I don’t stop moving. I can’t. I push into the private bathroom and twist the lock, the click final and merciful.
The mirror meets me head-on. Horns curving back, shoulders too broad, a jaw like quarried stone. Power. CEO. Force of nature. None of it feels like armor right now.
How could I have been so naïve?
I grip the sink until the porcelain creaks beneath my palms. My eyes burn, and I try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t work. The tears come anyway, hot and humiliating. My father always said, “Boys don’t cry.” Certainly not in this building. And certainly not over this. Not over love.
And yet.
It isn’t the lie that broke me. Not really. It’s what the lie means. Jamie didn’t trust me enough to tell me who he was. He thought he needed to pretend. A disguise, a role, a trick to stand by my side.
Worse—he clearly didn’t think I was enough as I am. Am I too much to be wanted with honesty? With truth?
I shake my head, a low growl coming out as I grab a tissue.
There’s a knock. Gentle, hesitant.
“Magnus?” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the door.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing him away.
Another knock, firmer this time. “Please. Just let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I say, though my voice betrays me, raw around the edges.
“Yes, there is.” His tone trembles but pushes through. “I never meant?—”
“You never meant to lie?” My laugh is jagged. “Never meant to make me think I mattered to you beyond—what? A fling with the CEO? A romp with a Minotaur? A story to tell your friends?” I wipe a tear from my cheek. “And after everything I told you.”
“That’s not it.” His words tumble over themselves. “You matter. You’re everything to me, Magnus, I just?—”
I slam my hand flat against the door, the wood rattling. I sense him flinch in the quick scrape of his shoes.
“You didn’t think I was enough,” I rasp, and this time the quietness is worse than shouting. “If you had, you’d have been honest.”
Silence. For a long moment, all I hear is his breathing on the other side, meager and shaky.
“I do. I always have.” His voice is just above a whisper, but it penetrates the door, the bathroom, my soul. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”
The ache in my chest nearly pulls me toward the handle. If I open it, I’ll forgive him. I’ll let him spin his words around me, let myself believe. And then what? When he lies again? When he decides I’m not worth the trouble?
“Go, Jamie.” I make my voice cold, flat. “Just… go.”
A pause, small and sharp, like glass giving way.
“Mags, please.”
His nickname twists like a knife in my chest.
And then footsteps away, growing softer until there’s only silence.
I stay there, horns pressed to the door, until I’m sure he’s gone.
The hours crawl. I try to work, writing notes about the campaign, clicking through emails. Words blur. Numbers don’t add up. Every corner of this office is haunted. His laughter in that chair. His ridiculous doodles on my calendar. The way my fingers smelled like peppermint after playing with his hair. The way he’d lean in, elbow on the desk, eyes bright with mischief, like the world existed only for the next stolen kiss.
I bury my face in my hands. His scent lingers in the room, warm and maddening.
“Sir?” Judy’s voice filters through the door again, softer this time. “Everyone’s gone home. Can I get you anything before I go?”
