At my desk.
Stay there.
Five minutes later, Dylan appears in my office doorway. The few days apart have left their mark on both of us—the shadows under his eyes match mine, his usually perfect tie is slightly askew, and there's a tension in his shoulders that speaks ofsleepless nights. But he's here, and the relief that floods through me at seeing him is overwhelming.
"Conference room," he says quietly, and I follow him down the hall, hyperaware of the curious glances from my colleagues.
Dylan closes the door carefully, then turns to face me. We stand on opposite sides of the conference table, the polished wood between us feeling like an ocean. He looks tired, worried, and something else. Hurt, maybe, though he's trying to hide it.
"We're making the restraining order—"
"Dylan." His name comes out softer than I intended, and he stops mid-sentence. "I'm sorry."
The words tumble out before I can stop them, days of doubt, fear, and loneliness crashing over me.
"I shouldn't have shut you out." My voice cracks, but I push through. "You were right. Iwasrunning."
Something shifts in his expression, the professional mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. He exhales slowly, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.
"I shouldn't have said it like that. Using Oliver's words against you wasn't fair."
But I shake my head, moving around the table toward him. "No. I needed to hear it. I was so scared of being the reason you lost everything that I was about to become the reason you lost me."
We're closer now, close enough that I can smell his enticing citrus and wood cologne, see the exhaustion written in every line of his face.
"These past few days have been hell," he admits quietly. "Watching you pull away, seeing you in meetings and not being able to—" He stops himself, runs a hand through his hair. "The board called another meeting. They're putting pressure on me to transfer you or—"
"Or?"
"Or they'll call for a vote of no confidence in my leadership."
I gasp. This is exactly what I was afraid of, exactly why I asked for space. "Dylan, you can't!"
"Listen to me." He takes my hands, and the contact after just a few days apart sends electricity through my entire body. His gray eyes are intense, determined. "We will fight for this. For us. Together. Not me protecting you or you protecting me. As partners."
The words settle into my chest, warm and overwhelming.
"I can push back against the board. I can use every bit of authority I have as CEO to make them see reason. And I will."
Partners.The word resonates through me, rewriting every assumption I've held about relationships. Not rescuer and rescued. Not strong and weak. Just two people choosing to stand together against whatever comes.
"Okay, I’m with you," I agree softly, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe properly.
Dylan's relief is visible, his hands squeezing mine gently. We stand there for a moment, just existing in the same space, relearning each other's presence. Then my phone buzzes again.
Another unknown number. Another message. My stomach drops as I read it.
I'll be at the coffee shop tomorrow at 2 pm. I know you want closure too. Please, Avery. One conversation. Then I'll leave you alone forever.
Dylan goes rigid as he reads over my shoulder. "Absolutely not. We're going straight to the police."
"I think I need to do this."
The words surprise both of us. Dylan pulls back to look at me, disbelief written across his face.
"Avery, you don't have to—"
"Not for him," I interrupt, feeling something solidify in my chest. "For me. I need to close that door completely before I can fully walk through this one with you."
