What if

What if
For several seconds, Catherine said nothing. Juliano remained behind his desk, the phone pressed against his ear. Beyond the windows of his Milan office, the afternoon traffic moved steadily through the streets below.

“Wanting it doesn’t give you the right to say it,” she finally said.

“No.”

“And it doesn’t make Erik’s place available.”

“You left.”

“For one night.”

“You said a few days.”

“That changes nothing between you and me.”

Juliano lowered his gaze to the documents on his desk. “You’re right.”

“Then why are we still having this conversation?”

Because for the first time since he had met her, Erik Statham wasn’t beside her.
Because she had walked out of the apartment they shared and gone somewhere else.
Because the possibility he had refused to consider no longer seemed entirely impossible.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he replied.

“You shouldn’t have said it at all.”

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t mean it.”

Another pause followed.

“That’s exactly what concerns me,” Catherine said.

The line went silent. Juliano looked at the screen and saw that she had ended the call. He placed the phone on his desk. The office around him appeared unchanged. The Vandervoort documents remained open in front of him. Three contracts waited for his signature. His next meeting would begin in twenty minutes. Yet Catherine’s words stayed with him.

It changes nothing between you and me.

He had expected her to reject what he said. Catherine was loyal even when loyalty made her life harder. She defended Erik when he disappointed her and protected their marriage even while standing outside it. But she had left. One night, perhaps two. It could end before the week was over. Erik would apologize, Catherine would return and they would resume the life they had built together.

Juliano stood and walked toward the windows. What if she didn’t? The thought came too easily.

He imagined Catherine remaining at Natalie’s apartment long enough to recognize how much of herself she had adjusted around Erik’s absence. He imagined her asking questions Erik could no longer avoid. He imagined her looking at the years ahead and deciding that loving someone wasn’t enough when trust had to be negotiated every time the truth became uncomfortable.

Juliano knew he was simplifying their marriage. He had seen the way Catherine looked at Erik. He had watched her search a room for him before noticing anyone else. Their connection wasn’t something a single argument could erase. It could still change. Everything changed when pressure found the weakest point.

His phone rang. His legal director’s name appeared on the screen. Juliano answered.

“We have the revised terms from Marseille,” the man said. “Legal has approved the final clauses. They only need your signature.”

“Send them.”

“There’s also the New York Investor Summit. They need confirmation of who will represent Moretti Capital.”

Juliano turned away from the window.

“When is it?”

“Next Thursday. We reserved two places, but you told us to send someone from the New York office.”

He remembered the invitation. Three weeks earlier, it had seemed like another room filled with people making the same promises over expensive wine. He had no reason to cross the Atlantic for it. Now Catherine was in New York, sleeping somewhere other than beside her husband.

“Leave the places open,” he said.

“Are you attending?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“They need the names today.”

“Then tell them they’ll have the confirmation before the end of business.”

He ended the call.

The summit had nothing to do with Catherine. Moretti Capital had investments across the United States, and several companies on the attendee list were worth meeting. His presence would be easy to justify. That was the problem. Since the first time he had contacted her, every step had come with a reasonable explanation. Marseille required a conversation. The pen celebrated a successful project. Vandervoort placed them in the same meetings. Even the call that morning had begun with an approved set of figures.

He had used business to remain close to her long before he admitted why. Catherine had drawn the line clearly. Erik was her husband. Their argument belonged to them. Juliano had no right to turn their distance into an opportunity.

He returned to his desk and opened the Vandervoort report. Catherine’s comments ran through the document. Practical questions filled the margins, written with the same precision she brought to every meeting. She had challenged assumptions neither management team had noticed and refused to approve a staffing model that treated people as interchangeable numbers.

Erik had once accused Juliano of seeing weakness as an invitation. Perhaps he did. But Catherine wasn’t weak. She had left because Erik had denied her something she considered essential. She wanted honesty, presence and a partner who treated her judgment as equal to his own. Juliano could give her those things.

He pictured her in Milan beside him, walking into Moretti Capital without needing an introduction. She would disagree with him openly. She would force him to reconsider decisions everyone else accepted. He would make space for her work instead of expecting it to fit around his. They would understand the demands they placed on each other because neither of them would need to apologize for ambition. The image held more detail than it should have.

Catherine at his dining table with reports spread around her.
Catherine arguing with him over an acquisition until midnight.
Catherine standing beside him at an event, her hand resting lightly against his arm.
Catherine looking at him the way she looked at Erik.

Juliano closed the report.

He had spent years acquiring companies other people believed were beyond his reach. He waited until the right moment, learned where the resistance was weakest and moved before anyone else understood what was happening. Catherine was not a company. Her marriage was not a transaction. He understood the difference. Still, the same question remained.

What if Erik had already lost her?

A knock sounded at the door. His assistant entered with a folder.

“The summit organizers called again. They’re waiting for the names.”

Juliano looked at the confirmation form on top. He could stay in Milan. Give Catherine the distance she had asked for. Allow her and Erik to repair whatever had broken between them. If she returned to Erik, nothing would change. Juliano would remain the man she called for business, the friend she trusted within carefully defined limits. He no longer wanted that to be enough.

Juliano picked up the pen beside the folder and signed his name in the first available space.

“Confirm both places.”

His assistant collected the form. “Who should I list for the second?”

“Leave it open.”

She nodded and walked toward the door.

“And arrange the jet,” Juliano added.

His decision had been made before she asked where he was going.

“New York.”