The next morning, the office buzzed with its usual rhythm, but Stacy's door was cracked open, her focus buried in a glowing monitor.
Zoe knocked once, then stepped inside with a folder in hand. Her tone was light—practiced—but her eyes held something weightier.
"You left early last night," she said casually, setting the report on Stacy's desk.
Stacy didn't look up. "I had things to take care of."
Zoe lingered. "Right. Of course. I see that old attitude hasn't gone anywhere"
That made Stacy pause. Just for a beat. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard—a subtle hitch—before she resumed typing.
"I've been busy," she replied, voice smooth, neutral.
Zoe gave a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah. That's the word we're using."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was tight. Stretched thin between them like glass about to crack.
Stacy still didn't look at her.
Zoe turned to go, then hesitated at the door. She glanced over her shoulder, voice softer now, but clear.
"Trina, the woman from last night… she's just a friend now. The past is the past. In case you were wondering."
Still nothing.
But Zoe saw it—the way Stacy's jaw clenched, her shoulders held too still.
That was enough.
Zoe walked out without waiting for an answer.
And Stacy?
She stared at her screen like it could distract her from the sting she felt… for reasons she still wasn't ready to admit.
Later that evening, Stacy sat alone in her office, the city lights bleeding across the tall windows like watercolors—beautiful, distant, untouchable.
Her fingers curled too tightly around the glass of whiskey, knuckles pale against the crystal.
Friends.
The word echoed with dull cruelty in her mind.
She took a slow sip, but it didn't soothe the knot lodged in her chest.
She thought of Zoe laughing with her ex—comfortable, effortless. The kind of warmth Stacy had always struggled to give freely. Zoe made it look easy. She made everything look easy.
Why does it sting so damn much?
The answer pressed against her before she could push it away:
Because I want that smile to be mine.
Because I want to be the one who makes her laugh like that.
The thought landed like a punch.
A wave of emotion surged—jealousy, yes, but underneath it was something sharper. Something scarier. Longing. The terrifying kind.
She hated this.
Hated the way it made her feel out of control. Weak. Exposed.
She wasn't supposed to get involved. She'd promised herself—Focus on the company. Stay sharp. No distractions.
There was too much at stake: the biggest project of their year, the weight of the Holloway name, the expectations pressed onto her since day one.
And yet…
Suppressing everything, holding it all in—what had it actually given her?
This silence between her and Zoe? This distance?
She wasn't winning anything.
Just losing pieces of something she hadn't even let herself name out loud.
She stared into her glass, watching the ice melt slowly, then whispered to the room:
"Is it really worth it?"
Another silence.
Then softer, almost broken:
Should I just let myself feel it?
Let myself want her—for real?
Her reflection in the window didn't offer an answer.
But the ache in her chest… it wasn't going anywhere.
-
**EDGES OF VULNERABILITY**
The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across Stacy's desk. She sat still, fingers pressed hard to her temples, shoulders rigid. Her blazer hung slightly open, as if her composure had begun to slip. The quiet hum of the office beyond felt far away.
The door creaked open.
Lesley stepped in with a practiced ease, arms folded, one brow arched.
"Hangover?" she asked, voice gently teasing. "You look like someone cracked you open with a bottle of scotch and a pitch deck."
Stacy let out a low breath, rubbing her temples again, her smirk barely alive.
"A lovely cocktail of whiskey, zero sleep, and the final pitch looming like judgment day." She sat back. "Not exactly a recipe for grace."
Lesley walked over and perched on the edge of the desk, tilting her head as she studied Stacy.
"And... Zoe?" she asked. "You said you were keeping your distance. Thought she already melted your executive armor."
Stacy didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she stood abruptly, crossed to the cabinet near the window, and pulled out a crystal decanter. She poured two glasses of whiskey—no hesitation—then walked back and wordlessly handed one to Lesley before sinking into her chair again.
Lesley took the glass, gave Stacy a look, and downed it in one go. "Now we're talking."
Stacy stared at hers for a moment, swirling the amber quietly before speaking.
"I'm trying to avoid her," she said. "Not because I want to. Because I have to." Her voice cracked just slightly. "When she's around… I lose the edges I need to survive this."
Lesley sat quietly, waiting.
"She's distracting," Stacy whispered. "She makes me feel things I'm not used to. Vulnerability, softness, confusion. And that terrifies me. I feel weak. And in a world like mine, weakness doesn't just sting—it gets punished."
She shook her head, looking down at her hands. "Being distant... being cold—it's the only shield I've got left."
Lesley reached out, fingers brushing gently against Stacy's arm. "Does she know?"
Stacy let out a bitter laugh. "No. We haven't talked about feelings. There's no time. And how do I explain something I can't even define for myself?"
Lesley raised a brow. "So you just left her hanging? Despite everything she's shown you?"
Stacy looked away. "It kills me. You think I don't wish I could just be selfish, just once? But every time I try... reality hits harder."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There are people depending on me. Hundreds of them. This company—my legacy—it's more than spreadsheets and campaigns. It's paychecks. Stability. Lives."
She paused, eyes glassy but steady.
"And then there's my father."
Lesley's face softened. "Your dad's always been a monster. You've been chasing his approval since we were seventeen."
"This project…" Stacy exhaled slowly. "It's my proof. That I'm not soft. That I'm still worthy. If I drop my guard now—if Zoe becomes a distraction—I lose everything."
Lesley nodded quietly.
"I hear you," she said. "But just know... protecting the company doesn't mean erasing yourself."
Stacy didn't reply.
She just stared down at the empty whiskey glass—fingers twitching.
As if she already knew what she was sacrificing.
-
Zoe moved quietly through the corridor, the dim afternoon light slanting across the polished floors, papers tucked under her arm, her thoughts half-swallowed by campaign timelines and layout revisions. She was on her way to drop off final mockups to Stacy—something told her to deliver them personally, even after the strange, quiet tension that had settled between them.
As she neared Stacy's office, she noticed the door wasn't closed all the way.
And then—her name.
She paused.
Her breath caught.
"…Zoe?" came Lesley's voice, clear but gentle. "You said you were keeping your distance. Thought she already melted your executive armor."
Zoe stood frozen, just beyond view, heart thudding louder than she'd like.
Inside, Stacy's reply landed quiet and raw. "I'm trying to avoid her. Not because I want to. Because I have to. When she's around… I lose the edges I need to survive this."
Zoe's grip tightened on the papers, fingers curling slightly.
She didn't mean to listen—but she couldn't seem to move.
"She's distracting," Stacy continued. "She makes me feel things I'm not used to. Vulnerability. Softness. Confusion." "And that terrifies me."
Zoe blinked.
The words stung—but not out of rejection.
Out of recognition.
Stacy's voice shook slightly. "I feel weak. And in a world like mine, weakness doesn't just sting—it gets punished. Being cold—it's the only shield I've got left."
A pause.
Zoe swallowed hard.
And then—quietly—Lesley's voice: "Does she know?"
Stacy let out a bitter laugh. "No. We haven't talked about feelings. There's no time. And how do I explain something I can't even define for myself?"
Zoe's chest ached.
She hadn't realized how far Stacy had been spiraling under the weight of her silence.
"It kills me," Stacy whispered. "You think I don't wish I could be selfish? Just once? But every time I try… reality hits harder. People depend on me. This company isn't just campaigns—it's lives. And then there's my father…"
Zoe stepped back.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Her breath caught—not from shock, but from the ache swelling beneath her ribs, something she could no longer ignore.
She didn't need to hear more; the truth settled like a heavy weight in her chest.
Without a word, she turned away and walked to her office, each step slower than the last, as if retreating from a part of herself she wasn't ready to lose.
At her desk, she pushed the mockups aside, hands trembling as she sat still for a long, shattering moment. Her eyes drifted to the muted sky outside—grey and heavy, mirroring the storm inside her.
She understood now.
It wasn't coldness.
It wasn't rejection.
It was self-preservation.
She cared about Stacy—deeply. Maybe more than she should have. A care that made her heart ache with both hope and pain. But if survival meant putting space between them, Zoe would carry that ache alone.
Setting the folder down with a soft sigh, her fingers trembled as they hovered over the keyboard.
From now on, it would be different.
Clean.
Professional.
Focused.
No lingering glances. No fragile questions. No invitations to vulnerability.
Just quiet support—
from a distance.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, warm and unforgiving. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said to the empty room,
"I won't make it any harder for you."
Even though every beat of her heart whispered something else—a softer, more desperate plea.