Page 46 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTY

STORMY

T he light comes in soft, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that oversee the edge of Central Park. The sky is pale and cloudless, the city still wrapped in that early hush before the traffic begins to hum.

I lie still for a while, watching the way the sunlight moves across the marble floor in my penthouse bedroom. It catches on the edges of my bookshelf, warms the foot of my bed, and then settles over Colt’s bare shoulder, where the blanket’s slipped down.

He’s on his stomach, arm stretched across the bed, like he was reaching for me in his sleep. One leg hooked over the edge of the sheet, his hair a mess, his beautiful face relaxed while he sleeps.

I don’t move.

I admire this version of him. My body aches in that familiar, simmering way as I remember how thoroughly he made love to me last night.

There’s a softness in the air that has never existed in my penthouse before, and it clings to me when I exhale.

He stirs when I shift to my side to get a better view. His eyes stay closed, but his hand finds my hip beneath the sheet and rests there like it never left.

“You watchin’ me again?” he mutters, voice full of rasp.

“I can’t help it. You’re a cowboy dream.”

A lazy smile pulls at his mouth, scooting close. “I love waking up next to you.”

“Me too,” I admit. “I think it was always supposed to be like this. You and me.”

His blue eyes sparkle as he opens them. “You and me.”

My confession wakes him a little more. His fingers tighten at my hip, and he pulls me even closer, guiding me into the curve of his body without saying a word.

His mouth finds my collarbone first, then my neck, then the corner of my jaw. Each kiss is slow, like he’s relearning me all over again.

We don’t rush.

We’re nothing but breath and skin and want.

His hand slips under the sheet, trailing down my thigh. Our mouths meet, and everything fades away. New York, the meeting I’ll have with my father, the headlines about me and Donovan that were posted last night. None of it matters right now. Just this.

I cherish how his touch says you’re safe. The way his voice says you’re mine. How his body fits against me like he was built to hold and keep me.

We make love until we’re both a mess, breathless, lips swollen.

When we finish, we stay tangled in the sheets, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. I don’t open my eyes right away. I want to memorize this—his weight over mine, the way he whispers my name like it’s not borrowed or broken.

Eventually, he shifts onto his back, pulling me with him until I’m sprawled across his chest.

“You ready for today?” he asks, fingers combing gently through my hair.

“I am now,” I whisper.

His arms wrap tighter around me. “That’s my girl. You got this.”

The quiet doesn’t last.

It never does here.

Colt eventually rolls out of bed to shower. I hear the water turn on and the soft thud of his footsteps across the tile. I stay in bed a little longer, watching the sunlight stretch higher across the skyline. My fingers trail across the crease in the sheets where his body was.

The clock ticks closer toward eight, and my reality returns.

There’s a version of me that wants to stay in bed with him all day, hiding beneath these soft sheets with his naked body.

However, that version can’t exist until I finish what I came here to do.

In an hour, I will relinquish my responsibilities and start living my life on my terms. That thought gives me the energy to get out of bed.

I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand, pulling on a robe from the hook by the closet.

Colt steps out of the bathroom a minute later, towel around his waist, hair damp and tousled. He crosses the space without hesitation.

“You planning a coup?” he asks, voice teasing enough to pull me out of my head.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “That’s one word for it.”

He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “You don’t have to burn the whole city down in one day.”

“Only the part that has its hold on me.”

He studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “You’re a firecracker, darlin’.”

“You know it,” I tell him, moving inside my closet. “This is almost over.”

The lights come on automatically, spilling warm white across rows of silk, cashmere, structured wool, and shoes lined up like soldiers.

It’s massive. Every inch of space is curated for the season.

Neutrals up front. Color-coded accents. Clutches arranged by designer.

The whole room smells faintly of my favorite perfume.

I stand there for a second, taking it in.

There was a time when I would walk into this space and transform into someone powerful. Untouchable. Like I could become whatever the room demanded by picking the right pair of heels.

Now?

It’s a costume department. My wedding dress should be hung here to complete the show.

I run my fingers along the hem of a blazer I once wore to a board meeting in Dubai. It’s flawless. Tailored to the inch. And completely irrelevant to the woman I’ve become.

I move past it. Past the towering heels and the pristine whites. My fingers brush across the silk dresses that hug my body and reveal all my secrets. None of them are right.

Then I see it—tucked between a few older pieces. A tailored black suit with slim-cut pants and a fitted jacket. Clean. Sleek. With an edge. I pull it out and grab a dark charcoal tank to go underneath. There are no frills for this career funeral.

When I step out of the closet, Colt is waiting by the window, already dressed, adjusting the cuffs of his new shirt. He turns when he hears me, and his eyes drag over me.

“That’ll do, babe,” he says, voice proud. “Damn. Now I know why you drink your coffee black.”

I smirk, grabbing a pair of dark sunglasses off the console and sliding them onto my head. “I guess it’s go time.”

We take the elevator down and slip out through the private exit, where a car is waiting for us. Colt stays close, his presence behind me. When we step onto the main sidewalk, the noise finds us immediately.

Cameras click in quick succession. Voices rise in a chorus of speculation. Someone must’ve spotted my car and told the paps where I’d be.

“Stormy, are you back for good?”

“Are you here to take over the firm?”

“Do you have a comment about the wedding?”

I don’t respond. I keep walking, eyes forward. Colt moves with me, and he’s close enough that I feel him with me every step. The driver pulls the door open as we approach.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know how they knew.”

I slide in first, and Colt follows. The door closes behind us, muting the chaos to a dull throb.

I watch the street through the tinted window as we drive away. People blur together. Glass towers rise. Somewhere between Park Towers and the office, I let go of whatever part of me wanted to disappear.

Today is not about disappearing. It’s about finally being seen.

When we arrive, I get out, and Colt follows. The wind pushes at my coat. I straighten the collar and glance up at the tall building.

Langford Media is in tall silver letters above the entryway. I used to be proud to enter this building, but now I’m disgusted.

The bottom-floor receptionist stiffens when she sees me, then quietly reaches for the phone.

“Ms. Stormy Langford has arrived. She’s heading there now.”

Security glances at us as we step onto the elevator. They let us go through.

“Is he expecting you?” Colt asks when the doors slide closed.

“He refused to see me today, and I’m not waiting. He’ll see me now,” I explain. “I’m ready to have this conversation regardless of his schedule.”

The rest of the elevator ride is silent. Colt stands beside me, one hand resting lightly against the small of my back. The gesture is quiet, and it steadies something inside me.

When the doors open, his executive assistant is already waiting.

“He wants to reschedule for tomorrow,” she says. Her eyes flick between me and Colt, but she doesn’t ask questions.

I grab his hand and pull him past her and into my father’s office, where he’s on the phone.

“I have to let you go,” he says, ending the call.

The space is clean, deliberate, and cold. My father stands and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Stormy,” he says, as if I’m stopping by for lunch, “I thought my secretary?—”

“I’m not here for pleasantries. You’re not busy. And you will listen to what I have to say right now before I torch this company’s reputation too.”

His gaze moves to Colt, and something shifts behind his expression. “You brought company.”

“This is the man I’m going to marry one day. Colt Valentine.”

Colt is polite and nods, but my father is rude. He motions to the chairs across from his desk, eyes and jaw set.

I don’t sit.

“I’m resigning,” I say. “Effective immediately. My legal team will send over the documents by the end of the day.”

He watches me like I’m a boardroom problem he didn’t anticipate. “Stormy, you don’t need to do this. There’s a path forward. We can manage the fallout.”

“There’s no fallout,” I say. “There’s truth.

And I’m done letting you decide how much of it gets to exist. I’m done with the cover-up stories.

Did you know Skye was sleeping with Donovan behind my back?

What has been said about me online makes me seem like the villain, and I will not tolerate the smear campaign against my name.

I will not be made out to be some jealous woman who had cold feet .

I’ve already begun destroying that narrative, which I’m sure you’re aware of. ”

My father doesn’t react right away.

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him like this is another negotiation, like we’re haggling over a line item instead of the truth that wrecked my life.

“I assumed that you’d come here to speak calmly. Strategically. With real solutions.”

“Leaving is my solution,” I snap.

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. He’s been in too many rooms like this, too many crisis meetings, where the goal was never truth; it was silence.

“I was the one being lied to,” I continue. “You made me seem unhinged with those headlines. Do you know what it’s like to lose everything and still have to sit back and let your own family feed the narrative that you’re unstable, dramatic, and difficult?”

He says nothing. He’s watching me now, not as a daughter, but as a threat. I know too much. I’m dangerous.

“I’m not asking for your blessing,” I explain. “I’m giving you a warning. The next time I see my name associated with cold feet or a breakdown, I will take it personally. And I will not protect this firm. I will not protect you .”

“That’s not necessary?—”

“No,” I cut him off. “It’s well overdue. So, fix what you broke.”

I step closer to the desk, placing my palms flat against the surface. “Skye betrayed me. Donovan humiliated me. And you —this firm—allowed the world to think I’d unraveled. They laughed at me. I was picked apart for sport in the media.”

“I didn’t know about them,” he finally confesses.

The words land quieter than I expected, and it almost stuns me.

He leans back slightly in his chair, and since I walked in, he’s not acting like a man in control. He’s acting like my dad.

“You didn’t know? How is that possible?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t have allowed that.” His brow tightens. “I’m not a monster. The smear campaigns didn’t come from here.”

I breathe a little. “I don’t want to be in the city anymore. I’m moving. I’m done. While I’m gone, I hope I can find it in my heart to forgive what Skye and Donovan did to me. And I’ll rest easier, knowing you weren’t trying to smear my name.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I have no response to that because I didn’t expect an apology, and it almost makes me crack. My dad moves toward me and pulls me into his arms for a hug. He pulls back slightly and looks at me—not as the future CEO, not as a father trying to regain control, but as my dad.

“I’m okay with you quitting if it will make you happy.”

The words settle something in me.

I nod once. “It will. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt free.”

He exhales, and I can tell he means it when he says, “Then go be happy.”

I don’t expect the tight hug that follows or the way my chest tightens when I let myself lean into it. He holds me like a father who regrets not doing better. I don’t forgive everything, not yet. But I forgive enough to let this moment exist.

When we pull apart, Colt is already moving toward the door, giving us space.

When we’re alone, my dad clears his throat. “Were you serious about marrying him?”

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “When you know, you know.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“He is,” I tell him, and then I leave.

Colt waits for me outside the door, and I take his hand into mine. The elevator ride is quiet, but not full of regret. It feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long. I lean into Colt’s side, and he wraps his arm around me.

“Love that wrath,” he says with a laugh.

Outside, the city hums like it always does, but I feel like I’m visiting, and I know where home is.

“You did it,” Colt says with a boyish grin.

“I did,” I breathe. “And I didn’t break.”

He looks at me like I’ve rewritten the ending to my story. “No, you didn’t. Now you’re stronger than ever.”

I tip my head against his shoulder and close my eyes as we climb inside the car. Once we’re buckled, it pulls away from the curb.

I’m not proving anything or escaping everything. I’m free.

“How do you feel?”

“Like the elephant is finally moving off my chest. This is almost over.”

He leans over, brushing his lips across mine, and we nearly lose control in the back seat.

When the SUV glides to a stop in front of Park Towers, we’re still kissing and laughing.

I step out in front of the paparazzi with swollen lips and messy hair and stand taller with him beside me.

Colt takes my hand, holding me close, and I glance over at him. He shoots me a wink, like we’ve always belonged side by side, even here.

I chose the right man—and he chose me right back.