JAY'S POV —
The clock hits 7:00 PM exactly when I push open the glass door, and the familiar calm of the room wraps around me—but today, it doesn't settle anything.
"Good evening, Jay Jay—"
"I'm doomed."
I don't even let him finish. I walk straight to the couch and practically throw myself onto it, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed me.
There's a pause.
Then—"Wow," Kyle says slowly, amused. "No hello? No dramatic entrance build-up? Straight to existential crisis today?"
"My life is officially over tomorrow," I mumble, covering my face with my arm.
A chair creaks softly as he leans back, completely unbothered. "That's interesting," he says casually. "Because last I checked, you just won one of the biggest cases of your career today. Congratulations, by the way."
I groan. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Be logical when I'm spiraling."
"That's… literally my job."
I drop my arm and glare at him. "Anyways...I'm flying to London tomorrow."
He blinks once. "Okay."
I sit up abruptly. "That's it? Okay?!"
He shrugs lightly. "You're a lawyer, not a vampire. London won't kill you."
I stare at him like I might actually throw something. "Keifer is there and there's the fact that I will literally see him tomorrow in my office to be exact and not just him alone...even David, Rory,Edrix basically one-fourth of section e..."
That lands.
Not loudly.Not dramatically.But I see it—the shift.
Kyle doesn't react immediately. He just studies me for a second, like he's choosing his next words carefully.
"…ah," he exhales softly, leaning forward slightly. "Now we're getting somewhere but why exactly??"
I let out a humorless laugh, dropping back again. "Apparantly Watson Enterprises,R×E Firm,Braselton and Willow industries have occured and issue with the London branch.All of them,together. In one case. In one city and in my family's company..What are the odds?"
"Statistically?" he tilts his head. "Pretty low."
"Kyle."
"Right, sorry," he clears his throat, but there's still a hint of a smile. "Emotionally catastrophic. Got it."
I press my palms against my eyes. "I've been fine. For years. I built everything—my life, my career, my sanity—away from all of that. And now suddenly I'm supposed to just… walk into it like it's nothing?"
"You're not the same person who walked out of that hospital seven years ago," he says gently.
"That's exactly the problem," I snap, sitting up again. "I don't know who I am around them anymore."
Silence settles for a moment—not heavy, not suffocating, just… present.
Kyle leans back, crossing one leg over the other. "What are you actually afraid of?"
I scoff. "Everything."
"Be specific."
I hesitate.
And that's when I know this is going to get worse.
"I'm afraid…" I start, then stop, my fingers curling into the couch fabric. "I'm afraid that seeing him won't hurt as much as it should."
Kyle's expression doesn't change—but his eyes sharpen slightly.
"And?" he prompts.
"And I'm afraid that it will," I finish quietly.
There it is.
The truth I didn't want to say out loud.
Because both versions scare me equally.
He nods slowly. "That makes sense."
I blink at him. "That's it? No deep therapist speech?"
"Oh, you want one?" he leans forward slightly. "I can absolutely overanalyze your emotional patterns if that'll make you feel better."
"Don't you dare."
He chuckles softly. "Jay, you're not scared of London. You're not even scared of him."
"Then what am I scared of?" I ask, frustrated.
"You're scared of losing control over yourself.." he says simply.
That shuts me up because he's right.
"You built a life where everything is predictable. Controlled. Safe in your own way," he continues. "And now you're walking into a situation where emotions—not logic—might take the lead."
I look away, jaw tightening.
"I don't let that happen anymore."
"I know," he says softly. "But that doesn't mean it's gone."
I exhale slowly, my shoulders dropping just a little. "I hate that you're right."
"I know," he smiles lightly. "It's one of my many talents."
I roll my eyes, but the tension eases—just a little.
"What if I see him?" I ask after a moment, quieter now. "What if he talks to me?"
Kyle tilts his head. "Then you decide what happens next."
"It's not that simple."
"It is," he counters gently. "You're not that girl anymore, Jay. You don't owe anyone your silence, your forgiveness, or your pain."
I swallow.
Because that… hits differently.
"And if I don't want to talk to him?" I ask.
"Then don't."
"And if I do?"
He smiles slightly. "Then that's your choice too."
There's something grounding about that.
Choice.
Something I didn't have before.
The room falls quiet again—but this time, it's not chaotic.
It's… steady.
I lean back into the couch, staring at the ceiling again—but my chest doesn't feel as tight.
"God, I hate growth," I mutter.
Kyle laughs softly. "You're doing great, by the way."
"Don't say that," I groan. "It makes me feel like I have to keep it up."
"You do," he says bluntly.
I throw a cushion at him.
He catches it effortlessly, grinning. "Violence won't fix your emotional problems."
"It'll fix your face."
"Highly unlikely.It's impossible to ruin a face so handsome like mine..."
I huff, but a small smile slips through anyway and that… that feels new.
Or maybe just… rare.
As the session starts wrapping up, he leans forward slightly, tone softer now.
"Listen," he says, "if it gets overwhelming—don't isolate."
I nod faintly.
"Stay around Jeremy," he adds. "Or call me. Or do the one thing you hate the most—"
"Don't say breathing exercises," I warn.
"—take a deep breath."
I groan. "I knew it."
He smiles. "It works."
"Barely."
"Still works."
I sigh, pushing myself up from the couch. "You're annoying."
"And yet—you keep coming back."
I pause at the door, glancing back at him.
"…thanks," I say quietly.
He nods once. "You've got this, Jay."
As I turned around to walk out I heard his voice...
"Also," Kyle adds just as I reach for the door, that annoying smirk already back in place, "since you're going to London to face your entire emotional trauma in human form—at least dress like a weapon."
I pause, narrowing my eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious," he shrugs. "Sharp suits. Killer heels. Something that says I survived you and upgraded or The kind of look that says, I could ruin your life legally and still look good doing it."
I scoff, shaking my head. "This is therapy, not a revenge fashion show."
"Why not both?" he shoots back instantly. "Think of it as… psychological warfare. But make it couture."
I let out a small laugh despite myself, opening the door. "You're unbelievable."
"And you," he points lazily toward me, "are bringing me back a souvenir."
I raise a brow. "From a work trip?"
"Yes. Emotional closure if available," he grins. "If not, then a fridge magnet. I'm flexible."
I roll my eyes, stepping out. "You're getting nothing."
"Liar," he calls after me. "You love me."
I shook my head, opening the door halfway.
"You need help."
"I am help," he shoots back. "You literally pay me for this."
"That's highly questionable right now."
"Rude," he gasps, offended for exactly two seconds before pointing at me again. "And don't come back empty-handed."
"And Jay?" he adds one last time.
I stop, glancing over my shoulder.
His tone softens just a little—but the tease is still there.
"Go remind them exactly who they lost."
Like hell yeah I will...