She walked in and dropped into the chair beside me, sliding a granola bar across the desk like it was a peace offering. “You know they all just realized who actually runs this place, right?”
“Yeah, well,” I said softly, peeling back the wrapper without appetite, “being in charge doesn’t mean being invincible.”
Naomi didn’t respond.
I looked back at the dark screen, my reflection fractured by faint smudges on the glass. The ache behind my ribs felt sharp, insistent—a reminder that poise came at a cost.
For everyone else, I was the calm center of the storm.
For me, it felt like standing in the eye of it, trying to remember how to breathe.
The phone started buzzing again, the same vibration I’d been trying to ignore all morning. I glanced down, saw Kyle Reynolds flashing across the screen, and exhaled slowly. Part of me wanted to let it ring out—to let silence speak for me. But I knew him well enough to know he’d just keep calling.
I swiped to answer.
“What the hell, El?” His voice came out sharp, already angry. “Do you know what this is doing to my image? Sponsors are furious.”
For a moment, I just stared at the wall. That was his first sentence—not Are you okay? Not I’m sorry. Just… optics. Always optics.
“They’re furious at me, Kyle,” I said quietly. “Not at you.”
“It’s the same thing!” he snapped.
That hit harder than it should have. Because maybe once, I would’ve agreed. When I thought we were a team—his world and mine intertwined enough that his success was mine too. But that wasn’t true anymore, and the realization hurt less than it used to.
“No,” I said, voice steady now. “You wanted freedom. Now you have it.”
He went quiet for a beat, then scoffed, disbelieving. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” I swallowed, the words rough but true. “We broke up. I'm sorry it's dragging you in it, but I can't… that's all I'm sorry for. Goodbye, Kyle.”
And then I ended the call.
For a second, I just sat there, the silence so complete it rang in my ears. I set the phone facedown on the desk like it might explode if I looked at it again. My breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
The door creaked open behind me, and Naomi appeared, holding two steaming mugs. She didn’t need to ask what had just happened—the tension probably carried through the walls. She set one cup in front of me and arched a brow.
“I heard yelling,” she said casually. “Should I start drafting his obit?”
A weak laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Just his apology. I’ll fill in the rest later.”
Naomi grinned faintly, satisfied with that answer, but her eyes softened as she took in my face. “You’re too calm. That’s scarier than the yelling.”
I looked down at the dark coffee swirling in the mug, fingers tight around the handle. “If I start crying, I won’t stop,” I admitted. “So calm it is.”
Naomi didn’t say anything for a moment. She just nodded and reached out, squeezing my shoulder—firm, grounding.
“Then we’ll do calm together,” she said finally. “But after this? Pizza. Nonnegotiable.”
I managed a real smile at that. “Deal.”
She squeezed once more, then went back to her desk, humming something under her breath, pretending everything was normal.
I watched her for a long moment, the warmth from the coffee finally seeping into my cold hands.
It was strange—the break with Kyle felt less like shattering and more like release. A weight I’d been carrying so long I’d forgotten how heavy it was.
Still, as the minutes ticked by and the phone stayed silent, a small ache lingered beneath the relief. Not for him, but for the version of me who’d once thought love meant endurance.
