Not anymore.
I swallowed against the ache in my throat, forcing my voice to hold steady.“Either learn or let me go.”
His head snapped up, his jaw ticking, his breathing harsh.“I can’t promise you more than this.”
“Then this is no longer enough for me.”
The silence between us was thick, stretching, curling around us like a vice.He stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time—not as the woman waiting for him, but as the one willing to walk away if he let her.
And then—he moved.
Not toward me.
Away.
My heart fractured as he turned, his strides measured but filled with the kind of hesitation that told me he wanted to stay.That he wanted to say something.But he didn’t.
He reached the door.Paused.But never looked back.And then—he was gone.
The air in the room collapsed around me, crushing, suffocating.I braced myself against the desk, forcing a breath past the searing pain in my chest.
This was it.
For the first time, I wasn’t sure if Creed would come back.And maybe—for the first time—I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
* * *
THE PARKING GARAGEwas quiet in the way only executive floors ever were—polished concrete, muted lighting, the faint hum of the building settling into its Monday rhythm.Everything here was designed to absorb sound, to keep movement discreet, controlled.Even the silence felt curated.
I eased my car down the ramp, tires whispering over concrete, the faint scent of chlorine and cotton candy still clinging to my coat from the weekend.It lingered stubbornly, sweet, and artificial and out of place here.A reminder that I hadn’t come straight from silence.
Great Wolf Lodge had been loud.Chaotic.Sticky.Exhausting.
And exactly what I’d needed.
Two days of water slides, shrieking laughter, and sticky fingers in mine had scrubbed something raw out of my chest.It hadn’t erased anything, but it had reset me.Recentered me.Reminded me who I was when I wasn’t bracing for impact, when my nervous system wasn’t aligned to anticipate a man entering a room.
I turned the corner toward my assigned parking spot and stopped with my foot on the brake.
Creed was already there.
Standing beside his car.Engine off.Door closed.Briefcase resting on the hood like he’d set it down deliberately, knowing he’d need both hands free.
He hadn’t just arrived.
He’d been waiting.
The realization didn’t spike my pulse the way it once would have.It settled instead—heavy, deliberate.A fact, not a threat.
I pulled into my space, cut the engine, and stepped out, the sound of my door echoing too loudly in the stillness.The click reverberated between us, sharp and final.
Beneath a wool coat, his white shirt was open at the collar.No tie.No jacket buttoned.Composed, unhurried, eyes already sharp on me the second I exited my vehicle.
“Good morning,” he said.
Not an apology for Friday.
A declaration of normalcy he hadn’t earned.
