~ 41~

~ 41~
LILA

The moment I disposed of the flowers and buried the memory deep beneath my tasks, I thought I could breathe again.

But after two hours back at my desk—after checking in with the inventory team, adjusting some displays, reviewing the new sale projections—I realized the walls were pressing in on me.
The buzzing of conversations outside my office door was too sharp.
The tapping of my keyboard too loud.
My own heartbeat too chaotic.

I needed air.
Real, clean, untainted air.

Without a word to anyone, I grabbed my phone, slipped it into my pocket, and made my way through Novoux, weaving past customers and employees alike with a practiced ease that came from years of pretending to be fine when I wasn’t.

The second I stepped outside the main glass doors, the weight lifted slightly.

The plaza around KAI-Apparel was always busy, but in a distant sort of way—business people walking swiftly to lunch meetings, delivery vans unloading parcels, tourists pausing to take pictures of the sleek, mirrored buildings.

I found a quiet corner near a manicured hedge and just stood there, breathing in the late afternoon air, letting it fill my lungs.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, lazy shadows across the stone pavement. I tilted my head up, letting the fading light kiss my face, hoping it would burn away the fear still clinging to my bones.

And then I felt it.
A prickle at the back of my neck.
The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I froze.

Slowly, cautiously, I opened my eyes and scanned the plaza.

Nothing.

But when I tilted my gaze upward, there he was.

Lucas.

Leaning against the glass railing two floors up, his hands braced on either side, his sharp profile cut against the fading skyline like some beautiful, tragic painting.
He wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t saying anything.
Just watching me with an intensity that made it impossible to breathe all over again—but for a different reason entirely.

For a second, I thought maybe I was imagining it. That my mind, so brittle from the day's events, was creating ghosts where there were none.

But no.
The moment our eyes met, something flickered across his face—a tightness in his jaw, a softening around his eyes.
Recognition.
Concern.
A thread pulling taut between us.

Before I could look away, before I could turn and retreat into the safety of my carefully built walls, he was gone.

Not in the blink of an eye.
Not like a magician’s trick.
But purposeful.
Determined.

I barely had a moment to gather myself before footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned and there he was.
Standing just a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his perfectly tailored slacks, his dark hair slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it too many times.
The evening light made his skin glow, made the angles of his face seem sharper, more dangerous.

He didn’t say anything at first.
Just looked at me.
Like he was searching for something he wasn't sure I’d be willing to give.

I crossed my arms, hugging myself tightly.

“I’m fine,” I said before he could speak, my voice coming out more defensive than I intended. “Just needed some air.”

He didn’t believe me.
I could see it in the way his brow furrowed, in the clench of his jaw.

“Lila…” he said, his voice rough, low.
God, why did he have to say my name like that?
Like it meant something.
Like I still meant something.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” I asked, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though it physically hurt.

“Pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.” He took a step closer, enough that I could smell the faint hint of his cologne—something clean and woodsy that made my knees weak if I thought about it too long.
“You don’t have to tell me right now,” he continued, softer now. “But promise me, if you’re in trouble... if something’s wrong... you’ll tell me.”

I opened my mouth.
Closed it.

The words tangled on my tongue, fighting to get free.
Tell him.
Tell him about the note. About Damien. About the way the walls of my life were slowly caving in.

But then he said it.
The thing that shattered the fragile moment we were teetering on.

“We also need to talk.”

Just like that, I was back there again.

Back outside the restaurant.
Watching him smile across the table at that woman.
The woman with the model’s figure.
The woman whose toddler had wrapped chubby arms around my legs in the park not so long ago.
The woman he had looked so effortlessly comfortable with.

Pain twisted in my chest, sharp and unrelenting.

I couldn’t do this.
Not with him.
Not again.

“I should get back to work,” I said hurriedly, stepping around him before he could trap me with more words, more promises.

“Lila—”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off, forcing a bright, brittle smile onto my face. “Really. Just busy.”

Before he could say anything else, before he could crack open wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal, I turned and walked away.

Each step back toward Novoux was heavy, my heels clicking against the stone like gunshots in the growing dusk.

I told myself it was for the best.
That no good could come from opening old doors that should have stayed shut.
That Lucas Crawford had no place in the future I was trying so desperately to build for myself.

I told myself a lot of things.

But deep down, buried so deep even I could barely admit it, the truth whispered cruelly:
No matter how many times I walked away, a part of me was still his to break.

\-----

Back home that night, the silence wrapped around me like a second skin.

I didn’t bother turning on the TV or playing music. I needed the quiet—needed to hear my own thoughts without the noise of the world drowning them out.

I sat curled up on the couch, a half-empty glass of wine forgotten on the side table, my bare feet tucked beneath me as I stared blankly at the city lights bleeding through the windows.

For a long time, I just sat there, breathing, thinking.
Letting everything I’d been holding back all day finally rise to the surface.

I thought about myself.
About this life I had built from the broken pieces of my past, brick by bloody brick.
How far I had come from the scared, naive girl who once thought love could fix everything.
How much I had fought—to get here, to survive, to be someone I could be proud of.

And how close I had come today to having it all ripped apart.

Damien.

Just the thought of his name sent a shiver down my spine.
The bouquet.
The note.
The sickening realization that he hadn’t just found my apartment—he had found my sanctuary at Novoux too.
My work, my dream.
He had dared to touch it.
Taint it.

On the way home earlier, I had driven straight to the nearest police station.
The inside of the building had smelled like stale coffee and fear.
But still, I stood tall as I spoke to the officer, my hands only trembling a little as I explained that my ex was stalking me. That he was sending gifts. Watching me. Threatening my peace.
They had listened.
Written it all down.
Promised to take action—to start a file, to investigate, to keep me informed.

It was a small step.
But it was something.

And for now… that had to be enough.

I exhaled a slow, shuddering breath and leaned my head back against the couch.
The leather was cool against my skin, grounding me.
My body was tired to the bone, but my mind refused to rest.

Because now, thoughts of the weekend crept in.
Thoughts of my father.

It had been years since we’d had a real conversation—one that didn’t end in sharp words and slammed doors.
We were too much alike, he and I.
Both stubborn to a fault.
Both carrying our hurts like armor we refused to take off.

I had his eyes—the same cold gray that saw too much and said too little.
I had his sharp temper, his pride, his relentless need to push through pain instead of admitting it was there.
And yet, despite it all, despite everything that had happened between us over the years, some small, battered part of me still hoped.
Still prayed.

Maybe this time would be different.
Maybe grief had softened the jagged edges of his heart the way it had mine.
Maybe, for once, we could see each other not as enemies or disappointments, but simply as two broken people trying to find their way back.

“Please,” I whispered into the quiet, feeling the weight of the word settle into my chest.
“Please let us be okay this time.”

A tear slipped free before I could stop it, tracing a slow path down my cheek.
I didn’t bother wiping it away.
Some things were meant to be felt all the way through.

The minutes stretched on, blurring together as exhaustion finally started to pull at my limbs.

I was just beginning to drift into sleep, my breathing evening out, when my mind betrayed me once again.

Lucas.

God, why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
About the way his voice had sounded this afternoon—low, rough, almost desperate.
The way his eyes had begged me to let him in.
The way he had stood there, steady and unmovable, like a storm I both feared and craved.

Maybe I should’ve listened.
Maybe I should’ve stayed and heard what he had to say.
Maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story than what I had seen outside that restaurant.

A picture wasn't the whole story, after all.
A moment wasn’t a lifetime.

But even as the doubts gnawed at me, I forced myself to shove them aside.

No.

I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t let him back in.

Lucas had left scars I was still healing from.
Scars I didn’t have the strength to reopen.

Besides, Elijah was in my life now.
Steady, sweet, uncomplicated Elijah.
He treated me right.
Made me feel safe.
Made me laugh, even when I thought I never would again.

I needed to focus on that.
On the present.
On what was real and solid and good.

Not on a memory wearing the face of the man who had once broken me.

I wrapped the throw blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if I could cocoon myself from the past if I just tried hard enough.

Tomorrow, I promised myself, tomorrow I would wake up stronger.
I would show up at Novoux with my head high.
I would face the weekend, face my father, face whatever Damien tried to throw at me.
And I would survive it all.

Because that’s what I did.

I survived.

Even when it felt impossible.
Even when the night felt too long and the shadows too heavy.

I survived.

And tomorrow, I would do it again.