It was the choice she had been circling since the leak. The only choice that left them both with their integrity intact. She had to leave.
He crossed the room in two strides, pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, as if he could imprint the feel of her into his memory.“I love you,” he murmured into her hair.“Whatever happens, that is the only thing I am sure of.”
They stood like that for a long time, clinging to each other as the Parisian rain fell, two people bound by a love that the world, and the career he deserved, would never let them keep. The choice was made. Not with a shout, but with a quiet, devastating acceptance in a rainy room.
Chapter 15:
Professional Distance
The return to London was a sombre affair. The Eurostar hurtled them not towards a future, but back into the confines of a painful reality. The silence in their taxi from St. Pancras was a physical weight. When they reached her flat, Luca didn't ask to come up. The goodbye was a chaste, desperate kiss on the pavement, his hands framing her face for a moment too long before he turned and walked away.
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of agony. Isla knew what she had to do. She spent a day drafting her resignation, the words feeling like carving a piece of her own flesh onto the page. She cited "new creative opportunities," the standard, hollow corporate euphemism for a broken heart.
She emailed it to Luca and Anya on a grey Tuesday morning. The response from Luca was immediate and brutal in its professionalism.
[email protected]: Received. HR will be in touch regarding your notice period and final projects. We wish you the best in your future endeavours.
It was signed Luca Thorne, Creative Director. Not Luca. Not I love you. Not please don't go.
She had asked for professional distance, and he was giving it to her with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It was what she had demanded, but the reality was a cold, crushing loneliness.
The office, when she returned to clear her desk, was a mausoleum. People avoided her eyes, their pity a subtle, suffocating blanket. Luca was locked in his office, his back to the glass wall, on a seemingly endless call. He never looked out.
As she packed her personal effects—a favourite mug, a stack of inspiring postcards, the vintage emerald dress carefully folded in its box—she felt his absence like a phantom limb. This was the space where they had built something extraordinary, both on the page and between them. Now, it was just an empty desk.
Her final task was to hand over her projects to a quietly stunned junior editor. When she was done, there was nothing left to do but leave. She took one last look at the bullpen, at the light spilling from his office, and walked towards the elevator, her career at Chroma ending not with a bang, but with the soft, final click of the closing doors.
She had chosen to set them both free. But standing on the pavement outside the towering glass building, the London rain beginning to fall, freedom felt an awful lot like freefall.
Chapter 16:
The Empty Desk
The first Monday after her resignation felt like stepping into a parallel universe. Isla woke at the usual time, but there was no frantic rush, no mental preparation for the daily battle of ideas and egos. The silence in her flat was profound, broken only by the distant hum of a city going to work without her.
She applied for jobs. She updated her portfolio. She met a friend for a long, aimless coffee. But her mind was back in the Chroma office, imagining the vacuum her absence had left. Was someone else sitting at her desk? Had Luca already reassigned her projects? The thought was a physical ache.
At Chroma, the atmosphere was subdued. Luca had accepted the Publisher role with a steely, silent determination that brooked no celebration. He was more remote than ever, his commands issued via email, his office door often closed. The staff tiptoed around him, the ghost of Isla Reid a palpable presence in the space she had once filled with such vibrant energy.
The empty desk in the features department was a constant, nagging reminder. It wasn't just a vacant workstation; it was a void where bold ideas and challenging questions used to live. The "urban architecture" spread was being hailed as a classic, the beauty box project was launching to industry buzz, and every success felt like a monument to the editor who was no longer there.
Luca found himself staring at the empty space, his coffee cooling in his hand. He’d look up, instinctually, to catch her eye aftera successful meeting, only to be met with the blank monitor of a stranger. The late nights were the worst. The office would empty, and the silence would press in, devoid of the soft tap of her keyboard, the scent of her perfume, the shared, unspoken understanding that had made the work feel like a joint mission.
He’d received her formal resignation letter from HR. The language was flawless, professional, and it had felt like a knife to the heart. He had honoured her wish for distance, building a wall around himself so high and so thick that he feared he might never find his way out.
One evening, a week after she’d left, he stood at her old desk. He ran a hand over its clean, empty surface. He remembered her there, flushed with passion, defending a risky idea, her eyes alight with a fire that had, for a glorious few months, ignited his own.
He had the crown. The publisher's office was his. He had the authority, the title, the unquestioned control he had always fought for.
And it felt like ash.
The empty desk wasn't just a space where an employee used to sit. It was the shape of everything he had lost. He had chosen the fortress, and in doing so, had exiled the only person who had ever made him feel like a king, and not just its lonely, isolated guardian.
Chapter 17:
The September Issue
The September Issue hit the stands. It was Luca’s first as Publisher, and it was a masterpiece. A triumph of commerce and art, perfectly balanced. The covers—there were three—were iconic. The features were sharp, the photography breathtaking. The industry reviews were rapturous, calling it "a new zenith for Chroma," and "Thorne's undeniable magnum opus."
