(Joseph POV)
Work had always been my refuge.
Numbers were honest. Contracts didn't hesitate. Decisions followed logic, not emotion. As long as I stayed busy enough—meetings stacked back to back, reports reviewed down to the smallest margin—I didn't have to think.
I didn't have to dream.
"Sir, the overseas branch is waiting on your approval." Gregory said.
"Send it in," I said without looking up. "And move the marketing review to tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir." He replied.
Gregory left quietly, closing the door behind him. The office fell into a familiar silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the scratch of my pen against paper.
This was control.
That was what I needed.
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly. I hadn't slept properly in days—not since that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I half-expected to see that room again. The small bed. The wooden toy. The child who looked at me like I was something distant and unreachable.
I shook my head and straightened.
Enough. I thought.
I had work to do.
The door opened again, more softly this time.
"Seph." it was Dianne's voice.
I didn't look up right away, finishing the line I was reading. When I finally did, she was already inside, dressed impeccably as always—tailored dress, flawless makeup, the image of a woman who belonged by my side.
At least, that was what everyone said.
"You didn't come home last night," she said, arms folding lightly across her chest. Not accusatory. It was observational and controlled.
"I stayed at the office," I replied. "There was a lot to catch up on."
"You've been doing that a lot lately." She walked closer, heels clicking softly against the floor. "Ever since… everything."
Everything.
The word sat heavily between us.
"I'm fine," I said, sharper than I intended. I softened my tone slightly. "I just need time."
She studied me for a moment, her gaze searching. "Is this about Yvette?"
My jaw tightened. "Why would it be?"
Dianne sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on my desk. "You've been distant, Joseph. You barely look at me anymore. If something's bothering you—"
"I said I'm fine," I interrupted.
Silence followed.
Her lips pressed together, but she didn't argue. Instead, she smiled—a practiced, composed smile.
"Alright," she said. "Then let me help you relax. Dinner tonight? Just us."
I hesitated.
In the past, I wouldn't have felt it. Dianne had always been familiar, easy. Predictable.
The control.
"Fine," I said at last. "Dinner."
Her smile widened, satisfaction flickering briefly in her eyes before she leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Good. I'll have my secretary coordinate with yours."
When she left, the room felt no less heavy.
I rubbed my temples and stared back at the documents in front of me, but the words blurred together. No matter how much I buried myself in work, something kept slipping through the cracks.
Her. Yvette.
The boardroom was already occupied when I entered.
Mr. Smith. Mr. James. Ms. Alice sat near the head of the table, chatting quietly. And at the far end—
Yvette.
She stood beside Brent Dawson, listening attentively as he spoke in a low voice. Her posture was straight, confident. Her hair was pulled back neatly, a few loose strands framing her face.
She looked… different.
Healthier.
The sharp fragility she had worn in the days after the will reading was gone. There was color in her cheeks now, a quiet light in her eyes. She wore a simple blouse and skirt, nothing extravagant, but it suited her. No—it elevated her.
Blooming.
The word came unbidden, and I clenched my fist.
In my dream, she had been pale. Tired. Hollow.
The contrast hit me harder than I expected.
"Joseph," Ms. Alice called. "Come in. We were just about to start."
I took my seat, forcing my gaze away from Yvette—but not before her eyes met mine.
For a split second, something passed between us.
Recognition.
Not the shy warmth she used to look at me with. Not resentment either.
Just calm.
It unsettled me more than anger ever could.
The meeting began, voices overlapping as reports were discussed, projections reviewed. I answered questions automatically, my mind half elsewhere.
Every time Yvette spoke, the room seemed to quiet.
Her voice was steady and clear.
"This branch needs restructuring," she said at one point. "Not downsizing, it is realignment. The talent is there, but the leadership structure is inefficient."
Mr. James raised a brow. "You're confident in that assessment?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "I reviewed the internal reports myself."
Brent glanced at her with faint approval.
Something twisted in my chest.
In the dream, she had deferred. She had endured.
This Yvette stood her ground.
When the meeting ended, chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone stood. Conversations sparked in small groups. I remained seated longer than necessary, watching as Yvette gathered her things.
Brent leaned closer to her, saying something that made her smile—small, genuine.
I stood abruptly.
"Yvette," I called.
She paused, turning toward me. "Joseph."
Just my name. No nickname.
"We need to talk," I said.
Brent straightened, his expression sharpening. "If this is about company matters—"
"It's not," I cut in, my gaze never leaving Yvette.
She considered me for a moment, then nodded. "Five minutes."
We stepped into the adjacent corridor, the glass walls of the boardroom separating us from the others.
Up close, the difference was even more obvious.
She smelled faintly of citrus and something floral. Alive. Present.
Not like the woman in my dream who had looked at me like I was already gone.
"You look well," I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked, clearly surprised. "Thank you. I am."
A pause.
"You wanted to talk?" she prompted.
I searched for the right words and came up empty.
"I—" I exhaled. "You seem… different."
Her lips curved slightly. "People change, Joseph."
That was true.
Too true.
"I had a dream," I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I could restrain them.
Her expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened. "A dream?"
I shook my head, frustration mounting. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."
"Dreams often don't," she said softly.
For a moment, I wondered—did she know? Did she remember something I didn't?
Before I could ask, footsteps approached.
"Joseph," Dianne's voice cut in smoothly. "There you are."
She came to my side, slipping her arm through mine with practiced ease. "The meeting ran long. Are you ready?"
Yvette's gaze flicked briefly to where Dianne's hand rested on my arm.
Then she stepped back.
"I should get back to work," she said politely. "Excuse me."
She walked away without another glance.
The space she left behind felt colder.
Dianne looked up at me, smiling. "She seems… busy."
"Yes," I replied distantly.
As we walked toward the elevator, I realized something with unsettling clarity.
I could bury myself in work.
I could hold onto control.
I could stand beside Dianne and pretend this life was enough.
But the moment I saw Yvette—healthy, blooming and real—the dream I was trying so desperately to suppress reached out and tightened its grip.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure whether I was afraid of remembering—
Or of what it would mean if I did.
The restaurant Dianne chose was one of the quietest in the city—private rooms, soft lighting, the kind of place where conversations were meant to feel intimate.
I should have appreciated the effort.
Instead, I felt like I was sitting through a meeting I hadn't agreed to attend.
"The wedding planner sent three more proposals today," Dianne said, unfolding her napkin with practiced elegance. "I think an early winter wedding would be perfect. Not too cold, but still romantic."
I nodded.
"That way, we can avoid clashing with the annual shareholder gala. And for the venue, my father suggested the coastal estate—"
Another nod.
"The guest list will be… well, large, but unavoidable. Political figures, partners, board members—oh, and I was thinking ivory and champagne as the main palette."
"Mm."
She paused mid-sentence, her fork hovering above the plate.
"Joseph," she said slowly, "are you listening?"
"Yes," I replied automatically.
Her eyes narrowed. "Then what did I just say about the catering?"
I hesitated.
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
"…You prefer the coastal estate," I said finally.
That wasn't the answer.
Dianne's smile stiffened, just barely holding together. She took a slow sip of her wine, then continued as if nothing had happened.
"For the menu, of course, we'll avoid anything too heavy. A plated course—no buffets. And your suit," she added, her tone brightening, "I was thinking something custom, Italian cut. Dark. Classic. You'll look perfect."
I nodded again.
Inside, my mind drifted—unbidden—back to the boardroom.
To Yvette standing calmly under the lights.
To the way she looked at me now, as if I were someone she had already learned to let go of.
"Joseph."
I looked up.
Dianne had set her utensils down.
"You haven't asked me a single question," she said quietly. "Not about the date. Not about the venue. Not about us."
"I trust your judgment," I replied.
That was the truth. And also the problem.
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "You trust my judgment," she repeated. "Or you simply don't care?"
I frowned. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Her voice sharpened. "We're talking about our wedding. Our future. And you're sitting there like you're reviewing quarterly reports."
"I've had a long day." I replied with a sigh.
"So have I," she snapped. "But I'm still here. I'm still trying."
Her words echoed unpleasantly.
Trying.
I had heard that word before.
In a dream I insisted wasn't real.
"I just need time," I said again, weary even of my own excuse.
Dianne stared at me, searching my face for something—anything—that would reassure her.
She didn't find it.
Slowly, she pushed her chair back and stood.
"Enjoy your dinner," she said coldly. "I'm no longer hungry."
"Dianne—"
She didn't wait for me to finish.
Her heels struck sharply against the floor as she walked away, leaving the door to the private room swinging shut behind her.
I remained seated, staring at the untouched plate in front of me.
For the first time, the silence didn't bring relief.
Only the uncomfortable realization that I had been present—
And yet, completely absent.
(Dianne POV)
I barely made it to my car before my composure cracked.
The moment the door shut behind me, I slammed my hand against the steering wheel.
"Damn it," I hissed.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
Joseph had always been steady. Predictable. He had looked at me like I was his future—like the choice was already made.
Now?
Now his eyes kept drifting elsewhere.
To her.
I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed without hesitation.
The call was answered on the second ring.
"Father."
"Dianne," Mr. Jenkins' voice came through calm and assured. "How did dinner go?"
I laughed bitterly. "He wasn't even there."
A pause.
"What do you mean?"
"He nodded. He agreed. He let me plan everything," I said, my fingers tightening around the phone. "But he didn't care. It was like I was talking to a wall."
Another pause, heavier this time.
"He's slipping," I added quietly. "I can feel it. He's pulling away from me."
"It is because of that girl?" my father said coolly. "Yvette."
"Yes." I replied.
I heard him exhale on the other end. "I warned you this would happen if she stayed in the picture."
"She already moved out. She's barely at the manor anymore. But he still—" I clenched my jaw. "He still looks for her."
"Then you need to make sure he doesn't have the luxury to hesitate."
My grip tightened. "What are you suggesting?"
"Marriage," he replied flatly. "A child."
My breath caught.
"Father—"
"Don't be naive," he cut in. "Men like Joseph don't act on uncertainty if they're tied down properly. Once there's an heir, everything else becomes irrelevant."
"That's—" I swallowed. "That's not something you just force."
"You don't force," he said smoothly. "You ensure."
Silence pressed against my ear, each word sinking deeper.
"If he won't choose you willingly," my father continued, voice cold and certain, "then you remove his ability to walk away."
My heart pounded, fear and anger tangling together.
"You mean…"
"Do whatever it takes, Dianne," he said. "This marriage must happen. And it will."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my reflection faintly visible on the dark screen.
Joseph slipping from her grasp.
Yvette standing stronger than ever.
No.
She wouldn't lose.
Not now. Not after everything.
Dianne's lips curved slowly into a tight, determined smile as she started the engine.
If Joseph wouldn't hold on to her—
Then she would make sure he couldn't let go.