Chapter 11

Central Park was alive with the soft sounds of the city — distant laughter, a guitarist playing near Bethesda Terrace, the rhythmic patter of joggers passing by.

Kate Johnson stood near the fountain in a pale blue dress that moved like water in the breeze. No makeup. No mask. Just her.

She had arrived early.

Maybe because she didn't want to feel rushed. Maybe because part of her still wasn't sure she wanted to go through with it.

She had rehearsed the conversation a dozen times.

Then she saw him.

Jade Williams.

Dark slacks, button-down rolled at the sleeves, no tie. He looked tired, but not in a weak way — in the way of a man who hadn't been whole without her.

He slowed when he spotted her.

Kate's heart pounded, but she didn't look away.

He walked to her, eyes never leaving hers.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi."

They stood in silence for a second, the world moving around them.

Then Jade took a breath. "I wasn't sure if you'd text me again."

Kate shrugged. "I wasn't sure either."

His gaze searched hers. "You look… like you've been through hell."

"I have," she admitted. "But I think I'm climbing out of it."

He gave a small, sad smile. "I missed you."

"I needed space."

"I know."

A long pause.

"Did you write it?" he asked.

She blinked. "The article?"

He nodded.

She tilted her head, surprised. "How did you—?"

"I read it this morning. It's everywhere now. The Verve published it an hour ago. It's already trending on LinkedIn."

Kate's breath caught.

"'When a woman dares to love and lead, the world calls it seduction, not strategy,'" he quoted. "'But maybe we're just tired of choosing between power and partnership.'"

Kate looked down, emotion rising. "I didn't write it about you. Or us. Not directly."

"I know." He stepped closer. "But it still made me proud. Proud of you."

She looked up. "Then why do I still feel ashamed sometimes?"

"Because they made you believe you had to be."

She didn't respond. Just watched the wind ripple the surface of the fountain.

Finally, she asked, "Do you think we can ever go back to what we were?"

Jade looked thoughtful. "No."

Her heart dropped — until he added softly, "But I think we can be something better."

Kate stared.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't want a secret. Or a scandal. Or something we tiptoe around. I want us — messy, flawed, public if it has to be. And I'm willing to wait as long as it takes for you to want that too."

Kate's throat tightened. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"I don't need you to be ready," he said gently. "I just need you to be real with me."

She stepped closer. Their fingers touched.

And then, slowly, she leaned into him.

"I'm scared."

"So am I," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."

She melted into his chest, her face pressed against his heartbeat.

For a moment, there were no headlines. No boardrooms. No Evelyns.

Just them.

---

They sat on a bench beneath the cherry trees for an hour, sipping iced tea and watching the sky darken.

Kate told him about the article, about the emails flooding in from women thanking her.

Jade listened. Not as a boss. Not as a savior. Just as a man in love with a woman who was learning to take up space.

She asked about the Foundation, about Evelyn's replacement, about whether the board still glared at him in meetings.

"Constantly," he said. "But I stopped caring. You taught me that."

Kate chuckled. "Well, maybe don't quote me during quarterly reviews."

They fell into easy conversation, like something healing had taken place beneath those trees — something unspoken but solid.

When it was time to leave, Jade offered to walk her to the train.

She hesitated.

Then smiled.

"No. I think I'll walk home."

He nodded, understanding. "Can I see you again?"

Kate stepped close and kissed him on the cheek. "You can try."

And with that, she turned and walked away — strong, steady, and for the first time in a long while, at peace.