CHAPTER 7

Jeff Ortega had waited long enough.

It had been over five years since we first met, five years since I last saved his life, and exactly five days since he first tried to call me today. few hours of my unwavering silence.

And now, he had finally lost his patience.

I heard him before I saw him—the hurried footsteps, the clipped conversation with Brent at the door, the tension in Sabrina’s stance as she turned to me in warning. But I didn’t need her to say anything. I already knew what was coming.

“Demi,” Jeff’s voice rang out, firm but laced with something dangerously close to desperation. “We need to talk.”

Slowly, I looked up from my desk. The sight of him sent a familiar pang through my chest—an echo of something I had long buried. He looked the same, yet different. The years had carved sharper lines into his face, his once-boyish charm hardened by experience. But his eyes? Those dark, piercing eyes still carried the same fire, the same intensity that once had the power to make my heart race.

Now, they did nothing but irritate me.

I leaned back in my chair, perfectly composed. “Jeff Ortega,” I drawled. “To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?”

His jaw clenched, as if bracing for a battle he had no choice but to fight. “You ignored my calls.”

I arched a brow. “And?”

His expression darkened. “I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

I smiled—cold, detached. “Important to whom?”

“To both of us,” he said, stepping closer, as if proximity alone could shake me. It couldn’t. “It’s about Adam. My father.”

“Ah.” I tilted my head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Your father, who happens to be in my hospital. Under my care. How interesting.”

“Demi.” His voice lowered, almost pleading. “I just want to talk.”

I stood, smoothing down my blazer. “Talk? Oh, Jeff.” I sighed dramatically, circling my desk until I was face-to-face with him. “You must have mistaken me for the woman I used to be. The one who dropped everything for you. The one who stitched your wounds, carried your burdens, and waited for you to return.”

His eyes flickered. “That’s not what this is—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care,” I said, voice sharp and final. “Whatever you came here for, whatever you think I owe you—it doesn’t exist.”

Jeff’s fists clenched at his sides. “Demi, I know you hate me—”

“Hate you?” I let out a low, amused laugh. “Jeff, I don’t hate you. I don’t feel anything for you.”

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence. Brent watched from the side, barely concealing his smirk. Sabrina folded her arms, unimpressed. The power dynamic had shifted, and Jeff knew it.

I took a step closer, lowering my voice just enough for only him to hear. “You want my attention? You want me to care?” I smiled sweetly. “You should’ve thought of that before you left me waiting in the dark all those years ago.”

His breath hitched. “Demi, please—”

I turned away before he could finish, already heading toward the door. “Sabrina,” I called over my shoulder. “See Mr. Ortega out.”

Jeff didn’t move, as if his pride refused to accept defeat. But the humiliation was clear in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his lips parted—searching for words he no longer had the right to say.

“Demi,” he tried one last time.

I didn’t look back.

“Goodnight, Jeff.”

And just like that, I left him standing there, with nothing but the weight of his own regrets.

The door clicked shut behind me, sealing Jeff Ortega in his own silence. I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as I walked down the corridor, the distant hum of hospital machinery grounding me in the present.

Sabrina caught up to me, matching my stride effortlessly. "Are you okay?"

I let out a humorless chuckle. "Oh, I’m wonderful. Nothing like watching an old ghost haunt himself."

She smirked. "He looked like he expected something different."

"He always does," I murmured. "But expectations don’t mean much when they’re built on illusions."

I reached the elevator and pressed the button. Sabrina lingered, shifting on her feet. "You know he’s not done, right?"

"I do. But that’s his problem, not mine."

The doors slid open, and I stepped inside, offering her a brief nod before letting them close. Alone, I allowed a sliver of the past to creep in, memories of Jeff as the man I had once trusted, once loved. But the past was a dangerous place, and I had no interest in revisiting it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glanced at the screen. A message from an unknown number.

Demi, please. Just one conversation. You owe me that much.

I scoffed. Owe him? That was rich.

I didn’t respond.

***

By the time I arrived at my office the next morning, the hospital was already buzzing with activity. Brent was waiting by the door, holding a clipboard. "You’ve got a packed schedule, but first—"

I lifted a hand. "Let me guess. Jeff Ortega?"

Brent smirked. "Persistent jerk, I’ll sure give him that. He was waiting outside since before dawn."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Of course, he was."

"Want me to have security escort him out?"

"No." I grabbed my coat. "I’ll handle it."

***

He was exactly where I expected him—leaning against the black SUV parked near the entrance, arms crossed, looking as out of place as ever in my world. He straightened when he saw me, determination flashing in his dark eyes.

"Demi," he started.

"No," I said before he could continue.

He blinked. "No?"

I stopped in front of him, tilting my head. "No. No to whatever speech you’ve been rehearsing, no to whatever plea you’re about to make, and no to whatever idea you have that I still care."

His jaw tensed. "You don’t even know what I was going to say."

"It doesn’t matter," I said smoothly. "Because whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it."

For a moment, he just stared at me, as if trying to find something in my expression that no longer existed. And then, ever so slightly, his shoulders sagged.

"Demi," he said, voice quieter now. "I know I don’t deserve your time, but I just need you to understand—"

"Understand what, Jeff?" I cut in. "That you regret the past? That you have some excuse wrapped up in self-pity? That you need me now, after all these years?" I stepped closer, watching him flinch. "I don’t owe you closure. I don’t owe you understanding. And I sure as hell don’t owe you my time."

His lips parted, but no words came. For the first time since I had known Jeff Ortega, he was speechless.

I smiled. "That’s what I thought."

Turning on my heel, I walked away without a second glance.

This time, he didn’t try to follow.