Forgiveness Isn't Free: James Davidson Returns

chapter 7

James Pov

James Davidson stood in his office for the first time in Months.

The soft hum of the city buzzed outside the glass panels that wrapped around the top floor of Davidson Corporation. Sunlight spilled across the polished surface of his desk, catching faint dust particles in the air—remnants of his absence. Everything was as he had left it, yet something in the air had shifted. Maybe it was him.

He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and slowly took the seat behind his desk. The room was silent, save for the occasional flip of a page as he thumbed through documents piled neatly in a stack—updates, reports, and pending contracts. He'd left everything in the capable hands of Liam, his long-time PA, while he was recovering. But now, he needed to take control again.

He was quiet, composed, but his left side still ached faintly—a reminder of the accident from two nights ago.

The accident that happened after that night.

A soft knock tapped at the door.

“Come in,” James said.

Liam stepped in, tablet in hand, suit pressed, expression professional but cautious.

“Sir,” he began, “I just got off the phone with Davidson & Hunt Legal. Melissa Grant says Mrs. Rose Davidson signed and returned the divorce papers. They’re asking if we should proceed with filing.”

James didn’t immediately answer. His eyes lingered on the papers in front of him, though he wasn’t reading anymore.

Liam stood patiently, accustomed to his boss’s silences.

Finally, James sat up straighter, the steel edge of command sliding back into his voice.

“Tell them to go ahead,” he said. His tone was cold. Detached. As if the name “Rose” no longer belonged in his world. “And let that be the last update I hear about it.”

Liam gave a small nod. “Understood, sir.”

He turned and left without another word.

James leaned back in his chair and let the silence return. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers drummed once against the armrest before going still.

She’d signed.

Just like that.

He rose from his chair, slipped on his jacket, and made his way down to the waiting car.

 

St. Barts General was quiet in the private wing. James walked in without assistance, but his steps were careful, calculated. The receptionist nodded at him and directed him toward Room 2B.

Inside, Dr. Luke Bennett stood reviewing a patient chart. Tall, scruffy, with sleeves rolled to his elbows and a tired look in his eyes, Luke turned when the door clicked shut.

“Well, if it isn’t the great James Davidson,” he said with a faint smirk. “Still trying to pretend you’re invincible?”

James gave a dry, humorless smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Shirt off,” Luke instructed. “Let’s see how your ribs are holding up after nearly being crushed like glass.”

James complied, wincing slightly as he pulled off the tailored shirt.

Luke whistled softly. “Still bruised, but healing. You were lucky, you know that?”

James didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead as Luke began unwrapping the bandages.

“It could’ve been worse,” Luke added. “You flipped the car. Another inch and you’d have shattered your spine.”

“I’m aware.”

Luke looked up briefly. “You’ve been quiet since you called me from the ER.”

James nodded. “A lot on my mind.”

Luke paused, pressing down gently. “Including a divorce, I hear.”

James met his gaze for a moment.

“She signed,” he said simply.

Luke didn’t look surprised. He continued his examination in silence for a few seconds before speaking.

“How are you feeling?”

James gave a short laugh. “Physically?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

A beat passed.

“I’m fine,” James said, voice low. Controlled. “I just needed to get back to work. Focus on what I can rebuild.”

Luke didn’t argue. He just began wrapping fresh gauze over the bruised skin.

“I made a mistake,” he said. “Trusted the wrong person with my heart. That’s on me.”

Luke didn’t push. He knew James well enough to recognize the edge in his tone. That controlled detachment. It was how he protected himself when the world got too loud.

“She moved on quickly,” Luke said after a moment. “I saw the articles. Her and that Charles guy. CEO of Woodlord Global.”

James didn’t react.

Luke sighed. “You’re still hurting.”

James buttoned his shirt again, slowly.

“I’ll survive,” he said.

“You always do,” Luke muttered.

He placed the chart back on the tray and looked at James squarely.

“Just don’t bleed for someone who wouldn’t have called an ambulance if she saw you lying on the road.”

James didn’t respond.

But as he stood and adjusted his jacket again, Luke could see it in his eyes.

The fire was still there.

It was just buried, smoldering—waiting.

And when it rose again, it wouldn’t be for love.

It would be for legacy.