Brand New Chap

Then she heard him on the phone, his expression unreadable, his voice clipped and cold in a way she had never heard before. When he hung up, their relationship shifted. Nervous. final. "We're leaving tomorrow morning," he added, as if he didn't have time to elaborate, and began to make his way to his laptop. Lisa frowned. "What? Hold on. Tomorrow? Plans are still in the works. He didn't look at him. "A problem emerged."

She stared at him, waiting for more. For anything. But all she got in return was quiet. She made another attempt and moved closer, asking, "Damon, what happened?" "It makes no difference." That was it. Just those three words. No assurance, no justification, no awareness of all they had left undone.

She searched his face for answers, but the man who had spent days caving in to all her demands and made Paris seem like a dream was gone. Anger rose in Lisa's chest, but she smothered it. This was not the first time. When things were serious, Damon had a way of shutting down and withdrawing. But this time it stung worse. Maybe because she had started to believe that this trip was unique. that they were special.

She wanted to apply pressure. to demand answers. to let him know that she had a right to know why he had abruptly stopped everything. But no, she did not.

She turned away and gave a stiff nod, pretending that she didn't care about her pain. "All right. I'll pack. He didn't stop her. And that hurt her heart more than anything else." Lisa could tell something wasn't right because Damon was unusually silent as they boarded the plane. Usually, he would make a casual remark, joke about how much luggage she was bringing back, or at the very least smirk when she complained that she wasn't ready to leave Paris, but this time? Nothing. He just clipped, "Let's go," before settling into his seat and turning to stare out the window. Lisa swallowed her frustration because she wanted to ask—to demand—what had changed in just one phone call.

The flight back was painfully silent, with Damon hardly speaking to her—no lingering glances, no soft smiles, no inside jokes about their time in Paris—as if the entire trip—the late-night strolls, the stolen moments, the whispered confessions—had never happened. Lisa tried to concentrate on the view outside, the soft hum of the engines, anything but the ache in her chest. When they landed, she expected him to at least ride back with her, but instead he turned to her at the private hangar, his expression unreadable.

“I have something to take care of,” he said.

Lisa blinked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

That was it. No explanation. No reassurance. Just those clipped words and the space growing between them.

She hesitated, hoping—praying—that he would say something else. But he didn’t.

Lisa forced a nod, even though her heart screamed at her to ask him what was wrong.

“Okay,” she said, her voice quieter than she wanted.

Damon gave her one last lingering look, and for a second, she thought she saw something crack in his expression. But then he turned away, stepping into a sleek black car that pulled away almost instantly.

Lisa watched until it disappeared from view, her stomach twisting.

Something had changed. 

And she didn't know if things would ever return to normal. Lisa slammed the door behind her and threw her bag onto the couch with far more force than was necessary. "What the actual hell, Damon?" she muttered to herself as she paced the living room. She had given him space and hadn't asked questions on the plane or demanded answers when he essentially abandoned her at the hangar, but now that she was home and had to sit with all the unanswered questions, the frustration was uncontrollable. She took out her phone, her fingers hovering over his contact.

She could text him—ask him what was so important that he had to drop everything, that he had to drop her—but she already knew how that would go. If Damon responded at all, he would be evasive, saying that it was "complicated," "not the right time," or some other excuse that meant he simply didn't want to talk about it. Lisa threw her phone onto the couch and sighed. How could someone be so open one minute and then be so closed off the next? They had spent days in Paris together, becoming closer in ways she hadn't realized she craved; he had taken care of her, made her laugh, made her feel wanted, and now? It was as if a switch had been flipped.

She frowned at nothing in particular and folded her arms.

She was done, not just angry.

She had waited. She had been lenient. However, this? And leaving her without a reason? Behaving as though their stay in Paris had been in vain?

Damon had another surprise in store if he assumed she would simply wait for him to return whenever he felt like it.

Lisa needed to breathe. Space. Something to divert her attention before she did something really foolish, like calling Damon and demanding an explanation that he was unlikely to provide.

Grabbing her keys, she stormed out of the flat. She had no idea where she was heading, only that she couldn’t stay here, stewing in her rage.

When she looked up, she was in front of a modern glass structure in the heart of the city. There was a Hiring Now sign on the doors. It was one of those high-end event planning firms—the kind that handled galas, luxury weddings, and corporate gatherings for the ultra-rich.

She paused. After that, she chuckled to herself. This is where she ended up, of course. She had been transformed by Paris. A billion-dollar fundraiser was overseen by her. She had planned a gathering for the city's most influential citizens. This was something she was skilled at.

Furthermore, she had no intention of waiting for Damon to decide when he was ready to allow her into his universe.

She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and strode inside.

Okay if Damon didn't respond to her questions. However, she was also not going to wait for him.