Chapter 2Kept in Don’s Shadow

My clothes, books, and art supplies had been stuffed into boxes. The diamond necklace Ronan gave me lay beneath a boot print, its clasp snapped. Two mugs we had made together were shattered, the initials we carved into them split by the cracks.

Ronan followed my gaze.

“None of it was valuable. Throw it away. I’ll replace whatever you need.”

I picked up a broken glass jar filled with four years of ticket stubs, pressed flowers, and folded notes.

There were more than a thousand of them. Some recorded ordinary days. Others held the words I had never dared say aloud.

I love you. I still love you today. I hope one day you’ll let the world know I belong to you.

As I lifted the jar over the trash, Ronan caught my wrist. His gaze settled on the folded notes visible through the cracked glass.

“Why are you stopping me?”

He kept his hand around my wrist for another second before letting go. “I’m not.”

I dropped the jar and the broken gifts into the trash.

“You’re right. Worthless things should be discarded once they’re damaged.”

Then I held out my resignation letter.

“This is my resignation. HR needs your signature to complete the process within a week.”

His phone rang before I could finish.

“Ronan, it’s raining,” Zoya complained. “When are you coming for me?”

The irritation vanished from his face.

“Stay there. I’m coming.”

Without reading the document, he signed the last page and handed it back.

“I’ll have someone drive you. Message me when you reach Lakeview. I don’t want Gideon thinking I failed to look after you.”

“I’ll make my own arrangements.”

He left before the storm broke.

The driver assigned to me had been sent to collect Zoya’s luggage, so I walked down the long private road toward the gate. Rain slashed across my face. I slipped on the wet stones and struck my knees and elbows, but kept the resignation papers pressed against my chest.

The bruises would heal. I refused to give Ronan another chance to delay my departure.

Headlights appeared through the rain.

Ronan’s black car swept past without slowing, spraying filthy water over me. Through the passenger window, I saw Zoya in a red dress and Ronan smiling at her.

Neither of them looked back.

Three days later, I completed my handover. My desk was empty except for one box when Ronan sent me a message.

[Bring in hot ginger tea.]

Until the end of the day, I was still his assistant.

I carried the tea into his private lounge. Zoya lay with her head in his lap while he massaged her abdomen.

For four years, whenever I doubled over from cramps at my desk, Ronan had sent painkillers and warned me not to delay his schedule. I had once mistaken that for care.

Now I knew what his care actually looked like.

“Your tea, Mr. Whitlock.”

I set the cup down.

For just a second, my collar slipped open.

Zoya’s eyes immediately locked onto the mark on my chest.

A kiss mark. Fresh. Deep red.

Her face drained of color, then flushed crimson. She slowly rose from her seat.

“You’re Gideon Calloway’s daughter?”

Before I could answer, her palm cracked across my face.

My ears rang.

The secretary, two guards, and several family members turned toward the open doorway.

“Zoya, what the hell are you doing?” Ronan demanded.

Tears instantly welled in her eyes. She pointed at my chest, her finger trembling.

“She has a kiss mark. Right there.” Her voice broke. “Is it yours?”

Ronan’s jaw tightened.

His gaze dropped to the mark, then lifted to my face.

Whatever warmth he had shown me in private was gone.

“No,” he said coldly. “I have no idea where she got it.”

Zoya’s tears vanished almost instantly.

A small, satisfied smile curved her lips.

“So she’s been sleeping with other men while staying under your roof?”

Her gaze swept over me with open disgust.

“And you still keep a woman like that at your side?”

Ronan barely reacted.

“Her father asked me to look after her.”

He said it so casually, as if that explained everything.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”