Chapter 82: Eighty Two

The elevator ride felt too short. My breath was shallow, nerves getting tighter with each passing floor. I hadn’t seen him in days, and yet the mere idea of being in the same room with Declan again had me unraveling in ways I didn’t want to admit.

I walked into the meeting room two minutes early, forcing calm into my steps. He was already there.

Of course he was.

He sat at the far end of the conference table, typing something with mechanical precision into his laptop. His posture was perfect. Back straight, shoulders firm, eyes unreadable.

My heels clicked too loudly against the floor, announcing my arrival.

He didn’t look up when I entered.

“Morning,” I said, soft but clear.

“Morning.” He didn’t miss a beat. His tone was clipped, businesslike, almost bored. I could’ve been any colleague. Any stranger.

I forced myself into my seat opposite him. The wood of the chair felt cold against my skin. My fingers itched to fidget, but I folded them in my lap and kept still.

We were no longer lovers. No longer anything.

Just coworkers.

The meeting started on time. Reports were shared, action plans reviewed. I kept my voice steady while presenting a donor update, trying to keep my gaze from drifting toward him. But I could feel Declan’s presence like the elephant in the room. Every time he spoke, I flinched internally, his voice so familiar yet so distant now. Low and deliberate, but sharp around the edges.

He didn’t address me by name once.

Not during the entire hour.

Only when protocol demanded it did he nod politely or offer a dry “good point” in my direction. Otherwise, I might as well have been part of the furniture.

When the meeting ended, people trickled out one by one, murmuring goodbyes and refilling coffee. I stayed back, pretending to tidy my notes. My heart was pounding in a way that made me feel nauseous.

He stood to leave. I forced my voice out.

“Declan.”

He paused, but didn’t turn. “Yeah?”

“How long have you been back in the city?”

He turned halfway, eyes wary. “A few weeks.”

A few weeks. He’d been here this whole time.

“And your parents? Still in Boston?”

His brow twitched, just slightly. “Yeah.”

I tried to smile. It didn’t reach my eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”

Now he fully turned. He looked at me for the first time since that night in the grocery store, and I felt the weight of his stare press against my ribcage.

“Why would I?” he asked, voice flat.

I didn’t have an answer.

“I just meant… I would’ve wanted to know,” I said, hating how uncertain I sounded.

He laughed once, dry and sharp. “Right. And how did you want me to reach out? You cut off all possible means of communication.”

I swallowed, staring at him. “It was for the best.”

He stared right back at me. His expression was one of incredulousness, like he couldn’t believe the things I was saying. He was looking at me like I was stupid.

“How?” He finally asked.

“I just…” I took a deep breath, my nails digging into the skin of my palm. “Just trust me.”

He snorted at that.

I looked away. “I don’t know what to say to you, Declan.”

His eyes on me were accusing. But at the same time, it was like he had given up. “We don’t have to make small talk. I will leave in a few months. If it is too hard for you to work with me, I suggest you talk to your boss.”

There was no shouting. No raised voice. He didn’t need to. Every syllable was like glass in my chest. Daggers out of his mouth straight into my skin.

The detached tone of his voice was sending me over the edge.

“I was scared,” I said. “Everything was falling apart.”

He took a step closer, but his face was unreadable. “I don’t care about your explanation, Miss Whitefield.”

“Declan, please…”

“It’s been really long,” he said, looking down at me, “Five years. I have moved on. We are grown adults fully capable of working together. I would suggest we focus on the task at hand.”

My voice cracked. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything.”

“You made it clear I was no one you owed an explanation to.”

He turned again, grabbing his mug.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I said quickly, standing up. “I just… I want to talk. You deserve that.”

He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk, Willow.” God, my name on his tongue. It was like a lullaby, like a song.

“But I do.” I whispered. “Can we get a coffee sometime? I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t,” he said simply, “There is nothing to be said, Miss Whitefield.”

And just like that, I was Miss Whitefield, again.

I stared at him, willing my tears not to fall. He was staring right back, right into my eyes, neither of us moving an inch. I wanted him to leave first. I did not have it in me to leave, again.

I reached up, rubbing my eye. His gaze zeroed in on my hand, his eyes narrowing, following my hand from my face to my side.

He saw the ring.

His gaze stayed affixed on my left hand as if it was frozen there.

His voice came out hoarse. “You’re engaged?”

I didn’t answer.

“To who?”

I swallowed. “Do you remember,” I sighed, “Jacob?”

His silence gave me all the confirmation I needed.

He nodded slowly. Then his jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might break a tooth.

He gripped his mug tightly, his knuckles turning white as ash.

“Of course I remember Jacob,” he said. He laughed humorlessly. “This makes sense, now.”

“No!” My voice was too loud, panicked. “It wasn’t like that, Declan.”

But he wasn’t listening. He turned too quickly. The mug slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor. Coffee splashed across the tile. Shards of ceramic scattered everywhere.

I gasped.

He didn’t move.

For a moment, neither of us did.

Then I dropped to my knees. “Let me clean - ”

“Don’t.” His voice was ice. “Don’t touch it.”

I froze, still crouched.

When I looked up, his eyes were wild with hurt, rage, disbelief.

“Was I that easy to erase?” he whispered. “Or was he just the safer bet? Or did you want him all along? Fuck, Willow.”

I stood slowly. “Declan, stop. You’re angry, but…”

“Angry?” he cut in, voice rising for the first time. “You think this is about anger?”

“I was alone,” I said. “I was terrified, and you…”

“I would’ve been there!” he shouted. “I would’ve done everything for you. But you didn’t give me the chance. You took it from me.”

Silence fell again. My mouth trembled.

His shoulders were rising and falling with every heavy breath. I had never seen him like this.

“You look at me now,” he said quietly, “and act like you remember. Like it mattered to you.”

“It did,” I said.

He took a step back, face crumpling.

“Congratulations,” he muttered, his voice taking on that detached tone again. “On the engagement.”

Then he walked out.

I stared at the floor in front of me. Coffee on the ground, glass shards. The liquid was seeping into my shoes.