Page 28 of The Art of Loving You

Still, the loss stung. The condo, the security, the safety net—it was all gone. Now, all I had were the things packed into my car and a vague plan to start over in New York with my mom.

I glanced at my phone on the driver’s seat. Ella’s name hovered in my thoughts like a persistent whisper.

I should tell her. But then what? It’s not like she has any reason to care now.

We hadn’t spoken much in the last few days. The distance between us had grown, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of my family’s mess or something else entirely. The uncertainty gnawed at me.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and exhaled slowly. This wasn’t the time to spiral. The plan was simple: get out of here, go to New York, and start over. Maybe, eventually, Bess and Ella would follow.

The thought startled me, but I didn’t push it away. I wanted that future. But first, I had to deal with the present. Just as I was about to close the trunk, a car pulled into the lot and stopped a few spaces away.

Ella.

I leaned against the car, masking the turmoil in my mind as she approached. She looked stunning in jeans and a fitted blazer, but her cautious steps and the way her gaze flickered between me and the packed boxes set me on edge.

She stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. “Lucas,” she said softly. “What’s all this?”

I glanced at the trunk. “Packing up my life.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“My father cut me off,” I said bluntly. “Trust fund, condo—everything. It’s all gone.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?” she whispered.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Because I won’t live by his rules. Because… of you.”

“Me?”

“The idea of you,” I corrected. “Of me being with someone who doesn’t fit his perfect world.”

She didn’t look angry—just sad. That was worse.

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

I forced a smile. “My mom’s gallery in New York needs help. It’s a fresh start. I think she is having second thoughts about the responsibility it brings.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the car. “I actually came here to talk about something else.”

I frowned. “What is it?”

She bit her lip. “I wanted to thank you. For everything you did withThe Circus Rider.”

“Ella,” I interrupted gently, “you don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” she insisted. “It meant a lot. And I wanted to tell you before—” She stopped herself.

“Before what?” I pressed.

Her shoulders lifted in a deep sigh. When she looked at me again, her eyes were guarded, tinged with regret. “Before I say goodbye.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. “Goodbye?” I mumbled.

She glanced away, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “Lucas, your life… it’s complicated. And I don’t want to be the reason it gets harder.”

My heart raced as I searched her face for any sign she didn’t mean it, that she wasn’t really walking away. “Ella, don’t do this,” I said, stepping closer. “If this is about my father?—”

“It’s not just about your father,” she cut in, her voice steady but kind. “It’s about everything. Your family, your father’s reputation—everything that comes with it.”

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