His jaw tightens. “You really think I care what they think?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I think you care what this firm means. What it represents.”
A pause.
A breath I can’t seem to pull.
“I’m not going to be the reason you lose everything,” I whisper. “Not again.”
I turn back to my bag.
But this time, when I reach for it, he steps in front of me. Physically blocks it.
I try to move around him. He doesn’t budge.
“Move.”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Rowan.”
“So am I.”
I look up, furious, and instantly regret it.
Because his expression isn’t angry.
It’s wrecked.
Just… shattered.
“Every time you run,” he says, voice like gravel, “you make it harder to believe this meant anything to you.”
My throat constricts.
I can’t—gosh, I can’t breathe again.
“You don’t get to do that,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m drowning here, Rowan. This weekend was already humiliating enough, and then they found out my secret. You should have never covered it up.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I can handle rage. I can handle cruelty.
But not this.
Not guilt.
He steps back, just slightly. Enough that the suitcase is within reach.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
Then, quietly, he says, “You’re not just a favor, Tessa.”
