It can’t.
That’s how three hours disappear.
Emails fly. Language sharpens. Timelines tighten.
And then—quietly—her side blinks.
Rebecca’s attorneys request a pause. Then a delay.
And then, they agree to file a voluntary dismissal.
As the meeting breaks, Brent claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll manage this,” he says quietly.
I nod.
When they finally let me go, it’s close to midnight. The building is half dark. The city outside the windows looks drained and quiet.
I drive home on autopilot.
The penthouse lights are low when I walk in.
A blanket is draped over the couch. One corner folded the way she always does it. An empty mug sits on the table, tea ring dried at the bottom. Her sheet music is stacked neatly on the ottoman, edges aligned.
She was here.
Waiting.
My chest tightens so hard it’s almost pain.
I step closer and see her curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow, lashes resting against her cheeks. She looks smaller like this. Unguarded.
I stand there longer than I should.
I want to wake her. Tell her everything. Tell her last night wasn’t a mistake. That I meant it. That I still do.
But the words feel heavy. Dangerous.
So I move quietly.
I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her shoulders. Tuck it in. Gentle. Careful.
I carry her mug to the sink. Rinse it. Set it to dry.
Then I go to my room alone.
The bed is cold.
And for the first time all day, the thing that hurts the most isn’t the headlines.
It’s the knowledge that she waited for me.
And I wasn’t there.
Chapter twenty-one
Lila
Iwake up warm.
