Divorced by the CEO, He Regrets it

Seven.

David's POV

The dial tone still rang in my ears long after Tiffany hung up on me.

I sat there staring at the phone like it might explain itself if I looked hard enough. She hadn't yelled. She hadn't cried. She'd just... gone quiet, then nothing.

No apology, no scrambling to fix whatever I thought she'd broken. That wasn't Tiffany. Tiffany apologized for things that weren't even her fault. Tiffany stayed on the phone until my temper burned itself out.

"Sir?" My assistant knocked twice before letting herself in.

"The Buckley deal. They're asking to postpone."

"Postpone what, exactly?"

"Everything, the signing, the site visit, all of it. They said they need more time to review terms."

"They already reviewed the terms. We finalized this two weeks ago." I stood up so fast my chair rolled back and hit the window. "Get everyone in the boardroom. Now."

Fifteen minutes later I had six executives sitting around the table looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.

"Someone explain to me why I have lost two investors in forty-eight hours," I said, not bothering to sit.

Marcus, my finance director, cleared his throat first. "It could be the market, sir. There's been some volatility…"

"The market's fine. I checked this morning."

"Then maybe it's competition," someone else offered. "Someone could be undercutting us, targeting our partners directly."

"Nobody's big enough to touch Harrington Legacy overnight." I said it with more confidence than I felt, because the truth was I had no idea what was happening, and that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

"This company is stable. We don't just fall apart because two investors get cold feet in the same week."

Nobody argued with me out loud. But I saw it in their faces, the kind of unease that spreads through a room when everyone's thinking the same thing and nobody wants to be the one to say it first.

I dismissed the meeting without answers. That was worse than getting bad news. At least bad news you could work with.

My phone rang before I made it back to my office. My father's name on the screen made my stomach tighten before I even answered.

"Dad."

"Is it true?" No greeting, straight to it, exactly like him. "I'm hearing the Buckley deal fell through and Whitmore before that."

"It's a temporary setback."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's handled, Dad. I've got it under control." I didn't sound convinced even to myself, and I could tell he heard it too.

There was a pause on the line, the kind he used when he was deciding whether to push.

"Son, I've watched you build this company since you were twenty-six. I've never once seen this many things go wrong at the same time without a reason behind it."

"There's no reason. It's coincidence."

"Maybe." Another pause. "Just don't underestimate life's ability to humble a man, David. It has a way of doing that right when you're convinced you're untouchable."

I scoffed before I could stop myself. "I'll keep that in mind."

He hung up without another word, and I stood there holding the phone longer than I needed to, his voice still sitting in my chest like something heavy I couldn't put down.

I tried to shake it off with lunch. Sophia had picked some overpriced place downtown, all white tablecloths and servers who introduced every dish like it was a piece of art.

"David, look at this one." She turned her tablet toward me before I'd even sat down properly. A ballroom dripping in crystal and white roses filled the screen.

"The Grand Apex. They said they can fit us in for the spring, but we'd have to book this week."

"It's nice," I said, barely looking.

"And the dress." She swiped to another photo, some designer gown that probably cost more than a car.

"I want to fly the designer in from Paris for fittings. And I found this singer, David, you have to hear her, she's performed for royalty…"

"Sophia."

"What? I'm just trying to make sure everything's perfect."

I rubbed my temple. "I had a rough morning."

That got her attention, finally, though not in the way I wanted. "Is it serious? The business thing?"

"It's fine."

"But is the budget going to be affected? Because if we need to scale back on the venue, I would rather know now than after I've already.."

"I said it's fine." My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. "I have it handled. Stop asking about money."

Her expression flickered, just for a second, something tight and disappointed crossing her face before she smoothed it into a laugh. "Okay, okay. I'm just excited, that's all."

I watched her go back to scrolling through venues and photographers, chattering about seating charts, and for one strange, unwelcome second I thought of Tiffany. Years ago.

A cramped noodle shop near our first apartment, plastic chairs, the kind of place that smelled like broth and cheap oil.

She used to sit across from me slurping noodles like it was the best meal she'd ever had, telling me I was going to build something incredible one day. She never once asked what things cost. Never once made me feel like I owed her anything.

I pushed the memory away. Comparing them was pointless. Sophia was my future. Tiffany was over.

Back at the office, my assistant met me at the door, folder clutched to her chest like she was bracing for impact.

"Sir, the Hendricks account. They're requesting a full contract review before continuing."

"Another one?" I dropped into my chair. "Pull every cancelled meeting and delayed investment from the last two days. I want a complete report on my desk in an hour."

She nodded quickly and disappeared, and I sat there in the sudden quiet, jaw tight, staring at nothing.

That's when I saw it. Tiffany's mug, still sitting on the shelf behind my desk where it had been for months, some chipped ceramic thing with a faded coffee stain ring she never bothered to replace.

I don't know why I hadn't thrown it out. I don't know why I picked it up now, turning it over in my hands, remembering all the nights she'd walked in with two cups, setting one down in front of me without a word because she already knew I hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't stopped to breathe.

The office felt too quiet all of a sudden.

My phone buzzed, cutting through it. Claire—my younger sister.

"David," she said, careful in a way that immediately put me on edge. "Can I ask you something?"

I set the mug down harder than I meant to. "If this is about Tiffany, I really don't have the patience today."

Claire went quiet on the other end, long enough that I almost thought the call had dropped.

"Then why," she said finally, "do you still have every single picture of her on your office wall?"