When things ended with Isabelle, I buried myself in StreamEats. Built the company into something successful. Proved I didn't need anyone.
It should work now.
Except it doesn't.
Because I didn't love Isabelle. Not really. I thought I did, but looking back, what I loved was the idea of her. The performance. The image of what we could be together.
But Harper?
Harper is different.
Harper made me laugh. Harper challenged me. Harper fit into my life in ways I didn't know were possible—cooking in my kitchen, charming my friends, showing up at Thanksgiving with her sisters and making my penthouse feel like a home.
Harper made me want to be better.
And I destroyed her anyway.
The office is nearly empty when I arrive.
Saturday afternoon.
Most people are home with their families. Living their lives.
I take the elevator to the executive floor and head to my office, passing Rachel's empty desk and the conference rooms where we film content.
Where Harper used to film Weeknight Wins.
I don't go in.
Instead, I head to my office, close the door, and try to focus on work.
There's always work to do. Emails to answer. Strategy to plan. The CulinaryVision-FoodFirst partnership to counter.
I open my laptop, staring at the screen.
Can't focus.
Because all I can think about is Harper's face when I showed her those screenshots. The way her expression crumbled. The way she tried to explain and I wouldn't listen.
The way she said "I love you" like it was the last true thing she had left.
I close my laptop. This isn't working.
I stand, intending to leave, when I hear voices in the hallway.
One voice, specifically.
Patricia Franklin.
I freeze.
"—I appreciate you sending those screenshots," Patricia is saying. "They were very useful."
I move closer to my office door, listening.
"And you're certain Ms. Beaumont turned down your offer?" Patricia continues. She's on the phone, her voice carrying down the empty hallway.
My blood goes cold.
