Are you really married?

Really?

Of all the things she could say, it was that?

For a second, I thought maybe—just maybe—this would finally be a normal day. Avery's unannounced visit had rattled me, the dropped call with Val had left a hollow in my chest, and when it finally felt like I had a moment of reprieve—Clarkson's voice giving me something solid to hold onto—Tasha had to bring this up.

I blinked at her, still strapped into the passenger seat, the faint new-leather smell of her car pressing in like it wanted me to stay calm. But calm wasn't easy when the question sat in the air like a trap.

Her eyes didn't waver. If anything, she looked like she'd been holding the question in for a while, measuring when—or if—she should ask it.

She gave the smallest shrug, like she already knew how absurd it sounded. "It's just… you're wearing a ring." Her gaze flicked down to my hand before finding my eyes again.

I stayed silent, my mind trying to decide whether this was an attack, a joke, or something in between.

"But on your file," she went on, slower this time, "it says... single. So I don't really... understand... it." Her voice trailed off at the end, as though she realized how strange it was to even bring it up.

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "…You looked up my file?"

Her lips pressed together before she gave a single nod. Calm. Collected. Like someone who had already made peace with the fact that this moment would eventually come. "I did."

I let the silence stretch because I didn't even know how to reply that.

She bit down on her lip, like she knew just how far out she'd stepped. "I shouldn't have—"

"Why?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't pull it back. "Why even look in the first place?"

Her jaw shifted as if she'd rehearsed an answer but lost it the moment I asked. "Well… I just. It's just that—"

She stopped.

The pause was worse than anything she could've said. I could feel my irritation rising, heat curling low in my chest. My eyes narrowed further, every part of me resisting the urge to push harder.

Her shoulders dropped the slightest bit, tension easing out of her like she'd just accepted the inevitable. "I crossed the line"

I didn't hesitate. "Very much so."

The air turned heavier. She held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary before finally looking forward again, her fingers brushing against the ignition.

"I'll drive," she said, her voice quiet, measured.

The car purred to life. She shifted gears smoothly, eyes on the road, not on me. But the question she'd asked still lingered, the weight of it sitting between us.

I turned my face toward the window, the city sliding past in streaks of glass. My reflection looked back at me faintly, the band on my finger clear even in the blur.

Avery's words echoed—I'm still not giving up.

Val's face mid-laugh, frozen, then gone.

Clarkson's trust in me, the first glimpse of stability.

And now this.

It felt like every corner I turned, someone else was waiting with a new way to test me.

I glanced sideways at Tasha from the corner of my eye. She looked composed, too composed. But the lip-bite, the hesitation, the almost-apology—they told a different story.

I sank back into my seat with a slow exhale. For all the noise around me, one thought pressed louder than the rest.

Why does it feel like the signal keeps breaking, no matter where I turn?

---

The meeting was brief. Straightforward, really. Tasha had done most of the talking, leaving the rest to numbers, projections, and paperwork—things that didn't require charm so much as precision. And precision? That was something I knew.

Normally, I wasn't the social type. But when it came to numbers and business, it turned out I could hold my ground. Who knew.

By the time Tasha and I walked out, the sun was already high. My watch ticked past noon, the day moving faster than it felt inside Clarkson's office.

"Lunch?" she asked, her voice neutral, almost professional.

I could've said no. Could've gone back to my desk and buried myself in spreadsheets until the silence swallowed me whole. But saying no felt like drawing a line too sharp, too soon. So I gave her a small nod.

We ended up in a quiet corner of a restaurant, just the two of us at a table for four. I sat across from her, my focus narrowed on the plate in front of me. Food was easier. Chewing was easier. Anything was easier than trying to decipher whatever was going on in her head.

Still, I felt her eyes. Glances. Quick, then gone. Then back again, lingering just long enough for me to notice.

I kept my head down, fork moving steadily, but the silence pressed in too thick.

Finally, she broke it.

"I'm sorry I looked it up," she said softly.

My fork paused halfway to my mouth. I exhaled through my nose, set it down, and leaned back slightly. "It's fine. Besides—" my tone even, though I wasn't sure if I meant it "—you're the team leader. You probably have the right to."

Her lips pressed together. She nodded once, almost to herself, and lowered her gaze to her plate.

I tried to go back to my food, tried to pretend it was enough to anchor me. But then her voice came again, quieter this time. "Can I make it up to you somehow?"

That pulled my head up. I stared at her across the table, fork still in my hand, the question settling between us heavier than it should've been.

Her expression didn't waver. Calm. Collected. Like she'd already prepared for whatever answer I might throw at her.

"No?" she asked after a beat, her brows raising just slightly.

I let out a small sigh, my eyes narrowing, not sharp but tired. "Would it be rude to decline?"

She tilted her head, thoughtful, then gave a faint shrug. "I'm kinda your team leader. So… yeah, it would be rude."

A corner of my mouth tugged, not quite a smile. More like resignation. "Fine. Sure."

Her eyes softened at that—something between sorry and curious flickering in them.

I leaned forward again, pushing at my food with my fork. "Can I eat now?"

Her lips curved, not into amusement but something quieter. "Yeah."

We fell back into silence, this time letting it stay there. Just the clink of utensils against plates and the low hum of conversations from other tables around us.

For me, it was a relief. For her, maybe not. But I wasn't here to smooth things over, not today.

After lunch, she drove us back to the office. The ride was quiet, and so was the rest of the day. I buried myself in work, spreadsheets, projections, revisions—anything to avoid the weight of her eyes when she walked past my desk.

It was obvious I was keeping my distance. Obvious enough that anyone watching might've thought I was being unfair. Maybe I was. But what else was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn't mind? Pretend I wasn't already juggling too much?

By the time the office lights dimmed and Clarkson called it a day, I pulled my phone out, thumb hovering over Val's contact before pressing.

One ring. Two. Three. Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Same thing.

She was probably busy. Class. Something important. I told myself not to overthink it, but the silence of the unanswered call lingered in my hand.

I pocketed it with a sigh, staring at the elevator doors as they slid shut.

Home was waiting. An empty house. Empty walls. Empty air.

The thought sat wrong in my chest.

So instead, I found myself steering the wheel toward Trent's place.

Because if I didn't clear my head soon, it felt like all the edges pressing in from every side might finally cut through.

---

To be continued...

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