She lost. She lostme.
I will not miss her. I will not think about her. I will not wonder where she is or what she’s doing or whether she’s happy.
She doesn’t deserve my thoughts.
She never did.
I close my eyes.
She’ll be back.
She has to.
There’s nothing else out there for her.
And if she doesn’t come back—
No. She will.
She’ll find the world too loud, too dirty, and too difficult, and she’ll crawl back to the only place she belongs to.
She always did what I wanted.
I keep telling myself that until sleep takes me.
Chapter Sixteen: Julian
Idon’t expect the meeting.
The morning starts like any other. Coffee in the dark kitchen. The drive to work on autopilot. The office hums around me—keyboards clicking, voices murmuring, the ordinary sounds of a world still in order. My assistant’s voice comes through the intercom, crisp and professional.
“Mr. Ashworth, the boss wants to see you. Urgently.”
I don’t think much of it at first. Urgent meetings happen. Projects go off track. Clients complain. There is always something. I walk to his office without hurry, straightening my tie, running a hand through my hair. I am not worried. I have nothing to worry about.
Briana is already there when I enter. Sitting across from his desk, posture stiff.
That’s the first crack of unease.
The sight of her stops me cold. She doesn’t meet my eyes. She won’t look at me. Her eyes are fixed on some invisible point on the desk, her shoulders locked up into a defensive posture. Her jaw is a hard, white knot. Under the table, I see the violent frantic blur of her knee—that same twitchy, nervous pulse I’ve seen a hundred times.
And then I see the others.
Legal is present. Sarah Chen, head of corporate counsel. Sharp suit, sharp glasses, a tablet in front of her with a screen full of documents I can’t read from here.
HR is present. Caleb Webb. A man I have met twice before, both times for matters that felt bureaucratic and distant.
That’s when I know.
Something’s very wrong.
My boss, Chris Vance, doesn’t sit. He stays standing behind his desk, so I remain on my feet.
That’s the second crack.
He has always sat. Every meeting, every check-in, every time I’ve walked through that door—he’s been behind his desk, leaning back, hands folded over his stomach, comfortable. In charge without trying. But today he’s standing. Today he’s not comfortable.
“Julian,” he says. His voice is different today. Formal. Distant. He has never spoken to me like this. In meetings, in hallways, in the easy shorthand of colleagues who have worked together for years, his voice came loose, unguarded. Today, it’s none of those things. “As you know, the company experienced a significant cybersecurity breach last month.”
