EMMA

The morning sun spilled over the city streets, draping everything in a soft, golden glow that seemed to breathe life into the world around me. Yet, for me, it wasn't warm or inviting—it was sharp, almost merciless, stripping away the fragile illusion I'd clung to the night before.

It felt like a cruel reminder that perfect moments were always fleeting, no matter how desperately we tried to hold on to them.

Earlier, I had told Jake I needed to head home, something about catching up on work for the week ahead. It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Thankfully, he didn't press. He had his own responsibilities—an urgent call from the office pulling him into some crime scene.

"Criminals don't take days off, huh?" I had joked, my smile feeling fragile but convincing enough. "Not even on weekends." Well, I would know.

Jake had laughed softly, leaning in to brush a kiss against my forehead before grabbing his jacket. "Guess not. I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," I had replied, clutching my purse. But as I reached the door, something tugged at me to turn back. I crossed the room again, kissed him one last time, and murmured, "I'll call you later, okay?"

His smile had been warm, his fingers brushing against my cheek. "I can't wait."

Even now, hours later, the warmth of his touch lingered on my skin. And on the way home, I tried to hold on to all the beautiful feelings that had enveloped me like a warm, cozy blanket of the night before.

It had been perfect—so perfect it almost hurt. I had put all my worries on silent mode, refusing to let them interrupt the momentary happiness I had found in Jake's arms. After all, I had no idea how long this would last. I couldn't even let myself imagine a future where it did.

But as the elevator climbed toward the penthouse, the weight of everything I had been ignoring hit me with the force of a ton of bricks.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, each ding of the elevator sounding like a countdown. I knew Eric would be home by now. The absence of angry messages on my phone only confirmed it—he was saving his wrath for a face-to-face confrontation.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out, my heart thumping harder with every step toward the penthouse. When I opened the door, I barely had a second to take in the silence before I saw him. Eric was sitting on the couch, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He was waiting for me.

I froze in the doorway for a moment before forcing a casual smile. "Morning," I said lightly, closing the door behind me and walking into the room.

Eric didn't say a word, and that silence was worse than any shouting could've been. I sighed and headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and the bottle of red that had been sitting on the counter. "Want some?" I offered, pouring myself a glass.

His voice cut through the air, sharp and direct. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Emma?"

I paused, the glass halfway to my lips. For a second, I considered keeping up the act, but Eric's blue eyes had darkened, his gaze like a storm bearing down on me.

I sighed, setting the glass down on the counter, the casual mask slipping as I met his gaze. "What do you want me to tell you, Eric?"

Eric scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the couch. With deliberate steps, he made his way to the kitchen and settled onto one of the barstools across from me.

Leaning forward, his gaze sharp and demanding, he said, "How about you start by explaining why you're throwing yourself headfirst into something that's already destined to crash and burn?"

There it was. I tried to keep my tone light, though my hands trembled as I raised the glass of wine to my lips, this time managing to take a sip before I replied, "I'm not throwing myself into anything. I've got everything under control."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Under control? Really? Is that what you call this mess? Because from where I'm standing, Emma, it looks like you're digging your own grave."

I set the wine glass down harder than I intended, the soft thud echoing between us. "I know what I'm doing, Eric," I said firmly. "And by the way, you didn't need to get involved. Revealing yourself to Jake was unnecessary."

Eric snorted, crossing his arms. "Unnecessary, huh? What was I supposed to do? If that agent decides to run a background check on you, he'll figure it out," he said, his tone laced with bitterness. "Apparently, this—whatever it is you're doing—it's not just messing with your heart, it's clouding your judgment. And you've always prided yourself on being one of the greatest con artists alive."

I looked away. He was right, and we both knew it. Being with Jake had made me let my guard down more times than I could count. It wasn't just about the slip-ups—it was about abandoning the rules I had clung to for years, the ones that had shielded me, kept me safe. With Jake, those rules seemed to blur, fading into the background like distant echoes. And that truth was more unsettling than I dared to admit, even to myself.

I bit my lower lip, fumbling for words—grasping at any excuse that might put Eric at ease. But there was nothing. Nothing that wouldn't sound hollow, even to me. I finally lifted my gaze to meet his, and his piercing stare, filled with disapproval, felt like daggers aimed straight at me.

"You're right," I said, my voice quieter than I intended, as I finally decided to drop the act. "Maybe I don't have it all figured out, Eric. But... what if, for once, I don't have to? What if this could work? What if it's worth a leap of faith?"

His laughter was bitter, almost cruel, as he shook his head. "A leap of faith? Tell me something, Emma. What exactly do you think your knight in shining armor will do when he learns the truth?" His eyes narrowed, as if daring me to even think about lying. "Will he forgive you because love conquers all, or will he slap the cuffs on you right there and then?"

A shiver ran down my spine. Deep down, I knew the answer to that question. Jake was the epitome of everything good, everything righteous, and his moral compass wouldn't bend for anyone—not even me. The thought of him discovering everything, of seeing the betrayal in his eyes, made my chest tighten painfully.

Eric must have seen it on my face—because for a moment, his expression softened. But just as quickly, the hardness returned, snapping back into position like an impenetrable fortress gate.

"You know what the sad thing is? You've always believed you can fix everything, Emma. Everyone. Even yourself. But do you remember where that got you before?" His tone dropped, quieter now but no less sharp. "You were just as blinded then as you are now."

His words struck me like a physical blow, sharp and unforgiving. For a moment, I was frozen, clinging to the counter's edge as if it were the only thing keeping me together. I couldn't believe he would stoop that low to get at me.

"This isn't the same," I said, my tone unwavering. "Jake isn't the same."

"Oh, really??" Eric shot back, raising an eyebrow. "You don't even know him, Emma. Not really. And let's not kid ourselves—he sure as hell doesn't know you. Not the real you, anyway."

The truth in his words stung even more, but I refused to show it. Instead, I took a deep breath and met his gaze head-on. "Well, I know enough. And I know this feels right."

Eric's shoulders slumped, his frustration giving way to something closer to defeat. "Fine," he muttered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as if he had accepted a fate he couldn't change. "Do whatever the hell you want. But I can't stand here and watch you destroy your life over some fantasy."

My heart sank. I looked past him, and that was when I noticed the suitcase by the door. He was leaving.

He had known all along that I wouldn't listen, and he had already made his decision.

I wanted to say something, to scream at him not to abandon me like this, but the words wouldn't come. I stood frozen, my heart aching as he reached for the suitcase and turned to face me one last time.

"If there's any part of you that still believes in common sense, Emma, you'll see this for what it is: a disaster waiting to happen. Call it quits now, before it's too late—before you both end up shattered beyond repair."

With that, he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving me standing in deafening silence, my thoughts spiraling like a storm I couldn't escape. And deep down, I knew it was the kind that would tear through everything in its path, taking me down with it.