Almost motherly.
“The townhouse has belonged to the Pembroke family for generations. Everyone who benefits from living here contributes to its upkeep.”
I looked at her.
“You want me to pay rent.”
“You’ll be contributing to the family trust.”
“I’ll be paying rent.”
“They’re essentially the same thing.”
“No.”
I folded my hands together.
“They’re not.”
She gave me the same smile elementary school teachers gave children who insisted two plus two equaled five.
“I understand this may be new to you.”
New to me.
That was interesting.
I’d spent over a decade negotiating commercial leases worth tens of millions of dollars.
Yet somehow this woman believed I didn’t understand the difference between family and landlord.
I glanced toward Wade.
He still refused to meet my eyes.
“It’s not unreasonable,” he finally said.
His voice was casual.
Almost bored.
“Mom could easily charge a lot more in this neighborhood.”
I blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Eighteen hundred is actually generous.”
Generous.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I remained perfectly still.
Sometimes silence reveals more than anger ever can.
Because while Wade kept talking, I wasn’t really listening anymore.
I was remembering dozens of tiny moments throughout our relationship that suddenly made painful sense.
Whenever I mentioned work, he’d call it my “little office job.”
Whenever I said I had meetings, he’d grin and ask whether I was “playing businesswoman again.”
Whenever I stayed late reviewing contracts, he’d joke that I loved spreadsheets more than people.
He had never once asked what I actually did.
Never.
Not once.
He knew the name of my company.
He knew I traveled frequently.
He knew I managed large projects.
But he had already decided none of it mattered.
He had quietly placed me into a category inside his mind.
Comfortable.
Ordinary.
Successful enough to admire him.
Not successful enough to challenge him.
Lorraine pushed an expensive silver fountain pen toward me.
“Go ahead, dear.”
She smiled.
“We’ll start the lease on the first of next month.”
I looked at the pen.
Then at the contract.
Finally, I closed the folder.
Without saying a word, I slid it gently back across the table.
“That won’t be necessary.”
The smile disappeared from Lorraine’s face.
“I’m sorry?”
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