I grit my teeth as my release builds. The muscles in my thighs tense, my spine straightens.

And when I come, my hand tightening, my breath ragged, all I can think about is her.

Her soft cries of pleasure.

Her body—those luscious curves she tries so hard to hide—trembling as she falls apart for me.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

I SHOULD HAVE LEFT SOONER

IZZY

I sit in my office, staring at my phone. My inbox overflows with unread emails. Calendar notifications flash across the screen. Nothing gets my attention.

Just...staring.

Because I know what I need to do.

And I really, really don't want to do it.

I've very specifically and actively avoided Callahan today. Not because I don't want to see him. But because I want to see him too much. After what happened Saturday...after that kiss...

I just don't think I can handle running into him right now.

Not until I do what needs to be done.

Not until I finally break up with Evan.

Then maybe, maybe I'll talk to Cal.

Because he deserves that. And also, because I want to. I really, really want to. But then I think about Caleb. What he said last night. About not rushing into things. About falling in love with myself first.

And yes, okay, sure—he's AI. But he's programmed with the entire internet, right? So he's probably as good as a therapist.

And what he said? It made sense. I shouldn't just jump into bed with Callahan just because I broke up with Evan. Even though that's what I really, really, really want to do.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The scent of stale coffee from my forgotten morning cup fills my nostrils, a reminder of how long I've been sitting here, procrastinating.

And then I do it.

I call Evan.

He actually picks up, which is a miracle because he never answers his phone. Even though he gets mad if I don't answer on the first ring.

"Hey," he says, distracted.

I clear my throat. "Hey. Um...I need to talk to you."

Silence.

He sighs dramatically. "I'm kind of busy, Izzy."

I roll my eyes. "You're never busy," I say. "You're literally always taking days off."

"Excuse me for having financial security," he mutters.

I bite my tongue. I've never understood how Evan makes so much money. He works in finance, but he never seems to be at work. I guess that's a finance guy thing.

"I can come to your place," I offer.

"No."

I’m taken aback by his vehemence. "Okay...but I need to talk to you."

He sighs again, louder this time. The sound grates against my ear.

"Fine," he says. "I'll come to you. Give me thirty minutes."

He hangs up. I drop my phone onto my desk and exhale. The thud echoes, punctuating the finality of what I've just set in motion.

Thirty minutes.

I just have to get through the next thirty minutes. I try to distract myself. I open my laptop, click through emails. I answer a few urgent ones. I send off a schedule confirmation. I refresh my inbox. I check the time.

It's been four minutes.

Oh my God.

I push back from my desk and start pacing. My office feels too small now, the walls closing in on me with each passing second. My heart races, a rapid drumbeat against my ribs that I can't slow down. My blouse sticks to the small of my back, damp with nervous sweat.

It's just Evan. It's just a breakup. It's not a big deal.

Except, it is.

Because I've been with him for years.

Because no matter how awful he is, this is still...an ending.

And even though I know it needs to happen⁠—

I hate the way guilt starts creeping in anyway, wrapping around my thoughts like an unwelcome vine.

Somehow time passes and eventually my office phone rings. I jump, startled by the sudden noise. I scramble to grab it, clearing my throat before answering. It's one of the security guys. Ramirez.

"Hey," he says. "There's a guy here asking for you."

"Yeah," I say, steadying myself. "Can you escort him up to my office?"

"No problem."

I hang up, press my palms against my desk, and take a deep breath. The door opens with a soft creak, and Evan steps inside. I exhale.

Ramirez lingers at the door, not moving yet. His eyes dart from me, then to Evan, then back again. "You sure you're okay, Ms. Russo?" he asks, his voice calm and professional, but there's concern there too.

Evan huffs out a breath, scoffing. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

I force a small smile. "Yes, Ramirez. Thank you. You can go."

He doesn't move right away. He just gives me a long look. Like he knows something's off. I stand there, willing him to just leave, because the longer he’s here, the longer this will take. Finally, he nods and steps out, closing the door behind him. The latch clicks into place.

And then it's just us.

Me and Evan.

One last time.

Evan folds his arms, scowling. "What the fuck was that?" he snaps. His cologne—too strong, too spicy—fills the small space, making it even harder to breathe.

He gestures toward the door, still visibly annoyed. "You had me escorted by security, Izzy. Like I'm some fucking criminal."

I press my lips together, feeling them go dry under the pressure.

"I—" I start, then stop. Because I was about to apologize.

Again.

I was about to say, I'm sorry you felt that way.

I'm sorry? For what? For his feelings?

"I didn't mean to make you feel like that," I say carefully. "I just thought it would be easier to talk here. Privately."

Evan rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He drops into the chair across from my desk, slouching like he owns the place, like this is his office, not mine.

"What did you want to talk about?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, already starting to scroll, showing me exactly how much this conversation matters to him.

I take a breath, the air filling my lungs with what feels like my last moment of peace.

Here I go.

"I think we should break up."

His head snaps up, his brow furrows, and then he laughs. A short, laugh of disbelief. "Oh my God," he says. "Are you on your period or something? You're being super emotional right now." He turns back to his phone, dismissing my words entirely.

I stiffen. But I don't let myself react. Not this time. "No. I just think this is right. We haven't been working for a while."

He puts his phone down now and narrows his eyes. "Oh, so this is my fault?"

I don’t respond, but that only causes his irritation to grow. "You think you're so fucking perfect, Izzy?" His voice rises.

"That's not what I⁠—"

"You're the one who's been pulling away. You're the one who's been acting weird. You don't even try anymore."

I watch him twist my words, flip the narrative, and make me the villain. Before, I would have crumbled under this pressure, second-guessing myself until I apologized for things I never did wrong. I would have believed I was throwing away something precious, something I was lucky to have at all.

But that pattern breaks today. I see through his tactics with startling clarity. The gaslighting doesn't cloud my judgment anymore.

"You're gaslighting me," I say, voice flat.

"Excuse me?" His words are slow as he leans forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You're gaslighting me, Evan. Right now."

He laughs again, but it's forced. "Jesus, where did you even learn that word? From one of your little girl-boss self-help books?"