Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie
By Monday afternoon, I’ve been awake for hours without looking at a single headline.
I am sitting at the kitchen island in the Blackwell apartment with coffee gone cold beside my laptop when Maya calls.
I answer on the second ring.
“Hey.”
Maya does not bother with hello.
“What happened?”
I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen before bringing it back.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“I’m serious,” Maya says.
“Did something happen?”
“With what?”
“With Julian.”
My back straightens.
“What are you talking about?”
There is a beat of silence.
Then Maya says, “His engagement ended.”
For a second, I think I heard her wrong.
“What?”
“The headlines broke this morning,” Maya says.
“Julian and Camille called off the engagement.”
I stare across the apartment.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, apparently it makes enough sense for every business and society page to be running it.”
I set my mug down.
“I haven’t seen anything.”
“I figured.”
I reach for my laptop but stop before opening anything.
“When did this happen?”
“From what I can tell, sometime over the weekend.”
I am not due back at Blackwell until Wednesday afternoon. I have not spoken to Julian since Friday.
Maya lowers her voice slightly.
“So I’m going to ask this once, and you are not allowed to get mad at me.”
“That sentence guarantees I’m going to get mad at you.”
“Did anything happen between you two?”
I go still.
“Maya.”
“I had to ask.”
“No, you did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
I stand and walk toward the windows.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Maya is quiet.
I continue before she can say anything else.
“I have been interviewing him. That’s it. We have been professional.”
“Cold professional or normal professional?”
I close my eyes.
“Why does that distinction matter?”
“Because I know you.”
“That still doesn’t mean something happened.”
“I know.”
“Julian was engaged.”
“I know that too.”
I turn away from the windows.
“They looked happy.”
Maya exhales softly.
“People look happy in photographs all the time.”
“That is not my problem.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I sit back down.
Maya asks, “So what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“When you see him.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not going to call him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Text?”
“No.”
Maya pauses. “You don’t think you should say something?”
“I think a man who just ended a public engagement probably has enough people calling him.”
“That is fair.”
“If it comes up when I see him again, I will say I am sorry. That is it.”
Maya is quiet for a moment before asking, “And how have things actually been between you two?”
I look down at the notebook beside my laptop.
“Professional.”
“That is the third time you have said that.”
“Because it is true.”
“Okay.”
I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Do not start.”
“I am not starting anything.”
“You sound like you are.”
Maya laughs softly.
“Fine. I will behave.”
I glance at the time.
“How is Theo? He was sleeping last night when I called.”
“Good,” Maya says.
“I talked to Emma yesterday. She said he was trying to convince her to buy some ridiculous science kit.”
“That’s what she told me, too.”
“She said she told him no.”
“Good.”
“She also said he asked Tom if he could build something in our garage this weekend.”
I rub a hand over my forehead.
“That also sounds right.”
Maya laughs again. The sound steadies me more than I expect.
“I will call him later and catch him before he goes to bed,” I say.
“You should.”
“I will.”
Maya’s voice softens.
“And Sophie?”
“Yes?”
“Do not make this breakup mean something before you know what it means.”
I look toward the stack of Blackwell notes on the counter.
“I am not.”
“I know.”
We say goodbye a minute later. The apartment goes quiet again. I sit there for several seconds before opening my laptop and typing Julian’s name into the search bar.
Scene 2 — The California Research Leg
By late afternoon, I have read enough versions of the breakup story to know none of them actually say much.
The headlines are louder than the reporting. Camille and Julian ended the engagement. Blackwell Communications confirmed it. No reason was given. No public statement from either of them beyond a request for privacy.
I close the browser and return to my notes.
My phone rings a few minutes later.
Claire.
I answer. “Hi.”
“Sophie, I need to update you on the West Coast leg.”
I sit back slightly. “What changed?”
“The schedule.”
I look toward the printed itinerary on the table.
“It was supposed to be next week.”
“It was.”
Claire pauses long enough that I already know I am not going to like the next sentence.
“Blackwell moved it up.”
“To when?”
“Wednesday.”
I frown. “This Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“That is two days from now.”
“I know.”
I stand and start pacing toward the windows.
“Why?”
“Apparently Julian Blackwell already needs to be at the Silicon Valley facility for an internal review, so they want to consolidate the visit.”
I stop.
Claire continues, “You’ll travel with him, tour the advanced systems campus, and use the trip for additional interviews. It is one of the biggest pieces of the future-facing section, so editorial wants you there.”
For a moment, I say nothing.
Julian in New York is one thing.
Julian in California is something else entirely.
The facility is hours north of Los Angeles, nowhere near Theo’s school or our townhouse, but the distance still feels suddenly too small. California has always been the part of my life Blackwell never touched.
Claire speaks again. “Sophie?”
“I’m here.”
“Is there a problem?”
I force my grip on the phone to loosen.
“No.”
“Good. Blackwell is handling the flight and ground logistics. You’re leaving Wednesday morning on their jet.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“Of course I am.”
Claire laughs softly.
“I know. Very subtle.”
“What about the rest of the New York interviews?”
“They’ll be rescheduled around the trip.”
I look back toward the itinerary.
“And how long are we there?”
“Two days, possibly three depending on access and how much you get done.”
That part, at least, is manageable.
Theo already spends nights with Emma or Maya when I travel for work. Nothing about his routine has to change.
I tell Claire, “Fine. Send me the revised schedule.”
“I will. Blackwell should also contact you directly with flight details tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
We hang up a minute later. I stay by the window with the phone still in my hand.
Northern California is not Los Angeles.
Julian will not be anywhere near Theo. Emma and Maya already know how to handle my travel schedule. There is no practical reason for this to feel different. But it does.
For the first time since I accepted the assignment, the boundary I built between Blackwell and my real life feels thinner than I intended.
***
Wednesday morning, the Blackwell jet is already waiting when I arrive at the private terminal.
A ground attendant takes my bag before I can reach for it again, and I spot Julian several yards away near the stairs, speaking with the captain.
He is dressed more casually than he ever is in New York, though casual for Julian still means dark jeans, a white button-down shirt open at the collar, and a navy blazer that sits cleanly across his shoulders.
He turns before I reach him. For one brief second, neither of us says anything. Then Julian gives me a restrained nod.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I reply.
The greeting sounds too formal for two people who once knew each other as intimately as we did and not formal enough for how carefully we have been behaving since I came back.
Julian gestures toward the aircraft.
“They have your luggage?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That is apparently all either of us can manage on the tarmac.
We board a few minutes later. Julian exchanges a few words with the flight attendant and checks something with the captain before taking a seat on one side of the cabin.
I settle across the aisle and one row back, close enough for conversation but far enough that neither of us has to pretend we chose to sit together.
The jet begins to taxi.
I open my laptop.
Julian does the same.
For the first twenty minutes, the only sounds are the engines, the occasional tap of keys, and the quiet movement of the flight attendant through the cabin.
Eventually, I close the document in front of me and look across at him.
“Julian.”
He glances up. “Yes?”
I hesitate only a second.
“I heard about Camille. I’m sorry.”
His expression stays controlled, but something in his face tightens before it smooths again.
“Thank you,” he says.
I nod. “I wasn’t sure whether to say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
Julian looks down at his laptop, then back at me.
“Do you have everything you need for the facility?”
The shift is deliberate.
I let him have it.
“Yes. Elena sent the revised access list yesterday.”
“And the technical briefing?”
“I have that too.”
“Good.”
I reopen my laptop. Julian returns to his screen. Neither of us says anything else about Camille.
The restraint between us feels almost tangible, not because there is nothing to say, but because there is too much and neither of us is willing to be the first person to touch it. For the rest of the flight, we work in silence.
By the time we land in Northern California, the sky has turned the flat gray of an incoming storm.
The drive from the private airfield takes us away from the denser stretches of Silicon Valley and into a quieter corridor of low hills, eucalyptus, and secured private roads.
Blackwell’s research campus appears gradually behind a landscaped perimeter and a discreet security checkpoint, less like a corporate office and more like a private university built around glass, steel, and controlled access.
A security officer checks the vehicle before the gates open.
Julian barely looks up from the tablet in his hand.
“You’ve been here a lot,” I say.
He glances toward me. “Enough.”
The answer is dry, but the second we pull beneath the covered entrance, something about him shifts.
A tall man in a navy quarter-zip is already waiting outside when we step from the car.