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“Are you really going to abandon your responsibilities to the company your grandfather started?” His voice is deceptively soft. “To the employees who depend on us? To our—“

“Oh Jesus Christ, it’s a corporation, it’s a job, not some sacred obligation laid on me by the ancestors,” I interrupt, surprising us both with my vehemence. “The company will be fine.”

My father’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I’ve always been able to read these tiny tells; the only real clues to what he’s actually thinking beneath his carefully constructed mask. Right now, he’s angry. Very angry.

“So who do you propose to lead the company in your absence, then?”

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance, though my insides feel like they’re twisted into knots. “You could take back over as CEO. Or Uncle Paul‘s son, Jeremy, could step in. He’s smart, well-educated, ambitious. He’ll handle it just fine.” I pause, watching my father’s face carefully. “Or we could even, horror of horrors, hire someone to do the job.”

“You’re being reckless and immature,” my father snaps. “This isn’t something you can just do on a whim, Oliver. This is your birthright.”

“I’m not being reckless,” I counter. “I just have the courage to do what you should have done all those years ago.”

He lunges to his feet. “I will not justify the decisions I made to you,” he barks, his voice rising for the first time. “What I did was—“

“I’m not asking you to justify anything,” I interrupt again, my own voice rising to match his. “I’m just making my own choices.”

My father stares at me, chest heaving. For a moment, I think he might actually shout. Instead, he slowly collapses back into his chair, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-two years. He runs a hand over his face and gives me a tired look.

“What do you think this harebrained move will accomplish, Oliver?” he asks finally, his voice quieter now. “Genny didn’t leave you because you were the CEO of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals. She’s shown no inclination that she’s open to reconciliation. So why? Why throw everything away?”

The question is a good one. What do I hope to achieve with this? I sink into the chair across from his desk, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts. Why am I really doing this?

Every mistake and decision I made with Genny came down to arrogance. From the way it started to the way it ended. I was Oliver Sinclair. Wealthy. Powerful. I used her and lied to her and thought that being able to buy her expensive things made up for that. I thought she should be grateful for what I was giving her rather than seeing what I was taking from her. Every choice I made, from my reasons for marrying her to my behavior with Victoria to the clumsy way I tried to stop her from leaving me, stemmed from that arrogance.

“Genny will never come back to me as I am,” I say slowly. “The only hope I have of winning her back is to become a completely new person. I acted as if my money and position gave me the upper hand in our relationship. That I could do whatever I wanted and then buy her some pretty new toy to make up for it. I have to lay down the power and lay down the money and approach her as an equal, or I won’t have a chance.”

My father’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see he’s listening intently.

“Plus,” I continue, “Genny was miserable. I didn’t want to see it, but she was. Marriage to me nearly extinguished all her spark. She stopped being herself to become what was expected of her.” The memory of Genny wearing a dress my mother would have had a heart attack over at our last meeting flashes through my mind. “I’ll never do that to her again.”

Thomas is quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving my face. “So this girl is really worth it to you?” he asks finally.

The question is simple, but the answer is anything but. Is she worth it? Worth giving up everything I‘ve known, everything I’ve worked for, everything that was supposed to be my future?

“Yes,” I say firmly. “She is.”

My father stands and walks to the window, his back to me. The gardens are dark now, just vague shapes beneath the moonlight. I can see his reflection in the glass; his expression unreadable.

“If you do this,” he says after a long pause, “it will be irreversible. I will not allow you to treat your grandfather’s legacy like it’s a plaything that you can pick up and put down as you please.”

My stomach drops. I’ve known this was coming, but hearing it stated so plainly makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

“You will be cut off,” Thomas continues, his voice matter-of-fact. “If Jeremy is to do the work of leading the company, then Jeremy will be the one who will inherit everything.”

I nod, though he can’t see it with his back still turned. “I understand.”

“You won’t be completely destitute,” he adds, turning back to face me. “You’ll have the money your mother’s family left you, as well as your own personal assets. You’re well-educated, you‘re smart.” His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “But you will no longer have access to the lifestyle and resources to which you are accustomed.”

“I understand,” I say again.

Thomas studies me, as if trying to determine if I truly grasp the magnitude of what I’m giving up. “Think long and hard about this, Oliver,” he says. “Because I will not be changing my mind, and once it’s set in motion, it cannot be undone.”

I don’t even have to think about it. “I understand,” I say for the third time. “I expected this is what you would do.”

He nods once. “Very well. Tomorrow, I will contact Jeremy. We can inform the board and start the transition.”

My father walks over to his desk and sits down, picking up a pen and making a note on the pad in front of him. The moment feels strangely anticlimactic. After years of struggle, of trying to live up to his expectations, of trying to be the son and heir he wanted, it all ends with a simple note on a pad of paper.