But Adriana doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes linger on me for a second longer, as if she can see straight through the walls I’ve built.
I don’t give her the chance to ask more.
By the time we reach the office, I’ve locked everything back into place. I bury myself in work—campaign briefs, proposals, reports. Numbers are easier than feelings. Deadlines easier than ghosts.
By late afternoon, my tasks are done ahead of schedule. I close my laptop, gather my things. Adriana stretches, glancing up.
“Ready to call it a day?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
We head out together. Greg barely waves from another call. The evening air is cooler, softer as we step into the street. At the corner, Adriana pauses, phone in hand.
“I’ll grab an Uber to the hotel. You coming?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I need some fresh air.”
She nods, understanding, and I turn toward the lakefront.
I need this walk.
More than I’d admit.
* * *
The streets hum softly in the early evening, the city buzzing but distant—like background noise I can almost ignore.
I walk aimlessly until Buckingham Fountain comes into view, its arcs of water glowing under the setting sun. A faint rainbow shimmers in the mist—brief, delicate, almost unreal.
I’ve always loved this place.
Maybe because it reminded me of a picture from an old album I had as a child—its cover worn, the fountain framed by The Red skyscraper and the distant John Hancock building. I didn’t know where that picture was back then. But when I first saw it in person, it felt like a sign.
Like I was meant to end up here.
Now, sitting on a bench, letting the breeze cool my skin, all I feel is the weight of him.
I can’t escape Dorian.
His words echo in my chest.
“It reminded me of you… dancing, laughing… loving me.”
I grit my teeth, shaking my head.
Why now? Why does he care?
He let Leah crawl back into his life. He broke the promises we made. He never came back for me.
And yet here he is—acting like he has any right to ask questions, to pry into wounds he helped carve open.
I’ve worked so hard to lock everything away—every memory, every scar, every foolish hope that once burned too bright. To not wait for him anymore – every holiday, every birthday, every night when the nightmare was too much to bear.
I can’t let him in again.
If I let myself hope… I won’t survive a second time.
A laugh pulls me back. I look up and see a bride twirling, her white dress swirling, her veil catching the wind.
