It had been days since the conference, but the look on Zoe's face still clung to Stacy like smoke—sharp, aching, impossible to shake.
She'd tried to bury herself in work, hoping the endless stream of meetings and deadlines would drown the memory. But Zoe's eyes—hurt, betrayed, distant—kept bleeding through.
She didn't even notice the door open until it slammed shut behind her.
"What are you doing here?" her father barked, striding into her office like he owned it. "You should be with your fiancée today—trying on dresses, finalizing plans. The wedding is less than two months away."
Stacy didn't bother looking up. "I'm working. I have deadlines."
"You should've taken the day off. Alexandra has been handling everything on her own. Honestly, it's embarrassing. You act like this wedding doesn't matter."
Stacy's fingers hovered above her keyboard, frozen. Her voice came out flat.
"Should it matter? To me?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "Of course it should be. This is your future."
"No. This is your arrangement." She finally looked up at him, her jaw clenched. "And you left me no choice but to agree to it in the end."
His expression darkened. "As it should be."
"Do not forget I just agreed to this because you promised me you'd leave Zoe alone. That you wouldn't destroy her career again, wouldn't blacklist her, wouldn't make her life a living hell."
"I've kept my word," her father said stiffly.
Stacy stood, calm and deliberate, her voice like a blade she'd finally stopped hiding.
"Then we're the same. You're keeping your part… and I'm keeping mine."
She closed her laptop with quiet finality and slipped it into her bag. Every movement was controlled, but her hands trembled just slightly—just enough to remind her this still hurt.
Her father watched her, brow furrowed. "Where are you going?
She met his gaze, steady and unreadable. "Somewhere that doesn't feel like a cage."
"Stacy—"
She was already walking past him, her heels sharp against the polished floor. At the door, she paused—not turning around.
"I kept my end, Dad. I stayed quiet. I played the part. But don't mistake silence for agreement."
Then she opened the door and walked out, letting it close softly behind her. No slamming. No theatrics.
Just the sound of a choice finally made.
-
The bar was dim, bathed in warm amber light that flickered off rows of half-empty bottles behind the counter. Jazz hummed low from hidden speakers, mixing with the soft clink of ice and the low murmur of tired professionals easing out of their day.
Stacy sat alone at the far end of the bar, elbows on the polished wood, her blazer tossed over the stool beside her. The weight of her father's words still pulsed behind her eyes like a second heartbeat.
She raised a hand, voice barely above the music.
"Whiskey. Neat."
The bartender gave a quiet nod, pouring with the kind of gentleness reserved for people who looked like they were holding too much. He slid the glass toward her.
She downed it in one long swallow—sharp, burning, welcome—and set the empty glass back down with a quiet thud.
"Another."
He poured again. This time, she didn't rush it. She held the glass in her hand, turning it slowly by the rim, watching the liquid catch the light.
She lifted it to her lips—
—and froze.
Across the room, at a corner booth draped in laughter and low conversation, was Zoe.
God.
Zoe.
Hair pulled back in that effortless twist she always wore when she meant business. Her laugh—soft but sure—floated across the space like a melody Stacy had nearly forgotten. She was surrounded by colleagues, it looked like—some junior associates from the firm maybe. Zoe's face was turned slightly away, but Stacy didn't need more than a glance.
She knew that silhouette like a memory etched into her bones.
Her heart seized—a painful jolt. Joy and ache tangled up in her chest so tightly she couldn't tell them apart.
She took a slow sip, her hand trembling just enough to send the ice clinking.
She missed her. God, she missed her. It was a dull, daily ache—but seeing Zoe like this, vibrant and laughing, only made it sharper.
She didn't move.
She couldn't.
All she could do was watch—from a distance that felt both safe and unbearable.
But then Zoe stood.
Excused herself from the table, smiled politely, and walked toward the back hallway—toward the powder room.
Stacy hesitated for half a second.
Then followed.
The hallway was narrow and quiet, with gold sconces casting soft shadows on the muted gray walls. Stacy stood by the wall just past the restroom door, her heart hammering like it was trying to break free from her ribs.
When Zoe stepped out, adjusting her bag strap, she nearly collided with her.
She froze. The moment stretched—a breath suspended midair.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed.
Zoe's voice cut through the quiet hallway, dry and sharp.
"Seriously? What is this—fate? Or just the universe being cruel?"
She let out a short, bitter laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"First the conference. Now here."
Stacy's voice was barely above a whisper, hesitant and fragile.
"I didn't know you'd be here."
Zoe's eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing in their depths.
"Oh, right." She scoffed, the sound dripping with sarcasm. "You just happen to show up in the street, the same bar, by accident?"
The corners of her mouth twitched, a wry, bitter smile.
"Classic."
Stacy took a cautious step forward, uncertainty lingering in her tone.
"Zoe… please. Just give me a minute."
But the softness in Zoe's eyes disappeared like a shutter snapping shut.
"A minute?" she repeated, voice cold and edged with hurt. "You think a minute could fix months of silence? A minute could make up for being abandoned like I never mattered?"
Before Stacy could respond, desperation edged her voice.
"No. It's not like that. I didn't stop—"
"Don't." Zoe's single word was a blade. Precise. Final.
Stacy's urgency grew, her voice trembling with raw emotion.
"Zoe, I love you—"
Zoe's hand moved fast. Instinctive. Controlled. But fierce.
The slap landed clean across Stacy's cheek—not out of hatred, but something closer to heartbreak.
The sound cracked the silence—a single, brutal punctuation mark.
Stacy blinked. Her head turned slightly with the force, but she didn't step back.
Her breath caught. Her cheek stung. Her chest burned.
Zoe's voice came low, trembling at the edges—but steady where it counted.
"You don't get to say those words to me anymore."
She swallowed hard, the glint in her eyes trembling but refusing to fade.
"You don't get to stand here in a hallway like some tragic lover in a bad movie and say you still care." Her voice wavered, heavy with the sting of a wound still fresh.
"Not after you disappeared. Not after you left me in pieces while you played house with someone else."
She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips—harsh, hollow.
"You lost the right to love me out loud."
She stepped around Stacy without waiting for a reply—her heels clicking like gunshots on the tile floor as she walked away.
And Stacy…
She just stood there.
Frozen in place.
Her jaw clenched. Her breathing shallow. Her hand slowly lifted to her cheek, where the heat still lingered. Not from the slap—but from everything she'd lost.
From everything she still couldn't let go.
The hallway stayed silent long after Zoe was gone.