“My friend looked into your family’s and Michael’s separate companies after the message,” he says. “There’s been speculation about a merger for months. A big one.”
Cold unease settles low in my stomach.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Holt watches me for a long second before answering.
“The inn isn’t just property, Lark.”
No, it isn’t, but hearing someone else say it makes something inside me shift uneasily.
“The trust your dad left you,” Holt continues carefully. “Your controlling share in the land holdings tied to it—that matters.”
I stare at him, because suddenly I know where this is going. And I hate it before he even says it.
“He needed your signature,” I say quietly.
Holt doesn’t answer immediately, which is answer enough. The realization lands hard and ugly all at once.
Michael hadn’t just wanted me back. He wanted access.
“He thought eventually you’d sell,” Holt says softly. “Or fold the property into whatever development they were planning.”
A hollow laugh escapes me.
“My father would’ve hated that.”
“Probably why he protected it the way he did.”
My father hadn’t just left me the inn. He’d left me the power to keep it from people exactly like Michael.
Years of conversations rearrange themselves in my head. The pressure. The timing of the relationship. The way Michael always talked about “future expansion” whenever he mentioned our destiny.
God.
“He wasn’t trying to save our relationship,” I whisper.
“No.”
“He was trying to save himself.”
Silence settles heavily between us, then Holt steps closer.
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t want control too.”
That part almost hurts worse. Michael had never needed love to justify possession.
Holt stays quiet behind me because we both know I’m right.
“And when I didn’t…”
My voice fades.
Holt steps closer then, not touching me yet, but close enough that I feel the heat of him anyway.
“Michael gave the nudge and she escalated,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard.
