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"But they're not different," she completed my thought. "He's still Miles's father. Still twenty years older. Still your client. Still, all the complications you identified before."

"Exactly." I pulled up the job listing and turned the screen toward her. "But this... this is an exit strategy. A clean break. A way to avoid the inevitable crash."

Zoe leaned forward, scanning the details with professional interest. "It's perfect for you. Exactly the kind of role you've talked about wanting."

"I know."

"But you don't want to go." It wasn't a question.

I closed my eyes briefly. "I want to go preciselybecauseI don't want to go. Because the fact that I'm willing to riskeverything I've built—my career, my reputation, my carefully constructed independence—for a man… it terrifies me more than I can express."

"That's called falling in love, sweetie." Her voice softened with unusual gentleness. "It's supposed to be terrifying."

"It's called making the same mistake I've always made," I corrected bitterly.

"Surrendering my power to a man who could destroy me without even trying. I swore after Miles I wouldn't do this again."

"Lucas isn't Miles."

"No, he's worse. More intense. More powerful. More capable of complete devastation." I pulled up the response form for the job listing.

"I can't do this, Zoe. I need to end it before I'm in too deep."

"News flash—you're already in too deep." She reached across the desk, covering my hand with hers. "I've never seen you like this. Not with Miles. Not with anyone."

"All the more reason to get out now." I started typing my response to the recruiter, fingers trembling slightly. "Before I lose myself completely."

"You're not losing yourself," she countered. "You're finding parts of yourself you've been hiding. Don't confuse the two."

But I couldn't afford the luxury of philosophical distinctions. Not when every instinct for self-preservation was screaming at me to run.

"I'm going to see him tonight," I said, hitting send on the email before I could change my mind. "I just need to know where this is going- its all so much.”

"And that will make you happy?"

The question hung between us, painfully impossible yet straightforward to answer truthfully.

"It will keep me sane," I finally said, the words tasting like ash. "It will keep me whole."

Zoe's skepticism was palpable, but she didn't argue further. "I'll bring wine and ice cream later. The good stuff from that place on Valencia."

A pang of gratitude squeezed my chest.

"You're assuming I'll need it."

"I know you will." She stood, straightening her skirt with deliberate casualness. "Because I've seen your face when you talk about him. And I know what it costs to walk away from something that matters."

After she left, I immersed myself in work with manic intensity—reviewing contracts, revising presentations, scheduling meetings with mindless efficiency.

The familiar routines should have been comforting, a return to the life I'd carefully built before Lucas Turner had upended everything.

Instead, each task felt hollow, mechanical.

The accomplishments that had once defined my worth now seemed empty, devoid of the meaning they'd once held.

The normalcy felt like a costume I was wearing—ill-fitting, unconvincing. The woman going through these motions wasn't really me anymore.

Or perhaps she was exactly me—the carefully constructed version I'd created to protect myself from vulnerability.