No.
“Yes,” I forced out. “I just… remembered something.”
Before she could ask anything else, I grabbed my jacket, yanked the hood up, and headed for the elevator.
“Do you want me to tell Damien you left?” she called after me.
“No,” I said too quickly. “I’ll text him.”
But I didn’t.
The elevator doors slid shut around me.
Hands shaking.
Breath tight.
Anger simmering—misdirected and aimless, but vicious.
Angry at him for not telling me.
Angry at Ava for dangling half-answers.
Angry at myself for caring enough to spiral.
By the time the elevator reached the lobby, the truth thudded through me: I had been ready to commit.
Ready to risk it.
But one unanswered question, one bruise pressed the wrong way, one shadow from his past, and the ground disappeared beneath me.
The doors opened.
I stepped out.
I wasn’t going back up tonight.
And I wasn’t telling him why.
Not yet.
Not until I figured out whether this fear was real or just another old voice masquerading as the truth.
Chapter 28
***
Emma
“Good morning,” I greeted Harold, tighter than intended—nerves for the meeting tangling with too many unanswered questions.
Damien had called eight times.
Texted a dozen.
The progression had been painfully clear—concern, worry, confusion, then something close to panic.
I’d thrown him the only lifeline I could manage: I’m fine.
