Page 58 of Knot Her Beta

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand my question. “It’s still a man’s world, and my father is old-fashioned. He won’t leave me the company, but he’ll leave it to a husband who can bring assets to the table.”

“That’s not fair.”

She closes the portfolio and tucks it beneath her arm again. “But it’s the world we live in for now.”

We keep walking, and the path curves toward the property’s far edge, where the manicured lawn gives way to a stand of pine trees, their needles lending a brightness to the day that the sun lacks.

“My father believes marriages should be strategic.” A faint smile curves her lips. “He calls this one efficient.”

“And your opinion?”

“I think efficiency has its place.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You don’t sound especially romantic.”

“I’ve never had much reason to be.” She shrugs beneath her wool coat. “I’ve watched marriages built on infatuation burn out in spectacular fashion. Compatibility lasts longer.”

I stop at the iron railing where the path ends and flatten my palm on the cold metal. “My parents have always talked about the Bennett arrangement as if it was the obvious answer.”

The estate stretches out ahead of me, my breath coming out in clouds that vanish almost as soon as they form. “Our families already trust each other. Our careers complement each other. We’d never have to wonder whether the other person understood the demands of the work.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

“We’d already know the same people. Attend the same conferences. We’d never fight over relocating or whose career takes priority.”

“An ideal arrangement.”

My hand curls around the cold iron railing. “And any children would inherit two stable businesses instead of one.”

Her head cocks to the side. “You’ve thought about this.”

“How could I not?” I let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been hearing about it since I set out for university.”

Neither of us speaks for a while, and the wind rattles through the bare branches overhead.

I could do it. I know I could. I can trace the shape of that life from here, year by year, decision by decision. The first year would be integration. Learning the Bennett systems, building the editorial team, establishing the coastal strategy.

The second year, expansion. New markets, new verticals, the kind of growth the boardrooms will praise.

The third year, consolidation. Authority solidified, reputation established. This kind of position doesn’t come twice in a career.

And none of it would be wrong. But it fills me with a painful dread, as if I swallowed an apple whole.

Because the belief that I’d be good at it, that Caroline is right, that this fits, doesn’t come with relief. Instead, it leaves behind a hollow, leaden certainty that if I go through with this, I’m closing a door I can’t reopen.

“It does make sense,” I say, as much for myself as for her.

Doing this means accepting a life that I can map from beginning to end without ever needing to ask what I want, and I can’t deny that there’s comfort in the knowledge.

“Yes,” she agrees. “It’s the perfect alignment.”

“We’d probably even be happy.” At the very least, it would keep my mind engaged nonstop.

“I think so.”

That’s what catches me.

Not will.