chapter 17

Control is a Lie

Kelvin

I watched her walk away from me again today.

Not with anger. Not with tears.

With silence.

And somehow, that silence carved deeper than anything she could've said.

I should've kept it professional. I wanted to keep it professional. When she walked into that meeting room wide-eyed, vulnerable, and so goddamn beautiful I told myself I wouldn't let her get to me.

But I wasn't ready for her voice again.

I wasn't ready for how familiar her laugh sounded in the hall later, how easily she fit into this building like she belonged here… like she hadn't once shattered everything I thought I meant to her.

I stayed in my office after she left the orientation.

Didn't touch my laptop.

Didn't return any calls.

Just stood there, looking out over the skyline, pretending I still had control.

I didn't.

When I'd first heard she was applying to Cavendish & Blake, I was the one who quietly flagged her résumé. Told myself it was about talent. About fairness. About closure.

It wasn't.

It was need. Masquerading as logic.

I needed to see if she still felt like mine.

And now I knew she did.

It was in the hitch of her breath when she saw me.

In the way she flinched when I stepped close and spoke low.

In the way she asked if I wanted her gone.

God, I hated her for asking that.

Because no matter how much I tried to bury it, the truth was simple:

I never wanted her to leave.

Not five years ago. Not now.

After she left my office, I should've gotten back to work. Buried myself in numbers, meetings, quarterly projections. Instead, I drove.

Now I stood outside the house I once called a second home.

The Martins' porch light glowed in the early evening hush. The same wind chime hung over the door. For a second, I imagined I could hear the clink of her spoon in the kitchen, the same way she stirred her tea every morning.

I didn't mean to knock. My hand moved before my brain caught up.

And then Elizabeth opened the door.

She blinked at first. A softness spread across her face. Kelvin

"Hi," I said, suddenly feeling like I was sixteen again.

"Everything okay?"

I hesitated. "I just needed some air."

She nodded slowly. "Come in."

The house smelled the same. Warm. Safe. Her cooking and candle wax. And Anna wasn't here—thank God. I wasn't ready to see her again. Not yet.

Elizabeth poured me a cup of tea without asking, just like she used to. I stared down at the steam.

"She had a hard day," she said softly.

I didn't respond.

"She saw you."

My jaw clenched.

"I don't know what happened between you two," she continued, sitting across from me. "But I know my daughter. She only runs from things that matter."

I looked up then, my mask cracking.

"She didn't run," I said, voice tight. "I let her go."

Elizabeth studied me for a long time.

"She still dreams about that night, you know," she whispered. "Not just the guilt. The pain. The confusion. But something deeper. Something real."

"She was in love with someone else," I said.

"She thought she was."

Silence fell between us.

Then she reached across the table, just like she had when I was a kid.

"kelvin, don't punish her for something she didn't understand. And don't punish yourself by pretending you're okay."

I swallowed hard.

Because I wasn't.

I hadn't been since the night I made love to a woman who said the wrong name—but touched me like she meant every second.

And now she was back.

And I wasn't sure I could survive losing her again