The choice didn't come immediately.
It arrived quietly, disguised as routine.
Two days after the late-night fix, an internal announcement circulated across the company.
Strategic Restructuring — Senior Leadership Update
I opened it without expectation.
Then I saw my name.
Lucas Reed — Special Projects Unit (Executive Oversight)
My stomach tightened.
This wasn't a promotion.It wasn't a demotion.
It was visibility.
And visibility was dangerous.
I was called into her office before noon.
Evelyn was standing when I arrived, hands resting on the back of her chair. The blinds were half-open, light cutting across the room in clean lines.
"You saw the announcement," she said.
"Yes."
"This wasn't my decision alone," she added quickly. "The board insisted."
"Because of me," I said.
"Because of your work," she corrected. "And because they're watching."
I took a breath. "This puts us closer again."
"Yes."
"And under more scrutiny."
"Yes."
She didn't avoid it. Didn't soften it.
"This is the last adjustment," she said. "After this, I can't keep intervening."
"I wouldn't want you to."
Her gaze sharpened. "Then you understand what this means."
I nodded. "I'll be reporting directly to executive review. Limited interaction."
She exhaled slowly. "That's the safest option."
"Safe," I repeated.
She didn't respond.
I stepped closer—not invading her space, just closing the distance enough to make the words matter.
"There's something we haven't said," I said.
Her jaw tightened. "Because saying it changes things."
"Not saying it already has."
Silence stretched.
Then she made a decision.
"This arrangement," Evelyn said carefully, "gives you exposure without dependency. Your future won't be tied to me."
I searched her face. "And yours?"
She held my gaze. "Mine never was."
The lie was subtle. Polished. Almost convincing.
"I can request reassignment," I said suddenly. "Move out entirely."
Her eyes widened—just slightly.
"That would limit your growth," she said.
"It would eliminate risk."
"For you," she said. "Not for me."
There it was.
The truth beneath everything.
She had always been protecting downward.She had never considered who would protect her.
"I won't do that," she said firmly. "I won't sacrifice your trajectory to make this easier."
"And I won't let you carry all the weight," I replied.
We stood there, two people used to control, neither willing to surrender it.
Finally, she straightened.
"Then here's the choice," she said. "We proceed professionally. Fully. No exceptions."
"And if that fails?"
Her voice dropped. "Then we step away. Completely."
No middle ground.
No blurred edges.
I nodded once. "Agreed."
She hesitated.
"Lucas," she said, softer now. "You should know—this isn't indifference."
"I know," I replied.
"That's what makes it dangerous."
I turned toward the door.
Behind me, she spoke one last time.
"This choice," she said, "doesn't decide how we feel."
I paused.
"No," I said. "It decides what we do with it."
I left her office with clarity I hadn't had before.
The line was still there.
Clearer now than ever.
And for the first time, we had both chosento stand on the same side of it.
Even if it meant wanting somethingwe weren't ready to claim.