Chapter 118 Nothing To Prove
After Amelia had left his office, Ryan continued standing, facing the window, his hand rested gently on the window glass as he stared outside, lost in thought.
He wasn’t seeing the city.
He was seeing Derek.
He had known him since they were boys, reckless, stubborn, and he had also watched him grow into a man burdened with responsibility far too early. He had been there after Derek’s parents died, when the world had seemed to collapse overnight. He had seen how Derek handled grief, not with tears, not with breakdowns, but with silence. Isolation especially since he didn't get the love he had wanted from them. He had locked himself away emotionally and built walls so high no one could reach him, because he thought he never deserved love.
Then came Celia.
Ryan remembered that version of Derek too, the one who had loved fiercely and loudly. The one that had been happy someone other than his grandfather loved him.
When the relationship ended, Derek hadn’t raged or begged. He had simply shut down again, colder this time. Focused. Controlled. Detached.
And then Rebecca walked into his life.
Ryan had seen the shift immediately.
The spark in Derek’s eyes whenever she entered a room. The unconscious smile that curved his lips at the mention of her name. The excitement in his voice when he had first spoken about courting her, not as a business decision, not as a contract, but as something deeply personal.
He had seen how Derek who had once decided that marriage and love were not for him had slowly started to believe he wanted marriage.
Rebecca had softened him.
Ryan had heard the devastation when she was kidnapped, the reckless decisions, the fear Derek had tried so desperately to hide. He had watched his friend unravel at the thought of losing her.
And now?
Now Ryan could see it clearly, the past resurfacing, unresolved emotions creeping back in, pride and poor judgment blurring lines that should never be blurred.
Derek might not see it yet.
But Ryan did.
And he would not allow him to destroy the only genuine happiness he had ever fought for.
Turning away from the window, Ryan walked back to his desk with quiet resolve. He picked up his phone and dialed.
The call connected on the third ring.
"Ryan," Derek’s voice came through, distracted but steady. Papers shuffled faintly in the background. "Everything okay?"
"We need to talk," Ryan said simply. "Our spot. After work."
There was a pause, not long, but enough.
Derek recognized that tone. It wasn’t casual.
"Alright," he replied. "I’ll be there."
Ryan ended the call without another word.
Later that evening, the club hummed with low music, dim golden lights reflected off polished wood and crystal glasses. The scent of aged whiskey and subtle cologne lingered in the air. It wasn’t loud or chaotic, just loud enough.
Derek arrived first.
He wore a dark suit, his tie slightly loosened, as though the day had weighed on him longer than usual. He checked his watch once before sliding into one of the leather seats in the VIP section an area tucked away from the louder part of the club. It was quieter there, more private.
Their spot.
They had sat at that very table countless times celebrating victories, dissecting failures, sharing truths no one else was allowed to hear.
Derek slid into the leather seat and leaned back, exhaling slowly.
Ryan arrived a few minutes later. The moment their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them.
When Ryan reached the table, Derek stood up instinctively and pulled him into a brief shoulder hug, firm, masculine, restrained.
It lasted only a second longer than usual.
They sat opposite each other.
A waitress approached almost immediately.
"The usual?" she asked politely.
Ryan nodded while Derek gave a faint nod as well.
Moments later, two glasses of aged whiskey were placed before them, the amber liquid glowing under the soft overhead lights.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Ryan leaned back, studying Derek carefully not just looking at him, but assessing him.
"So," he began calmly, lifting his glass but not drinking yet, "how are you doing?"
It had been weeks since they had truly spoken. Since the funeral. Since everything shifted.
Derek gave a small shrug and reached for his drink.
"I’m okay."
He took a slow sip before continuing.
"Just trying to bring the company back to order. Since Grandfather passed, things have been… unsettled."
Ryan nodded slightly. "That’s expected. You’ve taken on a lot."
Derek stared into his glass as though the slow swirl of liquid required intense concentration.
Silence lingered.
Then Ryan spoke again, more deliberately this time.
"And Rebecca?"
The change was immediate.
Derek’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass.
"What about her?" he asked, voice neutral but guarded.
"How far has your courting gone? Have you finally both decided to keep the marriage?"
The question hung between them.
Derek’s expression shifted, subtle, but noticeable to someone who had known him for years, and Ryan certainly has. His jaw set slightly and his eyes hardened for a fraction of a second before he masked it.
He lifted his glass and took another sip, longer this time.
"It’s going well," he muttered.
Ryan didn’t miss the hesitation.
"You don’t sound like it’s going well."
Derek exhaled softly through his nose. "You’re reading too much into it."
Ryan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You’ve changed," he said quietly. "Since Celia arrived."
The name alone seemed to tighten the air around them.
Derek’s gaze lifted sharply.
"There is nothing going on between me and Celia," he said firmly and too quickly.
Ryan held his gaze evenly. "I didn’t say there was." He said, he knew whenever Derek was becoming defensive like this, it meant he was hiding something.
Derek looked away first.
"She’s just… someone from the past," Derek continued, irritation creeping in. "We have history. That’s all."
"And history doesn’t complicate the present?" Ryan asked calmly.
Derek ran a hand through his hair, frustration flashing across his face.
"You’re making something out of nothing."
Ryan leaned back again, silent for a moment before speaking.
"Rebecca notices."
That made Derek look up in surprise.
"Notices what?"
"The distance, the late nights, the calls you take outside, the way you’re present physically but absent mentally."
Derek’s jaw tightened.
"She told you that?"
"She didn’t have to," Ryan replied. "It’s obvious."
Derek looked down at his drink again, swirling it slowly.
"I’m handling things," he said quietly. "There’s pressure at work. Investors. Restructuring. That’s all."
Ryan’s voice softened, but it carried weight.
"Be honest with yourself, Derek."
Derek’s eyes lifted, irritation flickering. "I am honest."
"Are you?" Ryan pressed. "Because it doesn’t look like it."
The music from the main floor thumped faintly, but their table felt isolated, suspended in tension.
"You’re standing at a crossroad," Ryan continued. "And the path you’re leaning toward won’t favor you."
"There is no path," Derek snapped quietly. "There is no choice, nothing is happening between me and Celia."
Ryan didn’t flinch.
"Maybe not physically," he said evenly. "But emotionally? You know there is."
The implication settled heavily.
Derek’s fingers tightened around his glass again.
"She reminds me of a time before everything became complicated," Derek admitted quietly, almost unwillingly. "Before responsibilities, before expectations, before my grandfather chased her away."
Ryan’s expression softened slightly.
"And Rebecca?" he asked gently.
Derek fell silent.
That silence was louder than any confession.
Ryan leaned closer.
"You fought for Rebecca," he said firmly. "You chose her. You nearly destroyed yourself trying to get her back. Don’t let nostalgia confuse you into rewriting your own story."
Derek exhaled slowly, the weight of the words pressing against him.
"It’s not like that," he insisted again, but this time, the conviction was thin.
Ryan watched him carefully.
"If there’s truly nothing going on," he said quietly, "then prove it, stop the late nights, stop the secrecy. Stop giving room for doubt."
Derek didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he finished the rest of his drink in one long swallow and set the glass down harder than necessary.
"There’s nothing to prove because there's nothing going on," he muttered, reaching for the refill the waitress had just set down and taking another long sip.
Ryan studied him for a long moment.
He had said what needed to be said. He had drawn the line clearly.
If Derek chose not to see it, not to hear it then the consequences would be his to bear.
Ryan leaned back slowly, his expression unreadable.
He had done his part.
The rest now depended on whether Derek was brave enough to confront himself.