It echoed—low and mocking—until it drowned out everything else.
The rest of the day blurred.
Meetings.
Calls.
Signatures.
None of it landed. My body moved on autopilot while my mind stayed trapped on one loop: Emma’s voice, cool and distant, slicing through the line like she didn’t know me anymore.
By noon, I’d snapped at two analysts.
By three, I’d forgotten food existed.
By four-thirty, I’d reread our last text exchange like it was scripture.
At 5:01 p.m., I stopped pretending. I grabbed the first cab in sight, handed the driver double, and told him not to stop unless the road was on fire.
The skyline smeared past, gold bleeding into shadow. Guilt churned under my ribs, restless and relentless.
Her silence had carved a hole straight through me.
When the cab finally slid to a stop outside her building, the sun had already drowned behind the towers. Her apartment glowed faint and warm—a lighthouse in the dark.
I exhaled hard, raking a hand through my hair before stepping into the bite of the evening air. It cooled nothing. Not the heat in my blood. Not the coil of anxiety pulling tight in my gut.
The elevator ride lasted forever—each floor ticking upward like punishment.
And then the doors opened.
She was there.
Leaning against the moody floral wallpaper.
Arms crossed.
Expression chilled and unreadable.
Every inch the queen of her domain.
I opened my mouth—
But she didn’t let me speak.
“Tell me about your past relationships, Damien.”
The world tilted.
“What?” The word caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. A cold drop slid down my spine.
She angled her head, slow and deliberate. “You heard me.”
My stomach dropped.
Faces flashed—ones I never wanted in the same universe as her. A part of me she’d never understand.
I shook my head. “Emma—”
