Raf
There’s a shift in his tone when he says the name.
“Shane.”
Alexander closes his eyes for a beat, like he’s centering himself. “You’ve mentioned him again today. He’s becoming… significant.”
Raf straightens in her seat, calm on the surface. “I think, part of it is… it’s refreshing. Someone who doesn’t see me as an extension of my ex-husband’s empire.”
It’s partially true, at least. Because when Shane looks at her, when he speaks, when they laugh, it feels real. Removed from all her problems. Ethan. The divorce. The frozen bank accounts.
Shane doesn’t seem to want anything from her. Then again… she’s doing this all for free. He’d offered to pay at first, but Raf had declined, said they’d “figure something out.”
But if he isn’t paying her, is he even a client? Maybe it’s something else entirely. One long flirtation, disguised as home decorating. Was she being naïve? Or just too blasé?
“‘An extension of Ethan’s empire.’” Alexander narrows his eyes, studying her with quiet concern. “What did that feel like?”
A memory rushes in. Late spring in Palo Alto. The rooftop of some venture-backed hotel. A few months before the housing crash. Ethan stood slightly apart from the crowd, not the flashiest man in the room, because he never had to be. Especially then. Back when he was still just Ethan, the scrappy dotcom wunderkind.
That was the first time she saw him. She’d fallen fast. Reckless. He told her she was brilliant. That she had taste. That together, they’d build something extraordinary.
Looking back, none of it had felt real. Not until her father’s seventieth. The vineyard had buzzed with birthday plans. Her mother had poured everything into the weekend. Almost the whole family would be there. And with her sister gone, Raf knew how much that meant.
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Then, with two days’ notice, Ethan pressed a ticket into her hand. “Investor summit in Dubai,” he said, breezy. “I need you there.”
And just like that, she folded. Called her mother with excuses even she barely believed: He needs me there. This is our future. It’s a huge deal.
By the time they flew home, Raf had spent the trip nodding through meetings and penthouse cocktail parties. Smiling politely at lavish dinners where the men talked, and the women—wives, assistants, escorts—laughed on cue.
That’s when she learned: Ethan didn’t want a partner. He wanted a well-dressed prop. Someone who knew when to play the part, and when to disappear. But loving Ethan always meant choosing him first. And somehow, he always made Raf believe it was her idea.
She blinks the memory back into its box. “How did it make me feel? Let’s just say it’s the opposite of how Shane makes me feel.”
Alexander’s gaze sharpens, not quite hostile, but almost. “How does Shane make you feel?”
“He makes me feel comfortable. Like I can let my guard down. He makes me laugh. And he’s kind.”
“Kindness can be intoxicating,” Alexander says, his tone losing its usual neutrality. “Especially when you’re vulnerable. I’m concerned, Raf. These kinds of… situationships? They cloud judgment. And right now, you need clarity.”
“Shane’s not Ethan. He’s a good guy.”
“Maybe. But has he asked about your divorce? What you’re really facing? Beyond the redecorating fluff.”
Fluff? It wasn’t fluff. Besides her kids, it was the only thing that got her out of bed.
“We haven’t gone that deep. He’s respecting my space.”
“Or he’s waiting. Until you trust him. Until the door’s wide open.”
“Shane’s not after anything. He’s got his own life. His own business.”
“He runs a bar, Raf. Margins are brutal. Who knows what he’s after? Gold diggers come in all shapes and genders. Don’t underestimate a man’s pride.”
“Believe me, that’s one blind spot I’ve already dealt with.” Her arms fold across her chest, not defensive, just tired. Tired of having to explain herself. Again.
Alexander sits forward, his voice tightening, still calm, but slipping. “You’re in the middle of a high-profile divorce. You have property. Visibility. You’re an appealing target, whether he realizes it or not.”
Raf looks away, eyes catching the edge of a framed degree on the wall, some credential meant to signal authority or wisdom. But what did Alexander really know about how she felt with Shane?
She thinks of Shane’s easy smile. Their afternoons shopping, reimagining his space. Nights at Icons, unguarded, full of wine and laughter. The way he reads her moods. The way he listens. The way he makes her feel possible again.
Was it real? Or had she just needed it to be?