Divorced by the CEO, He Regrets it

Nine.

David's POV

Claire's question kept me up half the night.

Why do you still have every single picture of her on your office wall?

I told her I had taken them down years ago. That was a lie, and she probably knew it, but I wasn't in the mood to explain myself to my little sister at nine in the evening.

I had hung up, poured a drink I didn't finish, and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, my phone buzzing every twenty minutes with something new. An email here.

A missed call there. Numbers that used to make sense refusing to add up no matter how many times I ran them.

By the time I walked into Harrington Legacy the next morning, I hadn't slept more than two hours, and it showed.

"Sir, the board's already gathering," my assistant said, jogging to keep pace with me.

"Emergency meeting, eight o'clock, like you requested last night."

"I know what I requested."

The conference room felt different the second I stepped inside. Too quiet. Nobody looked at me directly, which told me everything before anyone opened their mouth.

"Let's hear it," I said, dropping into my chair at the head of the table.

Marcus stood, shuffling papers he clearly didn't need to look at anymore because he already knew every line by heart.

"The Buckley partnership formally withdrew this morning. No reason given. Two of our suppliers are demanding revised terms before they'll continue shipments, and Whitmore's people called to say they're suspending negotiations indefinitely."

I stared at him. "That's four in one week."

"Five, if you count the Whitmore deal from Tuesday."

I slammed the folder down on the table harder than I meant to.

"Someone explain to me how five separate deals fall apart in the same week with no connecting reason."

Then one of the younger board members cleared his throat like he regretted it immediately. "It's possible someone larger is moving against us. Quietly pushing us out of key markets before we notice the pattern."

"That's absurd." I said it fast, too fast, the way you say something when you're trying to convince yourself as much as everyone else.

"Nobody spends this kind of money and effort just to squeeze out one company. It's not worth it."

Nobody argued. Nobody agreed either. They just sat there, and I hated the silence more than I would've hated an actual argument.

The meeting ended without answers, same as the day before, and I sat alone afterward staring at the growing stack of failed deals on the table, unable to shake the feeling that somewhere, somebody was watching every move I made before I made it.

"Sir," my assistant said, poking her head in. "Sophia's been waiting in your office for almost an hour."

Right, the wedding meeting I had completely forgotten about.

Sophia greeted me with a kiss the second I walked in, already talking before I'd even set my briefcase down. "I found the venue, David.

The one I showed you last week, they had a cancellation, which means we could actually book it for spring if we move fast."

"That's great." I sat down heavily behind my desk, eyes drifting toward the financial reports still scattered across it.

"You're not even looking at the pictures."

"I'm looking." I wasn't.

She sighed, setting the brochure down. "Is something wrong?"

"It's work. Nothing serious."

"David."

"We lost a few deals. It happens."

"A few?" Her voice sharpened slightly. "Is it going to affect the budget for the wedding?"

I looked up at her. "Sophia, my company is still one of the strongest in this country. I think we can handle a wedding."

She must have heard something in my tone because she backed off fast, laughing it away, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I know, I know. I just want everything to be perfect for us. That's all."

I nodded, told her I understood, but something about the whole exchange sat wrong in my chest long after she'd gone, heels clicking down the hallway with brochures tucked under her arm.

Without meaning to, I thought of Tiffany. Years ago, sitting across from me at that tiny kitchen table, going over wedding plans with a stack of magazine cutouts and a calculator, laughing about how we couldn't afford half the flowers she liked.

It doesn't matter, David. I'm not marrying the venue. I'm marrying you. She had meant it too. I remembered believing her.

I shook the thought off, annoyed it had even surfaced. Tiffany wasn't part of my life anymore. There was no reason for her to keep showing up in my head like this.

I got up and poured myself coffee I didn't really want, just to have something to do with my hands, and that's when I saw it.

The mug on the shelf by the window, chipped along the handle, some ugly shade of green Tiffany had picked out on our first anniversary because she said every serious CEO needed an "ugly lucky mug" to keep them humble.

I picked it up without thinking.

"Still have that thing?"

I turned. Claire stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"It's just a mug." I set it back on the shelf too quickly, like I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't.

She walked in slowly, glancing between me and the shelf.

"You could've thrown it out anytime in the last two years, David but you didn't."

"I forgot it was there."

"Did you?"

I dropped into my chair, rubbing my temple. "What do you want, Claire?"

She sat across from me, studying my face longer than I liked. "Are you actually happy?"

I laughed, short and humorless. "That's a ridiculous question. I'm marrying Sophia. My company's still standing. I'm getting everything I wanted."

"That's not what I asked."

"Claire!"

"Then why," she said quietly, glancing one last time at the mug on the shelf before meeting my eyes, "does it look like you're the only person in this building who doesn't believe that?"