I press my free hand against the glass, needing something solid. Manhattan stretches beneath me—steel and motion—and yet the world seems suddenly very far away.
“I—thank you,” I say, though it comes out weakly. “That’s…quite unexpected.”
“I understand,” she says kindly. “It is short notice, and I imagine you’ll need some time to think. You don’t have to decide right away. We can hold the offer until next week—say, the twenty-first?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“In the meantime, I’ll be sending over a full packet by email—details about the London rotation, relocation support, and the employment terms. We want to make sure you have everything you need to make an informed decision.”
“Of course,” I murmur. My voice feels detached from me. I thank her again, take down her contact details, promise to review the packet. She’s professional, warm, and then she’s gone—the line cutting to silence.
For a long moment, I just stand there staring out at the city.
The dream that I’d quietly buried has suddenly been resurrected. It is the opportunity I’ve been working toward since I first set foot in Halford—the brass ring everyone reached for and few ever touched. When I was informed that I’d been waitlisted, I took it for the polite rejection it was. A way of sayingalmost, but not quite.I made peace with it, told myself that my life was already taking shape in another direction.
And yet, here it is again, reaching for me.
My reflection stares back in the window—a woman who should be thrilled. And I am, somewhere beneath the shock. But threaded through the elation is something else: the awareness that this offer, this second chance, is the one thing that could change everything.
TWENTY-SEVEN
nathaniel
Everything is falling into place.
It’s an unfamiliar sensation. After all, control has always been something I wrenched into existence, a tension held tight in my hands. But now it settles over me like inevitability, like gravity finally doing its work.
For months I have pushed against resistance, forcing the world to bend around us, and now the pieces have begun to align of their own accord, as though the universe has conceded at last.
Olivia knows the truth of what I’ve done and, astonishingly, still chooses me. She has not only forgiven me, she has accepted and claimed me in return, making my obsession her own. She has taken the thing that once made me monstrous and made it mutual. There is symmetry now.Equilibrium. A balance I never thought I deserved.
During my mother’s birthday weekend, she proved what I already knew, that she can walk into any room, any tier of society, and make it hers without effort. And now, thanks to my father, she has stepped inside Caldwell Ventures—the one part of my world that I haven’t yet been able to share with her—and she is thriving.
Logically, it should be enough to ensure that after graduation, her path leads inevitably to Manhattan, that the geography of her future contains me at its center. But unsurprisingly, I’ve started to cravemore.
My father’s invitation planted a new seed.Why stop at the same city when she could share my orbit entirely?I picture it easily: mornings side by side, our offices divided by glass instead of miles, her schedule mirroring mine, the same late nights, the same rhythm. The thought is intoxicating.Partnership, I tell myself, not possession. We’ve already proven we work well together; at Halford I arranged our classes so we never spent a day apart, and we both excelled. There is no reason life beyond the university should be any different.
The past forty-eight hours have rewarded me more than I expected.
Watching Olivia find her footing in that office has been a kind of quiet rapture. At first, she was cautious, taking cues, measuring every word. But then she began to speak, to challenge, to illuminate the spaces between ideas, and I saw the shift in the room—the subtle recalibration that happens when intellect announces itself.
My colleagues looked at her differently by the end of that first meeting. My father took note, but I noticed most of all. The pride that rises in me when she succeeds feels almost dangerous, because it is pride laced with possession.My brilliant girl.I’ve always known she was my equal, the only one whose mind could match the velocity of mine.
When my father suggested I give her space, I surprised us both by agreeing. He took it as maturity, but I knew it for what it was: opportunity.
I told myself it would be good for her, that it would demonstrate trust. The truth is simpler. I needed time. Distance creates room for design, and I have plans that require precision.
The first proposal was reckless, born of impulse rather than strategy, and while she didn’t say no—she didn’t say yes either. Since then, the idea has lived under my skin like a splinter.
Now, with everything aligning—her forgiveness, our restored closeness, my parents’ reinforced approval—it feels inevitable.
This time I won’t let emotion set the terms. I will orchestrate the moment deliberately, immaculately, seamlessly—leaving no room for error. Or refusal.
It was almost amusing to think that my father’s attempt to loosen my grip has given me the very space I needed to tighten it. For once, his advice served me.
Thus, after lunch with Olivia and my father, I found myself on my way to see my mother.
If there is one person on earth who understands how to construct a moment that cannot be declined, it is Renée Caldwell. She is a master of spectacle and sentiment, a woman who can orchestrate desire as if it were an event.
