Page 43 of Shattered

“Business lunch ran long.”

She looked skeptical but didn’t push. “Okay. Thank you.”

Inside, I went straight to the bathroom. The door closed behind me and I gripped the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I looked the same. Still the controlled, composed man who’d built an empire on being rational. Still the boy who’d learned to hide everything that mattered.

No evidence that I was currently coming apart.

I splashed cold water on my face. Then more cold water. Then I stripped and turned on the shower because the alternative was going back out there and telling Delia that letting Jake explain was a terrible idea, that second chances for people who’d left you at the altar were statistically doomed, that she should stay with me instead.

Except I had no right to say any of that.

I wasn’t her boyfriend. Wasn’t even sure what I was beyond her brother’s best friend and temporary roommate. We’d almost kissed once. That didn’t give me claim to her future.

The water ran colder. I stood under it until my hands went numb, until the shock of it cleared my head enough to function.

When I finally emerged, changed into dry clothes, Delia was sitting on the couch with her dinner half-eaten, staring at nothing.

“Hey,” she said when she saw me. “You okay? You were in there a while.”

“Fine. Just needed to clean up.”

We moved through the evening with careful politeness. She painted, I worked on my laptop. Neither of us mentioned Jake or coffee.

Neither of us mentioned last night either—the almost-kiss that had shattered before it landed.

The apartment felt different. Smaller. Like we were both taking up too much space and not enough at the same time.

Around eleven, Delia announced she was going to bed. I said goodnight. She disappeared to her room and I was alone with my laptop and the knowledge that tomorrow she’d have coffee with the man who’d left her.

And I’d support her decision. Because that’s what you did when you loved someone—you wanted what was best for them, even when it hollowed you out.

I worked until three AM, staring at reports I couldn’t process, and tried not to think about how close I’d come to something real before the universe reminded me that wanting what I couldn’t have was still my defining trait.

CHAPTER 10

Delia

Jake pickedthe restaurant on Fifth Avenue where we’d had our first date five years ago.

The choice felt deliberate. A reminder of how we started, back when everything was new and simple and I’d believed love could fix anything. I got there ten minutes late on purpose, needing the time to compose myself, to remember that I was doing this for closure and nothing else.

He was already seated at our old table by the window. He looked terrible. The man who’d left me at the altar looked like a stranger wearing Jake Foxx’s face.

He stood when he saw me. “Delia. Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

I sat across from him without touching him, without offering the hug he clearly wanted, and folded my hands on the table between us. “You have an hour.”

“Right. Okay.” He ran both hands through his hair, a gesture I’d seen a thousand times. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning.”

He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “That gala. Three months before our wedding. I got drunk. Really drunk. I don’tremember most of the night, honestly. But Jennifer was there, and the next morning she told me we’d slept together.”

I kept my face blank. No reaction. Let him talk.

“I didn’t believe her at first. Thought she was making it up to mess with us. But she had details about that night. Things that seemed real. And then three weeks later she said she was pregnant.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “I panicked.”