, our late-night conversations, our time together—that it was all just an extension of our original contract?
His voice wavers slightly, and I realize—too late—that I’ve hurt him.
—No, I don’t think that, I admit softly. But after everything that’s happened today, I don’t know what to think anymore. Alistair filled my head with doubts, then Heather, and now this opportunity out of nowhere…
—You’re right, he says, straightening slightly. You need time to think. It’s an important decision, and I don’t want you making it in the heat of the moment.
His tone turns formal—too formal. It sends a chill through me. This is the old Callum. The one who kept his distance. The one who analyzed everything.
—Callum—
—You should go inside. It’s getting cold, he cuts in. We’ll talk after dinner, when we’re both thinking more clearly.
—Alright, I say, thrown by the sudden shift. But Heather?—
—I’ll take care of Heather, he says firmly.
And with that, he turns and walks away.
The distance between us stretches—not just physically, but emotionally. It feels like we’ve been pulled back months, to before everything changed. Before we let ourselves feel. Before we learned to trust each other.
—Callum! I call, unable to bear it.
He stops—but doesn’t turn.
—What do you want? I ask, my voice almost breaking. Do you want me to stay?
His shoulders tense. He stands there for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turns back to me.
—What I want doesn’t matter, Jane. This is your career. Your passion. Your life. I can’t ask you to give that up to continue a marriage that started as a business arrangement.
—That’s not what I asked, I insist. I want to know whatyou, Callum McGregor, want. Not what’s rational. Not what’s logical.
He looks at me for a long moment, conflict clear in his eyes. He’s never been good at this—at putting feelings into words.
—I want you to be happy, he says finally.
—That’s not an answer.
—It’s the only one I have right now.
And with that, he turns and heads back toward the castle, leaving me alone with Hamish—and my spiraling thoughts.
I stay beneath the willow for a while, trying to sort through everything. A few months ago, Ryan’s offer would have been a dream come true. I would’ve been on the first plane to Los Angeles without hesitation. But now… the idea of leaving—of leaving this place, this life, of leaving Callum—feels like it might break me.
—What am I supposed to do, Hamish? I murmur.
Of course, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands, starts to walk away—then pauses, looking back at me as if to sayare you coming?
—Even you’re abandoning me? I sigh dramatically.
