Sarah wasn't one for pretending to like someone just because they had a charming smile or history with her best friend. Especially not someone who had once broken that best friend's heart.
So when she asked James to meet her for coffee at her favorite no-nonsense café—with industrial decor and baristas who judged you if you ordered frappes—he knew it wasn't a casual chat.
He showed up on time, dressed in a relaxed hoodie and jeans, and ordered a plain black coffee. Sarah watched him from their small table by the window, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"I'm glad you came," she said, finally.
James gave a cautious smile. "I figured if I didn't, you'd break into my office and interrogate me anyway."
"You're not wrong."
They both sipped in silence for a beat before Sarah cut straight to the chase.
"Why did you cheat on her?"
James didn't flinch. He looked her in the eye, no deflecting, no sugarcoating.
"I was insecure," he said simply. "I felt like I was losing control—of my career, of my future, of myself. And instead of facing that and being honest, I looked for validation somewhere else. It was a coward's move."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, surprised by his directness.
"I told myself I was too busy to communicate, too overwhelmed to be there for her. But the truth is, I chose to ignore what was slipping away. And when the consequences came, I deserved them."
He took a slow sip of his coffee, his voice steady but low.
"The worst part wasn't that I hurt her—it was knowing that I made her doubt her own worth. That she ever thought it was about her not being enough."
Sarah softened, just slightly. "You didn't just hurt her. You destroyed her. For a while."
"I know," he said quietly. "And I'm still making peace with that."
Sarah sat back, studying him. "So what changed?"
"I did," he said. "Not all at once. But little by little, I started doing the work. I went to therapy. Started journaling. I cut out distractions and learned how to sit with my own discomfort. I stopped chasing validation from others and started building confidence through actions—not ego."
He let out a breath. "I know I can't erase what I did. I'm not expecting forgiveness, or some happily-ever-after reboot. But I *do* want to be the kind of person she can trust again. Even if it's just professionally. Even if it's just… a friend."
Sarah stared at him, her gaze sharp but thoughtful.
"I'm not going to pretend to like you overnight," she said. "But that? That was real. And I respect it."
James gave a small nod. "That's all I can ask."
She pointed her coffee stirrer at him. "You hurt her again, and I *will* break into your office. And this time, I'm not just asking questions."
He smirked. "Understood."
As they sat in silence, sipping coffee in a slightly more comfortable air, Sarah added, "She's not the same woman she was back then. She's stronger now. Smarter. A force."
"I know," James said, smiling softly. "That's what makes every minute spent near her feel like a gift I didn't think I'd get again."
Sarah didn't smile, but she didn't frown either.
"Good. Then don't screw it up."
Nilla leaned against the balcony railing of her office, the city skyline glittering behind her like a promise. James stood next to her, a comfortable distance apart, the spring breeze brushing softly between them.
He turned to her, hands in his pockets. "Can I tell you something real?"
Nilla glanced sideways, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smile. "You usually do."
He took a breath. "I've been thinking about you—this version of you—for a while now. And I realized I don't want to chase what we had. I want to get to know *you* all over again."
She blinked, caught off guard. "That's… honest."
"I don't want to date," he added quickly, shaking his head. "Not yet, not like that. I don't want to skip the part where we talk, really talk. Not as exes, but as two people who've grown into something new. I'm not interested in recreating anything from the past. I want to earn a spot in your present, maybe even your future—but with no shortcuts this time."
Nilla's expression softened, her curiosity piqued. "That's a rare kind of confession."
He chuckled. "I owe you more than just confession."
He turned toward her fully, the wind tugging at his jacket. "I cheated because I was afraid. Not of you—of being seen for who I was back then. Weak, uncertain, full of doubt. I thought success meant always looking strong. And I was too much of a coward to admit I needed help."
Nilla didn't say anything, but the sharpness in her chest had eased.
"So I did the work," James continued. "Therapy, mentorship, shadowing people who actually built things instead of just inherited them. I learned humility, structure, how to stay when it's hard. I started running projects from the ground up instead of behind a desk with my name on it."
He looked at her then, not with longing, but with reverence. "I'm proud of the man I've become, but I wouldn't have gotten here if you hadn't shattered me first."
Her throat tightened.
"And Theo?" James added, sincere. "I respect him. Deeply. The way he showed up for you, how he helped you heal—I'll never forget that. I know I couldn't be that man back then. I'm not trying to take anything away from what you two had. Or maybe still have."
A silence stretched between them, full of weight but not tension.
"Thank you," Nilla said finally, her voice hushed. "For saying all of that. It means something."
James gave a small nod. "Whatever this is between us—new friendship, awkward colleagues, emotional coffee support—I'm in. And I'll show up with honesty every time."
She smiled, not big, but real. "Deal."
—
**Meanwhile…**
In a sleek office on the other side of the globe, Theo stood at a massive window overlooking his family's estate.
Months of hard negotiations, restructuring, and long nights had finally brought him to this point: he would officially take over as CEO in just a few months. But his thoughts weren't on the company today. They were on her. Nilla, laughing in the rain. Nilla, refusing to be defined by anyone but herself. Nilla, strong and shining in a world she built with her own hands. He hadn't spoken to her in a while, and that had been the agreement. Time to grow. Time to rise. Still… he found himself wondering.
Was she happy?
He hoped so. He pressed a palm to the glass, a rare, wistful expression flickering across his face.
"I'm almost there, Nilla," he murmured. "I hope you are too."