Chapter 21 #2
“She controlled your life?” I repeat, struggling to keep my voice steady.
He exhales sharply. “Yeah. Jenn is a force of nature. She knows what she wants and doesn’t stop until she gets it.
At first, I thought it was impressive and maybe even exciting.
But it wasn’t long until I realized she was steering everything—my career, social life, even my writing.
Everything she did was what she wanted, not what I wanted. ”
“And you stayed with her for two years?” I cross my arms, trying to process it all.
“I was young and na?ve,” he admits, nervously rubbing his palms under the table. “I thought I loved her. And maybe I did, in some messed-up way. But looking back, I see it for what it was. She used me, Emma. My writing and ambition became tools for her to further her agenda.”
There’s a tight feeling in my chest that feels like it could snap at any moment. “I’m confused. It seems like you ended things, but she’s still your agent. What happened in-between then and now?”
“It’s embarrassing to admit now, but I wasn’t the one who ended things.
I didn’t understand the negative impact of the power dynamic until a few years after we went our separate ways.
My debut was a best seller. It was a historical romance that people seemed to love, so I wrote another one.
And when Jenn went to sell it to publishers, no one would bite.
I guess there was a stigma with male romance authors, or I can’t remember the bullshit reason she gave me. After a few more months of being unable to sell my novel, she dropped me as a client and broke up with me on the same day. I was devastated.”
Henry's jaw tightens as he recalls his past. I can see the pain dancing inside his dim pupils, which are usually full of warmth and comfort.
“I didn’t know what to do with myself for a while.
I stopped writing altogether. It felt like I’d poured everything into that book, and to have it rejected by everyone was the kind of failure I wasn’t prepared for.
Eventually, I landed on my feet and decided to pursue academia, but it was a long road. ”
My heart twitches at the vulnerability in his voice. I want to reach across the table and take his hand, but the sinking feeling in my gut stops me.
That night, he said she also worked in the publishing industry. God, I’m so stupid. And yet, I still reach for more. “How did she come back into your life?”
He leans back, his gaze distant. “She never really stopped being in my life because of her ties to the publishing industry. I still ran into her occasionally and tried to be cordial. About a year ago, she called me out of nowhere and asked if I was still writing. And then, she told me about this opportunity to ghostwrite for one of her clients. I told myself it was a business arrangement, nothing more.”
I frown. “And you said yes.”
“I did,” he admits, a note of regret coloring his voice. “A part of me thought it was a way to get back into writing without putting myself out there completely. It was safe. And maybe—maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it. That part of my life wasn’t over quite yet.”
“The part about being an author or being with her?” I ask. The words flow seamlessly out of my mouth without a second thought.
Henry flinches, his eyes snapping back to mine. I struck a nerve. For a moment, I wish I could take the words back, but they hang in the air between us, heavy and solid.
“Being an author,” he says firmly. “Emma, it was never about wanting to be with her again. That chapter is closed. I promise.”
I study his face, searching for cracks in his conviction, but I see only my Henry. The man I’ve been melting for since the moment I met him. Still, something is holding me back. “Then why do you still let her have this kind of power over you?”
He exhales, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low and raw.
“When we met, I was a kid with a dream that she made a reality. She made me believe I needed her—that I wouldn’t succeed without her.
And for years, I bought into it. Even after our romantic relationship ended, that tether to her never broke.
She still found ways to remind me that I owed her everything. ”
The protective instinct I feel for him flares hot in my chest. “That’s not true,” I say firmly. “You don’t owe her anything, Henry. Your talent is yours. Your success is yours.”
He lifts his eyes to mine and gives me a small, broken smile.
“Thank you, Pajarito. I know that in my head, but my heart has a hard time catching up. She made me feel like I was nothing without her for the longest time—like she was the only one who could see my worth. It took me a long time to quiet that voice in the back of my head. When she called me last year, she flipped a switch, and I was right back where I started.”
My heart aches for him. I want to spread my arms wide and tell him everything is okay, but I must also protect myself. I needed to think about everything and what this meant for us moving forward.
“I think I need some air.”
Henry’s expression falters, and I can see the worry flash in his eyes. “Emma,” he says, almost pleading.
I shake my head, needing to create space between us before letting my emotions spiral. “I need a minute to think.”
He doesn’t try to stop me, which makes the ache in my chest physically hurt. Instead, he nods and looks down at his hands.
I walk toward the front door, stepping outside without my shoes. The wooden porch feels ice cold against my feet, and I relish the feeling. It’s not until the cold evening greets me with open arms that I realize how hot my entire body is.
I lean against the railing, peering down the steps to the door that leads to safety. I could leave now and never look back. Try to erase him from my mind. But my feet are cemented in place. I didn’t want to go.
Deep breaths of fresh air pump through my lungs, and questions assault my mind.
What future was there for Henry and me when this woman still had power over him?
He’s still tethered to her, even if he doesn’t realize it.
Maybe not romantically. But emotionally and mentally—her influence is still there.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. The Henry I know is kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. Everything I didn’t know I wanted in a partner. But can I love someone who hasn’t fully untangled himself from his past?
Footsteps vibrate the small porch behind me, and I turn to find Henry standing a few feet away with my shoes in his hands. “I thought you might need these,” he says before dropping them in front of me and shoving his hands in his pockets.
The moonlight bounces off his tan skin, tempting me to reach out and run my hands across the firm angle of his jawline.
“I know what I said in there is a lot to take in, but I need to finish my explanation before you decide to walk away.”
“Okay,” I answer timidly. I wasn’t sure how I found the strength to run away from this man that first night we met because I found it impossible here and now.
“I was stuck in this endless cycle of not thinking I was good enough. When I took the writing job, I thought it would be a good stepping stone, but every time I tried to write, my mind went blank. I was suffocating under the weight of my expectations—and hers.” His voice softens, his eyes flickering with vulnerability.
“So, I decided I needed to get out of the city. Immerse myself in the setting of the novel. That’s part of the reason I ended up here. ”
He pauses, his eyeline dropping to the ground before bouncing back up to meet mine again. “When I first came here, I was stuck with my writing and life. I kept finding my worth in anyone who would give me validation. I didn’t believe I could stand on my own. And then, I met you.”
My breath catches, his words sinking into the quiet space between us.
“You’re the first person in a long time who’s made me feel like I could be myself,” he continues, his voice steady but brimming with emotion.
“You don’t expect me to be anything other than who I am.
You don’t want to change, mold, or use me.
I’ve always felt like a means to an end with most people, but not you. ”
I don’t know how to respond. My heart feels like it’s expanding and breaking at the same time. “Henry,” I begin, my voice wavering. “I’m glad you feel that way, but you’ve been through so much. What if you’re just saying this because it’s easy to latch onto someone new?”
His expression tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “Believe me, Emma, I’ve spent sleepless nights thinking about it. But the more time I’ve spent with you, the more I realized it’s not about escaping my past. It’s about finally wanting to move forward. With you.”
The honesty in his voice cuts through my defenses. More than anything, I want to believe this man standing before me is ready to let go of the chains holding him back.
“I quit the ghostwriting job,” he adds, stepping closer. “I did it right after our first date. I knew I couldn’t keep living like that and letting Jenn have even a sliver of control over me. It was the hardest decision I’ve made in years, but it was the right one.”
I blink, the surprise washing over me like a wave. “You quit?”
“I did,” he says firmly.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Henry,” I say quickly. “I don’t want you to give up on your dream for me. I would never be okay with that. I—”
Before I can finish, he cuts me off. “Emma, stop.” His voice is full of conviction that sends a shiver down my back. “I’m not giving up on anything. I’m just starting fresh. I’m going to keep writing, but I’m going to write what I want. I will publish another novel, and I can do it without Jenn.”
I open my mouth to say something more, but the words get caught in my throat as he steps closer. His hand settles on my waist, pulling me to him gently but insistently.
“I know we haven’t known each other for that long,” he continues, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my heart race.
“But I feel like I’ve been waiting for something like this.
Something real.” His thumb brushes over my skin, sending a ripple of warmth through me. “And I’m not letting go of it.”
My breath hitches. I don’t know what to say. My mind races with more doubts and fears, but those doubts start to feel like a distant echo with his arms wrapped around me.
Before I can process any of it, he’s leaning down, and his lips are brushing against mine in a tentative kiss. Much like Henry, it’s soft at first and deepens.
His hands slide up to cup my face, tilting my head slightly as the kiss intensifies. I feel everything in that moment—the pressure of his lips, the heat between us, the unspoken promise that this is something worth fighting for.
When we finally pull apart, our breaths come heavy, and I’m left with a feeling of warmth and hope—like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the darkness.