Shriya could barely walk.
She didn't know how long she had been moving, only that she needed to be far enough—far enough from MK's door, from her scent still clinging to her skin, from the warmth she had allowed herself to drown in knowing it would be the last time.
Her legs trembled beneath her. Each step felt wrong, like her body was protesting the choice her mind had already made.
When she finally stopped, it wasn't because she had reached somewhere meaningful. It was because the pain became unbearable.
Her chest tightened violently, like something inside her had cracked open. She bent forward, one hand braced against a cold wall, the other clutching her chest as if she could physically hold her heart together.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But breathing hurt too.
MK's face flashed in her mind—not smiling, not laughing—but that moment of confusion, the softness in her eyes when she had looked at Shriya like she was home.
Shriya squeezed her eyes shut.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one.
Her body shook as silent sobs tore through her. She had survived wars, negotiations, threats that could end lives and companies alike—but this? This was breaking her in places no one could see.
She straightened slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She couldn't fall apart here. Not yet. Not until MK was safe from the truth.
And that thought alone made the pain pulse harder.
---
MK had collapsed to the floor as if her body had finally given up pretending it was okay.
The moment the door had closed behind Shriya, something inside her snapped.
She pressed her palm against her chest, gasping as pain shot through her so suddenly she cried out. It wasn't sharp—it was deep, suffocating, like her heart was being crushed from the inside.
She had felt heartbreak before. She knew what loss was supposed to feel like.
This was worse.
"It hurts," she sobbed, curling into herself. "It hurts so much."
Her voice echoed weakly in the apartment, swallowed by the walls that still carried traces of Shriya's presence.
Jesse dropped to her knees beside her, panic flooding her face.
"MK, calm down—please," she begged, her own tears falling freely now. "Just breathe. I'm here."
"Make it stop," MK cried, fingers clutching at her shirt. "Please, Jesse. Make it stop."
If I could, I would, Jesse thought helplessly.
There was nothing more painful than watching someone you are close to drown in something you couldn't save them from.
MK's breathing was erratic as words tumbled out of her, broken and desperate.
"Why doesn't she want me anymore?" she whispered, voice cracking. "What did I do wrong?"
Jesse swallowed hard. There was no right answer.
"I… I don't know," she said softly.
MK let out a broken laugh that dissolved into sobbing.
"It's my fault," she murmured. "It has to be. I got angry about the company. I didn't even let her explain."
She lifted her trembling hand, showing Jesse the ring she had never taken off since she found it.
"She was going to propose," MK whispered. "She gave me everything, Jesse. The company, her future—everything."
Her shoulders shook violently.
"I would choose her over anything," she cried. "Over the company. Over everything. Please… please tell her to come back."
Jesse wrapped her arms around MK, holding her as tightly as she could while MK cried herself empty.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours.
Outside, the sky finally gave in.
Rain poured down mercilessly, thunder cracking through the night as if the world itself couldn't bear the silence anymore. Lightning lit the room in brief flashes, illuminating MK's face—red, swollen, shattered.
And then, slowly… the crying stopped.
Not because the pain had eased.
But because there was nothing left to give it.
MK lay still, staring at nothing. Her eyes were open, but hollow—like something essential had been carved out of her.
"Why are you here?" she asked flatly.
Jesse froze.
"You sent me a message," she said carefully. "You said it was an emergency."
MK frowned faintly. She didn't sent Jesse any message.
"Oh."
That was all.
She turned her head away, exhaustion pulling her deeper into herself.
"Jesse," she said after a long pause. "Stand in as CEO."
Jesse's chest tightened.
"MK—take time. We'll figure it out."
But the MK beside her wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't crying. She wasn't angry. She was gone.
The next morning, Jesse didn't ask permission.
She dragged MK out of bed, into the shower, helped her dress. MK moved like a doll—compliant, silent, eyes unfocused.
When they reached her mother's house, Ruth rushed forward in alarm.
"What's wrong with her?" she asked, panic rising. "Is she sick?"
"No," Jesse said quietly. "She just lost someone important."
That was all she could say.
MK retreated to the guest room without a word.
At dinner, she ate everything on her plate methodically, without tasting any of it, then returned to her room.
Wes tried to tease her, to provoke a reaction—but MK didn't even look at her.
"Mom," Wes whispered later, worry replacing annoyance. "Is she okay?"
"She will be," Ruth said gently. "She's just hurting."
Wes hugged MK that night. For a second—just a second—MK responded.
Then she went still again.
Her days blurred into routine.
Wake up. Eat. Help her mother. Sleep.
A week passed.
MK never touched her phone.
It died quietly somewhere, forgotten—just like the part of her that used to hope.
The only thing that reassured Ruth was that MK always ate.
She always finished her plate of food.
As if that alone proved she was still alive.