I open my messages and type before I can talk myself out of it:
Matilda: Saw the article. Congratulations on the nomination.
I stare at the screen. One minute. Two. Nothing.
Of course not. He won’t reply. Why would he? We don’t text. Ever. Not outside work. And especially not afterFriday.God, what if he thinks I’m trying to push some boundary after everything that happened?
Then my phone chimes.
Henry: Thanks. Couldn’t do it without you.
I blink. Once. Twice. Twenty times. My heart does this ridiculous race-and-stumble rhythm as the words sink in.
Couldn’t do it without you.
A smile — completely uncontrollable — spreads across my face.
No, no, no. The giddiness bubbling in my chest needs tostop.I cannot be getting butterflies over Henry Chase.
Absolutely not.
Six
Henry
Despite the late night, I’m at the gym by six a.m. Nothing clears my head better than exercise. The sound of my feet pounding the treadmill, my lungs burning, heart straining to feed my muscles—there’s something about it that forces everything else to quiet.
With my mind in overdrive from the article going live—and that stupid text I sent Matilda—I need the distraction. I don’t even know why I sent it. I guess I got caught up in the moment. The Royal Institute of British Architects had just called to tell me I’d been nominated, and then an hour later, the article dropped. I was still on that high when Matilda messaged her congratulations.
And I really did mean what I said. I couldn’t have done half of what I’ve achieved in the last four years without her. But putting it that honestly, in a text? That’s not me. My usual black heartmust have cracked open for a second before sealing itself up again, restoring the world back to its normal, safe, detached axis.
After the gym, I head home to work through the new case requests Matilda sent Friday night. I like to start the week ahead of schedule—gives me less time to think. But the moment her name pops up in my inbox, I’m reminded of Friday night.
That stupid, blurred moment when I nearly kissed her.
What the hell was I thinking? She’s—Matilda. I don’t think about her like that. Ishouldn’t. Except, apparently, I do. Because I can’t stop replaying the image of her in those red heels, matching lips, and the way her eyes widened when she thought I was going to close the distance between us. That look nearly undid me.
I shake my head, scowling at my laptop. Monday we’ll go back to normal. Strictly business. No blurred lines. I can’t have her thinking I’m crossing any boundaries. Besides, I can’t afford to lose her—not at this stage of my career. It’d take months to find another assistant half as competent.
I finish my work earlier than usual, which is a curse in disguise. Idle time is dangerous—it leaves me alone with my thoughts. I try calling Jas, but she’s working tonight. She’s one of the few people I can actually bear to be around these days.
Jas and I have been friends since Year Seven. Some girls were giving her grief in maths, and she ended up sitting next to me. I didn’t even like people back then, but something about her needed protecting. We’ve been close ever since. She’s beautiful, yeah, but she’s family. And at that point in my life, family was something I desperately needed.
I scroll through Facebook, numbly flicking past memes. Cat memes—why are there so many cat memes? I don’t get it. Show me a decent dog photo, maybe I’ll give it a like. Otherwise, no. The rest of my feed is flooded with engagement announcements and baby pictures. Everyone looks so damn happy.
I sigh, drop my phone onto the sofa, and decide it’s a takeaway-and-Star-Wars kind of night. Again.
Just as I cue upThe Rise of Skywalkerfor the hundredth time, my phone buzzes. My dad’s home number flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Dad. I was just loading upStar Warsagain—you know, the one you don’t like.” He’s the one who introduced me to it when I was six. Been hooked ever since.
There’s a muffled noise. Then a crash.
“Dad? Are you okay?” Panic prickles at the back of my neck. There’s a strange, gasping sound in the background. “Dad!”
“Son.” His voice is ragged, weak.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
