Chapter 10
THE EDGE OF CONTROL
Control is a fragile thing… it cracks before it shatters
Della
The bar is buzzing, filled with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter from every corner. Our table is no different—everyone is halfway through their second round of drinks, swapping stories about the best places to visit in Europe.
Adriana insisted we go out and make the most of our time left in Chicago, and I agreed. Distraction is more than welcome after today’s surprise encounter at the office.
I need to shut it all down—lock away the memories, numb the feelings.
“…and then he actually asked if he could ‘optimize’ the coffee machine,” Adriana says, laughing, her eyes bright. “As if we needed artificial intelligence to make espresso.”
The others burst into laughter. I manage a small smile, swirling my glass in my hand.
“Maybe he just wanted to make sure it could handle Mondays,” I murmur, my voice light enough to draw a chuckle.
Adriana grins at me. “You’d be surprised how many engineers have strong feelings about coffee.”
I let out a soft laugh, trying to relax, but every part of me feels tight, wound too tightly under my skin.
“So, Della,” one of the guys asks, leaning in with a teasing grin, “how’s Chicago treating you? Think you’ll survive this the week here?”
I raise my glass slightly, forcing a playful smile. Honestly, I wonder the same.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, the words tasting strange on my tongue. “If the coffee machines are safe, maybe I have a chance.”
They laugh again, and I nod along, pretending I’m part of the moment—but the noise feels distant, like it’s coming from underwater.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him.
A man walking to the bar—black shirt, sharp frame, that same confident, deliberate stride.
For a split second, my heart seizes.
Dorian? Again?
But no. When I glance again, it’s not him. A stranger, already swallowed by the crowd.
Still, the weight in my chest lingers.
Adriana glances at me, noticing the shift.
“You, okay?” she asks, her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear.
I nod quickly. Too quickly.
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a small smile. “Just… the lights are giving me a headache.”
Without waiting for a reply, I push back from the table, mumbling something about the restroom, and make my way through the crowd, weaving between tables and laughing strangers.
The hallway beyond the main room is dimmer, quieter, but the bathroom sign glows stark white, almost too bright.
I head straight for it, hoping the cold air will clear my head.
But the moment I step inside, everything changes.
White tiles. Harsh fluorescent lights glaring down from above. The faint hum of an air-conditioning unit, sharp and constant, like it’s drilling into my skull. The air smells faintly of disinfectant—a sterile, clinical brightness that makes my skin crawl.
My breath catches—tight, shallow.
The walls feel closer. My knees threaten to give way, and the ground tilts beneath me.
And suddenly—the room isn’t a bathroom anymore.
The past slams into me, uninvited and merciless.
* * *
It’s white. Everywhere. Blinding.
A strange hum—steady, low—buzzes at the edges of my mind. I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming. All I know is something keeps pulling me, forcing me back into this body I barely recognize.
Everything hurts.
My body feels heavy. Foreign. Like it’s been stitched together from broken parts that don’t quite fit anymore. I can’t move.
Breathing burns—sharp, raw—like I’ve swallowed fire and glass.
Somewhere nearby, voices stir.
One calm. Detached. Speaking words I can’t hold on to—swelling, pressure, coma. They slip right through me.
“Her system’s fragile. She’ll need time.”
The words drift, half-lost in the haze.
“…twenty-five days… We need to go slow.”
Twenty-five days?
My heart twists.
Panic claws at my ribs—but I can’t scream.
I try to open my eyes. The light slices through me—too harsh, too bright.
Then I hear her—Alexandra. My sister. Her voice cracks, trembling under the weight of her tears.
“Della… please. Please stay with me… please wake up…”
I try to speak, but my lips won’t move. I try to reach for her—but nothing answers.
I’m trapped inside my own body.
“If you can hear me… just squeeze my hand.” Her voice breaks again—soft but desperate, too close, too far.
Hand.
I search for it—somewhere past the weight pinning me down.
I don’t even know if I have hands anymore. I can’t feel anything but this suffocating heaviness. But somehow—barely—my fingers twitch.
And there it is—her hand squeezing back, tight, warm, trembling.
A broken sob escapes her.
“You’re safe now,” a nurse whispers, brushing my hair back, her voice calm and practiced. “You’re safe.”
But I don’t feel safe.
I feel… wrong.
Something’s missing.
I’m crying now—silent, helpless tears slipping down my face. Despair crashes over me—cold, sharp.
I search the blurred faces, the voices moving around me—but he’s not there.
Dorian.
I need to call him.
But before I can fight the fog again, darkness pulls me under.
* * *
I jolt back, gasping for air, gripping the cold edge of the sink like it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.
The bathroom spins around me—white walls, bright lights, everything closing in. My hands are shaking, my chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow breaths.
I stumble out, barely able to stay upright.
Adriana finds me just as I collapse onto a bench in the corner, drenched in cold sweat.
Her laughter dies instantly.
“Della.” Her voice sharpens, urgent and low. She kneels in front of me, her hands steady but firm on my arms.
“What happened? You’re freezing. Talk to me.”
But I can’t speak. I can’t even look at her.
And before I realize it, my hand shoots out—grabbing her wrist. I clutch tight and I can’t let go.
Her breath catches, startled.
“Della,” she whispers, alarmed but calm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I don’t know how long I hold on, but when I finally release her, my fingers are still trembling.
Everything I’ve buried for years has clawed its way back to the surface.
And this time… I know there’s no pushing it back down.
All I can think of—through the roaring in my ears—is that white room. That searing light. The pain. The helplessness. The sound of my sister crying beside me.
And the echo of her hand in mine—the only thing that kept me tethered in the dark.
Adriana is still watching me, her eyes filled with quiet worry, her hand hovering near mine—ready to catch me again if I slip.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, trying to steady my breathing, forcing a faint smile onto my face.
“Sorry,” I manage, my voice rough but steady enough to sound believable. “It was just… a panic attack. Too much stress. Too little sleep. It caught up with me.”
Adriana doesn’t look fully convinced, but she doesn’t press.
“Are you sure?” Her voice is soft and calm, her gaze scanning my face with quiet concern.
I nod, holding her gaze for a long second, gathering myself—slowly, shakily.
“I’m sure,” I repeat, forcing the words to sound firm. “I just need to get out of here.”
She doesn’t argue. She simply squeezes my shoulder gently and says, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
Normally, I would’ve protested, waved her off with some sarcastic remark about being fine.
But tonight…
Tonight, I can’t face a taxi ride alone.
“All right,” I whisper, too drained to fight it.
She stands, helping me up quietly, and we slip out of the bar without another word.
* * *
Inside the car, Adriana sits beside me, silent, casting occasional glances my way but saying nothing.
I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my stomach twisted tight, my fingers clenched around my purse.
When the driver slows down at a stoplight, I instinctively hold my breath, my palms sweating, every muscle tense.
I try not to get pulled back into old memories—the sharp, relentless ones.
* * *
When we arrive, Adriana pays the driver before I can even reach for my wallet.
I pull my coat tighter around me as we step inside and walk silently down the quiet hallway toward our rooms.
By the time we reach my door, I lift my chin and force a small smile—thin, practiced but enough to pass.
“Thank you, Adriana,” I say, meaning every word, though my voice barely rises above a whisper. “It was just… a bad moment. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
She watches me carefully, her concern obvious.
I add quickly, trying to ease the weight between us,
“I’m fine now. I promise.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but after a beat, she lets out a soft sigh—a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“All right,” she says, clearly offering me space even if she doubts my words. “But if you need anything—anything—you call me. Don’t be stubborn.”
I manage the faintest, dry smile, my voice tinged with tired irony.
“You’d be surprised how good I am at that.”
Her smile lingers for a moment before she gently squeezes my arm and her expression softens just a little.
“Go get some rest,” she says, warm but firm, then turns toward her room and disappears down the hall.
Only once she’s gone do I unlock my door, slip inside, and close it firmly behind me—locking the world out.
I lean against the door, my body sagging under the weight of everything I’ve been holding back.
My legs give out, and I slide down to the floor, breath shallow, chest tight, every limb trembling.
Exhausted. Hollow. Shaking.
It’s the first time I’ve ever come undone like this in front of someone else—especially a colleague. These past few days… they’ve been too much, too fast.
My defenses are crumbling, and I can’t put the pieces back together by the time they break apart again.
How could I have been so naive to think I could come back to Chicago, walk these streets, and not have the past come for me?
* * *
The sun filters through the hotel curtains, too bright, too harsh.
My head is heavy, but it’s manageable. What isn’t is the dull pressure in my chest—persistent, familiar.
I sit up, moving carefully, my body still tense from everything I carried last night.
I take a long shower, standing under the hot water until the heat burns my skin. It doesn’t wash away the weight. Nothing does.
But I still have to show up today. Still have to play the part.
I catch my reflection in the mirror as I dry my hair.
Pale skin. Shadowed eyes. A bit worn down—but nothing I can’t work with.
This isn’t new.
I know how to fix it. I’ve had years of practice.
I pause, watching myself in the mirror for a moment longer. Then, almost out of habit, I mutter under my breath:
“Four more days, Della. Then this city, these days… all of it stays behind the ocean.”
I say it plainly, not as a comfort—just as a fact.
I dress carefully, pulling on my usual armor—sleek business skirt, soft blouse, heels just high enough to make me feel steady. I tie my hair back tightly, taming every strand I can. Order. Control.
A few stubborn curls escape anyway. They always do.
Before I leave the room, I stop by the mirror for one last look.
Chin lifted. Shoulders squared. Mask in place.
I straighten my posture, smooth my hair, and push everything else aside.
I grab my bag, ready to face another day.
* * *
Downstairs, Adriana is already at a table near the window, her coffee halfway gone. She spots me right away, her gaze lingering just a little longer than usual.
“Morning,” she says, her voice calm, but I can tell she’s still watching me.
I smile—calm, light, as if nothing happened at all.
“Morning,” I reply easily, sliding into the chair across from her.
She doesn’t push immediately, but after a few moments, she asks—soft, but direct enough to leave no room for avoidance:
“You, okay? You seemed a little… off last night.”
I offer a small, measured smile, the kind that’s practiced enough to seem easy.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just needed a good night’s sleep. That’s all.”
I watch her face closely—there’s still a flicker of doubt in her eyes—but she doesn’t argue. She just nods once, accepting it on the surface, and returns to her coffee.
“Glad to hear it,” she says lightly.
And just like that, everything stays where it belongs—neatly tucked away.
* * *
We step out of the hotel together, the spring air sharp against my skin.
Adriana chats easily beside me, something about the meetings ahead, but I barely register her words.
Because then I see him.
Dorian.
Leaning casually against the sleek black car parked just outside the entrance—no driver in sight.
He’s not wearing a suit today. Just a black jacket, soft but sharp, thrown over a white polo T-shirt and dark jeans that fit too well.
His hair falls loose around his face, brushing his shoulders—dark, unruly in the morning light.
And God, he’s still unfairly attractive. Dangerous. Magnetic.
And infuriatingly calm—like he owns every space he walks into.
Our eyes meet—just for a second.
But it’s enough.
More than enough.
Everything tightens inside me, sharp and sudden.
He looks composed—too composed for a man who’s shaken every part of me.
And yet, there’s something else in his gaze. Something quiet. Something I’m not ready to face.
I feel it in the way his eyes hold mine. In the quiet pull I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
Adriana says something again—light and casual—but her words blur around me. Because all I can see is him. Standing there like a storm I thought I’d already outrun.
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to stand tall. To look untouched.
But inside?
I feel it cracking.
This city. This man.
I’m not ready for any of it.
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything hidden.