The gunshot shattered the silence like a thunderclap.I didn’t think—my body reacted before my mind could catch up.Move.I dove behind a stack of rusted crates as the shot echoed through the warehouse. My breath came fast and sharp as I pressed my back against the cold metal.Another shot rang out, this one sparking against the concrete floor near Nolan’s feet.I peeked out just in time to see him move—his body twisting as he pulled his own gun from his jacket. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t hiding.He was aiming.At who?I couldn’t tell.The warehouse was too dark, the shadows stretching long and deceptive. The only light was the flickering bulb above us, offering nothing but disorientation.Footsteps.More than one set.Who the hell else was here?Nolan fired a shot in return, his expression calm—too calm for someone who had just been ambushed.I didn’t trust him, but I also knew one thing for certain.Whoever was shooting at us wasn’t working for him.Because if they were, I’d alrea
I didn’t look back.Not at Jeff.Not at the mess we were leaving behind.Not at the blood on the floor.If I let myself hesitate for even a second, I’d start questioning everything—again.And I was done with that.Nolan matched my stride as we stepped out of the warehouse, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. The city stretched beyond the docks, its glow distant but constant, like a heartbeat. A reminder that the world kept moving, even when mine had just crumbled.“You sure you want to do this, sweetheart?” Nolan asked, his tone as casual as if we were discussing dinner plans.I didn’t answer.Because I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.Except one thing.I wasn’t going to be their pawn.Not Jeff’s.Not Nolan’s.Not The Syndicate’s.I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I need a plan.”Nolan let out a low chuckle. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in getting out of impossible situations.”I shot him a glare. “That’s funny. I thought you were an expert
I didn’t stop.Not even when Jeff called my name again.Not even when his voice cracked with something dangerously close to regret.Because regret didn’t change the fact that he had lied.Regret didn’t erase the doubt curling around my ribs, squeezing my lungs tight.Regret didn’t bring back the version of myself that had trusted him.So I kept walking, my boots crunching against the gravel, my breath coming fast and sharp in the cold night air.And Jeff—Jeff didn’t follow me.***Nolan was waiting by the car.He leaned against the passenger door, arms crossed, watching me with the kind of sharp, assessing gaze that made me feel like I was under a microscope.I ignored it.“I got what I needed,” I said, my voice flat.“Did you?” he asked.I shot him a glare. “Not in the mood, Nolan.”He smirked. “You’re never in the mood.”I shoved past him and yanked open the car door. “Let’s go.”To my surprise, Nolan didn’t argue.He just slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.The car
The morning sun streamed through the cracked blinds of the safe house, casting fractured patterns on the wooden floor. I sat at the rickety table, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Nolan lounged on the couch, flipping through an old magazine, his presence a constant reminder of the precarious situation I found myself in.I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Jeff's actions than met the eye. The revelation of his involvement with my father had shattered my trust, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind urged me to dig deeper. I needed answers, and I needed them now."Nolan," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within, "I need to see Jeff. Alone."He looked up from his magazine, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Alone? That's not part of our arrangement, sweetheart."I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. "This isn't about our arrangement. It's personal."He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees
After the chaos in the warehouse—the gunshots, the betrayal, the truths hurled like bullets—I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the city lights bleeding through my window. My heart felt bruised, heavy with the kind of ache that only comes from realizing everything you thought was solid was just shadows on a wall.And Jeff… Jeff had been one of those shadows.But now I wasn’t so sure.He’d looked at me with eyes full of regret, full of something else too—something raw and protective. And when I’d seen that glimmer, that flash of guilt paired with desperation, I realized I didn’t understand him at all. Not the real him.I thought I had him figured out: clever informant, charming manipulator, another person dancing behind the mask of loyalty. But now? The puzzle had shifted. The pieces didn’t fit the way I thought they did.And I needed answers.I showed up at his apartment just after six in the morning, the sky a gray smear over the city. I didn’t knock. I used the spare key I still
The days following our exposé of Nolan and Lorenzo were a whirlwind. Media outlets buzzed with the revelations, and the corporate world was reeling from the aftershocks. Amidst the chaos, Jeff and I found ourselves working side by side, sifting through the remnants of my father's empire, determining what could be salvaged and what needed to be rebuilt from the ground up.One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the city, Jeff and I sat in my father's old study. The room, once a place of solace for me, now felt like a war room, strewn with documents, blueprints, and strategic plans."Demi," Jeff began, his voice softer than usual, "you've been pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest."I looked up from the papers, surprised by the gentle concern in his eyes. "There's too much to do, Jeff. We can't afford to slow down now."He leaned closer, his hand brushing mine as he reached for a document. The contact was brief, but it sent an unexpected sh
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to glance at the flowers.Emphasis on trying.They sat there like a soft-colored confession, impossible to ignore. The scent was too sweet, too present, as if Jeff had chosen that particular arrangement to haunt every breath I took. And the worst part? It worked.I caught myself smiling for no damn reason more than once. And every time I did, I mentally smacked myself.It was dangerous, this tenderness. Because it reminded me of the early days, back when Jeff and I used to bring each other coffee just for fun, when our fights were rare and our silences were warm. Before ambition poisoned us. Before secrets built walls between us.Now here he was again, lowering his walls and offering coffee like a truce flag wrapped in caffeine and peonies.But I wasn’t twenty-three anymore. I wasn’t that bright-eyed woman who believed love could fix everything. I was smarter now. Scarred, sure—but smarter.So when the clock hit five and my inbox was finall
The note said everything and nothing at once.It was written in Jeff’s usual, maddeningly vague way — careful phrases that danced around the truth but never quite landed. Apologies that didn’t dig deep enough. Promises that sounded too much like the ones he used to make when things were already unraveling.Still, I kept it.Tucked away in the back of my desk drawer, behind quarterly reports and receipts I never filed. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That it wasn’t important. That it was just paper.But the truth?I reread it every morning before I started work.And every time, I hated how it made me feel.Like I missed him.Like some small, treacherous part of me still wondered what might’ve been if things had gone differently.The flowers stayed, too. I told myself I didn’t throw them away because I was too busy, but deep down, I knew the real reason.They were proof.Proof that maybe Jeff was still trying.And I wasn’t ready to admit what that meant to me.It didn’t stop ther
The next few weeks were a dance of small things.Late night conversations. Little confessions. Fighting over what movie to watch. Laughing until my stomach hurt. Crying when the weight got too heavy and letting him hold me through it.It wasn’t perfect.Sometimes I still flinched.Sometimes he still said the wrong thing.But we were learning.Learning how to be us without pretending the past didn’t exist.Learning that love isn’t about erasing scars—it’s about tracing them with reverence.One night, months later, after too much wine and too much laughter, Jeff pulled me close and said against my hair:“I don’t want a clean slate with you, Demi. I want the messy one. The one with mistakes and lessons and a thousand second chances. I want the real thing.”I smiled, my heart aching with something fierce and beautiful.“You already have it,” I whispered back.And for the first time in what felt like forever, I knew it was true.Love wasn’t a single moment of forgiveness.It was a thousand
The evening air hit me like a slap the second I stepped out of Jeff’s condo.Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.I kept walking, barely aware of the streets, the familiar cracks in the sidewalks, the faint hum of the city coming alive for the night. I walked because standing still meant feeling everything at once, and right now, that felt unbearable.The photo burned in my mind. Stella's hand in his. Her smile. His.Closure, he had said. But how many versions of closure could one person have before it stopped being closure and started being something else entirely?I found myself at the small park three blocks away without realizing it. I collapsed onto a bench, wrapping my arms around myself, willing the tightness in my chest to ease.It didn’t.Because this wasn’t just about a photograph.It was about the small cracks in the foundation we were trying to rebuild. Tiny fractures that, left ignored, would one day split wide open and swallow us whole.And God, I was so tired of trying to be the o
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didn’t need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me try. –J"I stared at it for a long time.It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadn’t earned yet. One I wasn’t sure I could accept.But when seven o’clock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasn’t just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he was—holding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.“Hi,” he said softly.“Hi,” I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadn’t forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasn’t from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.“Who was that message from?” I asked, voice even but my heart
I didn’t go far. Just to the small park down the block from Jeff’s condo unit—the one with the crooked benches and a fountain that hadn’t worked since spring. I sat there, my coat tight around me, watching the early evening swallow the sky whole.I didn’t 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 wouldn’t stop trying, but he hadn’t 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 doesn’t cut too deep. Hoping the bleeding stops before the next fight.But despite everything, I didn’t wan
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didn’t need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me try. –J"I stared at it for a long time.It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadn’t earned yet. One I wasn’t sure I could accept.But when seven o’clock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasn’t just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he was—holding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.“Hi,” he said softly.“Hi,” I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadn’t forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasn’t from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.“Who was that message from?” 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 us—something 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 wasn’t fair—he’d done so much to regain my trust. He’d been showing up, loving me in all the right ways. But one whisper from the past, and the walls I’d slowly let fall started climbing back up.I turned on some music, something soft, just to quiet the noise inside my head. And that’s 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
There’s something strangely intimate about folding laundry with someone you love. Not the kind of love that’s still wrapped in red ribbons and candlelit dinners, but the kind that shows up in the quiet domesticity of Sunday afternoons—barefoot, soft music in the background, mismatched socks everywhere.Jeff held up one of my oversized sweaters, the sleeves drooping like tired arms. “This still smells like that coconut shampoo you use.”I glanced up from the pile of towels. “I haven’t used that shampoo in months.”“Must be haunted,” 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 that’s why it blindsided me when the tension returned—sharp 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 Jeff’s phone buzzed on the console table. Once. Twice. Three times.He didn’t 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 happened—now, of all times. Things were just starting to feel steady again.I didn’t even know how he’d gotten my number. I’d deleted it all—his 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 didn’t already do enough damage.I grabbed my phone and typed a response, my fingers moving fast and sharp.“Do not contact me again. This is inappropriate and unwanted. I’m with someone I love—don’t ruin what little decency you have left.”Send.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 couldn’t hear them over the thud of my heart. This wasn’t fair—not to Jeff, not to me, not to what we
Chelsea popped her head into my office later that day.“You look like someone ran over your optimism.”“Not now, Chels.”She walked in anyway, plopping down on the chair across from me. “Okay. Spill.”I 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 didn’t say anything right away. Then: “Do you regret telling him?”“No. But I hate that it hurt him.”“Demi, listen.” She leaned forward. “You did what most people wouldn’t 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, sure—but that doesn’t mean he’s leaving.”“I know,” I said quietly. “But I can’t help feeling like I poked a hole in something just as it was starting to feel whole again.”“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe that hole is where the light gets in.”I groaned. “Did you just quote Leonard Cohen at me?”She grinned. “Absolutely.”I managed a smile,