JAY — PRESENT DAY
The room thinned out quickly after that.
Polite nods. Muted congratulations. The quiet shuffle of power suits and practiced smiles filing away as if nothing monumental had just happened.
As if my past hadn't walked in, sat across from me, and looked at me like I was a ghost that learned how to breathe.
I stood, already gathering my folder, ready to leave before anyone mistook my stillness for availability.
"Jay."
Keifer's voice.
It landed like a spark on gasoline.
I didn't turn immediately. My spine stayed straight. My expression stayed composed.
"Yes?" I asked, cool enough to pass for bored.
Angelo stepped forward too. "We just—"
I cut him off with a look sharp enough to draw blood.
"We're done here," I said, tone clipped. "Any further communication can go through legal channels."
Keifer frowned, the mask cracking just enough for me to see the desperation beneath it. "Please. Just five minutes. We need to talk."
Need.
The audacity almost made me laugh.
I finally faced them fully, eyes flat, distant, ruthless.
"There is nothing to talk about," I said. "You're observers. This meeting is concluded. Kindly step aside."
Angelo's jaw tightened. "Jay—"
"It's Ms. Mariano for you," I corrected softly.
That did it.
Keifer flinched like I'd struck him.
I walked past them without another glance, heels striking the floor in precise, controlled beats that kept me upright when everything inside wanted to burn.
The elevator ride was silent.
Too silent.
By the time I reached my floor, my hands were shaking—not visibly, but violently enough that I clasped them behind my back to steady myself.
The doors to my office closed behind me with a soft click.
And that—
That was all it took.
I turned, grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a porcelain vase imported from somewhere expensive and forgettable—and hurled it across the room.
It shattered against the wall.
The sound was sharp. Violent. Satisfying.
Glass rained down like fragile lies finally breaking.
My breath came faster.
"Six years," I whispered, voice trembling now that no one could hear. "Six years."
I swept my arm across the desk, sending files, a pen holder, a framed industry award crashing to the floor.
"They don't get to do this," I snapped, pacing. "They don't get to show up. They don't get to look at me like that."
I kicked a chair. It slammed into the wall.
My chest hurt. Tight. Like something was clawing its way out.
I grabbed another object—didn't even see what it was—and smashed it against the desk.
"After everything," I choked. "After I rebuilt myself from nothing."
"They looked at me," I whispered, voice shaking. "Like they remembered me."
Another vase.
Another crash.
My vision blurred.
I grabbed a framed article—The Mysterious CEO Reshaping Global Markets—and smashed it against the wall.
"Mysterious," I spat.
"You made me disappear."
I didn't notice the blood.
Didn't notice the way my hands shook violently now, how my knees threatened to give out.
I just kept moving—throwing, breaking, destroying—because if I stopped, I knew I'd collapse.
The door flew open.
"Jay!" Cole shouted.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist, trying to pull me back just as I lunged for another object.
"Let go of me!" I screamed, fighting him with a strength that shocked even me. "Let me go!"
Celeste rushed in, horror flashing across her face as she took in the destruction, the glass, the blood.
"Jay—stop—please—" she reached for my hands.
I shoved her away.
Hard.
She stumbled back, catching herself on the couch, eyes wide.
"I said don't touch me!" I sobbed, voice breaking apart completely now.
Cole tightened his grip. "You're hurting yourself!"
"I don't care!" I screamed. "I don't care anymore!"
I tore free from him and fell to my knees amid the shattered glass.
The sound that came out of me then wasn't crying.
It was grief.
Deep. Cracked. Animal.
"I built everything," I choked, clutching my head. "Everything. From nothing. I erased them. I erased him."
My shoulders shook violently.
"And he still—he still looked at me like I belonged to him."
Cole froze.
Celeste went very still.
"…him?" Celeste asked softly.
I rocked forward, nails digging into my scalp.
"He lied to me," I whispered. "They all did. Used me. Broke me. Watched me bleed and still chose themselves."
Cole slowly knelt in front of me, careful, like approaching something wounded and dangerous.
"Jay," he said quietly, "who were they?"
The question shattered the last wall.
I laughed again—wet, hysterical.
"Everyone," I said. "My family. My friends. The boy I loved."
Celeste's breath hitched. "Loved?"
I looked up at them then.
Really looked.
And for the first time in six years, I let someone see the truth in my eyes.
"Keifer Watson," I said, voice hoarse. "Angelo Fernandez. Section E."
The names hung heavy in the air.
Cole's expression darkened. "They did this to you?"
I nodded, tears streaming freely now.
"They turned me into a weapon," I sobbed. "Then told me I was disposable."
Celeste's eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall.
"You never told us," she whispered.
"I couldn't," I cried. "Because if I said it out loud, I'd remember how much it hurt."
My body folded inward, arms wrapping around myself as the pain finally consumed me.
"I loved him," I whispered. "And he chose to break me to save me."
Silence swallowed the room.
Then Celeste moved first.
She crossed the glass-strewn floor, knelt beside me, and pulled me into her arms—slowly, firmly, unmovable.
"You don't have to carry this alone anymore," she said fiercely. "Not with us."
Cole joined them, wrapping both of us in his arms, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
"They don't get to touch you again," he said. "Not without going through us."
I collapsed completely then.
Sobs wracked my body, violent and unstoppable, years of suppressed pain finally allowed to breathe.
For the first time since I was eighteen—
I wasn't alone in the wreckage..
I stopped fighting.
The anger collapsed in on itself, imploding into something raw and aching and uncontrollable.
I sagged between them.
A sound tore out of my chest—ugly, broken, real.
"I hate them," I sobbed, fingers clutching Cole's jacket like it was the only thing keeping me upright. "I hate that they still affect me. I hate that I cared."
Cole held me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head. "You're allowed to," he murmured. "They don't get to take that from you."
Celeste pressed her forehead to mine, eyes fierce and soft all at once. "You didn't break today," she said firmly. "You survived it."
Tears soaked through fabric as I finally let myself fall apart—years of restraint unraveling in shaking breaths.
"They looked at me like I disappeared," I whispered. "Like I wasn't real anymore."
Celeste shook her head. "No. They looked at you like they realized what they lost."
I squeezed my eyes shut, exhaustion crashing over me in waves.
"I don't want them back in my life," I said hoarsely. "Not like this. Not ever."
Cole exhaled slowly. "Then they won't be. You decide who gets access to you. Always."
I nodded weakly, clinging to the only two people who'd seen me at my worst and stayed anyway.
Outside my office, the city kept moving.
Inside—
I finally let myself feel...