The dry Arizona heat was something I was slowly getting used to, but the weight of my decision to leave everything behind still clung to me. Every morning, I woke up expecting somethingโan old memory clawing its way into my mind, a call from someone I no longer wanted to hear fromโbut nothing came. And that silence, that absolute quiet from my past, was both terrifying and liberating.Brent had made it clear from the moment we arrived that this wasnโt going to be a vacation. If I wanted a fresh start, I needed to build something for myself, not just run away from what I left behind. I thought I had done enough rebuilding after escaping the Ortegas, but Brent had other ideas.โThis is your chance, Demi,โ Brent said one evening over dinner at the mansion. โTo build a life where you donโt have to look over your shoulder. Where you call the shots. No Jeff. No Adam. Just you.โI poked at my food, knowing exactly where this was going. โAnd you think throwing me into a corporate empire is th
The Arizona heat had started to settle into my bones, making it feel less like an enemy and more like an old acquaintance I was learning to tolerate. But after last nightโs encounter with Nolan Sanchez, my mind was restless.I wasnโt entirely sure why I let the incident occupy space in my thoughts. Maybe it was the way he looked at meโdrunk, sure, but there was something else in his eyes that I couldnโt quite place. A sadness? A frustration? Either way, I had moved on. I had more important things to focus on, and I refused to let one foolish night of some stranger causing a scene throw me off balance.Or at least, thatโs what I told myself.Until I saw him again.I had just finished a meeting with Angela, discussing some expansion plans for the Hermosa Groupโs luxury suites, when I decided to step outside the hotel for a much-needed breather. The sun was still relentless, but I welcomed the warmth against my skin.And then, there he was.Nolan Sanchez.This time, he wasnโt stumbling a
The morning after the chaotic incident at the hotel, I was determined to move on. I buried myself in work, sitting in my office at the Hermosa Groupโs headquarters, reviewing reports, and making decisions that solidified my place in the company. Last nightโs events werenโt something I wanted to dwell on. But as I walked out of the building later that day, I found myself face-to-face with the last person I expected to see againโNolan Sanchez.He was leaning casually against a black sports car parked near the entrance, his expression unreadable. Dressed sharply in a fitted button-down and dark slacks, he looked entirely different from the drunk, unruly man who had caused a scene at the hotel the night before.I debated turning around and pretending I hadnโt seen him, but he noticed me before I could make an escape.โDemi,โ he called out, pushing off the car and walking toward me.I sighed, adjusting my purse strap over my shoulder. โyou again? Mr. Sanchez, whatever it is you're up to, I
The moment Brent stepped into my office, I knew he was up to something.He didnโt waste time with pleasantries, he just folded his arms and stared at me like I had personally offended him. โSo,โ he started, voice deceptively calm, โyou had coffee with Nolan Sanchez.โI didnโt even bother looking up from my laptop. โIt was just coffee, Brent.โโNothing with that man is just coffee.โI sighed, closing my laptop before finally giving him my full attention. โLook, I know who Nolan is. I know his reputation. But he was apologizing for what happened at the hotel, and I saw no harm in hearing him out.โBrent scoffed. โOf course he was apologizing. Because thatโs what guys like him do. They mess up, smooth-talk their way out of it, and then before you know it, youโre in over your head.โI leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. โYou do realize Iโm not some naive idiot, right?โโI also realize that youโre drawn to trouble even when you claim you arenโt.โI rolled my eyes. โBrent, I spent ye
The following days were a whirlwind of board meetings, contract reviews, and site visits. If Chelsea was supposed to be an asset, she certainly wasnโt making it easy. She challenged my every decision, countered my every argument, and tested my patience at every opportunity. But I refused to back down. If she wanted a battle of wits, Iโd give her one.It was during one of our site inspections that Nolan Sanchez reappeared.I was reviewing architectural models when I felt someone watching me. I turned, expecting to see Chelseaโs scrutinizing gaze, but instead, I was met with Nolanโs dark, amused eyes.โFancy seeing you here,โ he said, hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed but unreadable.I sighed, already exhausted. โWhat do you want, Nolan?โChelsea, who had been speaking with one of the architects, glanced between us with mild curiosity but didnโt interfere.Nolan smirked. โI heard about your little project. Thought Iโd drop by and see what all the fuss was about.โI folded my arms
The following days were relentlessโone meeting after another, endless revisions, and tight deadlines. But amid all the chaos, something unexpected happened.I started seeing Chelsea in a different light.At first, I resented how she challenged me at every turn. I had expected her to be an obstacle, a corporate watchdog sent by the board to ensure I didnโt mess up. But as the project progressed, I realized something undeniableโChelsea wasnโt just some cold, overbearing consultant. She was competent, determined, and, more than anything, invested in the success of the project.She worked late nights without complaint, caught details I had overlooked, and negotiated deals with vendors that saved us time and money. Slowly, the resistance I felt toward her began to fade, replaced by a grudging respect. One evening, as we finalized the last phase of planning, I leaned back in my chair, exhausted but satisfied with our progress.โYou know,โ I said, rubbing my temples, โI misjudged you.โChels
The next two days were a blur of back-to-back meetings, finalizing partnerships, and confirming logistics. Chelsea and I barely had time to eat, and Brent was constantly checking in to make sure neither of us collapsed from exhaustion.By the evening before the expo, we had finally crossed off every item on our to-do list.Chelsea leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. โI canโt believe we pulled this off.โI sighed, closing my laptop. โWell?โ I teased. โWho knew teamwork could actually work?โChelsea grinned. โCareful, Demi. You might actually start to like having me around.โI rolled my eyes but smiled. Truthfully, I had grown to respect Chelsea more than I thought I ever would. She wasnโt just an employee. She was someone I could trust.โSince we survived this madness, Iโm going to treat you to dinner after the expo,โ I said. โYou deserve it.โChelsea looked surprised but then shook her head. โYou donโt have to do that. This wasnโt about money or favors. It was about making
I yanked my wrist free, the contact between us leaving an invisible imprint that I despised. "It doesnโt matter, Nolan," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "You shouldnโt be here."His jaw tightened, but he didnโt press further. Instead, he stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets, his expression unreadable. "Fine," he said after a long moment. "Iโll back offโfor now. But donโt fool yourself into thinking this is over."A sharp retort was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my clutch. I glanced down and saw Brentโs name flashing on the screen. I exhaled, grateful for the distraction.โI have to take this,โ I muttered before answering. โBrent?โโDemi, we have a problem,โ his voice came through, low and urgent.Instantly, my entire body went on high alert. โWhat kind of problem?โโThereโs been a leak.โMy breath caught. โWhat do you mean a leak?โโThe details of our investment planโsomeone released them early. And not just to one outlet
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didnโt need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You donโt have to say anything. Just let me try. โJ"I stared at it for a long time.It wasnโt a plea. It wasnโt a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadnโt earned yet. One I wasnโt sure I could accept.But when seven oโclock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasnโt just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he wasโholding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.โHi,โ he said softly.โHi,โ I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadnโt forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasnโt from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.โWho was that message from?โ I asked, voice even but my heart
I didnโt go far. Just to the small park down the block from Jeffโs condo unitโthe one with the crooked benches and a fountain that hadnโt worked since spring. I sat there, my coat tight around me, watching the early evening swallow the sky whole.I didnโt cry. Not really.I was too tired for tears. Too wrung out from constantly stitching together the pieces of us, only to watch them come loose again.I pulled my phone out, stared at the blank screen. No texts. No calls. And maybe that was the point. Jeff had said he wouldnโt stop trying, but he hadnโt come after me. Not this time.Maybe he was learning to give me space. Or maybe he was just as exhausted as I was.A gust of wind tore through the branches above, scattering brittle leaves across my boots.Why does love feel like this sometimes?Not soft and soothing, but raw. Like walking barefoot on broken glass, hoping every step doesnโt cut too deep. Hoping the bleeding stops before the next fight.But despite everything, I didnโt wan
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didnโt need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You donโt have to say anything. Just let me try. โJ"I stared at it for a long time.It wasnโt a plea. It wasnโt a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadnโt earned yet. One I wasnโt sure I could accept.But when seven oโclock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasnโt just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he wasโholding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.โHi,โ he said softly.โHi,โ I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadnโt forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasnโt from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.โWho was that message from?โ I asked, voice even but my heart
By Monday, we were back in the city.Jeff dropped me off at my place, and though we kissed goodbye with a promise to see each other soon, something lingered between usโsomething unspoken and tense, like a storm hovering just beyond the horizon.I tried to shake it off as I stepped into my apartment. I unpacked slowly, letting the quiet settle around me. But my thoughts refused to sit still.Why now? Why was Stella suddenly trying to reappear? And why did Jeff hesitate before telling me?It wasnโt fairโheโd done so much to regain my trust. Heโd been showing up, loving me in all the right ways. But one whisper from the past, and the walls Iโd slowly let fall started climbing back up.I turned on some music, something soft, just to quiet the noise inside my head. And thatโs when my phone buzzed.It was a message. From an unknown number.Unknown: "You can believe him if you want. But you should know he came back to me once before. Right after the first time you left."I stared at the scre
Thereโs something strangely intimate about folding laundry with someone you love. Not the kind of love thatโs still wrapped in red ribbons and candlelit dinners, but the kind that shows up in the quiet domesticity of Sunday afternoonsโbarefoot, soft music in the background, mismatched socks everywhere.Jeff held up one of my oversized sweaters, the sleeves drooping like tired arms. โThis still smells like that coconut shampoo you use.โI glanced up from the pile of towels. โI havenโt used that shampoo in months.โโMust be haunted,โ he smirked, then tossed it gently to my side of the bed.I laughed, but it came with a soft ache. This was good. Easy. Comfortable. Almost too comfortable.Maybe thatโs why it blindsided me when the tension returnedโsharp and unexpected like stepping on glass in a room you thought was safe.It happened that evening.We were cleaning out the hallway closet when Jeffโs phone buzzed on the console table. Once. Twice. Three times.He didnโt reach for it.I woul
Demi's POVI stared at the message long after Jeff disappeared down the stairs, heading toward the beach. The wind outside had picked up, brushing against the glass like a warning. I hated that this had happenedโnow, of all times. Things were just starting to feel steady again.I didnโt even know how heโd gotten my number. Iโd deleted it allโhis texts, his name, his presence from my life the moment I realized he was a distraction from what I really wanted.From Jeff.And now he comes crawling back, like the past didnโt already do enough damage.I grabbed my phone and typed a response, my fingers moving fast and sharp.โDo not contact me again. This is inappropriate and unwanted. Iโm with someone I loveโdonโt ruin what little decency you have left.โSend.Block.Delete.My chest heaved as I placed the phone face down on the railing of the porch. The waves crashed in the distance, but I couldnโt hear them over the thud of my heart. This wasnโt fairโnot to Jeff, not to me, not to what we
Chelsea popped her head into my office later that day.โYou look like someone ran over your optimism.โโNot now, Chels.โShe walked in anyway, plopping down on the chair across from me. โOkay. Spill.โI told her.Everything.From the breakfast to the journal to the half-confession that landed like a gut-punch instead of a step forward.Chelsea didnโt say anything right away. Then: โDo you regret telling him?โโNo. But I hate that it hurt him.โโDemi, listen.โ She leaned forward. โYou did what most people wouldnโt have the guts to do. You gave him the full picture. He asked for proof you were in this for real, and you gave it. He needs to sit with it, sureโbut that doesnโt mean heโs leaving.โโI know,โ I said quietly. โBut I canโt help feeling like I poked a hole in something just as it was starting to feel whole again.โโMaybe,โ she said. โOr maybe that hole is where the light gets in.โI groaned. โDid you just quote Leonard Cohen at me?โShe grinned. โAbsolutely.โI managed a smile,
Demi's POVIt wasnโt the phone call that broke me.Not really.It was the pause. That flicker of hesitation in Jeffโs eyes. The microsecond where I saw him debate whether to tell me the truth. It was the weight of everything we were trying to rebuild pressing on one fragile moment.And I hated that it felt familiar.That split-second uncertaintyโthe one that made me question whether I was still the girl who could be forgotten. Set aside. Replaced.But I didnโt spiral. Not this time.Because Iโd promised myself something too: that I wouldnโt run anymore. That I would stay. That I would speak instead of shut down.Even if it hurt.The morning after he blocked Stella, we went through the motions like nothing had happened.Coffee. Shower. Quiet music playing from my phone as I tied my hair up.But my stomach still twisted when I caught him staring at meโlike he was trying to read between the lines of my silence.โDo you want to talk about it?โ he asked, gently.I thought about lying. I re
Trying is one thing.But staying?Thatโs the real test.And for the next week, Jeff and I tried.Not in grand, sweeping gestures. Not in dramatic confessions under the rain or fairy tale moments. But in the quiet decisionsโthe daily check-ins, the shared silences, the soft compromises that slowly stitched us back together.I started trusting him again. Not all at once, but in fragments. Like handing him pieces of a puzzle that used to be whole, asking him to rebuild without the picture on the box.And Jeff?He never once complained.He didnโt push when I asked for space. He didnโt flinch when I brought up Ethan, or Stella, or the silence that had almost swallowed us whole. He listened. He showed up. And for the first time in a long time, I didnโt feel like I was walking alone.Until Thursday.We were supposed to meet at the gallery.My newest commission piece had just been installed, and Jeff offered to help me with the lighting setup before the weekend preview. It was a simple askโsh