I locked my car calmly.The deliberate click felt like punctuation.“It is.”
Creed straightened, stepping into my periphery without crowding me.He didn’t need to invade space to command it.He never had.
“You didn’t answer my calls.”
“I was busy,” I said, sliding my laptop bag onto my shoulder.
“With what?”
I turned to face him fully.“With my life.”
Something flickered in his eyes—not anger.Assessment.The reflex of a man who reorganized the world the moment it slipped from his control.Then it was gone, sealed behind calculation.
“You disappeared all weekend,” he said evenly.“No explanation.”
“I don’t owe you one.”
Silence dropped between us, dense and deliberate.The kind of silence he used to weaponize.This time, it belonged to me.
“You’re acting different,” he observed.
I almost smiled.“I spent the weekend with my girls.No phones.Just fun.”
His jaw tightened—not jealousy.Recognition.As if he understood, on some level, exactly what kind of power that held.
“And?”he prompted.
“And I remembered what it feels like not to brace myself every time someone walks into the room.”
That landed.I felt it in the subtle shift of his stance, the way his shoulders squared as if against impact.
He stepped closer, stopping at a distance that respected exactly how much ground I’d claimed.
“I don’t chase,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I replied.“You wait.You let people orbit you until they forget where they started.”
His mouth curved—not quite a smile.More truth than amusement.“You never orbited.”
“No,” I said.“I met you wherever you stood.And that’s the problem.”
His gaze sharpened.“Say what you mean.”
“I mean I won’t be pulled into your gravity anymore.”
A beat passed.Then another.
“You’re asking me to choose,” he said.
“I’m not asking,” I replied.“I already decided.”
I stepped past him, feeling the air shift as I broke the line between us.
“Peyton,” he said, low and deliberate.
I stopped.Turned just enough to meet his gaze.
“When you come back,” he said, “it won’t be because—”
