The man whose approval could save my company. Or doom it.
The man I’d trusted in the dark for nearly two months without ever seeing his face.
The man who’d shaken my hand yesterday and said nothing.
Read.
The realization hit with brutal clarity. The low jazz dissolved into static. The room thinned until only he existed—him and the wreckage in my chest.
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched me with an expression caught somewhere between shock and regret.
“I can’t…” My voice broke, a raw scrape. “This can’t be happening.”
The chair screeched backward as I pushed away from the table. The sound tore through the restaurant, through whatever composure I’d managed to bring with me. The wineglass rocked from the motion, a small wobble. I reached for it, but missed, my fingers brushing uselessly against the stem. The glass toppledand shattered, red spilling across the table in a deep, widening stain.
“Emma—wait.”
His tone carried none of the restraint I knew from the conference call, from yesterday’s meeting. It was unguarded, urgent, all pretense stripped away. He took one step toward me, then stopped.
“Please,” he begged. “Sit down. Let me explain.”
“Explain?” The word cracked out of me, sharp enough to draw the attention of the nearest tables. I dropped my voice before it could carry. “Tell me how long you’ve known who I was.”
Color drained from his face, panic settling in the small, telling shifts he couldn’t mask.
“Emma…” he tried again, the sound slipping out too fast, too unsteady to hide the panic underneath.
The voice inside rose triumphant.We told you. Liar. Using you. All of it a game.
Every old wound split open. The boy who never showed for prom. My father’s house where love was rationed like oxygen. The middle school laughter.
All of it collapsed into this moment—this betrayal—until fury and hurt blurred together, indistinguishable and relentless.
I was moving before thought caught up. Through the aisle, past the tables, past the flicker of candles and curious eyes. The room roared, bending at the edges.
“Ma’am?” The hostess called after me. “Is everything al—”
No,the voices hissed, gleeful.
The exit glowed ahead. My vision tunneled. My breath stuttered like I’d been dropped underwater.
Five things I can see,I heard myself think.
Wine bottles. Candles. People. Cars.
And—
Him.
His reflection wavered in the glass behind me, all the fight drained from him.
Something cracked in my chest, a fissure running deep.
Four I can touch.
The brass handle under my palm—cool, steady.
The back of my other hand, dabbing away tears I refused to let fall.
