Chapter 10

The apartment was too quiet.

No emails. No meeting alarms. No heels clicking against marble floors.

Kate Johnson lay curled up on her couch, wrapped in an oversized hoodie, staring at the soft glow of the city through her window. Her suspension felt like an invisible bruise — no one could see it, but it throbbed with every breath.

She had silenced her phone.

Turned off the news.

Deleted every social media app.

The noise of the world had been too loud, too cruel. She needed silence now — even if that silence echoed with her self-doubt.

It had been three days since the scandal broke.

Three days since she'd asked Jade for space.

She hadn't regretted it, but she missed him more than she could admit.

Still, she wasn't ready. Not yet.

---

She spent her mornings journaling.

Not about him, not about the Foundation. But about herself.

Memories of her mother's strength. Her first job as a cashier at seventeen. The way she saved up for her college textbooks two dollars at a time. How she refused to let her past define her future.

"I wasn't born for scandal," she wrote, "but I wasn't born to be small either."

In the afternoons, she walked.

No destination. No makeup. No headlines.

Just Kate. Sneakers on concrete. Coffee in hand. Air in her lungs.

She found herself in Central Park more than once — the wide-open space offering a strange kind of safety. No stares. Just trees and strangers and the quiet rustle of a city that didn't care who she was sleeping with.

It was oddly comforting.

---

On the fifth day, she visited Mina.

Her old roommate had a tiny studio in Brooklyn with art supplies everywhere and Beyoncé blasting in the background.

"I've been dying to see you," Mina said, yanking her into a hug. "You okay?"

Kate exhaled. "Define okay."

They ate mango sorbet out of the container and watched old rom-coms on mute while Mina painted. After a while, Kate admitted, "I feel like I'm floating… like my whole identity was tied to that job. And now I'm just... no one."

Mina didn't flinch.

"That's a lie," she said simply. "You were someone before Jade. Before the Foundation. And if it all vanished tomorrow, you'd still be brilliant, capable, and strong."

Kate blinked back tears. "Then why do I feel like I lost everything?"

"Because you cared. And when we care, loss cuts deeper. But that doesn't mean it defines us."

---

The next morning, Kate opened her laptop.

She hadn't touched it since the scandal broke. But now, something inside her stirred. Resolve. Purpose.

She opened a blank document and typed a title:

> Reclaiming the Narrative: Women, Power, and Public Perception

It wasn't an article about her.

Not directly.

But it was about every woman like her — women whose ambition was questioned the moment they fell in love, whose accomplishments were erased because they dared to be vulnerable, human.

She typed for hours. Fierce, honest, and unapologetic.

And when she finished, she emailed it to The Verve, a leading women's digital magazine. No résumé. No background. Just:

> "If this resonates, let it speak for itself. – Kate Johnson"

---

Meanwhile, in his penthouse office, Jade Williams stared at his phone.

Still no word.

He had respected her silence, but the ache was becoming unbearable. The PR crisis was slowly fading, but the emptiness remained.

He missed her laugh, her sharp insights, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him like he wasn't a CEO, just a man trying.

He scrolled through his drafts — a dozen unsent messages.

> "Thinking of you."

"Read something today that reminded me of your strength."

"I miss you."

None of them felt right.

So he waited.

---

Kate didn't check her inbox until the next evening. But when she did, her heart skipped.

Subject: RE: Reclaiming the Narrative – You Struck a Chord

> Kate,

We were blown away. Your voice is powerful and honest and exactly what the conversation needs right now. We'd love to publish this as a guest editorial — front page.

Let us know if you're open to it.

Warmly,

Sasha Quinn

Editor-in-Chief, The Verve

Kate's hand flew to her mouth.

It wasn't the Foundation.

It wasn't Jade.

But it was hers. Something she had built from her pain and her truth — and the world wanted to hear it.

---

That night, she sent a text.

To him.

> "You still waiting?"

The reply came in seconds.

> "Always."

She smiled, heart trembling.

> "Then meet me tomorrow. Central Park. 5 p.m."