She stepped back, her breath ragged and chest tight with pain and resolve, knowing deep down that she’d finally reached her breaking point.
It was nearly midnight when Sloane found herself standing outside Catherine’s condo, the rain-soaked streets shimmering under the glow of streetlights. The building was sleek, modern, and austere, an architecture that perfectly matched Catherine herself. She exhaled sharply, her breath misting in the cool night air and her heart racing with a potent mixture of anxiety and determination.
She had told herself a thousand times she wouldn’t do this again—show up uninvited, heart in hand, begging Catherine to see her. Yet here she was. Because deep down, beneath the layers of frustration and hurt, Sloane still hoped Catherine would finally meet her halfway.
She pressed the intercom, heard the buzz ring through the silent lobby, and waited. Seconds stretched, felt like hours, before Catherine’s clipped voice finally came through.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Sloane answered softly. “Let me up, Catherine. We need to talk.”
There was another long pause, the silence thick enough that Sloane wondered if Catherine would turn her away. But then, the door buzzed quietly, unlocking. Sloane pushed through, her heart hammering against her ribs.
When she reached Catherine’s door, it was already cracked open slightly, waiting for her arrival. Sloane stepped inside carefully, closing the door quietly behind her. Catherine stood across the room, her arms crossed protectively over her chest and posture rigid with tension. Her gaze was sharp, wary, and guarded, but underneath it, Sloane could see the faint tremble of vulnerability.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Catherine said, her voice strained, colder than Sloane had expected.
Sloane held her ground, refusing to retreat. “I had to. You left me no choice.”
Catherine exhaled a sharp breath, her eyes flashing with irritation and discomfort. “I told you?—”
“I know what you told me,” Sloane interrupted. “But I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of it.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed slightly, something raw flickering behind her careful mask. “Why not? What’s so hard to understand about this, Sloane? We tried. It didn’t work.”
“We didn’t try,” Sloane said fiercely, taking a step closer. “You ran. Every single time we got close to something real, you bolted. But I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not letting you pretend you don’t feel this.”
Catherine’s jaw tightened, her eyes glittering with anger and something softer, something terrified beneath the surface. “You don’t get it. It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” Sloane said quietly, her voice low and aching. “Because it comes down to one thing: Do you love me?”
The room felt suddenly too small, too tight, the air crackling with intensity. Catherine visibly flinched at the question, her eyes dropping to the floor.
“Sloane…”
“Answer me,” Sloane pressed, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “If you don’t love me, tell me now. Look at me and tell me you feel nothing.”
Catherine lifted her gaze slowly, her eyes wide and haunted. “You know I can’t say that.”
Sloane took another step, standing close enough now that she could see every flicker of pain and fear reflected in Catherine’s eyes. “Then tell me the truth. Tell me you love me.”
Catherine shook her head slowly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “It’s not about love, Sloane. It’s never been about love.”
“Then what is it about?” Sloane demanded, her own voice breaking with the weight of everything unspoken between them. “Why won’t you let yourself have this?”
Catherine’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. “You don’t understand what I’ve had to give up just to survive.”
“Then tell me,” Sloane pleaded softly. “Let me in, Catherine. Just once, let me share this burden.”
Catherine turned away sharply, pacing to the window, staring out at the city below. “You can’t help. You can’t fix this.”
“Maybe not,” Sloane admitted, her voice thick with emotion, “but I’m here. Isn’t that worth something?”
Catherine turned back abruptly, pain etched deeply into her expression. “You don’t know what you’re asking. I’ve spent my entire life building this armor, this shield. I’ve given everything I have to my work, to uphold a legacy, and every time I let someone close—” Her voice broke sharply. “I lose something.”
Sloane’s chest ached fiercely, compassion warring with her frustration. She took a deep, shaking breath. “And if you lose me instead? Does that matter at all?”
Catherine’s expression faltered, raw anguish flashing clearly across her features. “Of course it matters,” she said brokenly.“But how can I promise you something I’ve never been able to keep?”
