Page 11 of The Breakup Broker

I stood, my legs shaking. Before I could stop myself, I bent down, picked up the box, and opened it. Inside, a flawless diamond sat in pristine platinum, every angle precision-cut, every detail perfect.

“Seems perfect,” I said, snapping the box closed and placing it on the table with a soft click. “Like everything else in your world. Flawless. Colorless. Lifeless. Just for show.”

I turned to leave, my heels clicking against the hardwood like a countdown. Three steps. Two. One.

“Savvy!” His voice carried over the morning crowd, raw and desperate. A few heads turned.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Because even now, even after everything, he could still undo me faster than a summer storm.

I burst out of Rise and Grind Coffee. The Paper Crane was right next door. Its window display of handmade stationery and imported journals is usually a calming sight, but today, I barely noticed the artful arrangement as I pushed through the door.

The soft chime of bells overhead was lost in the rush of blood in my ears. The shop clerk glanced up from arranging a display of fountain pens but merely nodded as I made a beeline for the back hall restroom. The lock clicked behindme like a gunshot in the tiny space. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall to the cold cement floor. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.

Me

911. Paper Crane bathroom. Henry Kingston. HELP.

I hit send to Ivy and Maddy, then let my head fall back against the wall, counting my breaths like I used to count the cars on the Hudson Line, waiting for my best friends to come and piece me back together. Again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Henry

“The Madison Center,” I told Thompson, my voice steadier than it had any right to be. The family driver nodded his practiced discretion, not even registering the slight tremor in my hands as I sank into the back seat.

Years of imagining every way I might run into Savvy again, and somehow “hired by my almost-fiancée to dump me” hadn’t made the list.

The ring box sat beside me on the leather seat, a silent accusation. I could still see her face as she’d picked it up from the floor. The way her fingers had trembled before that professional mask slammed back into place.Flawless. Colorless. Lifeless. It’s just for show.

Her words cut deeper than she knew. She’d looked right at that ring—my father’s perfect, soulless choice—and saw exactly what it was. A prop in someone else’s production.

The city blurred past my window, but all I could see was how she’d changed. Her chestnut hair was darker now, her blue eyes storm-gray and sharp where they used tosparkle. All that time, I wondered if I’d made the right choice, and now I had my answer in the hardness of her voice when she’d said my name.

Caroline hired her to break up with me. Coincidence? Providence? The pieces started falling into place—that practiced calm in her voice, the way she’d delivered Caroline’s words like she’d done this before. Was that what she was now? A professional heartbreaker? How had she gone from an aspiring wedding planner to ... this?

The answer hit me like a physical blow.Me. This was all because of me.

All those nights, I’d lay awake wondering what had become of her dreams—the wedding planning business with Maddy and Ivy and the future we’d mapped out on lazy Sunday afternoons. Instead, she’d turned her own heartbreak into ... what? A business? A mission? There’d been glimpses of it—the way she’d started with such professional distance, but then I’d seen her hands shake as she’d checked her phone for Caroline’s message, watched her struggle to maintain that careful mask.

I’d knocked her off balance. That much was clear. Made her fumble whatever script she usually followed. But underneath her obvious shock, there’d been something practiced about the setup. How she approached the table, the careful way she’d tried to deliver the news before our shared history had derailed everything.

Thompson cleared his throat softly. “We’re here, Mr. Kingston.”

Madison Center loomed ahead, all gleaming glass and modern angles, nothing like the Victorian architecture my grandfather had spent his life restoring. He would have hated it—probably hated it on his good days when he remembered to.

My phone buzzed.Father.Of course. The news of my failed proposal was probably going through his well-oiled network. I sent it to voicemail, knowing there’d be hell to pay later. But I couldn’t handle another lecture about Kingston men and family obligations right now.

I shoved the ring box into my pocket, trying to forget its presence.

“Will you be requiring the car later, sir?” Thompson’s question pulled me back to the present.

“No, I’ll find my way back.” Back to what? My father's ultimatum? The mess I’d made of everyone’s lives? The ghost of Savvy’s professional mask as she’d delivered someone else’s goodbye?

The lobby of Madison Center gave the impression of a hotel desperately trying to conceal its true purpose. Fresh flower arrangements were swapped out every day. Abstract art adorned the walls, chosen for its serene palette. Even the faint lavender fragrance couldn’t completely overshadow the telltale scent of a hospital.

“Mr. Kingston.” The receptionist’s expression was practiced and professional, like Savvy’s had been before it cracked. “Your grandfather is having a good morning. He’s in his room.”

I nodded my thanks and headed for the elevators. The ride to the fifth floor was familiar and unsettling, each passing level a reminder of the uncertain conversations that awaited me. How many times had I taken this journey, steeling myself for the moment my grandfather’s eyes would meet mine, recognition wavering or dimming like a faulty bulb?

---