Chapter 32: Two Months Later
Anna
It's been two months.
Sixty days of pretending.
Of waking up early, dressing in neutral colors, and walking into an office where Kelvin Blake moves like a ghost through my peripheral vision.
He doesn't avoid me.
Not exactly.
But he doesn't see me anymore either.
He passes by with polite nods, occasional short replies during meetings, and a professional tone so carefully constructed it could cut through glass. He doesn't linger. Doesn't ask how I'm doing. Doesn't bring me coffee or look at me like I'm more than a face in the building.
He stopped fighting.
He let me go.
And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else.
I told myself this was what I wanted. I'd chosen distance. Sanity. A life that didn't spiral into regret or temptation. But I never expected that Kelvin could actually do it. That he'd be so good at pretending I didn't matter.
The worst part? I can't even blame him.
Not after the way I ran.
Not after the way I froze in that elevator and said nothing.
I thought I was protecting myself.
But really, I was just scared.
And now, I sit across the cafeteria from Mason, pushing a fork through my salad, while my mind races through a hundred things I'll never say out loud.
"You okay?" Mason asks casually, sipping his soda. "You've been stabbing that lettuce like it owes you money."
I blink. "Yeah. Sorry. Just tired."
"You've been tired for two months."
He says it gently. No pressure, no prying. But I know what he's really asking.
And I still can't answer.
So I lie again. "It's nothing. Work's just intense."
He nods like he believes me. Maybe he does. Mason's the kind of friend who doesn't push too hard. The kind you can sit in silence with and still feel like you're not alone.
I envy him for that.
Across the room,Kelvin walks in. He's laughing at something someone in finance says, his hand tucked into his pocket, his tie loosened like it's all effortless.
And God, it still kills me how good he looks.
He hasn't touched me in months, and I still feel him like a brand on my skin.
Maybe he has moved on.
Maybe that's for the best.
But every time I close my eyes, I see the version of him that kissed me like I belonged to him. That held me like I was home. That whispered my name like a prayer he forgot how to stop saying.
And now?
Now he talks to the receptionist more than he talks to me.
I thought letting him go would bring peace.
All it brought was silence.
And the suffocating weight of what-ifs.
What if I'd stayed?
What if I'd kissed him again?
What if I'd said the truth that I never stopped wanting him?
But I didn't.
And now all I can do is survive this ache one day at a time…
Hoping I either stop feeling him
or start being brave enough to do something about it.