“Miss Vanessa,” he said as soon as he saw me. His shoulders lifted helplessly. “I’m so sorry. They said it was meant to be a surprise anniversary visit. They knew your name, your company, that you were out this morning. Your father told me if I called you, he’d make sure you fired me.”
I studied him quietly. He was only weeks away from securing a permanent contract, and my father had clearly sensed exactly how to pressure him.
“You handled it the way any nineteen-year-old would have,” I said. “Go take your break.”
“I should’ve called anyway.”
“He gave you a reason not to,” I replied. “That’s what he does. Go.”
Leo walked away, looking both relieved and miserable.
I remained at the railing, gazing out over the marina. The fading light turned the water into dull silver. A couple strolled hand in hand along the far dock. Somewhere in the channel, a jet ski sped past, leaving a trail of white spray behind it.
Three years.
That was how long I had kept them out of my life.
Three years since I blocked their calls, changed my address, and asked anyone who knew where I lived to keep it quiet. Three years since my father declared me selfish, ungrateful, and dead to the
because I refused to drain my savings to cover my brother James’s latest disaster.
They hadn’t called on birthdays. They hadn’t sent holiday cards. Nothing.
In that silence, I rebuilt my life.
Slowly. Carefully. Without anyone to catch me if I fell.
The Sovereign—my yacht, my business—was the product of four years of relentless work and two years before that spent learning every corner of the industry from the inside. She was mine in the deepest way anything can belong to you when you’ve built it from nothing.
