THE STERLING INHERITANCE

**POV: Dominic**

The words hung in the air between us. *Dominic Santos. You changed your name.*

I stared at Vivienne Ashford-Vivienne Monroe, once upon a time-and felt the past ten years collapse into nothing.

"Yes," I said simply. "I changed it."

Her face had gone pale, those gray-blue eyes wide with shock. She looked exactly as I remembered and nothing like her at all. Polished where she'd once been scrappy. Designer suit instead of thrift store blazers. Hair smooth and controlled instead of the messy bun she used to wear while studying.

The conference room felt too small suddenly, despite its size. Too intimate. I could smell her perfume-something expensive and floral that she never would have been able to afford back then.

Back then.

God, I hadn't let myself think about *back then* in years.

---

*Ten years ago. Columbia University area, New York City.*

*The apartment was a fourth-floor walkup in a building that should have been condemned. Radiator clanking, neighbors shouting through thin walls, a kitchen the size of a closet. But it was mine-well, ours-and it felt like a kingdom.*

*I was sprawled on the secondhand couch we'd found on the street, laptop balanced on my knees, running numbers for the third time. The real estate deal I'd been working on for six months was finally coming together. Small potatoes-a rundown duplex in Queens-but it was a start. Proof of concept. The first step toward building something real.*

*"Dom, you're going to go blind staring at that screen."*

*Vivienne emerged from the bedroom-our bedroom, though the mattress was on the floor and we shared a closet the size of a phone booth-wearing one of my old t-shirts and gym shorts. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, glasses perched on her nose. She'd been studying for the bar exam for twelve hours straight.*

*"Says the woman who hasn't looked up from case law since dawn."*

*She smiled, that real smile that made everything else disappear. Crossed the tiny living room and curled up next to me, her head on my shoulder. "How's it looking?"*

*"Good. Really good. If this closes, we'll have enough to start thinking about the next property. Maybe something in Brooklyn."*

*"Brooklyn." She said it like a dream. "We could actually do this."*

*"We are doing this." I closed the laptop, turned to face her. "You're going to pass the bar. I'm going to close this deal. We're going to build something together, Viv. Something real."*

*She kissed me then, slow and sweet, and everything felt possible.*

*That was May.*

*By August, everything had fallen apart.*

*We were in the same apartment, but the air had changed. Thick with things unsaid. Vivienne had been quiet for days, distracted. I'd assumed it was bar exam stress, job search anxiety, normal post-graduation panic.*

*I'd been wrong.*

*"I need to tell you something," she said one night, standing in the kitchen doorway while I cooked pasta-the cheap kind, ninety-nine cents a box.*

*Something in her voice made me turn off the stove.*

*"Hartwell and Associates offered me a position."*

*"That's amazing!" I crossed to her, reaching for a hug, but she stepped back. My arms fell. "Viv?"*

*"It's in Seattle."*

*The words landed like a punch. "Seattle."*

*"It's one of the most prestigious firms on the West Coast. Corporate law, exactly what I want to do. The salary is..." She named a figure that made my head spin. More than I'd make in three years, maybe five.*

*"That's incredible." I meant it. I was proud of her. But my chest was tightening, something cold spreading through my veins. "When would you start?"*

*"October first."*

*Six weeks. She'd be gone in six weeks.*

*"We could make it work," I said quickly, desperately. "Long distance for a while. I can visit, or maybe I can find deals in Seattle, expand there-"*

*"Dom."*

*The way she said my name told me everything.*

*"You're not coming back," I said slowly. "This isn't temporary."*

*She wrapped her arms around herself, and I saw tears in her eyes. "This is my dream job. Everything I've worked for. Everything we've worked for."*

*"We." The word tasted bitter. "There is no 'we' in Seattle."*

*"There could be. You could come with me. Start fresh on the West Coast. There's real estate opportunity there, tech money flooding in-"*

*"I'm six months away from closing my first deal here. I have connections, momentum. I can't just start over."*

*"Then what are we supposed to do?"*

*I looked at her-really looked at her-and saw the answer in her face. She'd already decided. This conversation wasn't about choices. It was about breaking up.*

*"You want me to ask you to stay," I said quietly.*

*"I want you to understand why I can't."*

*"Do you love me?"*

*"Of course I love you." The tears spilled over now. "God, Dom, of course I do."*

*"But not enough."*

*"That's not fair-"*

*"Not enough to stay. Not enough to try long distance. Not enough to choose us over a job offer." My voice broke. "Just say it, Viv. Say you're choosing your career over me."*

*"It's not that simple-"*

*"It is exactly that simple."*

*She wiped her eyes, straightened her spine. And I watched her transform right in front of me-from my Vivienne to someone harder, more distant. Someone who could make the practical choice.*

*"I'm taking the job," she said. "I'm going to Seattle. And I think... I think it's better if we make a clean break."*

*"A clean break."*

*"You'll resent me if I stay. I'll resent you if I go and we try to make it work. This way is kinder."*

*"There's nothing kind about this."*

*She left three weeks later. Changed her name back to Ashford-she'd been trying on Monroe, my mother's maiden name, playing house at being Vivienne Monroe. But that was over now.*

*I stood in our empty apartment-my empty apartment now-and swore I'd never let anyone have that kind of power over me again.*

*I'd never be the person someone could walk away from so easily.*

*Six months later, I met Harrison Sterling at a real estate conference. He saw something in me-ambition, hunger, maybe just loneliness that matched his own. He took me under his wing.*

*"Change your name," he advised. "Dominic Santos sounds ethnic, immigrant. These people-the ones with real money-they'll never see past it. But Dominic Cross? That could be anyone. Old money, new money, doesn't matter. It's neutral. Powerful."*

*I'd hated the idea. Hated erasing my parents' legacy, my heritage.*

*But Vivienne had chosen success over love. And I was done being the person who got left behind.*

*So Dominic Santos died.*

*And Dominic Cross was born.*

---

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. Vivienne was still staring at me, waiting for something. An explanation. Absolution. I had neither to give.

"We should reschedule," she said, her voice unsteady. "This is... I need time to process."

"No."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Dominic-"

"I asked for you specifically, Vivienne." I kept my voice even, professional, though every instinct screamed to end this meeting, to get her out of my office and out of my life. "Katherine sent the meeting request to your firm three days ago. You had time to research. You knew my name. You knew the company. You came anyway."

"I didn't know it was you," she said. "Dominic Cross, Dominic Santos-they're different people."

"Exactly." I moved to the conference table, pulled out a chair. "Dominic Santos doesn't exist anymore. Hasn't for a decade. So let's focus on why Vivienne Ashford is in Dominic Cross's office."

She hesitated, then slowly sat down across from me. Her hands were shaking slightly as she pulled out her legal pad. The confident senior partner from the lobby had cracked, revealing someone fragile underneath.

Good. Let her feel off-balance. Let her feel a fraction of what she'd left me with.

"Your assistant said you had an inheritance matter," she managed.

"I do. But first-" I leaned forward, holding her gaze. "Why are you here, Vivienne?"

"You requested counsel-"

"No. Why are *you* here? Why not delegate to a junior partner? Why not pass when you saw my name?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. I watched her struggle for the right answer.

"I didn't know," she repeated weakly.

"You keep saying that. But you're here now. You know now. So why are you still sitting in that chair?"

The question hung between us, sharp and dangerous.

Because that was the real question, wasn't it? The one underneath all the professional pretense. Why had she come? Why was she staying?.