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She Banned Me From Sunday Dinner—Then Walked Into My Office Monday / Chapter 4 / 7

Chapter 4 — She Banned Me From Sunday Dinner—Then Walked Into My Office Monday

4.9Editorial score

“We?”

He hesitated.

“I can talk to Mom and Dad.”

Something inside me settled.

There it was.

Not remorse.

Negotiation.

Yesterday, my dignity had been worth nothing.

Today, because my signature sat on a contract his wife valued, suddenly Ethan was willing to bargain for it.

“You shouldn’t have to talk them into respecting me,” I said.

His shoulders dropped.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you meant.”

Sabrina stood abruptly.

“This meeting is over.”

Jamie remained seated.

I did too.

“That’s your choice,” I said.

“If you want to continue with Rowan Strategies, Daniel will contact you this afternoon.

If you want to terminate the agreement, our finance and legal teams will process that according to the contract you signed.”

Sabrina froze.

“Terminate?”

“Yes.”

“With a fee?”

“The agreement explains the terms.”

For the first time that morning, anger gave way to genuine worry.

Her expansion had already been announced to suppliers and investors.

Campaign photography was scheduled.

Press outreach had been mapped.

Delaying the rebrand would cost money whether she stayed with us or left.

I had no intention of inventing a penalty or manipulating the contract.

I did not need to.

The contract she had freely signed was enough.

Ethan stood beside her.

“Can we have a minute?”

“Of course.”

Jamie and I left the room.

The instant the door closed behind us, Jamie exhaled.

“I have never worked so hard not to react during a meeting.”

I looked through the glass.

Ethan and Sabrina were arguing in whispers.

“I didn’t want a scene.”

“You didn’t make one.”

“No.”

Jamie glanced at me.

“They did.”

Ten minutes later, Ethan stepped into the hall alone.

“Can I talk to you?”

Jamie walked away without being asked.

Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets.

For once, he looked less like the confident younger brother my parents had spent decades admiring and more like the boy who used to stand outside my bedroom after breaking something.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I waited.

He looked uncomfortable with the silence.

“I shouldn’t have sent that.”

“No.”