Chapter 31 #2
“I’ll… I’ll brief everyone in ten minutes,” I say quickly, before the thread holding my composure can snap. “I just… need a moment to—”
I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t, not without choking, so I turn away before he can try again.
If I stay another second and let him look at me with that bruised, devastated expression, I will crumble right in front of him.
Every step away from him feels like peeling away skin, but I force myself down the hall, my heart tearing itself apart with every inch of distance I create.
And I can feel his gaze on my back like he wants to call after me, even though he knows he shouldn’t, because neither of us knows how to survive this without hurting the other all over again.
By the time I shut my office door, the last of my composure gives a warning tremor beneath my skin.
It feels as if I’m holding myself together with the flimsiest threads, muscles locking in place only because I won’t let them fall apart yet.
My hands remain curled as though they’re still gripping something solid—his wrist, his jacket, the truth I didn’t say—but of course, there’s nothing there.
Just empty air and the echo of the moment he turned and walked away.
The silence closes around me in a way that makes every breath feel unsteady.
My phone lights up on the desk—once, then twice, then in a relentless cascade of vibrations that turns the screen into a frantic pulse of notifications.
I sink into my chair because my knees simply won’t hold me anymore.
Emails. Mentions. Media alerts. Each one carrying a different shade of the same message: a story spinning out of my control.
Trouble in paradise?
Hendrix storms off mid-interview—sources say tension behind the scenes.
Is Alycia Torres losing control?
Perfect couple’s cracks begin to show.
Every headline lands like a blow right beneath my sternum, each one stealing a little more breath until my chest feels stretched too thin to contain any of it.
This is exactly what Janine warned me about.
When the story stops being a tool and turns into a weapon.
When it stops being something I shape and starts being something that shapes me.
I click on one article because apparently, tonight I am the person who picks at the wound just to see how deep it goes.
The frozen image loads instantly. Kyle’s face—tired, devastated, impossibly open—in the exact second before he turned away.
The hurt sitting there so plainly it’s almost unbearable to witness, let alone know I caused it.
My hand flies up to my mouth to trap whatever sound threatens to escape, but a muted, broken inhale slips through anyway, traitorous and sharp.
He looked like he was breaking because he was, and I was the one who broke him.
My phone vibrates again, rattling across the wood like it’s desperate to be heard, and a preview flashes:
Elevator Boy
I’m sorry. I couldn’t fake it anymore.
I don’t remember opening the message. One second, it’s a notification; the next, it fills the entire screen, and suddenly my heartbeat is everywhere—my throat, my fingertips, the hollow space behind my ribs—pounding so hard I can barely breathe around it.
My eyes fill with tears, blurring the words until they dissolve at the edges.
I blink, and more spill over. My vision tilts for a moment, and I grip the arm of my chair to steady myself.
He wasn’t retaliating or trying to make a point; he simply reached his limit of pretending.
The sound that leaves me is quiet, uneven, and unlike anything I’ve ever heard come from my body.
It’s the sound of something loosening that I’ve held too tightly for too long.
A soft knock startles me upright. I swipe at my face even though I can’t erase the redness or hide the tremor sitting deep in my chest.
“Alycia?”
Janine steps inside before I can answer, her expression tight with concern rather than reprimand. She closes the door gently behind her, and the simple care in that movement nearly undoes me all over again.
“I saw the livestream,” she says quietly, crossing the room with a pace that feels more like checking on a hurt friend than a subordinate. “And I wanted to make sure you— Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The lie barely has a voice, barely makes it past the strain in my throat.
Her gaze softens with a weight that makes it clear she sees through every layer of the facade I’m trying to hold. “That’s the one truthful answer I knew I would not get.”
I swallow hard, my voice fraying as I try to force steadiness into it. “It’s just fallout when a narrative twists in a direction you don’t want it to. I’ll handle it.”
Her brows pull together, a crease of worry cutting through her usual pragmatism. “Alycia, this isn’t just a narrative. Kyle didn’t just misspeak. He walked away on camera. That was genuine emotion there, and we both know it wasn’t one-sided.”
“I’ll clean it up,” I whisper, fear of everyone finding out the truth recoiling in my stomach. “I know what needs to be done.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Her voice is gentle but unyielding, like she’s trying to give me space without letting me fall off a ledge I don’t recognize I’m standing on. “What happened out there?”
For one impossible second, I almost tell her everything—the car ride, the way he asked me if it had been real, the lie I fed him to protect myself, the way his face collapsed right before he turned away.
The truth sits in my throat like something hot and heavy, clawing upward, but all that comes out is a breath that shakes too visibly for me to pretend she didn’t see it.
“I lost control of something I should never have let get this personal.”
Janine listens quietly, the silence heavy with understanding. She nods once, not judgmental, not accusing, just sad for me in a way that scrapes against a part of me I’ve kept stonewalled for years.
“I don’t know what’s happening between you two, but I know what a breaking point looks like. And you’re right at the edge of one.”
“I’m handling it,” I manage, though the words wobble painfully. “I won’t let this affect my work.”
She gives me a look so gentle it almost hurts. “Alycia… you’re allowed to ask for help.”
The pressure behind my eyes surges again, sharp and hot, and I clench my fists beneath the desk, nails biting into my palms just to keep myself upright. “I made this mess, so I’ll fix it.”
“All right.” Janine’s shoulders lower with a soft exhale. “Just… promise me you won’t drown trying to save a ship that doesn’t need saving.”
I can’t promise her that, but I offer the only thing I can manage. “I’ll do my job.”
She studies me for another long moment before nodding and stepping back toward the door. “If anything changes, I want to hear it from you first.”
She reiterates it for the second time, causing my throat to tighten around a truth I still can’t say. “I understand.”
She hesitates, almost reaches for the door handle twice, then finally slips out, closing the door with a quiet click that lands like a hollow echo in my chest. The moment she’s gone, the silence folds around me again, and the tears I’d barely held back spill over in a single unstoppable rush.
I don’t get a moment of reprieve before my phone rings. The shrill tone slices through the room and me, and for a moment, I can’t move. My hand eventually closes around the phone, more from instinct than control.”
“Hey, babe.” Maria’s voice floods the line, gentle in a way that breaks me open even faster. “Are you okay? We saw the livestream…. What happened?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Alycia?” she tries again.
“I-I don’t…” I swallow hard, but the tightness in my throat doesn’t budge. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Start from the beginning,” she says softly. “Tell me what you’re holding on to.”
I curl forward in my chair, my free hand gripping my ribs, like maybe if I hold myself tightly enough, I’ll keep from falling apart completely.
“I told him it wasn’t real. I told him nothing between us meant anything outside of work.
I told him that putting distance between us was the smart choice. ”
“And?” she asks gently.
“I lied to him, Maria. I lied straight to his face. I said I didn’t want him, and he believed me because I made him believe me.”
A sob tears loose. Then another. My vision goes watery, the room swimming around me.
“I tried so hard not to feel anything,” I say, voice cracking. “I tried to keep everything neat. Professional. Safe. I thought if I held the line tight enough, nothing could get messy.”
“But it did.”
“Because I fell for him anyway. I fell so hard and didn’t even see it until it was too late, and I panicked and—and—” My voice collapses. “And now the only thing I’ve kept safe is the empty space where he used to be.”
Maria’s voice cracks with me. “Oh, honey.”
My tears fall faster. They don’t feel cleansing, just hollowing. Leaving me scraped raw from the inside out.
“I thought ending it would protect my future with the team. My reputation. I thought if I kept control, I couldn’t lose everything again.” A sob shudders out of me. “But I still lost him. I still lost the one thing that mattered.”
Her voice softens to something gentle and firm and painfully loving.
“Then fix it.”
I press my hand over my eyes as another wave of grief surges. “I don’t know if he even wants—”
“Alycia,” she interrupts, firm enough to make my breath hitch, “fix it before the lie is all that’s left.”
The line goes quiet except for my shaky, uneven breathing. When we finally hang up, I set the phone on the desk with hands that won’t stop trembling. I stare at the lock screen, at the last unread message from Kyle. I couldn’t fake it anymore.
My chest feels like it’s caving in under the weight of everything I’ve been holding back, everything I tried to control until it strangled the truth right out of me. My fingers curl around the phone like it’s the only anchor I have left.
My voice comes out as a ruined whisper. “I built my life around not breaking and loving him is the thing that has finally cracked me open.”