What Can You Offer Me

My fiancée, Sally, wanted to go on a two-month road trip up the Alaska Highway with her male best friend, Rory. I said no. She called me insecure. I told her a single man and a single woman spending two months alone in a truck wasn't right. She called me disgusting. I asked her if she absolutely had to go. She lifted her chin, defiant. "Yes." I just smiled. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant, Lawrence: "Thirty minutes. Cut off every single business line the Spencer family has in this city." She had no idea. The "struggling delivery boy" she thought she was dating held enough keys to make her entire family beg on their knees in the middle of downtown Seattle. 1 It all started three days ago. I’d come home late after a brutal shift. Sally was curled up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone without even glancing up. There were two iced lattes on the coffee table. One was untouched, condensation pooling at the base; the other was empty. I kicked off my shoes, walked over, and picked up the full one. I took a sip. It was lukewarm and watery. "Who was here?" Only then did she look up, her expression utterly detached. "Rory. He stopped by for a bit." Rory. Always Rory. I’d heard that name at least fifty times over the past six months. Her "platonic best friend." College classmate, freelance photographer, free spirit. I didn't say anything. I just sat down next to her. Suddenly, she shoved her phone screen in front of my face. "Look at this. Rory took these in Banff last week. They're absolutely breathtaking." I glanced at the screen. Snow-capped peaks, empty highways, a lonely tent. The composition was good. "Yeah. Nice." "He’s planning to drive all the way up through the Yukon to Alaska next month. A massive road trip." "Oh." Sally pulled her phone back, her eyes shining with an intensity I hadn't seen in a long time. "He asked if I wanted to go with him." I set the lukewarm latte down. "And what did you say?" "I think it’d be amazing. I've always wanted to see the Northern Lights." I looked at her profile. She kept her eyes glued to the screen. "Sally." "Yeah?" "You and him. In one truck. Driving through the wilderness to Alaska. That's a two-month trip, minimum." "So?" "Just the two of you." She finally turned her head, her forehead creasing in irritation. "Adam, can you not be so disgusting? Rory and I are completely platonic. We could share a tent and literally nothing would happen." Share a tent. She said it so casually, like she was talking about sharing a cab. I squeezed the plastic cup in my hand until it buckled. "So you already told him yes?" "I haven't officially given him an answer, but I want to go." "I’m not okay with this." Sally let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Adam, you don't own me. You don't get to dictate my life." "You're my fiancée." "A fiancée is still an independent person." She stood up, clutching her phone as she headed toward the bedroom. Before she shut the door, she threw one last line over her shoulder: "If you're going to be this insecure, I don't even know why we got together in the first first place." The door clicked shut. I sat alone in the living room, the artificial sweetness of the watery coffee coating my throat like ash. I didn't sleep in our bed that night. I stayed in the study, staring at the wall until dawn. It wasn't just that she wanted to go to Alaska. It was that she hadn't even thought to invite me. And when she spoke, her eyes were completely empty of me. Over the next two days, she lived in a different world. She spent hours on FaceTime with Rory, planning routes, gear, budgets. I sat in the same room, listening to her laughter. It was a bright, easy sound—a sound she hadn't given me in a very long time. It felt like I had already become a ghost in my own apartment. On the third night, she officially laid her cards on the table. "Adam, I’ve made up my mind. We're leaving on the fifteenth." I was sitting across from her at the dining table, my fork resting against the rim of my plate. "A guy and a girl, sharing a vehicle for two months in the middle of nowhere. You really think that's appropriate?" "What's inappropriate about it?" "So I'm just supposed to sit here and wait for you to cheat on me?" Sally’s face flushed red. She slammed her fork onto the table. "Adam! How dare you? Are you seriously insulting my integrity?" "I’m stating facts." "The fact is that Rory and I are friends! If you can't even trust me that much, what's the point of this relationship?" "My trust isn't the only thing at play here, Sally. Have you thought about how this looks to anyone else?" "I don't give a damn about what other people think." She stood up, leaning her hands on the table, looming over me. "Let’s be honest, Adam. You're just bitter because you don't have the means to take me on a trip like this, so you can't stand the thought of someone else doing it." The words hit home, sharp and cold. I didn't answer. She pressed on, her voice dripping with disdain. "Rory has money, free time, and talent. He actually wants to show me the world. What can you offer me? You pull sixty-hour weeks at some dead-end office, and your monthly paycheck doesn't even cover what he spends on a single weekend." I looked up at her. Her eyes held a cruel, unvarnished honesty. "So this trip," I said quietly, "you're absolutely going, no matter what?" "Yes." She didn't hesitate. I nodded. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and opened my chat with Lawrence. I typed a single line. Thirty minutes. Shut down every distribution channel the Spencer family has in this city. Send. The message immediately showed Read. Lawrence replied with three words: On it, sir. I flipped the phone face-down on the table and looked up at Sally. "Go ahead then." She blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden surrender. "You... you're letting me go?" "I'm not letting you go on a trip." I stood up and began clearing the plates, taking them into the kitchen. With my back to her, I said the last words I would ever say to her as her partner. "I’m letting you go for good." 2 Sally didn't understand. Or maybe she chose not to. "Adam, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I placed the dishes in the sink and turned on the faucet. The rush of cold water drowned out her steps. "It means the wedding is off. We’re done." "Are you out of your mind?" She marched into the kitchen, standing at the threshold, her face a storm of anger and disbelief. "You're throwing away our engagement over a vacation?" I shut off the tap, dried my hands on a dish towel, and turned around. "It’s not about the vacation." "Then what is it?" "It's about everything you just said." She froze. I looked directly into her eyes. "You said Rory has money, time, and talent. You said I can’t offer you anything. You said my monthly salary isn’t worth one of his trips." "I..." "You have a scale in your heart, Sally. And you don't weigh love on it. You weigh dollar signs." Her lips parted, but no sound came out. "Since you think I'm so beneath you, go run to your rich best friend. I won't stand in your way." I brushed past her, walked into the study, and grabbed my car keys and jacket. She followed me to the entryway. "Adam! Stop! Calm down! I was just angry, I didn't mean it!" "People mean exactly what they say when they're angry." "Don't walk out that door—" "I’ll have someone contact your parents about dissolving the engagement." I pulled the door open and stepped out. Behind me, her voice chased me down the hall—tinged with panic, but mostly laced with that familiar, insulted pride. "Adam! Who the hell do you think you are to call off the wedding? You're nobody!" I paused in the stairwell. The fluorescent motion-sensor light hummed overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow. Who do you think you are. I smiled to myself. She was going to find out the answer to that question very, very soon. I drove straight to our corporate headquarters. It wasn't the modest mid-rise she pictured. It was the tallest skyscraper in downtown Seattle's financial district. The top floor. Fifty-eighth. The elevator chimed open, and Lawrence was already waiting by the glass doors. Impeccable charcoal suit, a tablet in his hand. "Mr. Sabrina." "Status?" "The three major developers partnering with the Spencer construction business have already been notified. They will officially terminate all contracts tomorrow morning. We’ve also halted deliveries from our material supply subsidiaries to their waterfront site. And the commercial line of credit Richard Spencer was negotiating? The underwriting department pulled the authorization ten minutes ago." I walked into my office and sat down. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, the Seattle skyline stretched out beneath me—a glittering sea of lights. Once, Sally and I had looked at those lights and talked about building a life together. Now, it was just cold glass. "Anything else?" "We finished the background check on Rory," Lawrence said, sliding a digital file onto my desk. "His father, Arthur Rory Senior, runs a high-end used car operation. Rory's 'freelance photography' career is mostly a front to help launder funds for his father's side businesses. His interest in Sally is purely transactional. Richard Spencer holds the rights to a prime parcel on the waterfront, and the Rorys want in on that development." I leaned back in my leather chair. So the "pure, platonic friendship" she defended so fiercely was nothing more than a calculated hustle. Rory was playing her to get to her father's land. And Sally, blind to it all, thought he was just a gentleman wanting to show her the snow peaks. Foolish. "Do you want me to share this with Miss Spencer, sir?" "No." I stared out at the dark harbor. "Let her figure it out on her own." Lawrence nodded, then paused. "The engagement... are we making it official tomorrow?" "Yes. Have my mother's office handle it. If the Spencers try to cause a scene, show them exactly what we hold over them." "Understood." Before Lawrence turned to leave, he hesitated. "Sir... you were with her for three years. Are you certain about this?" Three years. Over a thousand days. I remembered buying her ninety-nine roses for her birthday. She’d complained they were cheap, pointing out that Rory had gifted her a vintage Leica camera. I remembered taking her to a luxury resort in Maui, booking an oceanfront suite. She’d posted on Instagram with the caption: Okay for a weekend, but definitely looking forward to better views next time. I transferred fifteen thousand dollars to her account every month for "living expenses." And just last month, I’d overheard her talking to her friends on the balcony: "Adam's fine. He's safe, predictable. We'll settle down, I guess. At least until something more exciting comes along." Settle down. Fine. Three years of devotion, reduced to a safety net she was waiting to outgrow. "I'm certain," I said, setting my teacup down. "Three years was more than enough." 3 At ten o'clock the next morning, my mother made the call. Victoria Sabrina. Very few people in the Pacific Northwest didn't know that name. She was the matriarch and founder of the Sabrina Group, a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate. I was her only son. Her sole heir. But since I was twenty-three, I had chosen to live outside the family shadow, wanting to build something of my own. My mother respected my choice, only insisting that Lawrence stay close to manage my security and assets. For three years, I had loved Sally as "Adam, the mid-level corporate employee." The Spencers had no clue who I actually was. To them, I was a quiet guy with a decent salary and zero family pedigree. Richard Spencer had only tolerated the engagement because Sally insisted on it. At a dinner with his business partners, he’d reportedly said, "My girl fell for a working-class nobody. What can I do? At least the boy is compliant. He'll make a decent, obedient son-in-law we can run ragged." Decent. Obedient. Run ragged. Lawrence had reported those words to me at the time. I’d let them slide because I still believed Sally was worth it. She wasn't. At eleven in the morning, our legal team, led by our lead attorney Thomas Pendelton, arrived at the Spencer residence. Richard Spencer didn't take them seriously at first. What kind of legal representation could a "working-class boy" afford? But when he opened the door, he found three men in bespoke suits. "Mr. Spencer," Thomas said calmly. "We represent the Sabrina family. We are here to formally notify you that the engagement between Mr. Adam Sabrina and Miss Sally Spencer is dissolved, effective immediately. Please review the termination agreement." Richard took the folder, his eyes scanning the first few pages. His smug expression quickly curdled. "What the hell is this? That kid Adam sent you? Who does he think he is, hiring lawyers like this?" Thomas's face remained impassive. "Mr. Sabrina has every right. Page three outlines the terms. There are no outstanding property disputes, nor is there any request for compensation. We simply require your signature." "Get the hell out of my house!" Richard slammed the folder onto the floor. "Tell that coward to come face me himself! Lawyers? He can't afford you!" Thomas bent down, picked up the folder, and brushed off a speck of dust. "Mr. Spencer, I strongly advise you to compose yourself. Furthermore, there are a few pressing matters I must bring to your attention." He pulled another document from his briefcase. "The three major development projects under your name have had their contracts terminated as of nine this morning. Your material suppliers have ceased all deliveries. And your pending commercial loan application has been officially denied." Richard froze, the color draining from his face as if he’d been plunged into freezing water. "What... what are you talking about?" "Consider this a courtesy notice," Thomas said, placing the document on the console table by the door. "Take your time with the dissolution agreement. But I suggest you sign it soon." The lawyers turned and walked out. Richard stood frozen at the door, holding the termination notice. He couldn't comprehend it. How had every single one of his business partners, suppliers, and lenders turned against him overnight? Just then, Sally ran down the stairs. "Dad! What’s going on? Who was that?" Richard looked at his daughter, his anger slowly giving way to a cold, creeping dread. "Your fiancé... who is he, really?" 4 Sally scoffed. "Adam? Who is he?" She let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. "He's an office worker who barely pulls six figures. Who else would he be?" Richard’s expression remained grim. He handed her the papers. Sally glanced at them, her smirk faltering. But her immediate reaction wasn't fear—it was indignation. "This has to be a coincidence. He doesn't have the power to do this." She whipped out her phone and dialed my number. The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. She tried again. Same result. "He turned his phone off!" She threw the device onto the sofa. "He's just throwing a tantrum like a child." Richard wasn't listening. He was dialing his business contacts. His first call went straight to voicemail. On his second attempt, a partner answered, his voice hushed and frantic: "Richard, look, I’m sorry. The order came from the very top. I can't touch your projects without ruining my own company." The third call was even more brutal: "Richard, you need to figure out who the hell you pissed off. Because whoever they are, they're burying you. I can't help you." Richard's hand began to shake. He’d been in business for twenty years, and he’d never seen a supply chain collapse this quickly. It was clinical. It was absolute. "Dad, stop panicking," Sally said, stepping closer. "I'll go talk to him. He's just acting out because of the trip—" "Shut up!" Richard roared. Sally flinched, taking a step back. She had never seen her father lose his temper like this. "Do you have any idea what’s happening? Our waterfront projects have been shut down! Our funding is gone! I have thirty million dollars in construction debts due next month! Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?" "But... what does that have to do with Adam?" "He called off the engagement, and within the same hour, my entire business is ruined. You think that's a coincidence?" Sally bit her lip. A cold knot of anxiety was forming in her stomach, but she refused to acknowledge it. No, Adam couldn't be some powerful shadow figure. It didn't make sense. Her phone buzzed. A text from Rory. Hey babe, got the gear packed and the truck ready. We still on for the fifteenth? Alaska is calling! The message felt suddenly jarring. She stared at it, unable to type a reply. Richard took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm going to call some favors. Find out who is pulling the strings." He spent the entire afternoon on the phone. By eight that evening, an old contact from the bank finally returned his call, his voice barely a whisper: "Richard, you've stepped on a landmine. The directive to pull your loans came directly from the executive board of the Sabrina Group. You know who they are, right? They hold half the commercial real estate in the Northwest. Think carefully—how did you offend the Sabrinas?" Richard hung up. The phone slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud. Sabrina. Adam. Adam Sabrina. He slowly turned to look at his daughter, who was curled up on the sofa clutching a throw pillow. "Your fiancé," he whispered, his voice dry. "His last name... is Sabrina." Sally looked up. "Yeah, so? It's a common name." "As in the Sabrina Group." "Dad, what are you talking about? He lives in a rented apartment, he drives a ten-year-old sedan—" "He lied to you," Richard said, sinking into his chair as if the bones in his legs had turned to liquid. "He lied to all of us." "No way..." Sally's voice trembled. "He couldn't be..." "Look it up," her father rasped. "Look it up right now." Sally unlocked her phone, her fingers shaking so badly she could barely type the words into the search bar: Sabrina Group heir. The search results were sparse; the family kept a notoriously low profile. But there was a single profile from a business journal three years ago. It featured a grainy photograph of a young man leaving a charity gala. The sharp line of his jaw, the quiet, focused gaze. She knew that face. It was Adam.