I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder, moving through the hallway toward the bus.
The truth is that tonight wasn’t about the loss.
It was about the fact that for the first time in years, I’m not entirely convinced that walking away was the stronger move.
And that uncertainty feels more dangerous than any opponent I’ve ever faced on the ice.
Chapter Thirty-One
NATALIA
It’s been four days since I left Seattle, and Luka’s expression told me he wasn’t willing to try anymore.
The lobby of Legacy PR smells like citrus cleaner and expensive perfume, and I used to think that smell meant belonging and stability. Now it feels like walking into a version of my life that doesn’t fit me anymore.
I adjust my laptop bag over my shoulder again, busying my hands. A few heads turn as I pass reception. It’s subtle, but I catch it anyway.
I’m no longer the agent whose successful career turned into a dumpster fire after my last account went up in flames.
I’m the woman who handled Popovich, and my legacy is now restored. The woman who turned a global mess into a win thatmade investors happy. It’s validation that I'm good at what I do—proof. The problem is, it feels empty and worthless now. None of them know what that restoration cost me.
It cost me Luka.
I walk down the hall and see Molly walking towards me with a stack of files. She’s probably walking over to scan in. She smiles and then whispers,"You’ve got this,"with a wink as we pass each other. But it doesn’t feel like I got this.
Every step feels oddly quiet inside my own head. Not like a calming feeling, or a numbness. I feel almost detached from this entire moment.
The assistant outside the conference room barely looks up. "They’re ready for you."
I push open the door.
Gabriella sits at the head of the table, tablet in front of her, coffee untouched. She’s dressed the way she always is—like she was born negotiating power. Carey sits to her right, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed, mouth curved in that faint, satisfied way that makes my skin want to crawl.
Carey looks like a woman on her way to an award ceremony.
And in a sense, she is. Her firm must be delighted with what she accomplished here… rather, what I accomplished.
"Natalia. Welcome back," Gabriella says, glancing up quickly and then back to her tablet. "Take a seat."
I take the chair opposite them, setting my laptop bag down carefully, even though I don’t plan on opening it. I’ve sat in rooms like this my entire career, waiting for someone in charge to tell me whether I’m worth keeping. Whether I hold any value for them. Not unlike what my father did twenty-four years ago.
Gabriella doesn’t waste time.
"First," she says, "I want to be clear. I did not want the Popovich account."
Carey’s eyes flick to me, her eyebrows lifting quickly, and then a small smirk graces her face, as if she and I pulled something off. The last emotion I feel for her is camaraderie.
Gabriella continues, "You and Carey went against my recommendation. You took the risk, and if it had gone sideways, you would have owned the fallout."
I nod once. "Yes."
"And yet," Gabriella says, tapping her tablet, "our investors are thrilled."
She turns the tablet slightly so I can see the graph, but I barely register the numbers. Revenue spikes. Brand engagement. Growth projections. Charts that look like triumph.
Gabriella’s gaze stays on me. "Randolph called me personally."
My stomach tightens.
