The Anchor (Alt. Ending)

###################

Some folks said that they wanted to see more Karma for Dylan and Clara. Decided to give it a whirl. Enjoy...

Continues from The Anchor - Page 7

i. e.

###################

Two days later, they visited First National together. Archer had two cashier's checks prepared - one for '$10,000' payable to Dylan Rixton, and another for '$5,000' payable to Clara Payne.

"Are you sure about this?" Bellie asked as they sealed the envelope.

Archer nodded. "Completely. We don't need their money anymore. We never did."

"We?" she echoed, her smile brightening.

"We," he confirmed, squeezing her hand. "I've been saving up from the Nexus internship and the classes at Gianni's. We'll be fine."

Bellie leaned against his shoulder. "I like the sound of 'we.'"

After the bank, they stopped at the post office to send cashier's checks by certified mail to Dylan Rixton's office. Included in the envelope was a brief note Archer had composed after careful consideration: 'Returning what was never needed. - A. McKnight.'

Archer felt another weight lifting from his shoulders as they walked away, another tie to his past life severed cleanly.

"I feel lighter," he admitted as they stepped into the sunshine.

"Good," Bellie said, lacing her fingers through his. "That's exactly how you should feel."

_______________________________

It was late afternoon when he emerged from the building housing Nexus Innovations, enjoying the rush of the breeze as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The day had been exhausting, long but satisfying. Milestones had been met and the flagship product project was coming along nicely. He was also increasingly being called to chime in on higher level decision-making.

He was genuinely enjoying the work, looking forward to getting behind his desk and working with his team every morning.

But even more than that, he looked forward to returning to the small student apartment. Going back home to her.

He walked a little faster, grinning as his mind went from coding to the fount of passion and joy that was Belinda Matthews.

Less than five minutes before, she had sent him a picture of their stove top. She had angled the camera so her cleavage featured just as prominently as the saucy mass of noodles, protein and vegetables cooking in the wok in front of her.

From someone who could supposedly burn water, Bellie had rapidly developed a love for the kitchen - albeit for quick and easy recipes that she could follow along online and experiment with.

She had also revealed an exhibitionist streak since he told her - truthfully - that he loved her, passionate, confident and comfortable in her nudity around him; an expression of love and trust that he still found hard to believe.

She had been in just the apron in the picture and the message beneath had been laden with promise; 'Ready when you get home. PS: You're going to need your energy.'

It wasn't the first time she had gone into their kitchenette in just an apron, leading to more than a dozen episodes of food getting nearly burned because another type of hunger would swiftly overcome them both.

He was happy, he realized, not for the first time. Ridiculously so. Mere months after his world was shattered, he had... moved on. In more ways than one.

Clara, Dylan Rixton, the bistro... it all seemed far away and at a remove, like it had all happened to someone else.

"Archer McKnight?"

He turned at the unfamiliar voice. A stern-faced woman in a suit stood a few feet away.

"Yes?" he answered warily.

"You've been served." She thrust a thick envelope into his hands and walked away without another word.

Archer stared at the envelope, momentarily frozen. The confusion lasted only seconds before understanding dawned and his heart sank.

Alex Mercer's article in the City Pulse had dropped two weeks before. The part challenging the narrative of meeting while Clara was separated from her erstwhile husband had been brief; citing anonymous sources saying that she was living with her husband mere days before her public debut on Dylan Rixton's arm. Another paragraph had touched on Dylan being seen in her apartment building and that she had been seen entering the downtown skyscraper which hosted his penthouse.

The story was more suggestive than definitive and so it hadn't gained much traction. Dylan and Clara's PR machine had quickly labeled it tabloid sensationalism, and most outlets had stuck with the 'amicable separation' narrative. Still, Archer had noticed the curious glances and sympathetic looks at work.

He'd maintained his silence throughout, refusing to engage. Bringing Bellie to the company bowling night had quieted the whispers more effectively than words ever could. Whatever had happened with his marriage, he had clearly moved on.

The real meat of Mercer's story were of the three marriages and one engagement broken by Dylan Rixton's belief that he had the right to any woman he wanted, married or not - and the apparent agreement of the women involved that he did as they got into bed with him.

Archer tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. His jaw tightened as he saw what he expected; violation of the non-disclosure agreement by speaking to Alex Mercer. Anger flared, his jaw flexing; beyond his refusal to say anything, he hadn't spoken to Mercer - not once, despite the reporter's persistent attempts.

"Mr. McKnight?"

Another voice. Another stranger. This time a well-dressed man in an idling town car.

Archer didn't answer, he just turned to look at the man.

The man handed him a small envelope. "Mr. Rixton asked me to deliver this personally."

Inside was a post-it sized paper, embossed with the Rixton logo, a handwritten scrawl in front: 'Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM. My office.'

The presumption - that Archer would simply rearrange his workday at Rixton's command - ignited a fresh wave of rage.

"Tell that prick I'll be there at 5, after work," Archer said, his voice cold. "I'm not at his beck and call."

The man's professional mask slipped momentarily, surprise flashing across his face before he nodded, respect in his gaze. "I'll relay your message. Sir."

Archer glared at the man until he put the car in gear and left, knowing he was being unfair; the man was just doing his job.

He stuffed both the card and the set of legal jargon filled papers into his bag and continued on for the subway. For home.

That was the difference; unlike that day at the bistro, when his world had collapsed around him in solitary devastation, he now had a home, and someone there to be going home to, and he knew with unalloyed certainty that Bellie Matthews would stand by him.

Whatever game Clara and Dylan Rixton were playing, whatever threats were contained in those legal papers, he would not be broken. Not by them. Not again. Not this time. Not ever.

______________________________

Clara Payne stood by the window in her fiancee's expansive office, staring out at the city skyline. The view from the 42nd floor of Rixton Tower was spectacular - as if to remind her of the new heights in society to which she had risen. She saw Patricia's reflection from behind her in the glass, checking her watch for the third time in five minutes.

"He shouldn't be too long now," Clara said.

Her soon-to-be husband was not used to being defied. He had been angry at Archer's refusal to acquiese to meet at two o'clock, but she had been able to calm him down. What difference did it make?

Patricia nodded.

Dylan's absence felt both a relief and a source of anxiety. He was down the hall in the executive conference room, securing final support for his CEO-designate position - a position now threatened by Alex Mercer's article in the City Pulse.

The board - many of whom were family members - had already informally confirmed Dylan as his uncle's natural successor, but the article raising doubts about the genesis of his relationship with his fiancee had created an opening - unthinkable just weeks before - for someone else to be considered for the role.

'That fucking Erin Rixton...' Clara thought.

"I still don't understand what Dylan wants to accomplish here," Patricia said. "I don't think Archer had anything to do with that tabloid story. And it's even dying down on its own..."

Clara shrugged, not offering anything, deciding to wait for Dylan. Then she turned to face her friend. "I told you he sent back the money. In cashier's checks?"

"Yes. So?"

"Who gives back fifteen thousand dollars?" Clara challenged. "Unless...?"

"Unless what?" Patricia scoffed. "That tabloid runs on a shoe string. It can't afford to pay fifteen thousand dollars for a story like that. Most of it was about other..." Patricia pressed her lips together.

"Other women," Clara completed for her with a bitter smile. "You can say it."

Patricia smiled back, encouragingly. "None of them got a ring though. You did. You're the one carrying his child."

Clara's smile lost its bitterness for a moment as she placed her hand on her swollen belly, reveling in the feeling of love she had for her child.

Her mind inevitably went to the month-long stretch during which her baby was conceived.

She had slept as far away from Archer on their bed as possible, repulsed at the thought of him touching her after being taken so completely by another man - a man who made her wet at the very thought of him.

She had welcomed Dylan Rixton inside her everyday during that month, in the Rixton on Sixth Street, in his penthouse, and in his office, this office - over his desk, on the plush carpet, clawing at him desperately as he rode her.

Then had come the day when she'd caught a small stomach bug and decided to work from home.

She had told him when he texted that morning, knowing exactly what was going to happen, and an hour later, she had answered his knock and opened the door for him.

Dylan had made love to her all over her matrimonial home, on the couch, on the dining table, on the bed she shared with her husband. Repeatedly.

She had been careful, cleaning up any sign that another man had been in their apartment before Archer would come home from yet another fruitless job hunt.

Dylan had humored her by coming up through the basement and stopping on other floors before going to hers. The first few times.

Then he had simply said she was his and he saw no reason, not even her husband, to hide his coming to her.

She had been aghast at the transgression, worried at first, of being caught, but mostly, she had been even more aroused, by his confidence, his daring, his refusal to obey rules that bound lesser men.

Lesser men... like Archer.

Dylan Rixton - the Dylan Rixton - had wanted her from the moment they had met and it went without saying that he would have her, and she would give him all he demanded of her.

She revealed her pregnancy to him in his penthouse soon after, after hiding the two positive testing kits in the kitchen trash that morning, lying naked in his arms, in his bed, nervous.

She had assured him that she had barely slept with her husband since he had claimed her in his office that first time, that she had insisted on protection every time she had allowed Archer into her body. That the timing made it impossible for the child to have any other father.

He had surprised her by kissing her and proposing. She had cried, in equal parts joy and relief at no longer having to live a double life, at deceiving her husband.

She loved Archer still, she had told herself, but she was tired of fending off his advances, of pretending she still loved him as a wife should when she no longer did. She wanted to start openly wearing the gorgeous ring Dylan had presented to her.

The only wrinkle in her and Dylan's plans was the sudden news of his uncle's wish to retire and hand over the reins to Dylan - happy news but for one thing; the archaic moral torpitude clause in the CEO's contract - penned by the devoutly religious Reinhardt Rixton, the founder of the Rixton Group himself - nearly seven decades before.

All but ignored in recent years until Dylan's aunt, hateful, vindictive and unforgiving, took her ailing sister's place on the board.

Which meant ensuring Archer remained silent about the circumstances of his wife and Dylan Rixton meeting and falling in love.

Thus the non-disclosure agreement buried among the divorce papers, a perfunctory nod at first, but now very significant indeed.

She returned to the present. Everything had been going according to plan until the article in the City Pulse.

"But he didn't take anything from the apartment. He never went back," Clara mused. "He only had three thousand dollars of his own in our account. How... where was he living before he met this Belinda woman and moved in with her?"

Patricia shook her head. "I don't know. You saw the report."

She had, and she had felt sorry for him. Reduced to interning at a startup? Teaching coding to college kids in a cafe? After so many years of experience? When he had been a Senior Lead Programmer?

Not for the first time, she told herself to be thankful that she had held Archer off having children and had ultimately chosen a better father for the son she was carrying.

She had a sudden thought. "What about the watch?" she asked. "The Yves Vellier? Was he wearing it when you saw him?"

"No," Patricia said. "He wasn't wearing it."

Her expression, the grimace that came with her answer, practically screamed that there was more, and Clara frowned at her. "And? Did he sell it?"

Patricia sighed. "He said he exchanged it for a phone. A cheap one."

Clara's mouth dropped open. "That's it? A phone?"

"Yes," Patricia said. "I believe him actually." She shrugged. "He said he got rid of the phone he had. So he got a new one, with a new burner line. That's why we couldn't reach him."

"That's..." Clara struggled to find the word, outrage raising her voice several octaves. "... so fucking petty!"

Patricia shrugged. "That's what I said."

"I saved up for months to get it for him!" Clara vented. "It was special! To thank him for..."

To thank him for supporting her as she looked for a job, for helping refine her resume, for staying up to help her write individual introduction letters to each of the thirty one law firms she had applied to. For helping her practice for her interviews. For the small celebration he organized when she got the offer letter from Lueger & Brasch.

She didn't like the feeling that came over her right then.

Patricia's look was one of disbelief. "Did you actually think he would still think it was 'special'... after what happened?"

"No." She looked disturbed. "But he must have needed the money! Why not sell it properly?"

Patricia took a deep breath. "Do you really want to know?"

Clara put her hand on her belly again, as she considered her friend. "Yes," she said at last.

"He wants nothing to do with you, with anything you've ever shared, seen or touched. I'm guessing he threw his phone away because it had that picture of the two of you on the lock screen."

Clara remembered it; it had been taken when they had gone on a holiday two years before... just months before he was let go and Helios collapsed.

"That's why he never went back to the apartment," Patricia continued. "He's going to let them destroy the stuff in storage."

"There are family photos, his passport, his diplomas, awards, books he loved..." Clara protested.

Patricia shook her head. "He wants nothing that will remind him of you." She met Clara's gaze again. "He knows you slept with Dylan in your apartment, in your bed. He figured it out before this article."

Clara winced, feeling a surge of guilt, profound, insistent. At the time, the transgression, the sheer immensity of it, had thrilled her.

It was true love, she told herself, making it impossible for her to deny Dylan anything, including herself, whenever and wherever he wanted.

But she was not proud of it.

"There he is," Patricia suddenly said, looking at the security monitors mounted near Dylan's desk.

Clara moved closer, her eyes finding Archer immediately. He stood in the lobby, holding something in his hand, head moving as he casually scanned the space. He looked... good. Better than he had any right to look, she thought, confused as her heart skipped. The circles under his eyes that had been a fixture during their last year together were gone.

He wore a sport coat over a simple button-down shirt and slacks - nothing like the designer suits Dylan favored, nothing like the wardrobe she had helped him assemble, yet he carried himself with an assurance that caught her off guard.

"His hair is different," Clara observed quietly.

"He's waiting for someone," Patricia noted, and Clara saw what was in his hand was a holder with two cups.

The lobby doors opened and a petite woman with short hair, a flowery wrap top and jeans walked in. Clara found herself tensing, watching as the woman spotted Archer immediately, her face lighting up with unconcealed delight. She hurried over to him, and Archer turned, his expression visibly transforming as he smiled, unreservedly happy to see her.

"Is that... her?" Clara asked unnecessarily, her voice tight.

Patricia nodded. "Yes. Belinda Matthews. Though apparently she goes by Bellie."

On screen, 'Bellie' reached Archer and wrapped her arms around his neck in a quick, natural embrace. He leaned down, meeting her for a brief kiss that spoke of comfortable intimacy rather than passion for show. When they separated, he handed her one of the coffee cups, which she accepted with both hands, saying something that made him laugh.

Archer took the other cup for himself and reached for Bellie's hand before they headed for the reception.

Clara leaned forward, her eyes taking in this Bellie Matthews. She was pretty with full lips and cheeks, wide-hipped and annoyingly heavy breasted for her size.

The private investigator's photos and videos had shown Archer and her together constantly; walking hand in hand; having lunch at a students' cafe on weekends; shopping together; sitting close on a bench, his arm around her shoulders as she laughed at something he said.

There was even video of them dancing to a pop-up jazz band in the park close to their apartment.

Dylan had said that the existence of this new relationship would be 'useful' to have as evidence that her parting from Archer had been mutual and amicable. That Archer moving on so soon - so very soon - was 'convenient'...

So why was she feeling the acid burn of rage at it?

"Look at them," Clara said, a sneer on her face. "Like teenagers."

"They look happy," Patricia observed neutrally.

"They've known each other for what... three months? It's absurd." Clara couldn't tear her eyes from the monitor as they approached the reception desk. "He's clearly on the rebound."

"Maybe," Patricia said, her tone suggesting she thought otherwise. "Or maybe they just... connected for real."

Clara sniffed. "She's a waitress..."

"She's actually a graduate student in Economics. And a substitute teacher." At Clara's sharp look, Patricia shrugged. "I looked her up. Professional curiosity."

On screen, the receptionist directed them toward the elevators. As they waited, Bellie reached up and straightened Archer's collar, smoothing it with casual familiarity. Clara knew it was simply to touch him, there was nothing wrong with his collar.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm and the inside of her wrist - a gesture so achingly familiar that Clara felt physically ill as she watched Bellie smile shyly with pleasure.

It was a gesture he had done with her countless times throughout their marriage.

"I can't believe he's doing that with her," Clara muttered.

"What?" Patricia asked, her eyebrow raised.

"That thing - with her hand. He used to do that to me all the time." Clara turned away from the monitor, unable to watch anymore. "It was our thing."

Patricia was quiet for a moment. "Clara, did you expect him to invent entirely new gestures of affection? Or did you expect him to just... never be affectionate with anyone again?"

"Of course not," Clara snapped. "I just didn't expect him to move on... to replace me so easily."

"Replace you?" Patricia repeated. "Clara, you left him. You were pregnant with another man's child when you handed him divorce papers. Already signed."

"I know what I did," Clara said defensively. "And I didn't call him an 'anchor' to his face..."

Patricia sighed tiredly. It was low blow and they both knew it.

"I've explained that over and over again. I wanted to get him angry so he wouldn't break down right there in front of everyone. The 'anchor' thing just slipped out." Patricia's look had a touch of impatience to it. "Besides, it's your word, I was... echoing you."

That was true, Clara conceded inwardly. As her relationship with Dylan progressed, she began using it often in reference to her husband. That wad soon after Dylan had used it about Archer as they lay in his bed, her head on his chest, telling her to let go of the 'anchor' holding her back.

Patricia had noted it, how she was simultaneously full of praise for Dylan Rixton, her eyes shining as she spoke about him.

Her friend had confronted her about it within the first few weeks, and gotten her to confess. She had pleaded with her, to let her explore and find out if this connection she felt with Dylan Rixton - the Dylan Rixton - this all-consuming passion, was real.

Patricia hadn't liked it, and they had argued for weeks as she urged her to break the affair off, but she had gone along at last when Clara finally told her it was real, that Dylan was her true love.

Dylan's proposal after the pregnancy had sealed it, and Patricia had surrendered to the inevitable, had accepted to take care of the legal side of things.

Now, Patricia was peering at her. "Then why do you care? Why are you angry that he found someone else? Who makes him happy? At the very least, you should be happy for him."

"I'm not angry," Clara insisted, though her clenched fists suggested otherwise. "I just find it pathetic how quickly he latched onto the first woman who showed him attention."

The security monitor showed Archer and Bellie entering the elevator, unaware of the scrutiny. Just before the doors closed, Bellie said something that made Archer smile - that rare, unguarded smile Clara had almost forgotten existed, a smile that told her what she was seeing was something real.

Again, confused, she felt her heart lurch.

"What did the PI's report say about her?" Clara asked suddenly.

Patricia sighed. "Clara..."

"I'm just trying to understand what he sees in her," Clara pressed.

Patricia moved to stand beside her friend. "The report said they're living together. That she's a graduate student who works part-time as a substitute teacher and waitressing to make ends meet. That they seem to make each other genuinely happy. That's it."

Clara turned away, arms crossed defensively. "I just don't understand how he could move on so quickly. He should at least..."

"At least what? Pine for you? Be devastated longer? While you publicly planned your wedding with Dylan and showed off your pregnancy?" Patricia's tone remained gentle despite her pointed words. "What would have been an acceptable grieving period before he was allowed to be happy again?"

Clara had no answer. The question exposed the selfishness of her anger too clearly.

Patricia continued to look at her, assessing, and Clara knew her friend's uncanny ability to read her was being put to use. "Are... are you just jealous... or missing him, Clara?"

"That's ridiculous," Clara said, infusing conviction into her voice. "I love Dylan. I'm having a baby with him. I'm marrying him. I have everything I want."

"Do you?" Patricia asked simply.

Before Clara could respond, the intercom buzzed. "Ms. Payne? Mr. McKnight and his companion are here. Should I send them in?"

Clara took a deep breath, composing herself. "Yes. Show them to the small meeting room. And tell Dylan."

Patricia picked up her purse as Clara straightened her shoulders and prepared to face her ex-husband and the woman he had found so quickly to take her place in his life.

Clara placed a protective hand on her belly again as they left Dylan's office.

Why was seeing Archer with someone else twisting her stomach into knots, even as she carried another man's child? Why did his happiness feel like a betrayal?

______________________________

Dylan Rixton's executive assistant - a well-groomed young man with a practiced smile - led them into a small conference room.

He asked them for their choice of beverage as they sat. Bellie silently raised her takeaway cup of tea in answer while Archer simply shook his head. He left, telling them that he had informed Mr. Rixton and Ms. Payne of their arrival.

Moments later, Clara and Patricia entered the room, Clara looking immaculate in a designer maternity suit, Patricia in another of the severe skirt and blazer outfits she favored.

Archer had long wondered about how he would feel when he saw her again, and as her eyes locked on his, her lips parting, he realized that it was all there; the anger, the pain, the hurt. But all muted and dulled. Nothing compared to the brightness and color of what he felt for the woman sitting beside him.

"Hello Archer," Clara said.

"Hello Clara," he answered, neutrally.

"You look... well."

"Thank you," he said. "So do you." He turned his gaze to an uncomfortable looking Patricia. "Hello Patty."

"Hello Archer."

The two women sat as the assistant bustled in with a tea service.

"This was supposed to be a private meeting with just the parties involved." Clara noted, after a sip of her tea.

Archer shrugged.

"Who is she?" Clara asked pointedly.

"She's involved." Archer said.

Clara's eyes narrowed. "How?"

"I'm his fiancee," Bellie said, holding up her hand to display the ring Archer had given her last month during a sunset picnic at Meridian Park. "If he's involved, I'm involved."

Clara blinked, visibly taken aback. "Fiancee? You're marrying her?" She directed this at Archer, her tone somewhere between accusatory and incredulous.

"Yes," Archer said simply. "Her name is Belinda Matthews. I love her and she's going to be my wife."

"That's... fast," Clara said after a moment, her expression darkening as she gathered herself. "Don't you think?"

Archer looked at her. "As opposed to waiting till she's married to someone else?"

Clara flinched.

"Let's not go there," Patricia said quickly.

Uncomfortable silence reigned after that. Clara kept glancing at him, her lips pressing together, her gaze turning into a glare as Bellie placed her hand - her left, with the modest little diamond - on his arm. She smiled encouragingly at him, and he smiled back.

To his credit, Dylan Rixton came in within minutes, not playing the all-too-common power game of making them wait.

"Good evening, everyone," he said, going to the head of the table, every inch the powerful executive. Clara gave him a smile of greeting, which he returned and acknowledged with a curt nod as he sat.

"This shouldn't take long." He looked at Archer. "First of all, thank you for coming, Archer."

"We're not friends, Rixton," Archer said.

"Okay, then," Dylan said, his tone hardening. "I'll get to the point. I assume you've seen the recent article in the City Pulse?"

"I have," Archer replied evenly. "And I had nothing to do with it. I never said anything to this Mercer guy."

"I don't know that," Dylan said. "This Mercer asshole is a bottom-feeder. He could have bribed someone at your old apartment building for information. Or, he could have talked to you. I'm willing to let the lawyers sort it out."

Archer stared at him. "So you're serving me with legal papers even though you know I didn't violate the NDA?"

"I do not know any such thing," Dylan replied, leaning forward. "But what I do know is that we can prove you didn't, and address this properly, once and for all." He smiled, coldly. "I'll be holding a press conference tomorrow to refute these allegations. And you're going to be there."

"Excuse me?"

"You'll just confirm that Clara and I met after you and she had separated, that your marriage was already over, and that any claims to the contrary are false." Dylan's tone made it clear this wasn't a request.

"You want me to stand in front of cameras, and lie? For you?" Archer couldn't hide his disbelief.

"I want you to support the narrative that benefits everyone," Dylan said smoothly.

Bellie shifted beside him. "How exactly does this benefit Archer?" she asked, her voice calm.

Dylan's eyes flicked to Bellie, his irritation at her presence showing. "It certainly benefits him more than the alternative, Miss Matthews," he replied, still calm. He returned his attention to Archer. "You play ball or I'll pursue this lawsuit to the fullest extent. The NDA you signed has substantial penalties. Once you signed and money changed hands, it's binding. Whether you kept or returned the money makes no difference."

"This is ridiculous," Archer said. "You know I didn't talk to Mercer... "

"Again, I know no such thing," Dylan replied coolly. "But I do know that the tabloids love a jilted ex-husband story. You'll be just another bitter, jealous man spreading lies because you couldn't keep your wife."

Patricia shifted uncomfortably. "Dylan, this is not necessary..."

"This is business," Dylan cut her off.

"No," Patricia said firmly. "This is bullying." She turned to Clara. "Did you know this was what he was going to do here?"

Clara looked between her fiancee and her best friend, looking trapped, guilty. Then she met Archer's eyes.

"Archer, please. Just make this easy. I still care about you... and I... I don't want you to get hurt."

"Make this easy?" he echoed. "I should humiliate myself, lie to the entire world, just to make it easy for you... after what you did to me?"

"I'm trying to help you!" Clara insisted, a flash of anger crossing her features.

"No. It's about helping you and this asshole's image." Archer shook his head. "No. I won't do it."

"Then, I'm going to make your life a living hell," Dylan said calmly. "I will make sure you spend the next five years drowning in legal proceedings."

"In that case," Patricia announced, "you can count me out."

Dylan shrugged. "Your withdrawal is accepted." He eyed Archer. "I'll just get another lawyer, one who doesn't give a damn about you."

"Tell him to stop this, Clara!" Patricia demanded. "This is wrong!"

Clara hesitated, again looking between Dylan and Patricia. For a moment, Archer thought he saw something like uncertainty in her eyes. Then she straightened, her expression hardening.

"Archer, just do as Dylan asks. It's just one press conference."

"I'm not doing it," Archer stated firmly, looking directly at Dylan. "You can fuck right off."

Dylan's face darkened. "You're making the biggest mistake of your life."

"No," Archer said. He now looked at his ex-wife. "The biggest mistake of my life was loving you and believing you ever loved me, Clara. When you obviously never did. It was never real. Nothing would ever compare to that."

Something flashed in Clara's eyes. "Is that what you're telling yourself? That I was faking it all along?" She sneered. "Tell me, Archer, why would I fake loving you? Your money? Your thriving career?"

Archer laughed. "So you loved me... yet somehow, you let another man into our apartment to fuck you on our bed? Over and over again?"

Clara recoiled, as if slapped.

Archer continued, "You refused to let us start a family in five years, yet somehow, you were okay with having his child after just six months?"

"Fine!" Clara snarled. "So I met a better man and fell in love with him! That doesn't mean I never loved you!"

She gestured between him and Bellie. "And don't pretend you're so fucking devastated. You never even fought for me! You just signed the papers and walked away! Now you're already engaged?!"

Archer was speechless for a moment. "You wanted me to fight... for you?" he finally managed, his voice rising. "You were pregnant with his child! You told me to my face that he was 'better' for you! What exactly was I supposed to fight for?"

"You could have shown that you cared enough to try!" Clara shot back. She gave a short, bitter laugh. "A man who truly loved his wife would have seen what was happening right in front of him. Would have fought for her when another man came along. But you never even noticed! You never noticed when I started pulling away. You never noticed when I stopped wanting you to touch me. You never noticed when I'd come home late, or when my stories didn't add up."

Archer tilted his head, as if seeing his former wife for the first time. "Is that really what you're telling yourself? How you're justifying what you did to me? To our marriage?" he asked quietly. "Did you actually think I didn't notice? I noticed everything, Clara. I noticed when you started working late. I noticed when you stopped touching me."

His voice remained steady, his hands flat on the table. "I told myself you were stressed about work. About supporting us. I told myself the Rixton account was demanding. I told myself that when things settled down, when I got work, we'd find our way back to us again. I told myself not to suspect, that you were my wife and that meant I should trust you."

He paused. "Then I saw the pregnancy kits and I thought that was it. Maybe you were scared, about us having a baby with me out of work. But I was so happy; I was going to be a Dad."

Clara's mouth opened, but no words came and she shut it again.

"So yes, I signed those papers," Archer continued. "Because what was I supposed to do when my wife ambushes me with divorce documents and a fiancee whose child she's carrying? Beg? Plead? Make an even bigger fool of myself than I had already been for months?"

A mix of different expressions flitted across Clara's face.

"The truth is, I didn't fight because there was nothing left to fight for," Archer continued, clasping Bellie's offered hand. "You were carrying his child, Clara, you got engaged to another man while you were fucking married to me. You'd already made your choice. You fucking broke me. I literally wanted to die."

"Do you know what he told me?" Bellie said, into the silence that ensued. "That he woke up that morning, feeling so lucky that you were his wife, and you were carrying his child..."

Clara's hand clenched into a white knuckled fist on the table.

Dylan cleared his throat then. "That's all very touching, but it changes nothing. You have twenty-four hours to decide, McKnight. Either you support our narrative, or I will make sure you regret it."

Archer met Dylan Rixton's gaze. "Fuck. You."

Anger flashed across Dylan's face before he regained control of himself. "You have twenty-four hours," he repeated. "Now get out of my office."

Patricia stood up with them. "I'm withdrawing as counsel on this... this farce," she told Dylan. Then, to Clara: "You're better than this. I know you are."

"Patty, you can't just qu..." Clara began.

"I can and I am," Patricia said. "I love you, but I can't do this." She paused and glanced pointedly at Dylan, who was glaring at her. "By the way, you're wrong, Clara. He's not the better man."

Anger crossed Dylan's face again. Then he smirked. "Get out."

She followed after Archer and Bellie and entered the elevator with them when it dinged open. The tension was palpable in the space as the doors slid closed. Patricia's breathing was elevated, her professional composure showing cracks.

"I'm so sorry, Archer," she said after a moment. "I didn't know they were planning this."

"I'm not sure I can believe you," Archer replied.

Patricia flinched at his words, but nodded. "That's fair. I wouldn't believe me either after everything."

The elevator continued its descent, the soft mechanical hum filling the silence between them. Patricia took a deep breath.

"Participating in that... ambush was one of the worst mistakes I've ever made," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. "I regret it every day. I told myself I was just supporting my best friend, but I knew it was wrong from the moment you came in. But it was already too late and I just... went along."

Archer studied her face, saying nothing.

"So what happens now?" Bellie asked.

Patricia sighed heavily. "Dylan isn't bluffing. That's not how he operates. His uncle is retiring soon, and the board is ready to name Dylan as CEO. It's his lifelong ambition. But there's a moral torpitude clause so this City Pulse story is terrible timing."

Archer gave her a skeptical look. "He didn't know about the moral torpitude clause before?"

Patricia shook her head. "He did. But it hasn't been enforced for twenty years. But then no one expected Gunther Rixton announcing his retirement. Just as Erin Delaney Rixton joined the board."

"She's Dylan's aunt," Patricia explained at Archer's questioning look. "He slept with her son Andrew's fiancee a month before their wedding. And she's now very keen on the clause - on enforcing it."

The elevator stopped and they stepped out unto the marble-floored expanse when Patricia suddenly turned.

"For what it's worth, I really am sorry. Not just about today, but about everything." Patricia reached out, touching his arm. "This is... going to be a problem for you, Archer. Even if you eventually win, the legal fees alone will be crippling before you even get to court..."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. "This is Jeremy Banks. He's one of the best litigators in the city. He's a friend, and he wouldn't care about Dylan's connections."

Archer looked at the card but made no move to take it.

"I can't represent you - professionally and personally, it would be impossible," Patricia continued. "But Jerry can. And he's good."

Bellie took the card when Archer didn't. "We'll reach out to him," she said simply.

Patricia nodded, then met Archer's eyes again. "I was wrong about Dylan. About everything. And I was wrong to go along with how they handled things with you. I don't expect your forgiveness, but I want you to know that... that I'm sorry."

She had tears in her eyes, he saw. But when he nodded, she smiled slightly before leaving, her heels clicking on the floor.

"I believe her," Bellie whispered.

Archer squeezed her hand. "Let's go home."

_____________________________

He was determinedly watching a show about a Space Marine Battalion fighting their way through an icy planet and hordes of ten foot tall alien predators that looked like a cross between polar bears and scorpions.

Him being her unabashed preference for her choice of seat, Bellie was on his lap, casually reading a case study from her tablet. Or pretending to, at this point. Her repeated dropping of kisses along his jawline and squirming told him that her mind had moved decidedly away from economic models.

They had come to a compromise. If he wanted to watch something when she needed to read, and maintain maximal physical contact, he used Bluetooth earbuds to listen to the TV.

So, with a near naked and increasingly excited woman in his arms, he didn't hear the door bell at first. Until Bellie popped a bud out of his ear.

"Expecting someone?" she asked.

It was a Saturday morning, just before noon. Two hours before her Industrial Organization class. Relaxed, she was clad in a loose tank top that stopped just above her crotch... and nothing else.

She had been wearing that when she stepped out of the bedroom as he was making breakfast, which meant she had been bent over a counter so he could deposit a fresh load of semen inside her.

"No," he answered, his hand still under her top, cupping her breast. "You?"

She shook her head as the bell rang again.

They both heard a voice call out. "Archer McKnight?"

Bellie grinned. "That's you."

"Perhaps you should wear something..."

She stuck her tongue out. "I am wearing 'something'..." Then she gasped as he swiftly rasped a tongue over her exposed and pointing nipple.

He kissed her quickly before regretfully shifting her off his lap and getting up to go to the door. He saw three people in expensive suits through the peephole, looking impatient but professional.

On a Saturday.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Mr. Archer McKnight?" a male voice responded. "We're attorneys from Russell & McCall. We need to speak with you urgently."

The name of the law firm made him pause. Clara had talked endlessly about Russell & McCall. It was one of the most prestigious firms in the country. Getting hired there had been her dream, and she had openly hoped that her work with the Rixton Group would get her noticed and headhunted from the much smaller Lueger & Brasch.

Of course, Dylan Rixton had noticed her, and he had very successfully headhunted her for another role.

Archer looked toward a concernedly frowning Bellie, returning to the present. "What's this about?" he asked through the door.

"Are you Archer McKnight?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is a conversation that needs to be behind closed doors, Mr. McKnight."

"Are you working for Dylan Rixton?"

There was a pause. "No. We're not."

He looked back at the papers scattered across their small dining table from the night before; not least of which the thirty-seven pages of Dylan Rixton's legal filing, less than a week since the meeting at Rixton Tower. Legalese that essentially accused him of being the source for Mercer's 'defamatory' article, of being a jilted and jealous husband, and claimed damages of ten million dollars for violating the NDA.

None of Mercer's sources about Clara and Dylan meeting at his penthouse and her marital home were willing to go on the record, against someone so powerful and personally worth well over a hundred million dollars.

Their attorney, Jerry Banks - Patricia's recommendation, seconded by David, Darla's lawyer fiancee - had been blunt: even with a strong defense, the legal costs alone would be devastating.

The lawsuit could very easily consume everything - their savings, their wedding plans, possibly even his position at Nexus if the publicity grew too negative.

When he apologized to her about getting them into such straits, Bellie had been offended and made him take it back.

"I love you," she had said, lying naked and sated on top of him, kissing him hard. "We're going to beat this together, you'll see."

Meanwhile, Dylan and Clara's PR campaign had kicked into higher gear, and it was paying off. The upcoming nuptials of the city's most eligible bachelor to the brilliant lawyer with the face and figure of a supermodel was a weekly newspaper and magazine feature.

The story of Clara Payne's romance with the heir to the Rixton fortune; married to the wrong man - now increasingly portrayed as an emotionally abusive villain - leaving him to find herself and then falling instantly in love with a prince of the hospitality world even as he instantly fell in love her, was ubiquitous in multiple women's periodicals. Her happy and glowing face with her baby bump was at every checkout counter.

Bellie had dragged him from the table the night before, made him promise to take the weekend off, put aside the worry and let her take care of him.

She had only been wearing a scarf, and it had been sheer.

He had agreed. Very quickly.

Archer took a deep breath; might as well face whatever it was. "Just a minute," he said as Bellie furled her lip playfully at him and entered the bedroom.

He opened the door when Bellie reemerged in a T-shirt and pyjama pants.

The lawyers - the two men and a woman - entered with their briefcases, nodding politely as they looked around the apartment.

"Would anyone like coffee? Or tea?" Bellie offered.

They politely declined, though they thanked her.

"I'm Marlon Redwyn," the older of the men said. "I'm a Senior Partner at..."

"Russell & McCall" Archer finished. "I know you guys."

Redwyn smiled, pleased. "That's good."

"It's a Saturday," Archer noted.

"I'm afraid this couldn't wait till Monday."

"Should I be afraid?"

Redwyn laughed. "No. Not at all." He gestured at his associates. "These are my colleagues Linda Ormond and Stephen Murdoch. We need to discuss something of considerable importance, and we'll need you both to sign non-disclosure agreements before we proceed."

Archer and Bellie exchanged looks.

"I'll go get some coffee," Bellie said. "You want one?"

He nodded and she went on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek before heading to the kitchen.

"Please, sit," he told the lawyers.

Murdoch brought out recording equipment while Ormond prepared documents.

"This conversation needs to remain confidential until certain announcements are made public," Redwyn explained.

Bellie came back with two mugs of coffee and sat beside him on the couch while he carefully read through the non-disclosure documents. The bistro felt like a lifetime away but he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

He saw the name 'Ascent Kapital' but no mention of the Rixton Hotel Group, Clara Payne or Dylan Rixton.

"I have to ask again, are you guys with Rixton in any way?" he asked.

The three of them looked at each other in some confusion. Then Linda Ormond's expression turned to one of recognition.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You're Clara Payne's ex-husband, right?"

He nodded.

Ormond's smile widened, turning almost wicked.

"No," Redwyn said, at last. "This has nothing to do with Dylan Rixton or your ex-wife."

Archer finally took the proffered pen from Murdoch and signed.

"Mr. McKnight," Redwyn began, when Bellie had signed as well, "are you familiar with Ethan and Nathan Abrams?"

"Yes," Archer answered carefully. "I helped them with some coding issues."

"Are you familiar with the CoBra library?"

"Yes. I helped create it."

"What does it stand for?" Ormond challenged.

Archer raised an eyebrow. "Concurrent Conditional Branching."

Ormond smiled and nodded, looking apologetic but satisfied.

"What about the GMX platform?" Redwyn continued.

Archer felt something shift in his gut. "I'm guessing that's the name of the twins' platform. I developed CoBra for it."

"We represent Ascent Kapital, a venture capital firm," Murdoch said. "The twins' father approached our client at their insistence to demonstrate their platform about a week ago. Are you aware that you own twenty percent of it?"

"They insisted," Archer said. "But I never signed anything..."

"They were quite clear about your contribution," Redwyn said. "They documented everything meticulously. Your ownership is legally established through their records and communications."

"Ascent has purchased ten percent equity in the GMX platform," Redwyn continued, "leaving the twins with thirty five percent each, and you with your twenty."

"Someone has already done something like it somewhere, if I had to bet," was what he had told Bellie.

"Is their platform... unique?" he asked now. "I know it's supposed to be for games. I saw their demo..."

"It's actually very unique," Murdoch said. "We know it was conceived as a gaming platform, but its innovations go far beyond that. Several tech giants are already expressing interest in licensing various components. Your concurrent conditional branching library - CoBra - has applications across multiple industries. "

"The twins have actually filed multiple patents," Ormond added. "Their documentation is extraordinary for developers of any age, let alone seventeen-year-olds with autism. The way the platform handles resource allocation and distribution is revolutionary."

"The gaming aspect almost seems secondary now," Marlon Redwyn noted. "Though that alone would make it very valuable. It's the underlying architecture that's drawing serious attention."

"The twins' father nearly fainted when we discussed the initial valuation," Ormond added, with a slight smile. "Their mother had to sit down."

Something about their expressions made Archer's stomach tighten. "How much..." he had to clear his throat. "How much did Ascent pay for their ten percent share?"

The lawyers exchanged looks.

"Perhaps you should put your cups down," Ormond suggested gently.

"The platform's current internal valuation is eight hundred and thirteen million dollars, up from six hundred and forty seven as of last week," Redwyn said carefully. "Once it launches, that number will likely increase substantially."

Archer felt the room spin as he did the math.

Beside him, Bellie's mug clattered on the table.

"I need to sit down," she whispered.

"You are sitting down, honey," he responded automatically, his own mind reeling.

"As at today," Murdoch said, voicing it out. "Your twenty percent is worth one hundred and sixty two million, six hundred and twelve thousand dollars..."

_______________________________

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of La Maison, the newest and most exclusive restaurant in the city's financial district. Inside, beneath crystal chandeliers and surrounded by lush greenery, Clara Payne sat across from Patricia Walker at a prime corner table. A small "Reserved" placard had been promptly removed when they arrived, and the maitre d' himself had seated Clara with deferential care.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Ms. Payne?" he had asked, helping her into her chair with the solicitous attention reserved for those carrying multi-million-dollar heirs. "Please let me know if there's anything at all you need."

Clara's hand absently stroked her rounded belly as she perused the menu. At nearly eight months along, she had mastered the art of pregnancy chic... her cream silk maternity dress managed to both accommodate and showcase her changing figure. The substantial diamond on her left hand caught the light each time she moved, throwing prisms across the tablecloth.

Despite the elegant surroundings and the pretense of normality, tension hummed between the two women. Since Patricia had withdrawn from Dylan's lawsuit against Archer, their friendship had been strained. But they were trying, for the sake of their long history together.

"I can't believe we're finally at this stage," Clara sighed, setting down her menu. "The nursery is almost finished. Just waiting on that ridiculous hand-painted crib from Italy."

Patricia smiled, willing to engage on safer territory. "Dylan's parents must be over the moon about their first grandchild."

"They're already talking about setting up a trust fund." Clara laughed lightly. "As if the Rixton name isn't enough of an inheritance."

Their server appeared with sparkling water for Clara and a glass of champagne for Patricia. "To celebrate the announcement," Patricia said, raising her glass. "CEO-designate at last. That's quite a title."

Clara's smile faltered slightly. "Well, not yet officially. Not until after the wedding." She paused. "His Aunt Erin hasnt given up yet."

Patricia recognized the opening and took it. "Clara, about the lawsuit against Archer..."

Clara's expression immediately tightened. "I don't want to discuss that today."

"You need to get Dylan to drop it," Patricia pressed. "He's making a mistake."

Clara shook her head. "He's furious that Archer defied him. Says no one talks to him that way and gets away with it." She glanced at Patricia. "And he's not exactly happy with you either, after your 'better man' comment at the meeting."

"Is that why he's pursuing this?" Patricia asked incredulously. "Wounded pride?"

"It's more than that," Clara insisted. "The board meeting to make it official is in two weeks. Erin is actively campaigning against him now, citing 'character concerns.'"

"Then why not drop this lawsuit?" Patricia questioned. "Focus on what matters?"

Clara's fingers tapped nervously against her water glass. "He says Archer agreeing to the press conference would shut Erin down. And backing down now would make him look weak."

Patricia set down her fork with a sharp clink. "That right there, Clara - that's what I'm talking about. Listen to yourself. He's destroying someone's life because he can't look 'weak'?"

"You don't understand how much is at stake for him," Clara protested.

"And what about what's at stake for Archer?" Patricia countered. "A man who, until recently, you claimed to have loved? For five years?"

Clara broke eye contact, staring at her plate. "That was different. We were different."

"Were you? Because I remember an Archer who supported you through law school. Who celebrated every victory with you and comforted you through every setback. Who kept believing in you even when you stopped believing in him."

"That's not my fault." Clara said, cheeks flushed. "He changed. He became so... so passive. So accepting. When the problems at Helios started, he just took it. He never fought back."

"Against what? Corporate mismanagement? A global tech downturn?" Patricia shook her head in genuine amazement. "You're rewriting history to justify your choices. It's beneath you."

"He just... wasn't what I needed," Clara said defensively.

"Really?" Patricia's voice rose slightly. "Who doesn't need a man who loves and supports her?"

Clara's eyes narrowed. "Why are you defending him so passionately, Patricia? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Patricia was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter now... but yes; I developed feelings for him. I couldn't help it. He was so wonderful to me after Richard left. But I never told him or acted on it because he was your husband, and I respected that."

Clara sat back, genuinely surprised. "You... what?"

Patricia looked away. "That's why I went on that trip to Bali. To reset."

"It doesn't matter now," Patricia continued quietly. "What matters is that I participated in humiliating a good man at that bistro - a man I cared about - and it's one of my deepest regrets. I won't compound it by just watching Dylan destroy him out of pure ego. Not if I can help it."

"It's not just ego," Clara insisted. "Archer was the one who went to that tabloid with that story."

"We both know that's not true," Patricia said firmly. "Dylan knows it too. This lawsuit is vindictive. It's bullying, and you know it."

Clara's expression wavered, a flicker of doubt crossing her features before hardening again. "So you're going to take his side against me?"

"I'm always on your side, Clara," Patricia countered. "But this isn't about 'sides.' It's about what's right."

Clara pressed her lips together, stubbornly.

"Please," Patricia said. "You left him. Brutally. I still remember how he looked..."

"Stop." Clara said, sharply, guiltily.

"Fine..." Patricia relented, "but he has built a new life. He's found someone else who loves him..."

"That was fast, wasn't it?" Clara interrupted, bitterness creeping into her voice. "He said I 'broke' him, yet within weeks he has another woman? And now they're engaged?"

Patricia studied her friend carefully. "Is that what this is really about? You're angry that he moved on? That he found happiness without you so quickly?"

"That's ridiculous," Clara scoffed. "I love Dylan Rixton. I'm having his son. I'm marrying him in a couple of weeks."

"And yet it bothers you that Archer isn't pining away for you," Patricia observed, unconvinced. "Why?"

Clara's eyes were glistening when she spoke at last. "You don't understand," she whispered. "Dylan is so demanding... so overwhelming. I lose myself when I'm with him. It's exciting... and exhausting."

"And Archer," she continued, "was just... Archer. I compared them... and, after Helios, he just seemed so weak, so... diminished. I knew he loved me. Completely. But he never pushed me. Never tried to make me better..."

"Maybe he was fine with you just the way you were," Patricia said.

That struck. Hard.

"I miss him," Clara confessed at last.

The admission hung in the air between them.

"I miss his stupid jokes," Clara continued, as if the words were being pulled from her. "The way he'd bring me coffee in bed on Sundays. How he noticed when I changed my hair. How he would kiss me every morning."

She looked up, meeting Patricia's gaze. "Dylan doesn't do those little things. We talk, but after we told Archer, in Paris, it was different... I mean, he makes love to me, takes me out and... and..."

"Is that enough?" Patricia asked gently.

Clara's hand moved to her belly. "It is. It has to be."

"It's not too late to stop this lawsuit," Patricia pressed. "If you truly ever cared for Archer..."

"Excuse me, Ms. Payne?" A smartly dressed woman with sleek dark hair and sharp, predatory eyes approached their table, interrupting their conversation.

"I'm Sophie Lang, senior reporter for Innovation Quarterly," the woman said, extending her hand. "I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?"

Clara hesitated, then switched on her professional smile. "I'm afraid we're in the middle of lunch, Ms. Lang. And I don't have any information to offer about Dylan's plans for the Rixton Group, either as his attorney or as his fiancee."

Sophie Lang's smile widened. "Oh, I'm not here to talk about Dylan Rixton. I'm here about your ex-husband, Archer McKnight."

Clara tensed. "Archer? What about him?"

"I just wanted to get a comment for tomorrow's issue," the reporter said, studying Clara's reaction with undisguised interest. She tilted her head, curiously. "You have no idea, do you?"

"About what?" Patricia interjected, her legal instincts kicking in.

Sophie Lang reached into her leather portfolio and pulled out a tablet. "This is our cover, going to print tonight." She set it down on the table between them.

Clara and Patricia leaned forward simultaneously. They both gasped, their eyes widening at what they saw.

The tablet displayed a magazine cover featuring a photo of two identical teenage boys flanking a smiling Archer McKnight. The headline read: "The GMX Phenomenon: The Story Of The $2.43 Billion - And Rising! - Platform Wowing The Tech World."

Clara's hand flew to her mouth. "What is this?"

"May I?" Patricia asked, already reaching for the tablet. Sophie nodded, and Patricia began scrolling through the article, her expression growing more astonished with each flick of her finger.

"Holy shit," she whispered, forgetting her usual professional decorum.

Clara snatched the tablet, her eyes racing over the text. The article detailed Ascent Kapital's investment in the GMX platform, created by autistic twin prodigies Ethan and Nathan Abrams, with critical contributions from software architect Archer McKnight. His CoBra library - Concurrent Conditional Branching - was described as 'revolutionary,' 'paradigm-shifting,' and 'one of the most significant advancements in distributed computing in the last decade.'

The profile section covered Archer's background, his time at Helios, his brother James, a police officer in Camlyn, his fiancee Bellie Matthews - a substitute school teacher and aspiring development economist who had supported McKnight through his career troubles - his popular programming classes at Gianni's Cafe, and quotes from his colleagues at Nexus Innovations.

There was not a single mention of Clara anywhere in the article.

"This can't be right," Clara murmured, scrolling frantically. "Two point four billion dollars?"

"And rising," Sophie Lang confirmed. "The valuation increased by another hundred million just this morning. Your ex-husband owns twenty percent of GMX, making him worth approximately four hundred and eighty-six million dollars as of market close yesterday. The CoBra library itself is being licensed separately to major tech companies, which analysts predict will push his net worth to over a billion within the year."

Clara stared at the reporter, her face drained of color.

"I'd love to get your reaction," Sophie continued, a notebook now in hand. "As his former spouse, did you see signs of this potential during your marriage? Were you aware of the work he was doing with the Abrams twins?"

"No comment," Patricia interjected firmly, placing her hand over Clara's. "Ms. Payne is not prepared to discuss her ex-husband at this time."

Sophie Lang's eyes gleamed. "Of course. I understand completely." She retrieved her tablet. "If you change your mind, my card." She slipped a business card onto the table and departed with a nod.

A heavy silence descended on their table. Clara stared at the space where the tablet had been, her expression frozen somewhere between shock and utter disbelief.

"Three times," Patricia said finally, her voice quiet.

"What?" Clara looked up, dazed.

"According to that article, Archer is now worth more than three times what Dylan is," Patricia took a slow sip of her water, her eyes never leaving Clara's face. "The man you left because he was 'holding you back.' The 'anchor.'"

Patricia leaned forward, her voice dropping so only Clara could hear her. "Do you realize what you and Dylan have done? You ambushed him with divorce papers. Dylan threatened him. You then erased him from your narrative as if he never existed. And now Dylan is suing him for violating an NDA that Archer never actually violated."

Clara sat frozen, unable to form a response.

"Let me explain this clearly," Patricia continued, her tone measured and without malice, but unflinching. "Dylan picked a fight with a man who is now one of the wealthiest people in this city. A man who has every reason to want revenge, and who can now afford to pursue it indefinitely."

"Archer wouldn't..." Clara began.

"Wouldn't what? Retaliate?" Patricia cut her off. "Maybe not. He had genuinely moved on with his life, Clara. But Dylan filed that suit and dragged him back, and you didn't get him to drop it. If he decides to be even half as cruel to you as you've been to him? There would be nothing - absolutely nothing - Dylan can do to stop him."

Clara's lips parted, but no words came out.

"He could fund Mercer and a dozen journalists like him to ensure your 'love story' is forever tainted in the public eye," Patricia continued relentlessly. "Or he can just pay the ten million dollars and tell the truth without thinking twice."

Patricia paused. "And Dylan can say bye to being CEO. Archer knows about Erin."

Clara's hands were clenched.

"I think it's too late, but I suggest," Patricia said, "that you convince Dylan to drop this vendetta immediately. Hopefully, before Archer decides that turning the other cheek isn't worth it anymore."

Clara stared at Patricia, who was looking at her with sympathy now - like she had made a catastrophically bad bet. Her hand fell to rest protectively on her belly, as the full implications of what Patricia said sank in.

Not for the first time since she'd chosen Dylan Rixton over Archer McKnight, Clara questioned her choices... and felt afraid.

________________________________

The modest offices of Banks, Kane & Co. were in a venerable old building with comfortable lived-in furniture and a relaxed atmosphere.

Jerry Banks had left his senior partnership position at Russell & McCall to start his own firm at the slower pace his heart condition had imposed on him.

After hearing Archer's story, he had offered to represent him at ten percent of his normal rate. But now that his client's circumstances had changed so radically, his little establishment had been paid a retainer that would have been notable even at his old firm.

There were four of them in the firm's single conference room, waiting as their opposite numbers made their way in.

Archer was looking through yet another licensing deal that Ascent Kapital had passed on to him for approval. Ethan and Nathan Abrams had made it clear that his assent was a prerequisite for their consideration of anything to do with their platform.

Patricia Walker was talking quietly with Jerry Banks, reviewing the offer on the table, while Bellie was scrolling through a paper she was due to submit that day, her hand on Archer's arm.

The door opened, and Dylan Rixton and two men with briefcases entered the meeting room, followed by a pregnant and decidedly wan looking Clara Payne.

"Welcome to Banks, Kane & Co. Mr. Rixton, Ms. Payne." Jerry Banks said, smiling pleasantly. "Hello Roger, Fred."

Dylan's lawyers from the powerhouse law firm of Pierson, Perriman and Paulsen - on the wrong side of an epic, and near literal, reversal of fortune - nodded back at Banks, not bothering to smile back.

"Would you like tea, coffee, soda, water?" Banks asked, polite and cruel at the same time.

"What is she doing here?" Dylan Rixton demanded sharply, eyes on Patricia.

"I'm representing Clara," Patricia said.

"We're representing Ms. Payne," 'Fred' bristled.

"No," Patricia replied. "You're representing Mr. Rixton and the Rixton Group."

"Ms. Walker..." 'Roger' began.

"They're not married, yet," Patricia interrupted. "Until then, she needs someone to look after her interests and hers alone."

"Tell her to leave," Dylan ordered Clara.

Clara looked around, her eyes meeting Patricia's, and then Archer's. She took a deep breath and faced Dylan. "No," she said, quietly. "I want her here."

Dylan stared at her, then he schooled his face to something neutral, visibly gathering himself.

"Please sit," Banks said.

To his credit, even seething, Dylan pulled out a chair for Clara before sitting down. His attorneys sat down too.

No one said anything for a long moment.

"Mr. McKnight," Dylan finally said. "You've made your point. I'm willing to drop the lawsuit. This has gone far enough."

"Too late," Jeremy Banks said. "My client, Mr. McKnight, is intent on his countersuit for abuse of process and intentional infliction of emotional distress. And we're seeking punitive damages."

Dylan's face darkened. "This is absurd. There's no winning for either of us in continuing this."

"No," Archer said. "But there's definitely losing. And that'll be all you."

Once again, thanks to his aunt's efforts, the Rixton board had delayed the announcement of Gunther Rixton's successor.

"What do you want?" Dylan finally asked.

"Justice," Archer said simply. "Accountability."

"I just want this to stop," Clara said suddenly, her hand protectively on her belly. "For everyone's sake. Including my baby." She looked directly at Archer, her eyes pleading. "Please. If you ever loved me at all..."

"Don't do that, Clara," Archer said, his voice a growl, each word precise and cutting. "Don't you dare. Don't you ever invoke what we had."

Clara recoiled.

"You lost the right to appeal to any love I had for you that day," Archer continued, leaning forward. "The moment you sat there with him, held his hand and gave me back my rings. When you handed me divorce papers while telling me you were carrying his child. The moment you erased five years of marriage, of my loving you, as if they meant nothing."

"I didn't mean..." Clara began.

He cut her off. "Yes, you did. Every time you went to him. Every time you let him into our home."

Clara went quiet, looking down at the table, shoulders slumping.

'Roger' cleared his throat. "What do you want, Mr. McKnight?"

"Let's be clear about what's happening here," Archer continued, his anger giving way to cold precision. "You're not doing me a favor by dropping your frivolous lawsuit, Rixton. You're desperately trying to save yourself."

It was nothing but the truth. His net worth was fast approaching seven hundred million dollars. The licensing deal he had been looking at could nearly double that in months.

Dylan's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to resolve this situation reasonably."

"Reasonably?" Archer repeated, a harsh laugh escaping him. "Was it reasonable when you threatened to wreck my life? When you tried to force me to lie publicly? When you served me with papers you knew were baseless? All this, after impregnating my wife, sleeping with her in my bed?"

Disgust flashed across both Roger and Fred's faces as they sat beside their client.

Clara made a quiet whimpering noise. Patricia quietly reached out and held her hand.

"That's enough," Dylan snapped, his composure slipping.

"No, it's not enough," Archer replied, calm, cold. "Not yet. You see, I just can't understand." He leaned forward, eyes locked on Dylan. "What kind of man - what kind of entitled, spoiled man - sleeps with another man's wife, threatens him when he's down, hurting, and then expects to walk away with no consequences when the tables turn?"

Dylan glared at Archer, not speaking.

"I ask again," 'Roger' said, "what do you want, Mr. McKnight? How do we get you to drop the countersuit?"

"I'll answer that," Jerry Banks' said. "Mr. McKnight will drop the countersuit on the following conditions. First, you will ask for the dismissal of your suit with prejudice, including an acknowledgement that my client never violated the NDA."

The two lawyers looked relieved at that. So did Clara, her head lifting up for a moment.

"Second," Banks continued, "you will have the NDA declared null and void."

Dylan's jaw tightened, but he nodded stiffly.

"Third," Banks said, a slight smile marring his professional neutral expression, "you will take ten million dollars, the same amount you were holding over my client's head, and split it between every man whose marriage you broke in the last five years."

"This is outrageous!" Dylan shouted, surging to his feet.

Jerry Banks kept going. "We've identified at least eight, counting Mr. McKnight."

"Fuck you!" Dylan snarled. "I'm not paying a fucking cent!"

Archer shrugged. "Then we go to court, you don't get to be CEO, and you pay the money in court fees and damages anyway."

'Fred' put his hand on Dylan's sleeve, shaking his head.

Dylan sat down, his rage palpable as he glared at Archer across the table. "I didn't force any of those women! You know that!"

"I do," Archer agree. "You only offered them the fantasy, pressed a little, and they consciously, deliberately, made the choice to betray their vows."

Clara made another whimpering noise, head down, shoulders heaving.

"But that doesn't absolve you in any way, Rixton," Archer said. "You were the common denominator. You probably got a sick thrill from it. From humiliating husbands, fiancees, boyfriends - breaking relationships, breaking other men." Archer tilted his head. "Again, what kind of man does that?"

Archer turned his gaze toward Clara. "What type of woman wants a man like that?"

Clara looked up at that, at him, a myriad of emotions on her face. Then she looked down again.

"She was special," Dylan said at last, eyes flickering between him and Clara. "Different."

"I thought so too," Archer said, quietly.

"I love her." Dylan said, glancing at Clara again.

"Until you become an 'anchor,'" Archer replied coldly, "then all that love won't matter."

Clara, the target, flinched, and Patricia sent him a warning look.

A tense silence filled the room. Finally, Dylan curtly nodded. "Fine. Ten million. No more NDA. And I withdraw the lawsuit. Then this is over?"

"No," Jerry said. "Fourth, and finally, my client requires your personal, direct apology. Here. Now."

Dylan's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's absurd! I'm not going to apologize because your wife chose me over you!"

"It's not for destroying my marriage," Archer said. "I wasn't married to you. She did that."

Clara shook her downcast head, shoulders heaving again.

Archer tapped his fingers on the table. "It's for the disrespect. For the stunt with the divorce papers and the rings. In a public place, in your hotel, somewhere under your control. I know it was your idea. The way you looked at me as you broke my world. Then for trying to coerce me to lie. I want an apology for all that. Now."

The color drained from Dylan's face then. Clara glanced up, eyes traveling between him and her fiancee, apprehension in her gaze as tears streamed down her face.

"You can't be serious," Dylan muttered.

"Completely serious," Archer replied. "Or we can proceed with the countersuit, and I'll ensure every detail of your threats and behavior becomes public record."

"Then the entire world would know I took your wife from you." Dylan said.

Archer glanced at Bellie, his eyes softening, and shrugged. "Given the circumstances, I'm good with that."

Patricia kept her hand on Clara's, who was looking down at the table again, so Clara didn't see the satisfaction in Patricia's face at seeing her fiancee forced into this position.

"And you won't get to be CEO," Archer added, cruelly.

The silence stretched on as Dylan weighed pride against ambition. His breathing grew audible, his hands clenching into fists on the polished table as he glared at him with naked hatred.

"I apologize," he finally ground out between clenched teeth, the words sounding as if they physically pained him.

Archer raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Dylan's face contorted with rage and humiliation. "For threatening you," he finally muttered. "For the bistro." Each word seemed dragged from him unwillingly.

"And?" Archer waited, implacable.

Dylan glared at him with naked hatred. "And for attempting to coerce you into lying."

"What about for fucking my wife in my home?" Archer's voice was an angry, outraged growl, and Bellie caressed his hand and squeezed it visibly.

Clara sobbed quietly as Patricia did the same for her.

Dylan was shaking with rage, but he met Archer's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Good," Archer said simply, after a long moment. "Now we have a foundation for moving forward."

"So," Jerry Banks said, smoothly taking over. "Ten million for the seven men we've identified, withdrawal of the lawsuit acknowledging that Mr. McKnight never violated the NDA, cancellation of the NDA itself, and we're done." He shuffled some papers. "We'll have the agreements prepared by the end of the day. I suggest we adjourn for now."

Dylan's lawyers whispered into his ear, his face twisting as he heard what they had to say, and ultimately he gave a nod, his shoulders slumping, unable to speak further without risking a complete loss of composure.

Roger looked relieved. "That's acceptable. We'll review them promptly."

Everyone began gathering their things as they stood up, the tension still alive in the room.

"Archer," Clara said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "Can I speak with you? Alone? Just for a moment?"

Bellie tensed beside him, her hand tightening on his arm. Archer glanced at her, a silent question in his eyes.

"It's okay," Bellie said quietly, though her expression was guarded. "I'll wait outside."

Dylan's head snapped toward Clara. "What are you doing?"

"Just saying goodbye properly," Clara replied, not meeting his eyes. "After everything, I think I owe him that much."

Patricia stood. "Dylan. Let's give them a moment."

For a second, it looked like Dylan might refuse, but Roger placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Rixton, I strongly advise we step outside."

With visible reluctance, Dylan allowed himself to be guided from the room, shooting a last venomous glance at Archer before the door closed behind them.

When they were alone, Archer and Clara remained seated across from each other, the conference table between them like a physical manifestation of the distance they'd traveled from their marriage.

"I'm sorry," Clara said finally, her hands folded in front of her. "Not just about the lawsuit or the bistro. About all of it."

Archer said nothing, waiting.

"I know it doesn't change anything," she continued. "But I need you to know that what we had was real. At least for me."

"Until it wasn't," Archer said flatly.

"I never stopped..." Clara stopped, tears welling in her eyes again. "Until I made the biggest mistake of my life."

She looked down at her hands. "I thought... I honestly thought Dylan was what I wanted. Excitement, power, status. I let it blind me."

"You made those choices, Clara," Archer said, his tone softening slightly. "But you can still make better ones."

"With a baby on the way? What choice do I have now?" She shook her head. "I know you won't believe me, not now... but I do miss what we had."

"You're right," Archer said. "I don't believe you."

She winced at that, but she met his gaze. "I... I deserve that."

Archer was silent.

She took a deep breath. "I know we can never be together again. I've destroyed any chance of that. But I do want you to know that I knew I had thrown away something special. Right after. I knew it when I went to Paris with Dylan... but I knew I couldn't go back. So I told myself I made the right choice for me. I had to believe that." She looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "But the truth is; I missed the safety. You. The kindness. I know I rewarded it with cruelty, with betrayal. I know I'll always regret it."

"Thank you for that, Clara," Archer said, after a long considering moment. "But I can't forgive you just yet. I can't trust anything you say."

She nodded at that, acknowledging, fresh tears running down her cheeks. He pushed the box of tissues on the table toward her.

"She looks... good for you," Clara said quietly, after wiping her eyes. "Bellie."

"She is. She's incredible," Archer replied simply. "She introduced me to the twins."

"Yes, it's in all the articles..."

Archer met her gaze. "She was also there at the bistro that day. She was cleaning the table next to you, me, Rixton and Patricia. She heard everything."

Clara's mouth dropped open.

"Do you know I threw up? She found me in the alley, hours later, broken, sitting next to my own vomit."

Clara looked horrified, sad, ashamed.

Archer smiled though, at what came after. "She saw me at my worst, and she still chose to see me, and love me anyway."

Clara flinched at that. "Like I should have done," she quietly said.

"Yes," he said, plainly. "Like I would have done for you." Archer stood, indicating their conversation was ending. "The truth is; I... don't miss us. Or you. So maybe things turned out as they should."

Clara remained seated, looking up at him. "Do you think... could you ever forgive me?"

Archer considered the question carefully. "Not yet. Someday, maybe. But not because of you. Because I don't want to carry the weight of this forever. Even if just for your child's sake. He's innocent." He moved toward the door. "Goodbye, Clara."

"Goodbye, Archer," she whispered as he left.

Outside, Bellie was waiting, talking to Patricia. He crossed to her immediately, taking her hand.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he said, and meant it. "Everything is okay."

Patricia nodded to him before going to meet an emerging Clara, arms opening as she saw the tears in her friend's eyes.

Dylan and his attorneys had already left.

"Let's go home," Bellie said.

_____________________________

The summer sun beamed down on the gleaming glass façade of the Westlake Convention Center. Inside, the annual TechFuture Expo hummed with activity - crowds gathering around demonstration booths, holographic displays casting colorful light across excited faces, and the constant buzz of innovation filling the air.

Archer McKnight crouched down beside his son, pointing to a robotic arm that was delicately assembling a miniature cityscape one tiny building at a time.

"How does it know where to put everything, Daddy?" Five-year-old Anderson asked, his dark eyes wide with wonder. He had Bellie's eyes - observant, curious, missing nothing.

"It's using sensors to see where each piece should go," Archer explained, enjoying his son's fascination. "And a special kind of programming that helps it make decisions."

"Like CoBra? And GMAX?" Anderson asked, proudly using terms he'd heard so often around their home.

Archer smiled. "Similar idea, buddy. Very good."

Archer exchanged greetings with another tech CEO. The last seven years had seen his wealth grow to over seven billion dollars, particularly after the landmark deal with Quantum Silicon to implement CoBra architecture directly into their next-generation microprocessors.

But his greatest pride remained the family he and Bellie had built together.

She was four months along with their third child - a boy they planned to name Ryerson.

Somehow, in between giving birth to two children, supporting him, and maintaining the intensity of their physical and emotional relationship, Belinda McKnight had managed to earn her PhD in Development Economics and was now a senior consultant with the International Development Corporation, earning recognition in her own field rather than as merely Archer McKnight's wife.

Archer still couldn't believe just how lucky he was.

At home, their daughter Amelia, just four, was spending the day with her mother, her godmother Darla, and Rhea, Darla's five year old daughter.

Bellie had insisted Archer take Anderson to the expo, claiming she needed 'girl time' with Amelia, but Archer suspected she simply wanted father and son to have this day together.

His phone vibrated with a message. He glanced down to see a photo from Bellie - she, Darla, Amelia and Rhea with face paint, tiger stripes across their cheeks. The caption read: 'Tiger girls having fun!'

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Anderson declared, already moving past the robotic display toward the next technological wonder.

Archer checked his watch. They'd been exploring for nearly three hours. "How about some ice cream? I think we could both use a break."

Anderson's face lit up. "Chocolate chip!"

"Sounds like a plan, buddy." Archer took his son's small hand in his. "There's a place across the street. We'll have to go outside."

They made their way through the crowded exhibition hall, past multiple booths, Archer nodding at industry acquaintances and receiving respectful nods in return.

The twins, Ethan and Nathan, were scheduled to demonstrate the latest iteration of the GMX platform tomorrow. They were still focused on the gaming and creative side of things, leaving Archer to handle most business decisions - an arrangement that turned out to be smarter in retrospect than it had seemed at the time.

Folake and Michael Abrams had become close friends over the years, his involvement in their sons' lives creating a bond between their families that transcended business.

The glass doors of the convention center's main entrance slid open, releasing them into the warm afternoon air. Anderson bounced excitedly, pulling Archer toward the crosswalk. The ice cream shop's colorful awning was visible just across the street.

"Anderson, wait for the light," Archer reminded him gently, keeping a firm grip on his son's hand.

"But I can see it, Daddy!" Anderson protested, pointing at the shop.

"I know, but we still need to..."

"Archer?"

The voice froze him in place. Seven years had passed, but he recognized it instantly. He turned, finding himself face to face with Clara.

She looked good, still model thin and beautiful - her blonde hair was shorter now, falling just below her shoulders, and her face had softened somewhat. She wore simple jeans and a light blue blouse rather than the designer outfits he remembered. Beside her stood a boy around Anderson's age, clearly her son. He had Dylan Rixton's aquiline nose, but Clara's features dominated his face.

"Clara," Archer said, surprised by how friendly his voice sounded. "This is a surprise."

A small, uncertain smile played at her lips. "It's been a long time."

Anderson tugged at Archer's hand. "Daddy, ice cream?"

"Just a minute, buddy," Archer said, then gestured to the boy beside Clara. "This must be Alan?"

Clara nodded, placing a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. "Yes, this is Alan. Alan, this is... an old friend of Mommy's, Mr. McKnight."

Alan regarded Archer with polite curiosity. "Hello," he said simply.

"Nice to meet you, Alan," Archer replied smiling at the boy, then turned to his own son. "This is Anderson."

The boys exchanged the brief looks that children give each other upon first meeting - innocent assessing curiousity.

"We were just heading for ice cream," Archer explained, the surreality of the moment washing over him. Here he was, making casual conversation with the woman who had once shattered his world, both of them standing with children who would have been siblings in another reality.

"Ice cream?" Alan perked up, looking hopefully at his mother.

Clara laughed softly. "We just had lunch, but..." She glanced at Archer. "Actually, I'm not here entirely by accident."

Archer raised an eyebrow.

"I saw your name on the marquee earlier," she continued, gesturing to the convention center's digital display announcing tomorrow's speakers. "I'm just picking Alan up from day care, and I just... thought maybe I'd get lucky and see you."

The honesty of the admission caught Archer off guard. "I guess you got lucky, then."

Clara nodded, smiling slightly. "Would you mind if we joined you? For ice cream, I mean. If that's not too awkward."

Archer considered for a moment, then found himself nodding. "No. That would be fine."

The ice cream shop was cheerfully decorated in pastel colors, with small tables and chairs designed to accommodate families. The boys, after initial hesitation, gravitated toward a display case of exotic flavors, pointing and discussing options with the rapid adaptation to new situations that children possess.

"One scoop only, Anderson," Archer reminded his son.

"Same for you too, Alan," Clara added.

As the children debated toppings with the patient server, Archer and Clara found themselves standing slightly apart, in a bubble of awkward silence amid the cheerful noise of the shop.

"You look well," Clara said finally. "Fatherhood suits you."

"Thank you," Archer replied. "You look good too... happy."

A genuine smile crossed her face. "I am, actually. It took some time, but I got there."

The silence stretched between them again, filled with unspoken history.

"How is James?" Clara asked suddenly. "I saw in some magazine that you bought him a house."

"He wouldn't let me buy it outright," Archer clarified with a small smile. "But I did help him get a much bigger place for his family. Five kids now. He's still with the police department in Camlyn - turned down my offer to retire early and work with me. Says he loves his work too much."

Clara nodded, seemingly genuinely interested. "That's good to hear. He was always kind to me."

Another moment of silence.

"Patty told me Bellie set her up with Stephen."

Archer nodded, grinning. Patricia Walker and Stephen Murdoch had set a wedding date after a whirlwind romance and one year engagement. The nerdy lawyer from Russell & McCall had won her over completely soon after she joined Banks, Kane & Co. two years before as a senior partner.

Their paths had crossed on opposite sides of two tech acquisition deals, both of them stealing glances at each other like teenagers until a frustrated Bellie invited both of them to dinner at a high end restaurant and then cruelly abandoned them at the table - just the two of them.

"I'm going to be a bridesmaid," Clara said, smiling. "I'm so happy for her."

"I guess I'll be seeing you then," Archer said. "We'll be there."

Another silence, more comfortable this time.

"I heard about you and Dylan," Archer said finally. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Clara's expression flickered with old pain, with regret, but was quickly replaced by an amused, raised eyebrow. "Are you, really?"

Archer smiled and shook his head. "No, not really."

Clara smiled good-naturedly. "Can't say I blame you." She shrugged, twisting her lips. "It was for the best."

Patricia had told him how the fairy tale relationship had swiftly imploded after the meeting at Banks, Kane and Co.

Dylan had not taken Clara's request to speak privately to Archer well, especially so immediately after his humiliation, his imagination coming up with a conversation far different from what had transpired. Afterward, Dylan had become increasingly paranoid, his controlling behavior escalating.

Archer's sudden fortune had thrown a wrench in the romance of Dylan and Clara's story in the public eye. Suddenly, Clara Payne's ex-husband was not a nameless footnote, and every story about the couple prominently featured his name, and his image - often with Bellie - usually taken by paparazzi.

Then Dylan had discovered Clara's obsessive following of news about Archer in the following weeks as their relationship became more toxic, Clara seeking refuge in fantasies of the life she might have had, if she had made different choices.

Dylan had seized on it, accusing her of wanting to return to Archer now that he was wealthier than Dylan could ever hope to be. "You think he'd take you back?" he'd taunted. "You think he'd want the woman who threw him away? He doesn't even see you anymore. You're nothing to him now."

Then had come the second Alex Mercer article in the City Pulse, cruelly titled 'Clara's Payneful Mistake', and it had gotten a lot more attention. This time Mercer had on-the-record testimony from the former sous-chef who had worked at the Rixton in Ballier, whose wife Dylan had seduced. The chef had fallen into a deep depression and left the country.

Unfortunately for Dylan Rixton, Mercer traced him and convinced him, far away as he was from any legal retaliation, to share his story. His account had opened the floodgates, with other betrayed husbands coming forward. But the most damaging revelation had been about Clara, and it had come from a janitor - not a security guard as Archer had thought - at his and Clara's old apartment building, confirming that Dylan had been a regular visitor while Archer was still living there.

Mercer, it turned out, had a personal vendetta - Dylan had seduced his friend's fiancée, destroying their engagement and his friend's sobriety.

The scandal had given Erin Rixton the leverage needed to get the board to strip him of his hard won CEO-designate title, passing it instead to Dylan's cousin Aaron.

In a move that was equal parts damage control and punishment, the family had then shipped Dylan off to oversee the Rixton Group's expansion in the Middle East - a region where his habit of pursuing women regardless of their marital status carried significantly more severe consequences.

Dylan had bizarrely blamed Clara for his professional downfall, ironically calling her an 'anchor' in his life, and she had left his penthouse with their infant son that night, less than a month before their wedding-of-the-decade was supposed to take place.

Patricia had told him when Clara moved to Westlake. For a fresh start. Working in the city's modest legal counsel's office.

The boys returned with their ice cream. Ever his mother's son, Anderson had managed to convince the server to add two helpings of rainbow sprinkles.

"Daddy, can we sit by the window?" Anderson asked, already heading toward a table.

"Sure, buddy." Archer turned to Clara. "Shall we?"

They settled at a table designed for children, requiring both adults to hunch somewhat uncomfortably on the small chairs. The boys, after initial shyness, began comparing their ice cream choices, then moved on to discussing a popular cartoon character they both apparently liked.

"Your son is beautiful," Clara said, watching Anderson. "He has his mother's eyes."

"And her stubborn streak," Archer added with a smile. "Alan looks like you."

Clara nodded. "Everyone says so, though I see Dylan in him sometimes. His grandparents, Dylan's Mom and Dad, say so too. They love him." She hesitated. "Patricia told me you're expecting again?"

"A boy. We're going to call him Ryerson." Archer couldn't help the pride that crept into his voice. "Bellie's four months along."

"That's wonderful," Clara said, and she seemed to mean it. "And... the twins? The ones who created the platform with you?"

"Ethan and Nathan are doing great. They're running the gaming side of GMX. They're actually presenting tomorrow at the expo."

Clara nodded, her eyes following Alan as he explained something to Anderson with animated gestures. "I read about their foundation's work on tech for neurodiverse needs. That's really admirable."

"It's important work," Archer agreed.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they watched their sons interact.

"Archer," Clara said suddenly, her voice quiet. "I want... need to tell you something."

He looked at her expectantly.

"I've been seeing someone," she began. "He's a carpenter who came to fix a cabinet in my apartment about a year ago. His name is Mark."

Archer nodded, unsure why she was sharing this as she showed him a picture on her phone. She was tucked in beside a grizzled and thickset man in a plaid shirt, his arm around her.

He was so different from Dylan Rixton's lithe movie star looks that he did a double take. Yet, he could see her eyes, adoring as she looked up at her 'Mark', an unassuming carpenter with smiling eyes.

He looked at her with new respect, realizing just how much she had changed.

"I've told him everything," she continued, "about you, about Dylan, about the choices I made. I didn't want any secrets." She shook her head, smiling fondly. "He knows I was married to you, the Archer McKnight, and almost married to Dylan Rixton, and he was still completely unintimidated. He just asked me out and took me to this cheap burger place for our first date... He's a good man. Like you. And I love him very much."

Her eyes met his. "He's going to propose - I accidentally saw the box with the ring." She giggled. "He can't hide anything to save his life." Her smile was wide and genuine as she added, "I'm going to say yes."

"That's great, Clara. I'm happy for you." Archer said, truthfully.

"Thank you," she said, then took a deep breath. "I just want to ask if you..."

Archer waited, curious.

"If you have forgiven me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "For what I did to you? To our marriage?"

The question caught him off guard. He considered it carefully, looking past Clara to where Anderson was demonstrating how to properly eat the tip of an ice cream cone to an attentive Alan.

"Yes," he said finally, surprised by the simple truth of it. "I forgave you a long time ago."

Relief washed over her face. "I was hoping you'd say that. Because I'd like to invite you and Bellie to the wedding. When Mark asks, I mean. After I say yes." She smiled nervously. "Patricia has already agreed to come."

Archer blinked in surprise. "You want me at your wedding?"

"I know it's strange," Clara acknowledged. "But it would mean a lot to me. Like... closing a circle properly this time. Doing things right."

Archer considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "If Bellie is comfortable with it, we'd be honored to attend."

Clara's smile was genuine, touched with gratitude. "Thank you." She hesitated, then added, "I still haven't forgiven myself, you know. For what I did. But I'm working on being a better person. For Alan. For myself. For Mark."

"You don't need my forgiveness for that, Clara."

She smiled, gratefully. "It helps to have it anyway."

Anderson appeared suddenly at Archer's elbow, his face smeared with chocolate ice cream. "Daddy, Alan has a Stargazer X figure! Can I show him mine when we get home?"

"Alan lives in this city, buddy. We live pretty far away, remember?"

Anderson's face fell. "Oh."

Clara exchanged a look with Archer. "Maybe you could give me Bellie's number? The boys seem to be getting along. Alan doesn't make friends so easily."

Archer nodded. "That sounds good."

They made more small talk while the boys finished their ice cream, making plans for a potential video call for the children. When it was time to leave, they all stood somewhat awkwardly outside the shop.

"It was good to see you, Archer," Clara said.

"You too, Clara."

After a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. It was brief but genuine - the kind of hug one might give an old classmate at a reunion, acknowledging shared history.

"Thank you," she said when she stepped back. "For forgiving me."

Archer nodded and smiled back at her. "You're welcome, Clara."

He watched as she took her son's hand and walked away, their figures growing smaller as they moved down the sunlit street. For a moment, Archer felt the strange vertigo of alternate possibilities - the life that might have been, the children who would have been siblings, the path not taken.

But only for a moment; he wouldn't trade his current life for anything, and that had nothing to do with money.

Anderson tugged at his hand. "Daddy, can we go see the robots again?"

Archer smiled down at his son, grounding himself firmly in the present. "Absolutely, buddy. Let's go see those robots."

As they crossed back toward the convention center, Archer felt his phone vibrate with another message. He glanced at it - another picture, this time of Amelia helping to arrange baby clothes in the nursery. 'Getting ready for baby brother!' the caption read.

Archer smiled and typed a quick response: 'Just met someone from the past. And Anderson made a new friend. Strange. Tell you about it tonight. Love you.'

The response was quick; a thinking face emoji, along with 'Looking forward to it.' Then a heart. 'Love you.'