The sharp trill of Cullen's phone pierced the morning quiet. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing at the caller ID.
"Grandmother," he answered, his voice formal despite the familial connection.
"Cullen Dennis!" Cook Camacho' commanding voice filled his ear. "I've been trying to reach your wife for three days. Where is she?"
Cullen's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "I'm not sure at the mont."
"Not sure?" Cook's tone dripped with incredulity. "What do you an you're not sure where your own wife is? Has she gone on a business trip?"
A brief silence stretched between them before Cullen replied, "She's been staying elsewhere recently."
"Elsewhere?" Cook's voice rose. "Cullen Alexander Dennis, I raised you better than this! What exactly is going on between you two?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Grandmother," he said coolly.
"Everything about my grandson's marriage concerns ," Cook shot back. "I'm hosting dinner this Saturday, and I expect both you and Veronica to attend. With Sabrina, of course."
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll need to check if Veronica is available."
"Then check! And call back within the hour." The line went dead before he could respond.
Cullen stared at his phone montarily before scrolling through his contacts. His thumb hovered over Veronica's na before he pressed call. Three rings later, she answered.
"Hello, Cullen." Her voice was asured, professional.
"My grandmother wants us for dinner this Saturday," he stated without preamble. "At her estate. Seven o'clock."
A brief pause. "I'll be there."
"Good. I'll bring Sabrina."
"About that," Veronica said, her tone unchanged. "I have etings until late afternoon. Could you arrange for a driver to pick her up from school? I won't have ti."
Cullen's eyebrows rose slightly. In seven years of marriage, Veronica had never once declined to handle anything related to their daughter.
"You won't be picking her up yourself?" he asked, unable to mask his surprise.
"No," she replied simply. "Will that be a problem?"
"…No. I'll arrange it."
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"
"That's all."
"Then I'll see you Saturday. Goodbye, Cullen."
The call ended, leaving Cullen staring at his phone with an unfamiliar feeling of disorientation.
"What do you an Mom's coming to dinner?" Sabrina's small face crumpled in disappointnt. "But Niall promised to take to see her race practice on Saturday!"
Cullen set down his coffee cup. "Your great-grandmother specifically requested all of us attend."
"But Dad!" Sabrina protested, abandoning her breakfast. "Niall said I could even sit in her race car afterward! She's been practicing a new technique all week!"
"I understand you're disappointed, Sa," Cullen said, his voice softening as it always did for his daughter. "But family obligations co first."
Sabrina's lower lip trembled. "It's not fair. Ever since Mom ca back, everything's getting ruined."
Cullen studied his daughter's frustrated expression. At just seven years old, Sabrina already showed the determined spirit that would serve her well in life—but currently made her a formidable opponent when thwarted.
"What if," he suggested carefully, "I tell your mother you have a science project to complete Sunday morning? Then we could still attend the race practice after dinner on Saturday night."
Sabrina's eyes widened. "You'd do that?"
"Only this once," Cullen cautioned. "And you'll need to be on your best behavior at dinner."
"I promise!" Sabrina bead, bouncing in her seat. "I'll be super good, and I won't tell Mom anything about the race!"
As his daughter returned to her breakfast with renewed enthusiasm, Cullen felt an uncomfortable twinge of sothing akin to guilt. He dismissed it imdiately. The white lie was harmless—rely an efficiency to keep everyone satisfied.
Veronica adjusted her blazer as she left the eting room. The morning had been productive, with Dario agreeing to her proposed changes for their company's relaunch strategy. Her phone buzzed with a text from her grandmother, Mary, asking her to lunch. She smiled, about to reply when she heard a familiar voice from around the corner.
"You've been incredibly generous, Cullen. I can't thank you enough."
Veronica froze. That voice—her father's voice—was unmistakable despite the years of estrangent.
"It's nothing, Mr. Crystal," ca Cullen's response, his tone deferential in a way Veronica had rarely heard. "The business opportunity aligned with our portfolio strategies."
"Still, not many n would help their father-in-law when the relationship is… complicated," Isaac Crystal replied. "Especially after I've been so direct about my hopes for you and Niall."
Veronica pressed herself against the wall, heart hamring in her chest.
"Speaking of Niall," Isaac continued, "she ntioned you've been attending her practices regularly. She's quite impressed with your technical knowledge of racing."
"Niall is extraordinarily talented," Cullen's voice had softened noticeably. "Her dedication to the sport is admirable."
"She takes after her mother that way," Isaac said proudly. "Look, Cullen, I know this situation isn't conventional, but I appreciate how you've handled everything. Especially with Sabrina getting so attached to Niall. At just seven years old, that girl needs a proper role model."
Veronica felt her throat tighten, the familiar pain of rejection washing over her anew.
"I have one favor to ask," Isaac's voice grew serious. "Take good care of Niall for . She pretends to be invincible, but racing is dangerous. She listens to you more than anyone else these days."
"You have my word," Cullen replied solemnly.
Footsteps approached, and Veronica quickly slipped into an adjacent hallway, pressing her back against the wall as the n passed. Through the narrow gap, she caught a glimpse of her father—still handso at sixty, with only a touch of silver at his temples—clasping Cullen's shoulder with familiar ease.
When they had gone, Veronica remained motionless, her breath shallow. The confirmation of what she had long suspected left her feeling hollow. Cullen's business dealings with her father, his attentiveness to Niall, even his tolerance of her as his wife—all pieces of a carefully constructed arrangent centered around the woman they both valued above her.
She closed her eyes, the devastating truth washing over her: her husband's kindness and her own father's affection were both reserved for her rival. In that mont, standing alone in the empty hallway, Veronica understood with painful clarity that she had never truly mattered to either of the n who should have loved her most.
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