LOGIC failed when fear took over.
I am her attorney, and she is my client. I should be focused on her case, on evidence and strategy—not on what might be happening to her beyond the confines of a legal file. Yet as I sat at my desk, knowing she was trapped inside her company with an angry crowd gathering outside, my mind refused to settle. I knew I would not be able to sleep until I saw her.
Mrs. Thorne's words echoed in my head as I gathered my things and left the firm. Now that the public knew about the alleged killing, enemies lurked nearby, eager to make sure the truth never surfaced.
When I stepped outside, I noticed it: a black van parked across the street, engine idling.
I slowed my pace, studying it from the corner of my eye. The firm's lights reflected faintly on its tinted windows, revealing nothing inside. Unease tightened in my chest when the van door slid open. A figure in a hoodie stepped out, followed by another shape lingering near the vehicle.
My heartbeat thundered as I fumbled inside my bag for my car keys. I forced myself to keep walking, eyes fixed on my car as if nothing were wrong.
Footsteps followed.
Close.
Too close.
The hooded figure drew nearer, and instinct took over. I spun around and swung my bag with all my strength.
"Get away from me!" I shouted. The impact landed hard, and the figure groaned as my bag struck the face.
"Ouch—Lauren!"
The voice stopped me cold. Her strong hands caught my wrists, firm yet gentle, holding me back from striking again. I sucked in a sharp breath, panic clawing at my chest, until the hood was pulled back.
It's Megan.
Exhaustion clung to her face, dark circles shadowing her eyes. She was breathing just as hard as I was. Pity and worry flooded me as I took her in.
"Are you out of your mind?" I snapped, pulling my hands free. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I was afraid someone might recognize me if I called you."
I stared at her, anger draining into relief so intense it left me lightheaded. "How did you even get out?"
My eyes scanned her. She wore an oversized black hoodie, the hood too large to properly frame her face. But when my gaze dropped, I bit the inside of my cheek. She's in her suit pants and Louboutin heels. An absurd disguise.
"I borrowed Luke's hoodie," she said, gesturing at it. "I know it doesn't match. That wasn't important at the moment."
I exhaled slowly, forcing my pulse to steady. "We need to talk. About the case."
"Tonight?" Megan asked. "If you want to."
I studied her face, exhaustion etched into every line. Eight years ago, I used to see that same fatigue when she worked at the café—showing up at my door, too stressed and tired to eat, collapsing into sleep without a second thought.
"Have you eaten?" The words slipped out before I could stop myself.
Her eyes widened. "No. I didn't even get lunch. The situation at the company was... chaotic."
"Come eat ramen at my place," I said without thinking.
Megan blinked. "Huh?"
"I only have ramen," I added quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. "And going to a restaurant isn't a good idea. People will recognize you. We can order takeout if you want."
She must be used to five-star meals. That thought lingered, a pang of embarrassment shooting through me. I didn't know how to cook—I survived on cup noodles and takeout. What could I offer her? A steak pulled straight out of my imagination? The absurdity almost made me laugh.
She stared at me, then murmured, almost to herself, "Why are you inviting me over?"
I lifted an eyebrow. "You said you were hungry."
A lie.
I didn't want to feel the gnawing worry again. Not tonight. As long as she was in front of me, breathing and unharmed, I could finally rest. If she disappeared now, sleep would never come.
"Alright," she said softly, then smiled faintly. "Let's eat at your place, Lauren."
I nodded toward my car but paused when she simply walked alongside me. I caught a glimpse of her smile before she quickly faked a cough, erasing it.
"You're not bringing yours?" I asked, glancing at the van that had nearly stopped my heart earlier. Why did every threat in movies always come in a black van?
"My driver and guards are still inside," Megan replied. "Can I ride with you instead?"
I hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Okay."
Her smile returned, and for a brief moment, I saw the same glimmer in her eyes I had noticed the first time we met. Warmth crept up my cheeks, and I immediately looked away. As we got into the car, the rain finally began to fall, yet inside the car, a quiet warmth settled with her in the passenger seat.
THE ROOM was filled with silence when we stepped into my apartment. I was confident about one thing: even if I didn't know how to cook, I knew how to keep my place clean.
While I boiled water for the ramen, she wandered around, her eyes taking in every corner. From the kitchen, I watched her. She looked almost out of place, like a child wrapped in a one-piece corporate suit, curiosity softening the sharp edges she carried so well.
From college, when she disguised herself as a struggling student, to now, revealed as the heiress of a wealthy clan, the contrast struck me all at once. We truly lived in different worlds. I realized that if I had known back then who she really was, I would not have had the courage to approach her, much less entertain her company.
Megan looked expensive, polished in a way that felt untouchable. Class clung to her effortlessly, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if someone ordinary like me had any place standing beside her at all. Back then, it had been me who believed she had no place beside me, too consumed by my ambitions to make room for anything else.
I turned back to the kettle as she returned to the kitchen.
"Your place is nice," she said politely. "How long have you been renting?"
"Three months," I answered while turning on the stove.
She took a seat on one of the bar stools and watched as I prepared the ramen on the counter. When everything was set, I sat beside her, waiting for the water to boil. She smiled at me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. I didn't know how to start, but she did.
"So," she said softly, "what do you want to talk about?"
I hesitated, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. "The case," choosing the safest answer.
She nodded. "Of course."
"You mentioned two men at the warehouse," I continued. "I need you to walk me through that night again. Details you might think are insignificant usually aren't."
Megan leaned back slightly, eyes drifting upward as she searched her memory. "Greg and I used to meet every other day. I asked him to run confidential errands for me. That day, he called and asked to meet there. He said someone had been following him."
"Following him?"
"When I arrived, I thought it was just him," she said. "But there were two other men. Greg looked like he was already in the middle of a deal with someone."
I filed that away. "Do you have any idea who they were working for?"
She sighed. "I have many enemies, Lauren. I've lost count of the people I've outbid or crushed at auctions and negotiations."
"But one of them could have had the gun, You were armed too," I added carefully.
"Yes," she replied. Something in her eyes shifted. "I never denied that."
"But you did fire," voicing the question that had haunted me since I reviewed the footage.
"Yes," her jaw tightened. "Not at him."
I studied her profile. The tension in her shoulders and the way her hands curled tightly in her lap. Not the posture of someone lying, but of someone bracing.
"Why didn't you run?"
In the video, Greg had pointed his gun at her first during the argument. Yet she had stood her ground, only drawing her weapon moments later.
"Because I thought I could still talk him down," she answered.
"That sounds like you," I said before I could stop myself.
Her gaze shifted to me, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You're reckless," I was unable to keep it in. "You don't even have guards stationed at your company earlier. You know you're a target. Why wouldn't you protect yourself?"
She looked straight at me. "Because I had my men follow you."
Her words hit me harder than I expected.
"I don't care if something happens to me," she continued calmly. "But I won't let you get hurt because of my mistakes, Lauren."
I stared at her, disbelief and frustration rising. All this time, she had her men following me instead of protecting herself. She had been prioritizing my safety over her own, and I couldn't understand why.
"Why would you do that, Megan?" I asked, sharper than intended. Was all this worry and danger because of me? Because I am her attorney?
"Having me as your client would endanger you, I just made sure you were safe before myself."
Hearing that, guilt and anger twisted inside me. This was just like back then. She always put me first, without asking if it was okay. She assumed I would be fine. But I wasn't. It wasn't okay. It could never be okay.
"Seriously, it wasn't a big deal—Lauren, why are you crying?" she panicked immediately.
Oh God. I wanted to slap myself as the tears slipped down my cheeks.
Nothing inside me fit neatly anymore. Anger burned, tangled helplessly with worry and guilt so heavy it made breathing hurt. Hearing her say she had been protecting me unraveled everything I thought I was holding together, turning fear for her into something inward and cruel. I hated how easily she reached me, how one truth from her could break the walls I had built, and I hated even more that beneath the anger was the terrifying relief that she was still here, still choosing me, and that the thought of losing her again was enough to shatter me completely.
"You fucking idiot!" I snapped, slapping her arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to make her flinch. The sting did nothing to calm the chaos inside me. "You're always like this. You make reckless choices like they don't affect me at all."
She drew in a shaky breath. "What I did now is reckless," pausing as she swallowed hard. "But what I did years ago wasn't, Lauren."
The words hit somewhere deep, raw. I hated that part of me that still listened.
"Oh so you wanted to talk about that now? fine!" My anger seeped into the cracks of my voice, but I didn't stop "You lied to me, Megan. About who you were and just dissapeared. And then, after eight years, you just show up like this is only a case. Like me losing my mind trying to find you was a joke."
She let out a weak, bitter scoff. "Big words for someone who clearly enjoyed her time in Canada."
Something twisted in my chest. "Just look at you now," I shot back. "I can't believe I slept with an immature liar."
"And I can't believe I loved an ambitious woman," she fired back, anger flashing in her eyes before faltering. Her voice softened too late. "La... Lauren, I—"
"Yes, Megan," I cut in, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I am ambitious. Career-driven. Exactly everything you think I am. But you have no idea how much I was willing to risk for you if you had just stayed. If you had just listened."
The words poured out, heavy and aching, carrying years of unanswered questions and quiet nights spent wondering where she had gone. Funny how we were just going over the case, dissecting evidence and alibis, and now here we are in my kitchen, eight years of unrequited feelings like it's just another part of our day.
"I searched for you everywhere. I asked Leandra. Beau. Even Luke. Because all it would have taken was one word from you. Just one. And I would have stayed."
Her expression shattered. "Lauren... I'm sorry."
"Don't say sorry just because I'm crying," I snapped, even as my vision blurred. "You still don't get it. You ran the moment you heard I was leaving. You didn't even give me a chance to explain. And now you insult me?"
"You can hit me, slap me... just don't cry," she whispered, gentle but firm, as if trying to take some of the weight off my chest.
I shook my head, anger spilling over the edges of my restraint. "Just fuck you, Megan. Fuck you."
She didn't look away. That hurt more than if she had. She let my words sink in before slowly reaching out to wipe the tears from my face. The touch was deliberate, gentle, and I sobbed harder at the contact. Oh, how much I had missed her—and she had no idea.
"I ran," she started, voice trembling, "because I didn't want to be an option anymore. I didn't want you to struggle choosing. So I made the choice for you by disappearing. I didn't know it would hurt you like this. I swear I didn't."
I turned my head, avoiding her gaze, letting the ache of forgiveness and frustration twist together. My heart beat fast, hurt and relief colliding.
She moved closer, scanning me softly. "Lauren, please look at me," she murmured, caressing my cheek, urging me to meet her eyes.
I forced myself to look.
"I may have had a good life in Canada, but I had no one," I admitted through sobs, barely holding myself together. "I may be ambitious, but you were always the exception. I was willing to stop chasing my dreams because I knew if I kept going, I would leave you again. Back then, you were all I had... and you still left."
The truth cut deeper than any accusation. But it had to be said. I had held it in for too long, waiting for the right time that never came.
She reached for my hand, "I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. That was the past," I said, really looking at her, feeling the old fear stir again. "All I'm asking now is this. Don't do something reckless. Don't disappear again."
"I won't," she said without hesitation.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She slowly leans in, eyes asking permission to what she is about to do before she pressed a soft gentle kiss on my lips.
I let her lips claim mine—not as a question, not as uncertainty, but as a seal. I let myself be consumed, letting years of bottled-up thoughts, fears, and longing finally answered as we pressed together, finding an answer in the union of our lips.
(The Ramen🍜: what am I even doing here?)