Page 61 of Worth the Fall

"I love you, too," I say, watching her drift off again.

I end the call, staring at the blank screen for a long moment before setting the phone down on the bed beside me.

Hanging my head in my hands, I exhale shakily, the weight of the night pressing down on me. I thought I was building something real, something solid. But now…

I sit there in the silence of Felicity’s room, her soft scent still wrapping around me, and I let the tears I’ve been holding back fall.

CHAPTER 13

Mia

Isit at my desk, staring blankly at the mountain of files spread out in front of me. The pristine white papers blur together, the words meaningless as my mind drifts to the night before. My eyes burn from lack of sleep, and no amount of concealer can hide the dark circles beneath them this morning.

I tried my hardest to look my best today—my hair is sleek, my blouse crisp, my heels polished—but it’s all for show. Inside, I feel like a shell of myself.

My desk tells the real story. An empty coffee cup teeters on the edge, a crumpled napkin sitting next to it, and a half-eaten donut mocks me from the corner. I sigh, picking up the last bite, but before I can bring it to my mouth, I toss it into the trash with a frustrated groan. Three donuts. I’m on my third donut. Who eats three donuts before ten a.m.?

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and pressing my fingers to my temples.Get it together, Mia. You’re a professional, not a mess.

But no amount of internal pep talks can change the fact that I feel miserable.

The distant sound of raised voices pulls me from my thoughts. I straighten in my chair, my brows knitting together as I strain to listen.

"Mia Mason," someone says loudly from the hallway. The voice is familiar—deep, determined, and completely out of place here.

Miguel.

My stomach drops as I scramble to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest. I open my office door just in time to see Linda standing in front of Miguel, her arms crossed, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Of course he's here to witness the complete unraveling of my professional facade. But when I see him standing there, his eyes full of understanding and concern, something shifts in the room's atmosphere.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez," Linda says firmly, "but you can’t just barge in here without an appointment."

"I know, and I’m sorry," Miguel says, his voice steady but insistent. "But I don’t care if I don’t have an appointment. I need to see her. Right now."

Linda lets out a long-suffering sigh, glancing over her shoulder and catching sight of me in the doorway. Her eyes widen slightly before she turns back to Miguel, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that carries across the hallway anyway.

"Look," Linda says, "you don’t understand. The last time someone showed up here to see her unannounced, it didn’t end well. She threw him out, along with his life coach, screaming and yelling at them in front of the partners and our newest client, Mrs. Ramirez."

Miguel’s brow arches sharply, his steps frozen as his head whips back toward Linda. "Mrs. Ramirez?" he asks, his voice echoing with disbelief.

Linda freezes, her eyes going wide as realization dawns. "Oh my God," she says, her voice pitching higher. "I’m not supposed to say client names!"

Her face pales, and she claps a hand over her mouth like she’s just spilled a state secret.

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "It’s fine, Linda," I mutter, though my voice betrays how not fine everything feels.

The outer door clicks shut, and when I look up, Miguel is already striding toward me, his expression as sharp and demanding as his tone. "Mia," he says firmly. "What is Linda talking about?"

My heart lurches, and I straighten my spine, desperately trying to pull on the professional mask I’ve worn for years. "I can’t say anything, Miguel," I reply, my voice clipped. "You know that."

His jaw tightens, and I can see the flicker of frustration in his eyes as he begins pacing the length of my office. There’s something commanding, almost magnetic, in the way he moves—his hand dragging through his hair, his steps deliberate, his shoulders taut with unspent energy. The air in the room feels heavier, like it’s brimming with his simmering intensity.

"Miguel," I say, my voice softer now, unsure how to temper the storm brewing in front of me.

"No," he cuts me off, his tone edged with something raw, almost desperate. "I’m not leaving this office until we get to the bottom of whatever is going on here." He stops mid-step, turning to fix me with a stare so pointed it feels like it could pin me to my seat. "Because we love each other, Mia. And I’m not letting Celine ruin this for me again like she did with our marriage."

I flinch at the words. His voice carries a weight that’s rare for Miguel, like he’s stripped himself bare, leaving nothing but the raw truth. It unsettles me, cracks my carefully constructed walls.

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