Page 87 of A Simple Reminder

My stomach drops when I see her. Sophie. She’s standing right in front of me, her wide eyes moving between the table, the lines of powder, and me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

If I jump up now, I’ll ruin everything. The deal, the months of work, the chance to finally prove myself. But if I stay where I am, I’ll ruin something else. My mind races, a frantic tug-of-war between the deal I’ve been fighting to seal and the one person I can’t bear to lose.She’ll forgive me,I tell myself, clinging to hope like a lifeline.She’ll listen to me.She trusts me.I’ll explain it to her as soon as this is over. I’ll tell her everything. She’ll understand why I had to do this. She’ll see that this was about us, too. About proving I can be the man she deserves.

But even as I try to convince myself, I see the look on her face, and it shatters me. Even in the dim, pulsing light, I can see the tears welling in her eyes, the hurt written in every line of her expression. My chest tightens, my heart splintering into a thousand jagged pieces.I’m such an asshole. Such a fucking asshole.

Her lips tremble like she wants to say something, but no words come. And then, slowly, she shakes her head, the motion so full of disappointment that it feels like a punch to the gut.

She turns and walks down the stairs, and I just sit there, frozen. Glued to my seat. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run after her, to fix this, but I don’t move. The weight of what I’ve done keeps me rooted in place. The deal—the approval I’ve been chasing for years—is right here. Almost within reach.I can’t lose it. I can’t lose this.I can’t lose.

But as Sophie disappears from view, a bitter voice in the back of my mind whispers,What’s the point of winning the success you want if it means losing her?

She’s not answeringmy calls. Not responding to my texts. And she’s not opening the door, even though I’ve been pounding on it for over twenty minutes. I’ll stay here all night if I have to.

My chest feels tight, my breath shallow, and panic claws at me from the inside out. I need to fix this. I need her to understand. But no matter how many times I knock, no matter how many calls I make, she doesn’t answer.

And then, a ping.

The sound breaks through the storm inside my head, and I turn to see Sophie stepping out of the elevator. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched in the way she always does when she’s trying to hide the weight of everything, making herself small.

When she looks up, my heart stops. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face streaked with tears. Every one of them is because of me. I did that. It’s my fault.

“Sophie, please,” I say, my voice shaking despite myself. I take a step toward her, but she flinches. “Please, give me two minutes to explain.”

She looks at me for a long beat, her gaze so full of pain I can barely stand it. Then she shakes her head, the small movement like a blade to my chest. “No,” her voice breaks. “Leave.”

Her tears fall again, hot and fast, and it feels like every one of them is burning a hole in me. She wipes at them desperately, but they keep coming, and my heart shatters further with every sob she tries to stifle.

“Let me explain.”

“Please,” she repeats, this time softer, almost a whisper. “Just go.”

I’m paralyzed, standing there in the doorway, watching the woman I love fall apart.I’ve ruined everything.

“No. I’m not leaving.” My voice is firm, resolute. The thought of walking away feels impossible. Then it hits me—something else entirely. A wicked sense of protection rises in me as if I weren’t the one who just shattered her trust. But I can’t stop myself. “Where have you been?”

Her face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

“Have you been out?” My voice is sharper now, cutting through the air between us.

“I’ve been walking. I needed to think,” she says, her tone clipped but shaky.

“In the middle of the night? Alone?” My voice rises, the panic I’ve been suppressing spilling over. What if something had happened to her?

She lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing. “You have no right to think or speak this way to me. What I do is none of your business anymore.”

“Of course, it’s my business. You’re my girlfriend,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.

“Am I now?” Her voice is ice, the challenge in her words slicing through me.

No. She’s not allowed to go there. “Don’t,” I warn, my voice dropping. “Don’t go there.”

“We’re done.” Her words are final, but the way her voice cracks at the end betrays her. She doesn’t mean it.

“No, we’re not,” I say, desperation creeping into my tone. “We’re not close to done.”

“We are.” She takes a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “You and I don’t fit.”

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