Chapter 18
Shattered Illusions
The buttery smell of popcorn fills the apartment as Harper pours it into our oversized blue bowl.
Our living room looks extra cozy tonight—string lights draped along the walls, candles flickering on the coffee table, pizza boxes stacked on the counter.
I’m curled up on the couch under my fuzziest blanket, phone face-down beside me.
I’ve checked it seventeen times in the last hour despite repeatedly swearing I won’t look again.
Seventeen checks, and I still can’t force myself to read Zayn’s texts or listen to his voicemails.
“Die Hard is the best,” Harper announces, brandishing the DVD case like a trophy. Her red hair is piled in a messy bun that somehow still looks intentional. “Action, suspense, and a barefoot hero saving everyone. Peak cinema.”
Sara rolls her eyes, holding up her counter-offer. “Completely wrong energy for tonight. We need something fun. The Princess Bride has romance, comedy, and sword fights.”
“Soph? Tiebreaker?” Harper looks at me, waiting.
I snap back to attention, realizing I’ve been staring at nothing. My hand drifts toward my phone but stops midway. “Hmm? Oh, either’s fine.”
Harper and Sara exchange a loaded glance across the coffee table. I pretend not to notice. It’s the third time tonight they’ve had their silent “Sophie’s falling apart” conversation right in front of me.
“You always have an opinion,” Sara says carefully, gesturing to the stack. “Don’t you usually lobby hard for those book adaptations?”
I shrug, forcing brightness into my voice. “I’m good with whatever tonight.”
Harper snorts. “Right. Last month you made us watch The Proposal three times because, and I quote, ‘Ryan Reynolds is hot enough to watch three times.’”
Mia pads over from her bed, nails clicking softly on hardwood. She stops at my feet and gazes up with those soulful brown eyes that always know when I’m hurting. I scratch behind her ears, grateful for the distraction.
“I’ve got an idea,” Sara says, brightening. “Let’s let Mia decide!”
“Dog movie roulette?” Harper grins. “I’m in.”
It’s our standard tie-breaking method. Sara places three dog treats on three DVD cases on the floor. I watch Mia assess each option, tail wagging slightly.
“Go ahead, girl,” I murmur, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
Mia sniffs each case carefully, like she’s taking her duty seriously. Then she snatches the treat from Sara’s romantic comedy, and Harper groans dramatically.
“Betrayed by my own canine companion,” Harper sighs, flopping backward.
“She’s my dog, actually,” I say, managing something almost like my normal voice.
“Mia has excellent taste,” Sara says smugly, loading the DVD.
My phone buzzes against the cushion, screen illuminating. Zayn has called eighteen times since I fled his office. Eighteen unanswered calls. Eight unopened texts. My hands tremble as I flip it face-down again, hiding his name.
What if he’s calling to say goodbye before leaving for New York? What if he’s calling to explain why he’s choosing his career again? What if—
“Earth to Sophie?” Harper waves a hand in front of my face. “Red or… well, we only have red wine.”
“Red’s perfect.” I force my attention to the opening credits, trying to lose myself in the familiar apartment warmth, trying to think about anything except Zayn’s expression when Cameron dangled that golden opportunity.
Harper gives wine glasses as the movie starts. Mia settles against my leg, warm and solid. The blanket is soft, the wine smooth, and for one fleeting moment, I almost forget about Zayn and New York and how my heart shattered all over again in his office.
Almost.
I take a large gulp of wine. Sara watches me over the TV glow. When Harper disappears for more popcorn, she shifts closer.
“You don’t know what he chose,” she says quietly. “You left before he could answer.”
My grip tightens on the wine glass. “I don’t need to hear it,” I whisper. “It’s New York, Sara. Partnership. Double salary. Corner office overlooking Central Park.” Each word tastes bitter. “It’s everything he abandoned me for before, except so much better.”
“Maybe he’s changed—”
“Nobody refuses their dream job for a small-town veterinary clinic,” I cut her off, voice cracking. “Nobody chooses—” I can’t finish. Nobody chooses me.
“You didn’t give him a chance to—”
“I gave him that chance five years ago,” I say sharply. “I know exactly how this story ends. I’ve lived it already.”
Sara’s expression is so compassionate it physically hurts to see. “Sometimes stories have different endings, Sophie.”
Harper returns with the popcorn bowl, glancing between us. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, downing more wine. “Just discussing the movie.”
But as the film plays, I can’t focus. Sara’s words loop through my mind. You don’t know what he chose. What if she’s right? What if I don’t have the full story? What if five years genuinely changed him? What if—
The doorbell rings.
I freeze, wine glass halfway to my lips, nearly spilling burgundy across my blanket.
Harper and Sara lock eyes in that telepathic way—they both know exactly who’s at the door.
I can hear blood rushing in my ears as I carefully set my glass on the coffee table.
It has to be Zayn. I’ve been simultaneously waiting for and dreading this moment since I ran from his office.
“I’ll get it,” Sara offers, starting to rise.
“No.” My voice comes out louder. “I’ll go.”
Harper sits up straight, protective instincts activated. “Want me to get rid of him? I can be extremely intimidating.” She cracks her knuckles for emphasis, but I shake my head.
“It’s fine.” Except it’s not fine. Nothing about this is remotely fine.
Mia follows me to the door, nails clicking in rhythm with my racing pulse. Each step feels like wading through concrete. I smooth my hair, tug at my ratty college sweatshirt, then feel ridiculous for caring how I look.
The doorbell rings again. I freeze with my hand hovering above the knob, fingers icy despite the apartment’s warmth. Deep breath. I pull the door open.
Zayn fills our doorway looking wrecked—dark shadows under bloodshot eyes, hair standing at odd angles like he’s been repeatedly dragging his hands through it, dress shirt wrinkled and half-untucked.
He doesn’t look like the polished attorney anymore.
He looks like someone who hasn’t slept or eaten since I left him standing in his office.
My heart clenches just seeing him.
“Sophie.” He says my name like he’s been drowning and finally broke the surface.
I move to close the door, panic rising in my throat. I can’t do this. Everything hurts too much.
His foot blocks the door. “Please,” he says, voice quiet but desperate. “I’ve been calling all day. Just give me five minutes.”
“Five minutes to say what? Goodbye?” Bitterness coat my tone, surprising even me. “I don’t need to hear it, Zayn. I already know. You’re probably packing for New York right now.”
He shakes his head firmly, never breaking eye contact. “I refused the offer the moment Cameron made it,” he says clearly. “I’m not leaving, Sophie. Not for any amount of money.”
I cross my arms defensively, armor against hope. “Sure. You turned down partnership, double salary, a corner office overlooking Central Park.” I attempt a laugh that emerges hollow. “Nobody does that.”
“I did.” The intensity makes me flinch as he steps closer, foot still wedging the door open. “Everything I need is standing right in front of me.”
His words hit like a physical blow. Everything inside me free-falls, pulse hammering so hard I feel dizzy. He can’t possibly mean that. Not after everything.
“You don’t mean that,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You can’t.”
“I’ve never meant anything more in my life.” His voice cracks, revealing raw emotion beneath the surface. “When you ran out, I told Cameron exactly where he could shove his New York offer.”
I step back, stunned by his certainty, the conviction radiating from him. This isn’t the Zayn from five years ago—the ambitious kid obsessed with career advancement who left without looking back. This man looks like he’d burn his law degree if I asked.
“I don’t understand.” My voice emerges small, confused. “Why would you refuse that? It’s your dream position.”
“It was my dream,” he corrects, eyes boring into mine.
“But dreams change. I changed.” He takes a shaky breath.
“For five years, I chased success and hated every second because you weren’t there.
Five years of learning that no prestigious firm or impressive title or massive paycheck could fill the you-shaped hole in my life. ”
Tears prick my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.
This sounds like dialogue straight from the romance novels stacked beside my bed—those grand declarations heroes make before the happy ending.
But real life isn’t like that. People don’t sacrifice dream jobs for love.
They don’t choose small towns over Manhattan. They don’t choose me.
Or do they?
“How do I know this isn’t just…” I struggle to articulate it, throat tight. “How do I know you won’t change your mind when Bellrose gets boring? When the novelty wears off? When someone dangles something shinier?”
“Because I’ve already lived the big city life. I’ve had the prestigious job. I’ve had everything I thought would make me happy.” He drags fingers through his disheveled hair. “And I was absolutely miserable every single day without you.”
One tear escapes, sliding down my cheek. I swipe it away quickly. “I want to believe you,” I whisper. “But I’m terrified.”
Behind me, I hear Harper and Sara shuffling in the living room, pretending they’re not eavesdropping on every word. Mia sits at my feet, head swiveling between us like she’s following a tennis match.
“I need time,” I finally manage, voice trembling. “I can’t process this right now. I need to think.”
Pain flashes across Zayn’s face before transforming into understanding. He nods and withdraws his foot from the doorway.
“Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll wait. As long as you need.” He steps back, creating space. “I’m not going anywhere, Sophie. Not New York, not Seattle, not anywhere. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”
His words hang suspended between us. I hug myself tighter, torn between slamming the door and throwing myself into his arms—both impulses pulling with equal force.
“Goodnight, Zayn,” I whisper.
“Goodnight, Sophie.” He holds my gaze one moment longer before turning away, shoulders slumping as he walks down the hall.
I close the door slowly and press my forehead against the wood. An ache spreads through me. He refused the job. He chose to stay. He chose… me?
When I turn around, Harper and Sara are watching from the couch, movie paused mid-scene. My legs feel unsteady as I return to them.
“He turned it down,” I say, the words feeling surreal. “New York. He says he’s staying.”
Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit.”
“Do you believe him?” Sara asks gently.
I sink onto the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I want to.”
Mia jumps up beside me, resting her head on my leg. Her brown eyes gaze up with complete trust—the kind I wish I could feel right now.
“What if…” I swallow hard. “What if he actually means it this time?”