The city didn't slow down just because my world was spinning.
Outside my office window, traffic flowed like nothing had changed. Pedestrians moved with purpose, unaware of the war quietly raging behind my composed expression. Phones rang. Emails stacked. Meetings bled into one another. But none of it reached the part of me still sitting in that café, across from the ghost of my past wearing Killian's face.
I pressed my palms into the edge of my desk, grounding myself.
You're not the girl he left, Elara. You survived her breaking. You rebuilt her.
I inhaled sharply and exhaled slower, just like my therapist once taught me.
Then I did what I always did—I worked.
For hours, I buried myself in spreadsheets, presentation slides, and coffee refills that tasted like cardboard. But even focus couldn't hold back the waves. Every time my mind wandered, it tripped over the same questions:
Would I have stayed with Killian if I'd known the truth? Would I still be the version of me I am now?
Or worse… would I have lost myself trying to save him?
"Ms. Voss?"
My assistant peeked in, her voice tentative. "Sorry to interrupt. There's an issue with the Ferron account. They're threatening to pull funding if the campaign isn't finalized by tomorrow."
Of course they were.
I stood, smoothing my blazer like armor. "Book me a meeting room. I want the team ready in thirty."
"Yes, ma'am."
I grabbed my laptop and strode out. No more spiraling. Time to lead.
The crisis meeting was chaos.
Design argued with marketing. Marketing blamed communications. I blamed no one—but my patience wore thin like thread pulled taut.
"We are not losing Ferron," I said, voice calm but sharp. "This is our biggest campaign this quarter, and I refuse to let it fail on my watch."
"What if we delay the launch?" someone offered weakly.
I shook my head. "No delays. We double-time it tonight. And if you need coffee, I'll personally pour it down your throats."
There was a chuckle, then silence.
The meeting surged forward. Solutions began to outweigh complaints. My voice steadied the ship. I was back in control—until it happened.
A junior executive slid her phone across the table toward me.
"Ma'am," she whispered, "you should see this."
A blog post was trending. Gossip, really. A sharp-eyed media intern had spotted me with Killian yesterday at the café. The caption: "Power exec Elara Voss spotted cozying up with mystery man. Old flame, new flame, or scandal?"
My blood went cold.
I looked up, face composed. "This doesn't change anything. We have work to do."
But inside, I was screaming.
Why now? Why him? Why couldn't the past stay buried?
I ended the meeting an hour later with action steps and no time for questions.
Back in my office, I locked the door and let the silence wrap around me like a weighted blanket. My phone buzzed incessantly with friend messages, a few from old colleagues, and—of course—a text from Killian.
Killian: I'm sorry. I didn't know it would get out. I just wanted to talk, not cause drama.
I didn't respond.
The door opened without knocking.
Jude.
He held up his hand before I could scold him. "Saw the post. Figured you could use something stronger than coffee."
He placed a chocolate bar on my desk. My favorite kind. Dark, with sea salt.
I stared at it.
He didn't speak. Just sat in the chair across from me like he always did—close, but never too close. Solid. Present.
"I'm fine," I said softly.
"I know," he replied. "That's why it's even more unfair."
My eyes met his.
He leaned forward. "You know what makes you different? You carry storms and still manage to build bridges. But Elara… even bridges collapse if they're not allowed to rest."
I blinked hard, refusing tears.
"You didn't deserve that post. Or that man. Or the way life keeps throwing curveballs like you're made of steel."
"I'm not steel," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "You're fire. And even fire gets tired of burning."
He stood, placing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
"I'm around if you need to talk. Or scream. Or set things on fire."
I chuckled despite myself. "Thanks, Jude."
He nodded and walked out.
That night, I went home and did something I hadn't done in years.
I cried.
Not because I was weak.
Because I was tired.
Tired of holding back emotions like they were grenades.
Tired of pretending love didn't still haunt me like perfume on old sweaters.
Tired of being strong in ways that left me bleeding behind closed doors.
I stood in front of the mirror, eyes swollen, and said it aloud:
"I deserve better."
Not just from Killian.
From myself.
From the guilt I carried like a cross.
From the silence I'd worn like armor.
I turned off my phone and lit a candle. Sat on the couch. Let the memories come—but didn't let them win.
And somewhere between the flicker of flame and the ache in my chest, I made a decision.
No more being caught between past and present.
I opened my phone one last time, scrolled to Killian's contact… and hit delete.
The next morning, I walked into work with red lips, high heels, and a mind sharpened like a blade.
If Killian showed up again, he'd find nothing left to pull from.
Because right now, I needed to love me.
Not him.
Not even Jude.
Just me.