“Ava,” Elias said.

His voice was exactly as I remembered it: smooth, measured, and entirely devoid of warmth.

It was the voice he used when he was negotiating a contract or dismissing an underperforming executive.

“I am here, Elias,” I said.

My voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to, but it did not shake.

“You left the townhouse,” he said.

“I did.”

“That was a mistake, Ava. We have a public image to maintain, especially now with the merger pending.”

I looked at the document in front of me, at the signature of his grandfather.

“Your public image is the last thing on my mind,” I said.

A brief silence hung on the line.

I could picture him sitting behind his massive mahogany desk in his Manhattan office, adjusting his cuffs.

“Let us not be dramatic,” Elias said, his tone softening just enough to sound condescending. “I know you are upset about what you heard. We can discuss a compromise.”

“A compromise,” I repeated.

“Yes. I will increase your monthly allowance. We can arrange for you to stay at the house in the Hamptons for the season.”