Chapter 8: MOVING ON
Ciara
Two weeks after the divorce was finalized, I threw myself into work.
Harrison Holdings had been running on autopilot for years under my grandfather's appointed directors. Now, with me at the helm, there was a fire — a momentum — that the company hadn't seen in a decade.
New partnerships. Product launches. A tech summit in Geneva where I delivered the keynote to three thousand people.
The world knew my name now. And for the first time, I wasn't hiding.
"Ms. Harrison, your 3 PM is here." Jerome appeared in my doorway.
"Who is it?"
"Mr. Lucas Grant. Grant Ventures. He wants to discuss a joint AI initiative."
Lucas Grant. I'd read about him — thirty-one, self-made, ran one of the fastest-growing venture firms on the West Coast. Forbes called him "the next-gen Musk without the ego."
"Send him in."
The man who walked through my door was not what I expected. Tall — taller than Dominic. Sandy brown hair, slightly disheveled in a way that looked intentional. Green eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
And he smiled immediately. "Ms. Harrison. It's an honor."
I shook his hand. Firm grip. Warm palm. "Mr. Grant. Please, sit."
"Lucas," he corrected, settling into the chair across from my desk. "Mr. Grant is my father, and he's a dentist, so the association isn't great."
I laughed. Genuinely. It surprised me.
The meeting was supposed to be thirty minutes. It lasted two hours. We talked AI infrastructure, market disruption, ethical tech, and somehow — somewhere between the profit margins and the projections — we talked about Rome.
"You've been?" he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Never. But my grandfather always said—"
"That you haven't lived until you've had coffee at Sant'Eustachio?"
I stared. "How did you—"
"Your grandfather said that in a 2003 interview. It's one of my favorite quotes." He smiled again — softer this time. "I've been a fan of Harrison Holdings since I was eighteen."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Something I hadn't felt in... I couldn't remember how long.
"Well," I said, standing to signal the meeting's end before I did something foolish. "I think this partnership has potential."
Lucas stood, extending his hand again. "Dinner. Friday. To discuss terms."
"Is that a business dinner or—"
"It's whatever you want it to be, Ciara."
He held my gaze just a beat too long. Then he left.
I stood there for a full minute after the door closed, my heart doing something unfamiliar. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
My phone buzzed. A voicemail notification. From Dominic. Received two weeks ago — I'd never listened to it.
My thumb hovered over the delete button.
Then, against every rational thought in my brain, I pressed play.
*"Ciara... I need you to know — it was never about you not being enough. It was about me being terrified that you were everything..."*
I deleted it before it finished.
Some doors were meant to stay closed.
Two weeks after the divorce was finalized, I threw myself into work.
Harrison Holdings had been running on autopilot for years under my grandfather's appointed directors. Now, with me at the helm, there was a fire — a momentum — that the company hadn't seen in a decade.
New partnerships. Product launches. A tech summit in Geneva where I delivered the keynote to three thousand people.
The world knew my name now. And for the first time, I wasn't hiding.
"Ms. Harrison, your 3 PM is here." Jerome appeared in my doorway.
"Who is it?"
"Mr. Lucas Grant. Grant Ventures. He wants to discuss a joint AI initiative."
Lucas Grant. I'd read about him — thirty-one, self-made, ran one of the fastest-growing venture firms on the West Coast. Forbes called him "the next-gen Musk without the ego."
"Send him in."
The man who walked through my door was not what I expected. Tall — taller than Dominic. Sandy brown hair, slightly disheveled in a way that looked intentional. Green eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
And he smiled immediately. "Ms. Harrison. It's an honor."
I shook his hand. Firm grip. Warm palm. "Mr. Grant. Please, sit."
"Lucas," he corrected, settling into the chair across from my desk. "Mr. Grant is my father, and he's a dentist, so the association isn't great."
I laughed. Genuinely. It surprised me.
The meeting was supposed to be thirty minutes. It lasted two hours. We talked AI infrastructure, market disruption, ethical tech, and somehow — somewhere between the profit margins and the projections — we talked about Rome.
"You've been?" he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Never. But my grandfather always said—"
"That you haven't lived until you've had coffee at Sant'Eustachio?"
I stared. "How did you—"
"Your grandfather said that in a 2003 interview. It's one of my favorite quotes." He smiled again — softer this time. "I've been a fan of Harrison Holdings since I was eighteen."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Something I hadn't felt in... I couldn't remember how long.
"Well," I said, standing to signal the meeting's end before I did something foolish. "I think this partnership has potential."
Lucas stood, extending his hand again. "Dinner. Friday. To discuss terms."
"Is that a business dinner or—"
"It's whatever you want it to be, Ciara."
He held my gaze just a beat too long. Then he left.
I stood there for a full minute after the door closed, my heart doing something unfamiliar. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
My phone buzzed. A voicemail notification. From Dominic. Received two weeks ago — I'd never listened to it.
My thumb hovered over the delete button.
Then, against every rational thought in my brain, I pressed play.
*"Ciara... I need you to know — it was never about you not being enough. It was about me being terrified that you were everything..."*
I deleted it before it finished.
Some doors were meant to stay closed.