I met her gaze. “You’re competent at your job, Lauren. I’m not firing you for marrying my ex. But there will be boundaries. Ethan will never step foot in my office. Ever.”
She nodded silently.
Ethan, now pale, tried one last time. “But I’m her father—”
“—who left while I was in labor,” I cut in. “You’re free to apply for visitation through the courts. Just don’t expect special treatment.”
He stared at me. “You’re really going to act like I don’t exist?”
I smiled. “No. I’m going to treat you like a man who made his choice.”
He said nothing after that.
As they left, Lauren didn’t reach for his hand.
She looked like someone who had just realized the beautiful house she’d moved into had no foundation.
I turned back to my daughter and kissed her forehead.
The life I was building now belonged to me.
In the weeks that followed, I rebuilt everything quietly — but this time, on my own terms.
The Hawthorne Group had come to me as a dormant holding company. My great-aunt had invested early in several tech ventures, building something powerful out of sight. When the inheritance landed, I spent days buried in meetings with lawyers and advisors, overwhelmed by contracts and decisions. But once I found my footing, I stepped fully into the role.
It turned out I had never been unemployed.
I had been in charge.
Lauren handled herself professionally. She never contacted me directly again, but her work spoke for itself — sharper, more careful, more distant. And Ethan slowly disappeared from her life altogether.
One day, I received a brief email.
Subject: Resignation
I’ve accepted another position. Thank you for the opportunity.
I replied with two words: Best wishes.
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