Nova's pov

I can't focus at work, my mind constantly drifting to Damien. I replay our conversations, our moments together, over and over in my head. I miss him, miss the way he makes me feel.

My phone buzzes, and I glance down, seeing a text from Veronica. "Damien is so happy about the baby," she writes. "He's accepting everything, finally being responsible. I'm so glad he's stepping up."

I feel a pang of hurt, a twinge of jealousy. I know I have no right to feel this way, know that Damien and I aren't together. But still, the thought of him being happy with her, with their child, it stings.

I type out a response, trying to keep my tone light and supportive. "That's great news, Veronica. I'm sure Damien will be a wonderful father. Congratulations to you both."

I hit send, setting my phone down on my desk. I try to focus on my work, try to push thoughts of Damien out of my mind. But it's hard, so hard.

I love him, I realize. I'm in love with him, and I don't know what to do about it. I don't know how to move forward, how to let him go.

But I know I have to try. For my own sanity, for my own happiness. I can't keep pining for a man I can't have, can't keep hoping for something that will never be.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't even hear Mark come into the office. He appears beside my desk, his presence startling me out of my reverie.

"Hey, Nova," he says, his voice gentle. "Is everything okay? You look a bit... unfocused."

I blink, glancing up at him. "Oh, hey, Mark," I say, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, you know, busy with work."

He nods, but I can tell he's not convinced. "Listen, I was thinking," he says, leaning against my desk. "Why don't we go grab a coffee? Get out of the office for a bit, clear our heads."

I hesitate, torn. On one hand, I don't really feel like company. I just want to wallow in my own misery, in my own thoughts of Damien. But on the other hand, maybe a distraction is exactly what I need.

"Sure," I say finally, standing up and grabbing my purse. "Let's go."

We walk to the café down the street, the conversation light and easy. I find myself relaxing, enjoying Mark's company. He's funny, charming, and he seems genuinely interested in me.

But I can't bring myself to tell him about Damien, about my feelings for him. I know Mark and Damien haven't always gotten along, and I don't want to cause any tension.

So I keep quiet, sipping my coffee and laughing at Mark's jokes. And for a little while, at least, I can forget about Damien, about the pain in my heart.

Mark suddenly slings his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "Hey, Nova," he says, grinning. "Let's take a picture, yeah? It's always good to have photos, right?"

I laugh awkwardly, trying to ease the tension. "Sure, Mark," I say, forcing a smile. "Let's do it."

I lean in, posing for the picture. But as soon as Mark's arm touches me, I feel a wave of discomfort wash over me. I don't like this, I realize. I don't like him touching me, invading my personal space.

Mark must sense my unease, because he immediately removes his arm, stepping back. "Sorry, Nova," he says, his face reddening. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought it would be fun to take a picture."

I wave a hand, trying to brush it off. "No worries, Mark," I say, my voice light. "It's fine, really."

But it's not fine. It's not fine at all. I feel violated, invaded. And I can't help but think of Damien, of how he would never make me feel this way.

I finish my coffee, making excuses to leave. I need to get out of here, need to get away from Mark and his unwanted touches.

As I walk back to the office, I feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach. I know I need to talk to Damien, need to sort out my feelings for him. But I don't know how. I don't know where to even begin.

As the evening winds down, the team decides to head out for dinner and drinks. I hesitate for a moment, not sure if I'm up for it. But then I think, why not? Maybe it'll be good to get out, to take my mind off things.

We end up at a cozy pub not far from the office. The atmosphere is lively, the air filled with the chatter of colleagues and the clink of glasses. I order a drink, something strong to take the edge off.

Mark is there, sitting a few seats away from me. He keeps glancing over, trying to catch my eye. But I avoid his gaze, focusing instead on my drink, on the conversation swirling around me.

I try to convince myself that everything is fine, that I'm just being paranoid. Mark hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't crossed any lines. It's just my imagination, my own insecurities playing tricks on me.

But even as I tell myself this, I can't shake the feeling of unease. The memory of Mark's arm around my shoulders, of his unwanted touch, lingers in my mind.

Mark leans over, his expression concerned. "Hey, Nova," he says softly. "Is everything okay? You seem really uncomfortable. If I'm making you uncomfortable, I can just go."

I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my drink. "Yeah, Mark, maybe you should go," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, it's not like you're the only reason I'm here or anything. But yeah, if you're so concerned about my comfort, then by all means, leave."

Mark blinks, taken aback by my sharp tone. "Nova, I..." he starts, but I cut him off.

"Look, Mark, I don't need your pity or your concern," I snap. "I'm fine, okay? Just leave me alone."

Mark's face falls, and he nods, standing up from his seat. "Okay, Nova," he says quietly. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

He walks away, and I feel a twinge of guilt. Maybe I was too harsh, too rude. But I can't help it. I'm just so tired of everyone's assumptions, of everyone's meddling in my life.

I finish my drink, signaling for another. I need to get through this night, need to get through this week. And then maybe, just maybe, I can figure out what I'm going to do about Damien.

The night blurs together, a haze of alcohol and bad decisions. I stumble out of the pub, my head spinning, my vision blurred. I should have known better, should have stopped after the first drink. But I didn't. And now I'm paying the price.

I make my way home, barely remembering how I got there. I collapse onto my bed, my clothes still on, my makeup smeared. And then, without warning, the tears start.

I cry and cry, my body shaking with sobs. I cry for Damien, for the love I can't have. I cry for myself, for the pain and the confusion and the heartache.

I don't know how long I cry, don't know how long I lay there, curled up in a ball of misery. I just know that I can't stop, can't make it go away.

Finally, exhaustion takes over, and I drift off into a fitful sleep. I dream of Damien, of his arms around me, his lips on mine. But even in my dreams, I can't escape the pain, can't escape the knowledge that it's all just a fantasy.

I jolt awake with a gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm so fucking tired of this, so tired of the pain, the heartache. Damien's in a fucked up situation, sure, but so am I. So fucking what? He's not the only one suffering here.

In my drunken haze, I fumble for my phone, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. I unblock Damien's number, cursing under my breath as I dial. It rings once, twice, three times. But then, just as I'm about to give up, it connects.

"Damien?" I slur, my words running together. "Damien, it's me. Nova. I... I just... I need to talk to you."

But there's no answer, just the hollow sound of a declined call. And then the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone, my vision blurred with tears. He didn't answer. He fucking didn't answer. After everything, after all this time, he didn't even bother to pick up the phone.

Anger surges through me, hot and fierce. I throw my phone across the room, watching as it bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor. I start throwing everything I can get my hands on - books, clothes, anything within reach.

I scream and curse, my voice raw and hoarse. I swear that I'll never think about Damien again, never let myself be hurt by him again. But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie.

Because I love him. I love him so fucking much that it hurts, that it consumes me. And no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I hate myself for it, I know I never will be able to stop loving him.

The tears come again, hot and bitter. I curl up on my bed, my body shaking with sobs. I'm so tired, so fucking tired of this pain. But I know it's not going away, know that it's going to haunt me forever.

Because Damien is a part of me, a part of my soul. And no matter how hard I try to forget him, no matter how much I want to move on, I know he'll always be there, lurking in the shadows of my heart.

No. No no no. I am better than this. Better than pining for a man who is about to be a father. A man who has made his choice, who has moved on with his life.

I won't think about him anymore. I won't let him consume my every waking thought, my every dream. I won't let him break me, destroy me.

I hate him. I hate Damien for making me feel this way, for putting me through this hell. I hate him for being so fucking perfect, for being everything I've ever wanted.

But most of all, I hate myself. I hate myself for being so weak, for letting him in when I knew it would only end in pain. I hate myself for not being able to let go, for clinging to this hopeless love like a drowning woman grasping at a lifeline.

I cry out, my voice raw and broken. I sob until there are no more tears left, until my throat is hoarse and my eyes are swollen. And then, finally, I fall into a fitful sleep.

Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself. Tomorrow, I'll wake up and forget all about Damien. I'll delete his number, block him from my social media, erase every trace of him from my life.

***

Author's note: So, about this chapter... I gotta be real with you, I was phoning it in big time. Life's been crazy busy lately and my writing mojo took a vacation without telling me. I was like, "Ugh, I haven't posted in forever, I gotta put something out there!" So I slapped together whatever half-baked ideas I could find and hit post.

But let's be honest, that chapter was duller than watching paint dry. But hey, everyone has off days, right?

I promise the next chapters will be a thousand times better. No more lazy writing, no more boring plotlines. You can hold me to that! So, thanks for bearing with me through this chapter.

Well, about the length of this chapter, let me put it this way: it was so short, even a goldfish with a short attention span would be like, "That's it? Where's the rest of the story?"

But I gotta ask, what do you guys prefer? Are you team "Short and Sweet" or "Long and In-Depth"? Or maybe you're into that "Goldilocks Zone" where it's just right. I'm open to suggestions.

As always, I would truly appreciate your comments and feedback, no matter how brief or simple they may be. Your thoughts and opinions are valuable to me and can help me improve my writing. Don't hold back just because you think your comment might be boring or unimportant. Every bit of input is cherished and will be used to make the story better. Thank you for taking the time to read and respond!