chapter 6: A turning point

The city didn't slow down just because my world was spinning.

I hadn't realized how much the noise of the world would drown out my own thoughts until I sat alone in my office. The hum of traffic, the chime of emails, and the endless meetings all felt like a faraway hum—a world that didn't care about the storm raging inside me. Outside, the sun dipped behind skyscrapers, its last rays of light casting an orange glow across the skyline. But within me, there was only darkness.

I wasn't ready for the headlines. For the gossip. For the attention that followed that innocent encounter with Killian at the café. I wasn't ready for the stir it caused in my professional world.

But there I was, staring at the blog post, the caption mocking me: "Power exec Elara Voss spotted cozying up with mystery man. Old flame, new flame, or scandal?"

It was all out there now. And no matter how much I tried to block it out, the reality hit me like a slap to the face. How could this happen? How could I, someone so carefully controlling every aspect of my life, be caught off-guard by something so—personal?

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the buzz of my phone and the sharp voices of my colleagues. I was back in control, right? But control had never felt so fragile before.

"Ms. Voss?"

I looked up, startled. My assistant was standing in the doorway, holding a stack of papers. Her face was tight with concern. "The Ferron campaign… it's getting heated. They're threatening to pull out if we don't finalize the details by tomorrow."

Of course, they were. Of course, the world had to keep spinning even when mine was falling apart.

I took a deep breath, pushing everything to the back of my mind. "Book me a meeting room. I want the entire team in thirty minutes."

The day didn't stop. It couldn't. As much as my heart wanted to fall apart, the work never let up.

The crisis meeting that followed felt like walking through a battlefield. The marketing team argued with design, communications pointed fingers at strategy, and I just sat there, at the center, trying to hold it all together. But nothing felt real. The numbers on the spreadsheets blurred together. The words from my colleagues became nothing more than noise.

I needed to focus. I needed to be sharp.

"We're not losing Ferron," I said, my voice colder than I intended. The room went quiet, eyes on me. "This is our biggest campaign this quarter. And I refuse to let it fail on my watch. No delays, no excuses. We'll double-time it tonight."

A hesitant voice spoke from the back of the room. "But, ma'am, the timeline—"

"No delays," I repeated firmly. "We're all working tonight. If you need coffee, I'll personally pour it down your throats."

A soft chuckle rippled through the room, and for a moment, it felt like the old me—the one who could command a room, who could lead without hesitation. But it was a fleeting feeling, quickly overtaken by the sound of my phone buzzing, the reminder that I had a new message waiting for me.

I didn't check it until the meeting was over. There was no time for distractions. But as soon as the door closed behind me, I locked myself in my office.

I opened the message.

Killian: I'm sorry. I didn't know it would get out. I just wanted to talk, not cause drama.

My stomach churned, but I didn't respond. I couldn't. I had to keep moving forward, had to stay focused on the work at hand. But deep down, I could feel the tug of the past trying to pull me back.

A knock at the door broke me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called, expecting my assistant. But it was Jude, standing there with a hesitant look in his eyes.

"I saw the post," he said quietly. "Figured you could use something stronger than coffee."

He placed a chocolate bar on my desk—dark chocolate with sea salt, my favorite. The one little indulgence I allowed myself.

I stared at it for a moment before looking up at him. "I'm fine."

"I know," he said. "But that doesn't mean you have to pretend with me."

Jude pulled up a chair and sat across from me, his presence solid, calming. We'd always had this unspoken understanding, a connection that ran deeper than just office colleagues. He knew me in ways most people didn't, could read between the lines when I said I was fine, when the cracks in my armor were more obvious than I liked to admit.

"You know what makes you different?" he asked after a moment, his voice low. "You carry storms and still manage to build bridges. But Elara… even bridges collapse if they're not allowed to rest."

I stared at him, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to surface. "I don't know how to stop," I whispered. "I don't know how to let go of everything I've carried for so long."

He leaned forward, his gaze steady. "You don't have to carry it all alone. You don't have to keep pretending you're fine."

I shook my head, the weight of his words hitting me harder than I expected. "I'm not steel, Jude," I said quietly. "I'm… fire. And even fire gets tired of burning."

He didn't speak right away. He simply stood, then walked over to me, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head. The simple gesture felt like the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

"I'm around if you need to talk. Or scream. Or set things on fire."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood, but the truth of it settled deep within me. "Thanks, Jude."

He nodded and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

That night, as I stood in front of the mirror in my apartment, I realized I'd done something I hadn't in years.

I cried.

Not because I was weak. Not because I was falling apart. But because I was finally letting go of all the things that had kept me chained to the past. I was tired of carrying the weight of my emotions, of pretending to be someone I wasn't.

The phone buzzed again, and I looked at the screen. Another message from Killian.

But this time, I didn't even open it. Instead, I stared at the contact name and made a decision.

I deleted it.

I had been holding onto the past for far too long, letting it define my present, but no more.

The next morning, I walked into work with a new energy, a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. I had let go of the weight that had held me back, and now, nothing—not even Killian—could pull me down.

And if he showed up again? If he came looking for something he thought he had the right to demand from me?

He would find nothing.

Because for the first time in a long time, I was doing something for me.

Not for him. Not for anyone else.

Just for me.