Geoffrey exhaled slowly.
All I could do was glare at him.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You frightened her.”
“I enforced a boundary.”
“You roared.”
The word was precise, and I did not deny it.
A second knock interrupted the silence. Chandler entered without waiting this time, tablet in hand.
“I received your three a.m. request for expanded Whitaker holdings,” he began briskly, then stopped when he took the room.
“Well,” he said lightly, “this feels productive.”
Geoffrey didn’t look at him. “She left,” was all he said, still giving me a disapproving look I fully deserved.
Chandler’s expression shifted immediately. “As in?”
“As in drove away before dawn,” Geoffrey clarified.
Chandler looked at me. “What did you do?”
“I did nothing.”
He merely crossed his arms, evaluating me.
“She opened the nursery.”
Silence. Even Chandler goes still at that. “And you . . . ?”
“Told her to leave.”
Chandler closed his eyes briefly. “Sir.”
“She had no right.”
“She lives here,” Chandler countered gently.
“She does not live in that room.”
Geoffrey stepped forward slightly. “She did not know.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
“It is,” Geoffrey said quietly. “If you intend to keep her.”
The word lands harder than it should. Keep her. I wanted that, but I don’t think I fully understood the gravity or depth until this moment.
Chandler set his tablet down on my desk.
“You have two options,” he said calmly. “Remain here and continue dismantling Whitaker Industries, or go find your wife.”
“She left.”
“Yes,” Chandler replied evenly. “After you shouted at her in a room she did not understand.”
