Mom squeezes my hand, her gentle pressure anchoring me in the storm of my thoughts. “Take some time to decide what you really want. Not what you think you should do or what’s expected of you, but what you want in your heart. Let that be your guiding light.”
Now in my childhood bedroom, I pace restlessly, energy buzzing through my limbs with nowhere to go. The suspension from Lanter Bridge sits like acid in my stomach, burning and corrosive. How could Judy not see through Tim and Amanda’s scheme? The injustice of it all makes my blood boil.
When I close my eyes, I see Jake’s face—not the man I know today, but the boy with sun-kissed skin who used to braid dandelions into my hair during lazy summer afternoons.
I pull out the box that contains the remnants of us. The photos I buried feel different in my hands now. Frozen in time, his smile aimed at the camera is genuine and open, his arm slung casually around my shoulders. My hands shake slightly as I trace the outline of his face.
For four years, I convinced myself I’d moved on, that the ache in my chest whenever I thought of him was just phantom pain from an old wound. The truth is far simpler and freeing: I never got over Jake. I just got better at pretending I had.
Startled by a knock, I shove the photos under my pillow like I’m hiding contraband. “Coming!”
Mom stands in the doorway with a mug of tea steaming between her hands. “Thought you might need this.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, accepting the warm ceramic with both hands. “I think I’ve been lying to myself.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “About?”
“Everything. Jake. How I feel. What happened.” Even as I speak them, the words make me feel lighter. “I spent so much energy being angry at him that I never considered his side of the story.”
A day passes, then another. Dad tries to cheer me up with his terrible dad jokes, and I do my best to smile.
The past two days have been a constant journey through the murky waters of self-doubt. What if I’m not cut out for this? What if my dream job was just that—a dream? My career, the thing I’ve built my entire sense of self around, feels so fragile and uncertain.
I stare out the window at the rustling trees. Perhaps fresh air would help clear my head.
As I walk the familiar path down to the creek where Jake and I used to skip stones across the glassy surface, I imagine the life that could have been had we not broken up.
What could I do to still make that happen? The rushing water doesn’t offer any answers, but the sound soothes my frantic thoughts.
By the time the sun sets on the fourth day, I’ve worn a path in the carpet from my constant pacing. Today’s the day of the presentation. I hope everything goes well.
My phone buzzes with a text from Wendy:Tim stole our presentation! Where are you?She sends a photo of Tim’s slides that look like what we’ve been planning.
My hand flies to cover my mouth. So, this is what they’ve been up to all this time. All the hard work that Jake and Wendy and the others poured into this project…they will look like fools when Jake goes up there next and presents the same thing. My chest wrings as I think about it.
But then hot rage floods my veins. This was their plan all along—present first with stolen ideas and then frame Jake forplagiarism. They’ll probably implicate me too, painting me as the double agent who fed Jake information.
Suddenly, everything clicks into place with crystal clarity. Despite the risk to my already-precarious career at Lanter Bridge, I know what I have to do.
I don’t care that Judy suspended me—I’m going to that presentation.
Chapter 24
The black town car screeches to a halt outside The Old Maple Manor, a place so fancy it practically has dollar signs embedded in the brickwork and Judy Hawthorne considers it her second home. I step onto the bustling sidewalk and straighten my tie, watching my team spill out nervously behind me. Wendy’s fingers tap an erratic rhythm against her folder, and I don’t blame her one bit. Today is the culmination of countless caffeine-fueled all-nighters—our final presentation for the Étoile Perfumes campaign that could make or break careers, mine included.
Our footsteps echo across the gleaming marble floor as we enter the lobby. Chandeliers drip crystal tears overhead, catching light and splitting it into rainbow fragments that dance across polished surfaces.
Taking a steadying breath, I force my racing pulse to slow. Focus, Matthews. This moment is what all those sleepless nightswere for. We have to nail this. If we don’t… I shake off the thought. Neither place nor time for doubt.
The banquet hall stretches before us, pristine and imposing with its soaring ceilings and crisp white tablecloths. An enormous screen dominates the far wall, blank and waiting to showcase our work. Along one side sits a long table, meticulously arranged for Beatrice Castellano, the client whose approval we’re all desperate to win, and for Judy Hawthorne, the woman who holds our professional fates in her tiny hands.
Sarah should be standing here beside me. Her brilliant mind conceived our entire concept, yet she’s not here to receive credit for it, and that injustice sits heavy on my shoulders. My actions have caused her nothing but pain—first with our breakup and now with this mess at work. The least I can do is secure this promotion and remove myself from Maplewood Springs, giving her room to flourish under Judy’s guidance without me complicating things. No one has ever impressed me the way she does, her creativity and intelligence outshining everyone around her. She’s the most brilliant woman I know.
From across the stage, Tim’s eyes lock onto mine, his mouth curving into an irritating grin that I fully intend to wipe off once Beatrice sees what we’ve prepared. But Sarah’s warnings about sabotage make me anxious, and while I’d initially dismissed them, Tim’s track record of underhanded tactics makes me wary—especially his involvement in Sarah’s suspension. No chance in hell she’d use AI to generate images. Computers can’t match her creativity. She was set up, of that I’m sure. Whatever scheme he’s hatched, I’m confident Sarah’s concept will outshine anything he presents.
I shoot him a nasty grin of my own, and Tim strolls toward me like he owns the room. “Ready to lose today, Matthews?”
My posture straightens instinctively, muscles tensing beneath my tailored jacket. “Let the best man win.”
