Chapter Twenty-Five
Raina
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I stood at my office desk shoving my belongings into an empty printer paper box with movements that were jerky and uncoordinated.
A ceramic pencil holder shaped like a cat that Wren had given me as a joke.
The small succulent I’d been somehow keeping alive and a cardigan I kept draped over my chair for the days when the air conditioning ran too cold.
Silly things. Insignificant things. But my vision blurred as I packed each one, tears I refused to let fall burning behind my eyes.
I’d driven straight here after leaving that parking lot, my only thought to collect my things and get out before Simon returned and I had to face him again. Before I shattered completely in front of the man who had just broken my heart.
Now a deal I’ve been working on for weeks is falling apart because I made the mistake of trusting you.
The words echoed in my head, sharp and cruel, cutting deeper each time I replayed them. I’d known I let him down. Known I’d made a mess of his meeting with Alexander. But I’d expected frustration. Disappointment. Maybe even anger.
I hadn’t expected that.
He hadn’t asked if I was okay. Hadn’t wondered if something might have happened to me. Hadn’t shown even a flicker of concern about why I might have vanished for hours without contact. Instead, he’d gone straight to accusations. Straight to blame.
Are you working for Chuck?
My throat tightened at the memory, a fresh wave of hurt crashing over me.
He’d actually looked me in the eye and asked if I was sabotaging him.
As if the past weeks had meant nothing. As if every moment we’d shared—every late night, every intimate conversation, every touch that had made my heart race—had been some elaborate performance.
Did he know me at all?
I thought we’d built something real. Something solid and strong, forged through honesty and vulnerability and the slow, careful process of letting someone in.
I’d seen parts of Simon that I suspected few people ever got to see.
The man beneath the polished exterior, with his dry humor and unexpected tenderness and the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
But the man in that parking lot… that wasn’t the Simon I knew. That was someone else entirely. Someone cold and suspicious and so quick to assume the worst that he hadn’t even let me finish a sentence.
I grabbed my spare phone charger from the drawer—useless now, with my shattered screen—and tossed it into the box with more force than necessary.
The worst part was that I understood, in some distant, rational corner of my mind. I knew about Chuck. About the betrayal that had cost Simon his first company. He’d been burned before. Badly. And today, when everything went wrong, those old wounds must have reopened, fresh and bleeding.
But understanding didn’t make it hurt less.
He’d projected all of that onto me. Every fear, every past betrayal, without giving me a single chance to explain. Without trusting that the woman he claimed to care about might have had a reason for not showing up.
My brother had been in the hospital, confused and vomiting and unable to recognize his own fiancée’s name. And Simon had accused me of corporate espionage.
The laugh that escaped me was bitter, edged with hysteria.
I paused in my packing, hands braced against the edge of the desk, and let myself feel the weight of it.
The anger and the heartbreak, twisted together so tightly I couldn’t separate them anymore.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something.
I wanted to rewind the clock and make different choices, though I wasn’t sure which ones.
I couldn’t regret taking Miles to the hospital. I’d do that again in a heartbeat.
But maybe I could have tried harder to contact Simon. Borrowed a phone at the hospital. Found some way to let him know what was happening before everything fell apart.
Would it have mattered?
The question surfaced unbidden, and I didn’t have an answer.
Maybe if I’d called, Simon would have understood.
Would have told me to stay with my brother, that the contract could wait.
Or maybe he would have reacted exactly the same way.
Maybe the trust I thought we’d built had always been more fragile than I realized.
Still, as I cleared the last of my things from the desk, a small, stubborn part of me kept listening for the elevator.
Maybe he’ll come after you.
I hated that I wanted that. Hated that despite everything, some pathetic, hopeful piece of my heart was waiting for the doors to open. For Simon to stride in with regret in his eyes and apologies on his lips. For him to ask me to stay.
The minutes ticked by in silence. He didn’t come.
My heart cracked a little more with each passing second, hairline fractures spreading through something that had felt so solid just this morning. And slowly, that fragile hope began to curdle into something harder.
Even if he did show up, even if he dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness, I wasn’t sure I could give it.
The things he’d said… those words couldn’t be unsaid.
That suspicion, the complete lack of trust, couldn’t be unfelt.
He’d shown me exactly what he thought of me when the pressure was on, and I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him the same way again.
But I still wanted his feelings for me to be stronger than his fear. I wanted to matter enough for him to fight for this. I wanted him to choose me, over anything else.
We don’t always get what we want.
The thought settled over me like a shroud. I picked up my box, took one last look around the office that had started to feel like mine, and walked out.
* * *
Wren’s house was a small craftsman bungalow in a quiet neighborhood, with a porch swing and window boxes full of flowers that she somehow managed to keep alive despite her chaotic schedule. I stood on her doorstep and knocked, hoping desperately that she’d be home.
The door swung open, and Wren’s frown appeared immediately, her sharp eyes cataloging my disheveled appearance in an instant.
“Raina? What are you doing here?” Her gaze lifted to my face, and whatever she saw there made her expression shift from confusion to concern. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. All I could manage was a shaky exhale and a voice that cracked on every syllable.
“I needed someone to talk to.”
That was all Wren needed to hear. She ushered me inside and guided me to the couch. Her cat, a grumpy orange tabby named Posie, blinked at me from her perch on the armchair.
“I took the afternoon off,” Wren said, disappearing into the kitchen. “Posie had an infected tooth. Poor thing just got back from the vet and she’s still loopy from the anesthesia. She’ll probably ignore us, which is fine because she’s terrible company anyway,” she joked.
I heard the clink of glasses, the glug of liquid being poured. A moment later, Wren pressed a generous glass of red wine into my hands and settled beside me on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her.
“Okay,” she said, her voice gentling. “Tell me everything.”
So, I did. The words poured out of me in a rush—the phone call from Hazel, finding Miles disoriented and sick, the frantic drive to the hospital and the hours spent waiting for news.
My shattered phone, useless in my purse.
The dawning horror when I’d looked at the clock and realized how late it was. And then Simon.
I replayed every moment of that confrontation, each word etched into my memory with painful clarity. The coldness in his voice. The accusations. The way he’d looked at me like I was a stranger—or worse, an enemy.
When I finally finished, my voice hoarse and my wine glass empty, Wren sat in charged silence for a long moment. Her jaw was tight, her eyes flashing with barely contained fury.
“How dare he.” The words came out low and dangerous. “How dare he accuse you of working with that slimeball Chuck? Does he know you at all?”
My chin wobbled, threatening to crack the fragile composure I’d been clinging to. I’d already cried twice today—in the car after leaving the parking lot at Alexander’s office, and again on the drive here—and I wasn’t sure I had any tears left.
“I thought he did,” I whispered. “I thought we had something real, Wren. Something that could survive a bad day like this. But the first time things went wrong, he just…” I shook my head, unable to find the right words.
“He didn’t even let me explain. Didn’t ask if I was okay.
He just assumed the worst and attacked.”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Wren said flatly. “A wounded idiot with trust issues, apparently, but still an idiot.”
“I know about his past.” I traced the rim of my empty glass with my finger. “His old business partner… he’s been burned before. I think when I didn’t show up, all those old fears just took over. He was projecting all of that onto me.”
Wren’s expression didn’t soften. “Understanding why someone hurt you doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”
“I know.” My voice was small. “That’s why I quit.”
“Good.” She nodded firmly. “You deserve better than someone who throws accusations at you instead of asking questions. No matter how good-looking he is or how much money he has.”
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped me. “He is annoyingly good-looking.”
“The worst ones always are.” Wren stood abruptly, her expression shifting to something determined. “That’s it. I’m getting The Slugger.”
I lifted my head, confused. “The what?”
“The Slugger. The baseball bat I keep by my bed in case someone breaks in. She’s coming with us.”
“You keep a baseball bat by your bed?” I blinked at her. “And it’s a she?”
“Yes and yes. I’m a single woman living alone—I need protection.” A wicked gleam entered her eyes. “Also, The Slugger would be perfect for giving Simon’s car a little creative bodywork.”
That startled an actual laugh out of me. “You’re kidding.”
Wren crossed her arms, one eyebrow arched. “Am I?”
“You’re a lawyer. You can’t do something like that.”
“I’m a pissed-off best friend, and I’m about ninety percent sure I could figure out how to get away with it. Prosecutorial discretion, creative alibi, the works.”
I didn’t ask how she’d worked that out, mostly because I genuinely wasn’t sure if she was joking. “How about you just hang out with me instead? No felonies required.”
Wren sighed dramatically. “Fine. We’ll watch a horror movie and eat junk food.”
“Why a horror movie?”
“Because it’s the opposite of a romcom, obviously.
” She grabbed her remote and started scrolling through streaming services.
“No meet-cutes, no grand gestures, no emotionally unavailable billionaires learning the meaning of love. Just blood, screaming, and people making terrible decisions that have nothing to do with relationships.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
While Wren hunted for the perfect slasher film, I borrowed her phone to call Hazel. I needed to check on Miles and remind myself why I’d made the choices I had today, even if those choices had cost me everything else.
“He’s still sleeping,” Hazel said, her voice filled with relief.
“The doctors say that’s good—he needs rest. They think it might take a couple of weeks for all the concussion effects to fully resolve.
I already talked to the Lynx coach, and Miles can’t get back on the ice until a doctor clears him. ”
That was going to drive my brother absolutely crazy. Hockey was his life.
“He might be grumpy for a while,” I said with a light laugh, “but he’ll get over it. I’m just glad I got him to the hospital when I did. He was so disoriented—he might have hurt himself worse at home.”
“Thank you so much, Raina. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” Hazel paused. “I hope you weren’t too late for your meeting.”
“Well…”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
I hesitated, then found myself telling the story again. Abbreviated this time, stripped down to the essential facts, but no less painful for the brevity.
“Oh, Raina,” Hazel breathed when I finished. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” I kept my voice firm, even as my heart ached.
“Simon overreacted, and that’s on him. No business meeting is more important than my brother.
” I paused, thinking of Miles waking up confused and hurting, learning that his sister had lost her job because of him.
“Speaking of which—don’t tell Miles about this, okay?
He’d just feel guilty, and I don’t want that. I want him to focus on getting better.”
Hazel promised, and I ended the call.
Wren had selected a slasher film that boasted an impressive body count and truly abysmal acting, and she’d somehow produced a bowl of popcorn while I wasn’t looking. She patted the cushion beside her, and I sank back into the couch, letting the mindless gore wash over me.
As I sat there in my best friend’s living room, with her grumpy cat glaring at me from across the room and fake blood splashing across the screen, something in my chest loosened just slightly.
I didn’t have a job anymore. I might not have a boyfriend—though honestly, I wasn’t sure what Simon and I had been to begin with. But I had people who cared about me. People who would show up with wine and baseball bats and terrible movies when everything fell apart.
Whatever came next, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.