The Man I Shouldn't Want: A Game of Seduction and Lies

15. Risking It All

I lean back in the car seat, my fingers tapping against my thigh, trying to distract myself from the gnawing feeling in my chest. The city flashes by in a blur, but I’m too distracted by my own thoughts to really notice. Next to me, Meera huffs for the third time in as many minutes, clearly annoyed. I glance at her, raising an eyebrow, waiting for her to spill whatever is on her mind. She doesn’t disappoint.

“You know, I've had to take all your calls since you literally threw your phone away,” she finally complains, her voice tinged with annoyance. “And I mean all of them.”

I give a small shrug, not particularly moved by her annoyance. "All those calls are professional, Meera. You’re paid to handle them. It’s part of your job."

She stares at me with a scowl. "You can’t be serious, Nat. Professional calls are one thing, but what about your personal life? You can’t just ghost the world, pretending it doesn’t exist."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "What personal life? Who do I have to talk to? Friends? Family?" The words sting as I say them, but it’s the truth. "I don’t have any of those anymore. I spent years devoting myself to Mike, pushing everyone else away. And now… well, it feels like I can’t go back to how things were. They’ve moved on, and so have I. So, what’s the point?"

There’s a long pause as Meera digests what I’ve said. The look on her face shifts from frustration to concern, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she tries a different angle.

"Okay, but no phone at all? You’re basically off the grid. I can’t even send you a stupid text about your schedule anymore," she mutters.

"That’s what the front door of my penthouse is for. You’re always welcome there, since you own a spare key now for the new locks I put in," I say with a grin. "It’s freeing, Meera. No distractions. No one offering me sympathy or hate. No articles popping up about me and Mike, no rumors, no drama. I don’t have to see what everyone’s saying behind my back."

"Or to your face," she adds, her voice sharp but resigned.

I shrug. "It’s better this way. I can breathe."

Meera lets out a soft sigh. "I still don’t like it. I get it, but disappearing like this? You’re isolating yourself even more."

"Maybe that’s what I want," I reply, keeping my eyes on the road, watching the buildings blur past. "And maybe it’s what I need."

“But more than the phone thing, Nat, I really think this project is a bad idea."

I glance at her, surprised. "The project?"

"Yeah," she says, turning toward me, her eyes filled with concern. "Taking on this business deal just to prove your dad wrong. I get it, I do. But this isn’t your area of expertise. Cosmetics? Fashion? Sure, you know those industries. But this? Business that has nothing to do with that? It’s not your world, Nat."

I sit up straighter, brushing off her concern with a casual wave. "You don’t know that. I won’t know unless I try."

"What if you fail?" she asks, her voice softer now.

"Oh, you think I’m gonna stay married to that bastard? f**k, no. And besides, I’m not going to fail," I say, the words coming out a little too quickly. Too confidently.

Meera raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "And how are you so sure?"

A small, knowing smile tugs at my lips as I lean back in my seat. "Because I’m not doing it alone." I glance out the window as the car takes a turn. "That’s why we’re heading to see Ric."

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Ric Steward?" She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," I reply, looking ahead as the car begins to slow down. "He’s the one person I trust with this."

Meera doesn’t respond for a moment, biting her lip as if weighing her next words carefully. "Nat, I trust you. You know that. But I also know you have a tendency to jump into things when you’re… emotional."

I stiffen at her words. "Emotional?"

"Yes, emotional," she says firmly. "You just told your father you’re taking on this project to prove him wrong. You’re pushing yourself so hard, trying to show everyone that you don’t need Mike, or your father’s approval. But I’m asking you — just think this through."

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but her words sting in a way that makes me hesitate. "I am thinking this through," I say finally, though my voice sounds more defensive than I intended.

"Just don’t do something that could hurt your image or career in the long run," Meera pleads, her voice softer now. "I’ve always supported you, Nat, but I don’t want to see you get hurt again."

I gulp, her words sinking in a little too deeply, making my chest feel tight. Before I can respond, the driver’s voice cuts through the tension.

"We’ve arrived, Miss Jones."

I look out the window at the tall office building looming ahead, sleek and glassy, its towering height casting long shadows across the street. This is where I’ll find Ric.

As I reach for the door handle, Meera clears her throat again, bringing my attention back to her. "Did you… tell your father about Mike?" she asks cautiously. "About the woman being pregnant?"

I freeze, my hand hovering over the door. The question lingers uncomfortably in the air. I didn’t tell my father. I couldn’t. But instead of answering, I force a smile, doing what I do best — deflecting.

"Stay here. I’ll handle this," I say, avoiding her question entirely as I step out of the car.

The moment I step outside, the weight of her question comes crashing down on me. Why didn’t I tell him? It’s obvious, really. I know exactly why. It’s because my father would’ve thrown it back in my face, just like he always does. He would’ve blamed me, like he always does.

You couldn’t even get pregnant.

Those are the words I know he would’ve said. He already sees me as a disappointment, as someone who couldn’t live up to his expectations, and this? This would just be more fuel for him to belittle me. More proof that I’m not good enough.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away as I walk toward the entrance of the building. There’s no time for this. I need to focus. I have to prove myself—to my father, to Mike, to everyone who ever doubted me. And Ric? He’s the key. He’s the one who can help me make this work.

As I reach the large glass doors, I pause for a moment, looking up at the towering structure before me. This is where it starts. The project, the challenge, my chance to prove that I’m not just the woman who failed at marriage, that I’m more than the daughter my father is ashamed of.

I take a deep breath and step inside.