12
EMILIA
I decided to go talk to him when I walked into the office on Monday.
I didn’t feel ready, not entirely. But I also knew that waiting for the perfect moment was just another way to avoid it. And I was done avoiding things, especially my feelings.
The morning passed slowly, each meeting dragging into the next. I could feel his presence in every room we shared, though we didn’t speak. He didn’t look at me too long. He didn’t try. He was giving me space. Respecting the silence.
Maybe he thought I’d made my choice already.
Maybe he assumed my silence meant no.
And maybe I let him think that for too long.
By mid-afternoon, the knot in my stomach had turned to something else. Less fear, more determination. I closed my laptop and stood, heart pounding harder than I expected. I stepped out into the hallway and stepped toward his office.
I stared at the door, and I hesitated. I could’ve walked away. Could’ve gone to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, waited another week. Maybe changed my mind about talking to him. But I didn’t.
I knocked once.
The pause before his answer was brief, but it felt like a held breath.
“Come in,” he said.
When I stepped inside, he looked up and froze. Like he hadn’t expected this moment to actually happen.
“Hey,”
I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
His eyes softened. “Hey.”
“Do you have a minute?”
I asked, already stepping inside.
He nodded quickly and gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Yeah. Of course. Sit, please.”
I didn’t miss the way he sat a little straighter. Or the subtle tension in his shoulders, like he’d been carrying something too heavy for too long. I knew the feeling. I’d lived it because of him.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. I stared at him. He stared back.
I could see it in his eyes. That flicker of uncertainty, of restraint. Like he was trying not to say too much too soon. Like he didn’t want to scare me off by needing this moment more than I did.
“I’ve thought about what you said,”
I started. My voice was level, but my heart beat hard in my chest. “And I’ve thought about what you didn’t say. And honestly, I don’t think I can fully move forward until we have this conversation.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, listening like he never had.
In this moment, it was my turn to speak, and his to listen. To hear me out.
“You hurt me, Dean,”
I said flatly. “You knew how I felt. I didn’t hide it. And instead of backing off, you kept sleeping with me, kept letting me believe it meant something.”
He didn’t say a word, eyes never leaving mine.
“You used me,”
I went on. “Maybe not with bad intentions, but in a calculated way. You knew I wasn’t casual about this. And you let me keep giving, knowing you’d never give anything real back. And you could blame me for that. For being so na?ve. But you led me on, and you can’t deny it.”
His face twitched with shame or pain. I wasn’t sure, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I let myself believe that maybe you were just scared. Or that you’d catch up to me eventually. But then you said what you said. And it made me question everything. Every moment. Every word. So cruel and filled with disgust. I didn’t deserve any of that.”
Dean nodded, agreeing with me. He looked upset, and I knew my words were finally getting to him. His voice came quiet. “I’ve replayed that moment every night since. And I hate myself for it. For what I said. For how I made you feel like you were nothing but convenience. Truth is, you were the only real thing I had. I just didn’t have the strength to face it.”
I looked at him, trying not to let those words soften the guard I’d built around my ribs. But it was hard. Because for once, Dean wasn’t hiding. There was no cruelty. Just a man sitting in his regret, willing to feel it.
“I didn’t know how to handle what I felt,”
he went on. “I convinced myself that I could keep things simple with you so it wouldn’t disrupt my life. But then you got under my skin. You made me want things I didn’t think I was allowed to want. And instead of admitting that, I pushed you away. I degraded it. Degraded you.”
A lump grew in my throat. I looked away, toward the window and the Montreal skyline behind him.
“The past few weeks, I started missing you,”
he said, softer now. “Not your body. You. Your fire. Your mind. Your presence in my world. I walked into this office every day hoping you’d still be here. And every time I saw your empty office, I hated the version of me that made you leave it. And, I know I’ve said this too many times already…but I’m sorry for how I treated you. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Or to trust me again just because I finally found the courage to say these things. But I want to earn back whatever you’re willing to give me. Even if that’s just a conversation. Even if it’s nothing.”
His eyes searched mine, and I hated how familiar that gaze still felt.
“I want to show you who I can be outside of this office. Away from the power imbalance. Without the secrecy,”
he added, voice steady now. “So…if you're willing…I'd like to take you to dinner. A real one. You choose the place.”
I let the quiet stretch between us.
I should’ve been surprised, but I wasn’t. Weirdly, I had hoped for him to ask me on a date. On the other hand, it didn’t make things much easier.
Because this wasn’t just about dinner.
It was about everything we never were. Everything he refused to let us become when I was still trying, still offering parts of myself in hopes he might meet me halfway. And now, after the damage had been done, after I’d clawed my way back to feeling like myself again…now he wanted to try?
I didn’t know if I had it in me to do this. To open the door even a crack. To wonder if maybe this time would be different.
But a small part of me was still listening.
And I hated that it was.
And then, finally, I said…
Option 1:
“No, I don’t want to get dinner with you.”
(go to chapter 13)
Option 2:
“Okay. One dinner.”
(go to chapter 14)