Distance should make things easier.
It doesn't.
Lina keeps moving through her day like nothing has shifted, but everything feels misaligned. Conversations blur. Emails go unanswered longer than they should. Even silence feels louder than usual.
Because now—
she's aware of what she's avoiding.
And avoiding it isn't working anymore.
Daniel doesn't text.
That's the first thing she notices.
No check-in. No follow-up. No quiet presence sitting in the background like before.
Just… space.
The kind he said he would give.
The kind that shouldn't feel like loss.
Her fingers hover over her phone more than once.
She doesn't reach out.
Not because she doesn't want to—
but because she knows what it would mean if she did.
And she's not ready to define that yet.
⸻
Victor, on the other hand—
doesn't give space.
He appears.
Not by accident.
Not casually.
Deliberately.
Lina steps out of the building that evening and finds him already there, leaning against his car like he's been waiting long enough to be certain she'll come out eventually.
Her chest tightens.
"You're making a habit of this."
Victor's gaze moves over her, steady, assessing.
"You're avoiding me."
"I asked for space."
"You asked for time," he corrects. "There's a difference."
She exhales slowly, crossing her arms.
"You don't get to decide that."
"No," he says. "But I do decide whether I walk away."
A pause.
"And I'm not."
The certainty in his voice settles deep.
Uncomfortable.
Unavoidable.
Lina looks away briefly, trying to regain control of the moment.
"You're not making this easier."
"I'm not trying to."
Her eyes snap back to his.
Victor pushes off the car, stepping closer—not crowding her, but close enough that the space between them feels intentional.
"You said you don't know what this is," he continues. "Fine."
A beat.
"But don't pretend you don't feel it."
Her pulse jumps.
"I never said I didn't."
"Then stop acting like it's optional."
The words land hard.
Because that's exactly what she's been trying to do—treat this like something she can walk away from if she chooses to.
And the truth—
the truth is starting to feel like she can't.
"You're asking me to make a decision I'm not ready for."
Victor studies her.
"I'm asking you to stop delaying one you've already made."
Her breath catches
that hits too close.
"I haven't chosen anything," she says, her voice tighter now.
Victor tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Then why haven't you gone back to him?"
Silence.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Because she doesn't have an answer that doesn't expose everything she's trying to keep contained.
Victor doesn't press.
He doesn't need to.
The question does enough on its own.
Lina exhales slowly, shaking her head.
"You don't get to corner me into this."
"I'm not cornering you," he says quietly.
"I'm standing where you keep looking."
that breaks something small in her control.
Because he's right.
Again.
And she hates how easily he sees through her.
"I need time," she repeats, softer now.
Victor watches her for a long moment.
Then—
"Take it."
The words are simple.
But his tone isn't.
Because it's not permission.
It's a warning.
"Just don't waste it pretending you're undecided."
And with that.
he steps back.
Gives her space.
But not distance.
Not really.
Because even as he walks away
she feels him.
Like something unresolved pulling tight beneath the surface.
⸻
That night, Lina finally texts Daniel.
She stares at the screen longer than she should before typing.
Lina: Are you free?
The reply comes slower than usual.
Not delayed.
Just… measured.
Daniel: Depends.
Her chest tightens slightly.
Lina: On?
A pause.
Then
Daniel: On whether this is you reaching out… or you not wanting to lose an option.
The words hit harder than she expects.
Because they're precise.
Too precise.
Lina exhales, pressing her thumb briefly against the screen before typing again.
Lina: That's not fair.
The reply is immediate this time.
Daniel: It is.
Silence stretches between messages.
Then
Daniel: I meant what I said. I'm not stepping back. But I'm also not standing still while you figure out if I matter.
Her chest tightens.
Because he's not angry.
He's clear.
And that makes it worse.
Lina: You do matter.
The response takes longer.
When it comes
it's different.
Daniel: Then decide what that means.
No softness.
No buffer.
Just truth.
Lina stares at the screen.
And for the first time.
she doesn't know how to respond.
⸻
Chicago comes faster than she expects.
The flight feels shorter.
The air feels heavier.
Everything feels… closer.
Like whatever has been building is about to surface whether she's ready or not.
Elena meets her at the hotel, her expression sharper than usual.
"You look worse."
"Nice to see you too."
"I'm serious," Elena says, studying her. "You look like you're about to make a bad decision and already know it."
Lina drops her bag on the bed.
"That's your assumption."
"That's my observation."
A pause.
Then
"Which one is it?" Elena asks.
Lina doesn't answer.
Because even here—
even now—
she can't say it out loud.
Not yet.
Elena exhales.
"Fine. Don't tell me."
She reaches into her bag, pulling out a folder.
"But you should look at this."
Lina frowns slightly.
"What is it?"
"Something that might explain why your situation feels… off."
That gets her attention.
Lina takes the folder, flipping it open.
At first, it's just names.
Records.
Connections.
Then
her breath catches.
Daniel Carter.
Victor Hale.
The same file.
The same history.
Linked.
Her fingers tighten slightly against the page.
"This doesn't make sense."
Elena's expression darkens.
"It will."
A beat.
"You just haven't seen the full picture yet."
Lina looks back down at the file, her pulse rising.
Because something about this
feels like the missing piece.
The one thing that could explain why none of this has ever felt simple.
Or accidental.
Her voice lowers.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Elena hesitates.
Just for a second.
Then.
"I'm not sure yet."
That's worse.
Because it means.
whatever this is..
it's bigger than she thought.
And it's about to change everything.