The ride back felt longer than it actually was.
Cyrus didn't say much, and I didn't push.
Sometimes silence said more than words and right now, mine was screaming.
When we reached the building, he parked in front of the glass entrance. I was already unbuckling before he could turn off the engine.
"I'll walk you up," he said.
"Not necessary."
He gave me that look the one that says he's not asking, he's just pretending to be polite.
I sighed. "Fine. But no lecturing this time."
His lips twitched. "Can't make promises I won't keep."
We walked side by side through the lobby. His hand brushed mine once, maybe by accident, maybe not. Either way, my pulse noticed before my head did.
By the time we reached my room, the tension had twisted itself into something taut and quiet.
I turned to face him. "Thank you for the ride."
"You're welcome."
Simple. Calm. But his eyes lingered on me, searching for something I wasn't ready to give.
I didn't realize I'd been gripping my bag so tightly until the leather squeaked under my fingers.
"I'll handle it," I said, maybe more to myself than to him.
He nodded slowly, like he didn't believe me or maybe like he wished he didn't have to.
And then he left.
ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ
When the door shut, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
The room felt smaller without him, though I'd never admit that out loud.
I sank into my chair, pressing my fingertips to my temples.
Liam Blackwood.
Kai Louis.
Every name Cyrus mentioned felt like a stone dropped in water, ripples spreading in directions I couldn't see.
And the worst part?
He wasn't wrong.
Kai had been too eager too confident that I'd accept his "Collaboration." I thought it was business instinct, maybe a bit of arrogance.
But now… I wasn't so sure.
I'd built my company from nothing. Every deal, every signature, every late night they were all mine.
And now it felt like someone was quietly rearranging the pieces while I wasn't looking.
I stared out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The city looked washed out, blurred.
Just like my thoughts.
Cyrus's words echoed in my head:
"You don't know what you're walking into."
The way he said it not condescending, not cold, but worried that's what unsettled me most.
He shouldn't care that much.
Not after everything.
Not after how our marriage started.
But he does.
And I hate that I noticed.
ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ
Just then my phone pinged ot was from Mitchell.
Mitchell: Ma'am? Mr. Louis called earlier. Should I call him back?"
I hesitated. Just hearing his name made my stomach tighten.
But curiosity or maybe recklessness won again.
Me: "No," I replied. "If he calls again, tell him I'll return it later."
I dropped my phone after that.
The truth was simple: I was tired. Tired of pretending I had everything under control. Tired of piecing together fragments of a life that didn't fit right anymore.
And tired of feeling like the only person I could trust was the same man I didn't completely understand.
Cyrus said he'd help me find answers.
But part of me wondered if I was ready for the ones he'd find.