The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the tall windows—a river of gold, silver, and quiet chaos below. Inside, it was too still. The kind of stillness that settled in after something important ended.
Stacy moved slowly, deliberately. She dropped a single cube of ice into her glass of whiskey—it clinked like a soft punctuation mark in the silence. She lifted it, the amber liquid catching the skyline's glow, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
She took a sip—slow, careful—but it burned going down. Or maybe that burn had already been there before the drink touched her lips.
Zoe's face was still vivid in her mind. The way she stood at the podium earlier, commanding the room without needing to raise her voice. Unshaken. Elegant. Strong. And heartbreakingly distant.
Behind her, soft footsteps.
"Stace… we can still call this off. You don't have to go through with this," Alexandra said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stacy didn't flinch. She didn't turn. She just watched the city and took another slow sip of her drink.
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, Alex. I know this is a hell of a favor I asked from you… but we can't back out now. This wedding needs to happen. Just long enough for Zoe to have her life back."
Alexandra stepped closer, the tension in her voice rising like a low tide.
"What if there's another way?"
She swallowed. "My dad… he'd understand. We could tell him the truth—why we staged the engagement. He was so happy when you said yes. He really thought you wanted a life with me."
Her voice softened. "He doesn't know it was for Zoe. That we did this for her."
She looked at Stacy, hope fragile but real. "I think he'd get it. Maybe he could even talk to your dad."
Stacy finally turned her head—just enough to glance at her—then looked back at the city.
She exhaled, slow and tight, like she'd been holding her breath for hours.
"You know my father. No one can change his mind. Not even your dad."
A beat. The silence expanded like smoke between them.
"You love her, Stacy. You always have. And she still loves you. You two were—are—meant to be. She looked composed up there today, yeah. But I saw it in her eyes. She's not okay. She's angry… and hurting. And beneath all of that? She's just trying not to fall apart."
Stacy closed her eyes, exhaled sharply through her nose.
"I'm hoping the anger makes it easier for her to forget me. Hate is simpler than hope. She's already endured too much because of me. I can't be the reason she keeps falling apart."
Alexandra watched her for a long moment, the weight of her words settling between them.
Then, quietly:
"Don't you want to be with her anymore?"
Stacy's grip tightened around the glass. Her voice cracked slightly, the edges raw.
"God, yes—I do. I want to be selfish. I want to chase after her, wrap myself around her, break down in her arms and never let go. But wanting her… that's not the same as being what she needs. And right now, the only thing I can do for her—the only thing that might still help—is to stay away."
She downed the rest of the whiskey in a single, burning swallow. The ice rattled against the glass, then settled. Silence stretched out—thick, expectant.
Her grip tightened around the empty glass. The city blurred beyond the window, but it wasn't the skyline she saw anymore.
The past rushed in—uninvited, unstoppable.
Hidden behind the tinted glass of a sleek black SUV parked across the street, Stacy watched Zoe standing alone at the entrance of Holloway & Brand Building.
Zoe looked up at every person exiting the building. She scanned faces, waiting. Hope flickered in her eyes each time the door opened—until it dimmed again.
She walked to the reception desk inside. Stacy couldn't hear her, but she saw her mouth move.
"Is Stacy Holloway in today?"
A pause. The receptionist shook her head.
Zoe forced a smile, thanked her, and stepped back outside. She didn't leave, though. She just… waited.
Stacy's hands were clenched in her lap. Her driver glanced at her through the mirror.
"Miss Holloway, should I—?" the driver said, his voice low, uncertain whether to break the silence.
"No. Just wait," Stacy said, her tone tight with urgency.
And she watched as Zoe eventually turned, wiping at her eyes as she disappeared into the street crowd.
Stacy pressed her forehead against the cool window, hating herself.
Stacy blinked back into the now. Her lips trembled. The room felt too still, too loud in its silence.
She stared at the glass in her hand, fingers tightening around it like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
But the past wasn't done with her. Another memory rose—slow and merciless—and pulled her under.
The elevator doors slid open.
Stacy stepped out from the penthouse floor, coat draped over her arm, keys in hand—mid-thought, mid-motion.
Then she froze.
Zoe was standing at the front desk. Soaked in city light, clutching her phone, voice low but urgent.
"Please, can you just check again? I know she's here. Stacy Holloway. I just need to talk to her."
Stacy's breath caught. She ducked back into the elevator alcove, heart pounding. She pressed herself against the wall, hidden just out of sight.
Carefully, she leaned forward—just enough to see.
Zoe's shoulders were tense. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were glassy. She was trying to hold it together.
The receptionist hesitated, then shook her head. Zoe faltered. Just for a second. Then she nodded, turned away slowly, and walked toward the exit.
Stacy watched her go, chest tight, fingers clenched around her keys.
She whispered to herself, barely audible:
"This is for you, Zoe. This is for you to finally move on."
She gasped—not loudly—just a tight, sudden inhale that never fully left her lungs.
She walked to the bar, poured another two fingers of whiskey with shaking hands. Her reflection in the mirror above the counter looked older, paler.
Colder.
The whiskey didn't burn as much this time. Or maybe she was just used to pain now.
But then she closed her eyes.
And the worst memory came for her.
The mansion gates stood tall and locked, cold iron glinting under the night sky. Outside them, Zoe waited—drenched, defiant. Her voice cut through the silence, echoing against the bars as she called out. Her hair clung to her face, her coat soaked through, but she didn't move.
"Stacy! I know you're in there! Just come out! Please!"
From a second-story window, Stacy watched. Her hand covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook as she sank slowly to the floor.
"Don't do this, Stacy! You don't get to just disappear! Talk to me, damn it! Fight for us!"
Stacy sobbed silently, her fist pressed to her chest like it might keep her heart from breaking through her ribs.
Her father's voice played in her memory: cold, commanding. "You will marry Alexandra."
And still, Zoe stood outside. Yelling her name. Begging.
And Stacy could do nothing but hide—and break.
The memory didn't just sting—it knocked the air out of her. Stacy gripped the edge of the table, jaw clenched, eyes wide and glassy.
Her hand trembled as she looked down.
The glass was empty again.
She set it down gently—too gently—like even the sound of it hitting the table might shatter her completely.
Alexandra hadn't moved. Her eyes were full, but her voice stayed steady.
"If she finds out the truth—about what you're doing for her—it'll break her."
Stacy let out a small, fractured laugh. It wasn't bitter. Just tired.
"She already believed I broke her. So maybe… it was better if that's the story she held onto. Maybe that's what finally set her free."
Outside the skyline shone like a lie. In here, everything had already gone dark.