Chapter 21
SABINE
The stage lights were bright, but Sabine didn’t tremble under them.
Her slides were tight. Her talking points, clear.
The blazer she wore today was stone gray with gold-threaded buttons.
Her curls were pulled into a neat low bun.
The small diamond studs in her ears used to belong to her grandmother.
“Aderra isn’t about replacing people,” Sabine said, voice calm and certain. “It’s about lifting people. It’s about giving small teams the insight power that big data usually hoards. This isn’t tech for billion-dollar giants. It’s tech for the people building from scratch.”
The applause was real.
After the panel, people rushed the stage—investors, founders, local college girls who looked at Sabine like she was already a keynote speaker. She signed a few notebooks. Took photos. Promised to follow up.
And then she felt it.
That stare.
Harlan Creed was at the edge of the crowd, watching her with that same composed stillness she’d come to recognize. He didn’t smile like a flirt. He smiled like a man who understood things other people missed.
“You handled that beautifully,” he said once they were alone.
“Thank you,” Sabine replied, smoothing her blouse, just for something to do with her hands.
“They’ll talk about you after this. The right people.”
“I believe they already are.”
That made him smile a little wider. “You’re good at this. Not just the data. The vision. The leadership.”
Sabine studied him. Really studied him.
The way he stood—calm, confident, expensive in a quiet way.
That usual stillness he carried with him.
That low, focused voice he only ever used when he wanted her full attention.
His eyes were dark and steady, but there was something else behind them today—something leaning closer than usual. Something deliberate.
And she felt it.
The shift. The question forming between them before it even left his mouth.
“Why do I feel like you’re trying to say something?”
“Because I am,” Harlan said, then waited just a moment. “Dinner. Just you and me.”
Her pulse kicked. Hard. Not from fear. Not from thrill. Just from surprise—because she’d known.
Not in any overt way. Not from anything he said or did but in the space between meetings. In the ease of their interactions. The way he always looked at her like she was already seated at a table no one else knew existed.
He made room for her.
He saw her.
But Sabine wasn’t new to attention. She’d had love before. She’d had obsession, adoration, affection. She’d had a man love her so fiercely that he burned their whole house down with it. She’d had her heart broken in the name of “I’m trying.”
She had to be careful now.
“Dinner?” she echoed, soft but skeptical. Buying time. Not giving it away too easy.
“Not to talk equity,” he clarified, stepping closer but not too close. “Not to talk rollout timelines, not even to celebrate. Just…dinner. With you.”
This man knew how to speak in italics.
Sabine swallowed.
She wanted to say no.
So badly she wanted to say no.
Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe the woman she was becoming, the version of herself who built Aderra from heartbreak and grit and stayed up until 3 a.m. beta testing code she taught herself—maybe that woman deserved dinner.
However, she still felt like something was missing. Not in Harlan. In her. Something she hadn't quite settled inside herself yet.
They worked well together. They always had.
From the first day he stepped into her introduction of Aderra with a presence that carried weight.
He asked real questions. Gave real respect.
He didn’t coddle her. Didn’t diminish her either.
There was a lingering between them then.
That unspoken we’re cut from the same cloth energy.
And if she were being honest, she’d thought about it.
About what his hands would feel like on her lower back. About how he’d probably kiss slow and with purpose. About what it would be like to take off her armor—not for approval or forgiveness—but just to be seen.
But something in her still flickered when she thought of Adair’s voice. Not just nostalgia. Not just memory. A pull—familiar and unfinished.
Because when Adair looked at her now, it was like he wanted to relearn her. Like he finally understood what he had mishandled. Like he knew she was becoming someone new and still wanted in.
That meant something. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t but Harlan? Harlan looked at her like he saw exactly who she was already. Like he didn’t need a map or a second chance, he just showed up with clarity. With readiness.
And that scared her for a whole different reason because for the first time in a long time, Sabine wasn’t just choosing between two men. She was choosing between the version of herself that forgives and the version that has outgrown the need to be forgiven.
“I’ll say yes,” she said finally. “But I’m still deciding if it’s a good idea.”
Harlan smiled but not smug. Not possessive. Just assured. “That’s fair.” He didn’t ask for more.
Didn’t press for time or place. He simply nodded, like he understood that she needed to sit with herself first and that made her want him even more.
PRE-DINNER
Simple black dress. Off-the-shoulder. Soft and smooth with a small slit on the side. Classy. Confident. It fit her like it had been waiting in the closet for this moment.
Still, Sabine stood frozen in front of the mirror, earrings in her palm, one heel off, heart pacing like she’d been asked to give a TED Talk naked. She’d agreed to dinner. She’d said yes. She meant it and yet…she couldn’t stop thinking.
About how Harlan looked at her like she was a force. About how his voice didn’t rise to command but dropped low to invite. About how her body had responded, slowly but clearly—like it remembered what it felt like to be wanted without complication.
But she also couldn’t ignore the other thing pulsing underneath her ribs.
Adair.
The way he’d been calling more. Checking in more. Sounding like the man she used to beg him to be. And that night at Ade’s birthday, when his voice broke as he told her, “We really did…”
She was so in her head, she barely heard the FaceTime ring.
“Narri,” she answered, propping the phone up on the dresses while she clipped in one earring. “Thank God. Talk me down.”
“Girl, what?” Narri appeared on screen with a bonnet, lashes still flawless. “Is he ugly in person or something?”
“No! I’m serious. I feel like I’m cheating on my past or something. I haven’t been out on a date since…hell, before the divorce when I had a damn husband. It’s been work and Ade and—”
“And healing,” Narri cut in. “Don’t play with your growth.”
Sabine sat on the edge of her bed, “but it feels fast. Or like…I don’t know. Like I’m betraying…Adair.”
“You don’t gotta marry the man. Let him wine and dine you. Be soft. Shit, let a man pull out your chair and make you laugh. You deserve that.”
Sabine smiled faintly.
“And listen,” Narri added, more playfully now, “I don’t think you should let him fuck. BUT…if you do…” she leaned in close to the screen, eyes wide, “that’s a decision between you and me.”
Sabine snorted. “Narri—”
“I’m just saying! Sometimes you gotta see if the chemistry translates.”
They both laughed, but the tone shifted when Narri suddenly went quiet. Not awkward quiet—that friendship quiet. The one they both knew to be funny but on the inside was cutting.
“I know how this feels,” she said, softer. “I...I’m going through this with Tate right now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sabine’s brow furrowed.
“Because you got enough going on, Bine.” Narri shrugged.
“Never enough that I can’t be your rock too, A’Narri.”
At that, Narri sniffed. Sniveled, really and it threw Sabine completely off guard. Her friend cried for reasons, so there had to be a reason she was crying when it came to Tate.
“I just…” Her voice cracked. “I love his bitch ass so much and he just can’t see that he’s hurt me. So bad, Bine. Hurt me so much I’m angry all the fuckin’ time now.”
“Oh Nar…” Sabine’s heart broke a little. “I know…” and she did. She was there every time Narri left Tate, packed up the babies, showed up on her doorstep saying, “I’m done for real this time.”
“I’m trying so hard to just…to just not let it win,” Narri said through tears. “But how can he say he loves me, and I’m just the mother of his kids? Why don’t I feel…good enough for him?”
Sabine stood up immediately, grabbing her phone, already typing. “I’m canceling. I’ll tell Harlan something came up.”
“No. No,” Narri said quickly, wiping her face with her sleeve. “You better not. I swear I’ve just been emotional as hell lately and I—”
Sabine paused. Her eyes narrowed. “Nar…”
Silence.
“Are…are you pregnant?”
A pause. Then:
“…Yes.”
Sabine sat slowly on the edge of her bed again, hand over her heart. “Oh, Narri.”
“I don’t even know how I let it happen,” she whispered. “I didn’t even want him to touch me that night but then I did. And now…”
“You’re not alone,” Sabine said. “Okay? You’re not. Whatever you need—I’m here.”
Narri nodded slowly. “I know.”
Sabine stared at herself in the mirror. The earrings were in now. The slit in the dress still sat just right. The lipstick was perfect, but her heart was heavy. Not confused. Just...full. With Narri’s pain. With Adair’s voice. With her own need to move, to feel something that wasn’t duty.
“I don’t even know if I want to go anymore,” she whispered.
“You should.”
“But you need me.”
“I’ll need you tomorrow and the day after that. But tonight?” Narri gave a watery smile. “Tonight, go be seen.”
DINNER W/ HARLAN
The restaurant sat tucked beneath a private rooftop garden in the heart of the city—a quiet jewel carved out of chaos bustling below. The host didn’t ask for a name when Sabine walked in. He just smiled, nodded, and led her through a dim corridor lined with wine bottles behind glass.