Margaret lowered herself into the chair beside him.
“I didn’t see any of it,” he said.
“You wanted love to be real.”
“I should have known.”
“Hope is not stupidity.”
“I feel humiliated.”
“You are hurt.”
He looked at her.
Margaret touched his cheek as she had when he was a child.
“Your father taught you that people leave. Camille taught you that people can pretend to stay. But neither of them has the right to define love for the rest of your life.”
For several weeks, Adrian became quieter.
He continued working. He attended meetings, answered emails, reviewed contracts, and delivered speeches.
To outsiders, nothing had changed.
Inside, he had become suspicious of every compliment and cautious of every smile.
Elise knew that something had happened, though Adrian told her very little.
She noticed that he stopped accepting drinks prepared by others.
She noticed that he remained in the office long after everyone had left.
She noticed that when she handed him ordinary reports, he thanked her with a seriousness that made simple kindness feel unfamiliar.
One Friday evening, Adrian stood beside her desk.
“Elise?”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
Her eyes widened.
“Dinner?”
“Outside the office.”
He immediately became more formal.
“There is no pressure. We can speak to the human resources department first, and I completely understand if the professional situation makes you uncomfortable.”
Elise smiled.
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
“I would like to have dinner with you.”
He did not take her to a private club or a restaurant where reservations required influence.
Instead, he chose a small Italian place in Cambridge with crowded tables, uneven candles, and handwritten daily specials.
Elise looked around.
“This isn’t what I expected.”
Adrian pulled out her chair.
“I can find somewhere with crystal glasses and no visible prices.”
She sat down.
“No. This is perfect.”
During dinner, Elise did not ask about his wealth, his house, or the articles written about him.
She asked about Margaret.
She asked what he had been like in school.
She asked why he created HarborLink.
In return, she told him about growing up in Providence with a father who repaired buses and a mother who worked in a public library.
She had moved to Boston with two suitcases, a temporary job, and the belief that if she worked hard enough, life would eventually explain itself.
“Did it?” Adrian asked.
Elise tore a piece of bread.
“No.”
He laughed.
“It never became clearer?”
“It became larger. I think that’s more useful.”
When the bill arrived, Elise reached for her purse.
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“I invited you.”
“And I accepted because I wanted to spend time with you. That doesn’t mean I’m incapable of paying for my dinner.”
He watched her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.”
“I’m realizing how few people around me say things like that.”
Elise tilted her head.
“Then you may have been eating at the wrong tables.”
Adrian laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh Margaret had heard from him in weeks when he later told her about the evening.
“You like Elise,” Margaret said.
Adrian paused in the kitchen doorway.
“How do you know?”
“I raised you.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“It is the only one you need.”
Adrian sat across from her.
“I do like her.”
Margaret waited.
“I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
“What if I’m wrong again?”
“Take your time.”
“What if time doesn’t tell me enough?”
Margaret folded her hands on the table.
“You cannot ask every person to prove themselves forever.”
“I trusted Camille.”
“You trusted an image.”
“What if I do that again?”
“At some point, Adrian, you must decide whether you would rather risk trust or guarantee loneliness.”
Fear listened to the advice.
Then it waited until Adrian was alone.
As he and Elise grew closer, public interest in his failed engagement increased.
Online publications speculated about Camille’s sudden disappearance. Former friends claimed they had always distrusted her. Invitations continued arriving, but Adrian now noticed the calculation beneath the compliments.
One afternoon, he met an old college friend named Trevor Kane for lunch.
Trevor listened to Adrian’s concerns and laughed.
“There’s one reliable way to discover who truly cares.”
Adrian looked up.
“Lose your money.”
“What?”
“Tell everyone HarborLink is in trouble. Say you made a bad investment. Tell them the estate is gone. Watch who still answers your calls.”
Adrian frowned.
“That sounds manipulative.”
Trevor shrugged.
“Maybe. But it works.”
It should have remained a careless suggestion.
Instead, fear repeated it later.
Try.
A week afterward, rumors began circulating.
HarborLink Technologies had suffered a catastrophic investment loss.