Chapter 140

RYAN

Eventually my father cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, still not fully settled in the chair.

“I thought when I came here today,” he started, slower this time, choosing each word carefully, “I was going to hear about Emily. That you were finally making progress with your marriage. Last time we spoke, that’s all you talked about. Getting her back. Fixing things. You even left the country for her.”

He paused, eyes locked on me now, properly looking, not just listening.

“And now I walk in and there’s your secretary claiming she’s pregnant with your child.”

I let out a short breath that had no humor in it and leaned back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face like I could physically erase the last few days if I pressed hard enough.

“That’s because nothing makes sense right now.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, not angry yet, but not buying it either.

“Or because something went very wrong and you’re not saying it clearly.”

I pushed forward again, elbows hitting the desk, shaking my head immediately.

“There’s no ‘wrong,’ Dad. I didn’t sleep with Miranda. That’s what I’m telling you.”

He didn’t respond right away.

That pause sat in the room longer than anything else he said.

“That’s a serious claim,” he said finally, more careful now.

“I know.”

“And you’re expecting me to just accept it because you said it.”

“I’m not asking you to accept anything,” I snapped, then forced my voice down again when I realized how sharp it came out. “I’m telling you what happened. Or what didn’t happen. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call it at this point.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, leaning back slightly now, like he was trying to make the situation fit into something logical and it just refused.

“So what exactly are we dealing with then?”

I let out a short laugh under my breath, tired more than amused, rubbing the side of my neck.

“I wish I knew.”

That answer didn’t satisfy him. It never did.

My father shifted in his seat slightly, then reached into his pocket.

The vibration of his phone was faint, but I saw the exact moment his attention split. His eyes dropped immediately, and whatever he saw there changed his expression in a way I didn’t like.

Not panic exactly, but something close to urgency. Like a switch had been flipped and the conversation we were having was suddenly no longer the most important thing in his day.

“I have to go,” he said, already moving before I could fully process it.

I frowned, sitting forward.

“What do you mean you have to go? You just got here.”

“I said I have to go.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He stood now, slipping the phone back into his pocket without looking at me properly.

“Something came up.”

I followed him as he moved past my desk toward the door.

“Dad, you came here for a reason. You don’t just walk in, drop something like that, and leave mid-conversation.”

He didn’t stop.

“I’ll come back later.”

“When later?”

“Later,” he repeated, and this time his hand was already on the door handle.

I stepped forward slightly, frustration tightening my chest.

“This is about Miranda, isn’t it? Or Emily? Or whatever mess you think I’m in right now—”

But the door was already open.

And just like that, he was gone.

The sound of it closing felt louder than it should have.

The office didn’t just go quiet after that—it felt heavier. Like the air had shifted density, like the room had been holding something in while he was here and finally let it drop the second he left.

I stayed standing for a second, not moving, eyes fixed on the empty space where he had been.

I dragged a hand down my face again and exhaled slowly.

My phone sat on the desk, but I didn’t pick it up. Instead I moved automatically toward the window, not even thinking about it.

The parking lot below came into view, bright enough that everything looked sharper than it should have.

At first I scanned for my father’s car.

I saw him walking out.

Heading toward where he parked.

Until I saw her.

Miranda.

She was still there.

Not inside a car. Not leaving. Not even pretending to leave.

Just standing near the edge of the parking lot like she had nowhere else to be, shifting her weight slightly from one foot to the other. Phone in her hand, but she wasn’t looking at it.

I frowned immediately.

Why was she still here?

That didn’t make sense.

She had already done what she came for. She had dropped the pregnancy claim, made her statement, thrown her weight around, and left the office.

So why was she still on the premises?

Then I saw my father paused briefly near the entrance, scanning the area like he was orienting himself.

A subtle adjustment in his pace. A slight change in direction that didn’t match the gate, didn’t match the parking lane, didn’t match anything logical.

He was not going toward his car… but toward her.

Miranda.

I leaned closer to the glass without realizing it, my hand pressing against the window frame.

Wait…

Miranda?