I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But I can’t move from the wall, too scared to step closer to him, too terrified to let myself hope again. “How do I know you won’t leave again?” I whisper. “How do I know I’m enough this time?”
The office door opens, and Cameron Walsh walks in like he owns the place. His gray hair looks perfect, his suit crisp even this late. His shoes click on the floor as he sets his leather briefcase on Zayn’s desk.
“Zayn,” he says, barely looking at me or the papers scattered everywhere. “Good, you’re still here. We need to talk.”
Zayn keeps his eyes on me. “Not now, Cameron.”
“You’ll want to hear this.” His smile reveals perfect teeth but zero warmth. “The partners were extremely impressed with how you handled this small-town preservation case. Demonstrates you’ve got the versatility we value.”
My heart sinks as Cameron keeps talking in his smooth, rich voice.
“We want you in New York. Starting as full partner, twice your current pay, corner office overlooking Central Park. This is the final offer.” He delivers it casually, like he’s discussing the weather rather than someone’s entire future. “This is your opportunity, son. You could be senior partner within five years. Maybe sooner with your talent.”
Zayn still won’t look at Cameron. He stares at me instead, his eyes desperate like he’s trying to communicate something important, pleading silently.
But all I can hear is roaring in my ears. New York. Double the salary. Full partner. Everything he’s always wanted, everything he was groomed for.
It’s happening again, except worse this time because I actually let myself hope. This time I let myself kiss him back. This time I felt what it would be like to have him again, and now I have to lose him twice.
“I need to go,” I whisper, reaching for my purse. My hands are shaking so much that I drop it and have to pick it up again.
“Sophie, wait—” Zayn steps toward me.
“Don’t.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “I can’t do this again. I can’t stand here and watch you choose something else over me again.”
Tears blur my vision as I push past Cameron, who steps aside with a slight smirk, like I’m merely an inconvenience. I flee down the bright hallway—running from Zayn calling my name, running from the agony of never being enough, running from the crushing knowledge that some stories just don’t get happy endings, no matter how desperately you try to rewrite them.
CHAPTER 18
Shattered Illusions
The buttery smell of popcorn fills the apartment as Harper pours it into our oversized blue bowl. Our living room looks extra cozy tonight—string lights draped along the walls, candles flickering on the coffee table, pizza boxes stacked on the counter. I’m curled up on the couch under my fuzziest blanket, phone face-down beside me. I’ve checked it seventeen times in the last hour despite repeatedly swearing I won’t look again. Seventeen checks, and I still can’t force myself to read Zayn’s texts or listen to his voicemails.
“Die Hard is the best,” Harper announces, brandishing the DVD case like a trophy. Her red hair is piled in a messy bun that somehow still looks intentional. “Action, suspense, and a barefoot hero saving everyone. Peak cinema.”
Sara rolls her eyes, holding up her counter-offer. “Completely wrong energy for tonight. We need something fun. The Princess Bride has romance, comedy, and sword fights.”
“Soph? Tiebreaker?” Harper looks at me, waiting.
I snap back to attention, realizing I’ve been staring at nothing. My hand drifts toward my phone but stops midway. “Hmm? Oh, either’s fine.”
Harper and Sara exchange a loaded glance across the coffee table. I pretend not to notice. It’s the third time tonight they’ve had their silent “Sophie’s falling apart” conversation right in front of me.
“You always have an opinion,” Sara says carefully, gesturing to the stack. “Don’t you usually lobby hard for those book adaptations?”
I shrug, forcing brightness into my voice. “I’m good with whatever tonight.”
Harper snorts. “Right. Last month you made us watch The Proposal three times because, and I quote, ‘Ryan Reynolds is hot enough to watch three times.’”
Mia pads over from her bed, nails clicking softly on hardwood. She stops at my feet and gazes up with those soulful brown eyes that always know when I’m hurting. I scratch behind her ears, grateful for the distraction.
“I’ve got an idea,” Sara says, brightening. “Let’s let Mia decide!”
“Dog movie roulette?” Harper grins. “I’m in.”
It’s our standard tie-breaking method. Sara places three dog treats on three DVD cases on the floor. I watch Mia assess each option, tail wagging slightly.
“Go ahead, girl,” I murmur, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
