Page 21 of Choosing Scarlet

Maybe I’m not as alone as I feel.

I drag myself to the door, every step heavier than the last, and take a slow breath before pulling it open. That flicker of hope disappears as quickly as it had appeared.

It isn’t him.

It’s Jessie. Usually, seeing her would make me light up, since she’s one of my closest friends, but right now, disappointment slices through me so fast and so sharp it leaves me dizzy. I know I shouldn’t let myself hope for him in any way at all, but I can’t control it. Not for now, at least.

“Okay, we need to talk,” Jessie announces as she pushes her way inside, not giving me a chance to protest or even say hello. She spins around the second she’s in the living room, pointing a finger right at me. “You need to pull yourself together. You can’t keep going like this.”

I freeze where I’m standing, my mouth parting as I try to come up with something to say, but before a single word can leave me, she barrels on. “I refuse to see you like this! I can’t handle it. I already went through this with you once and, my God, I do not want to watch you go through it again, Scarlet.” Her voice cracks just a little, enough to make my chest tighten. “You know I love you, and you know I only ever mean well, but this …” She shakes her head slowly, almost helplessly. “I’ve never seen you like this before. And it scares the hell out of me.”

A long, shaky breath slips out of me. “I know. I know you’re right. I just … I don’t know what to do with myself. I know I messed up. I know I played with fire and got burned, and I have no one to blame but me. I’m just trying to figure out how to pull myself out of this mess.”

“It’s actually really simple,” she says, even though her tone tells me she’s fully aware of how complicated it feels to me. “You either fight for what you want … or you let it go.”

The words sink in, settling deep into the part of me that already knew the truth before she even said it. Painfully so, the answer comes to me within seconds.

It’s time to let go.

Two weeks of no contact with him have me feeling like I’m slowly losing pieces of my mind one by one, but I keep pushing through because what other choice do I have? I wake up every day, reminding myself that moving forward is the only direction available to me now.

The free time I usually have when I’m not working at The Network has become dangerous territory and an empty space where my thoughts like to spiral, so I’ve been stuffing every minute with something new. I repainted my bedroom, bought a few new pieces of furniture, took up pottery, and made a decision I never imagined I’d make.

I’m going to start my own business. Something separate from The Network.

The Network will always have a place in my heart, always be the foundation that helped build me, and I’ll forever be grateful for everything it brought into my life … but I want something that’s mine. Something that belongs to me alone. And if there is ever a time to start working on it, it’s now.

Maybe it’s for the best, I tell myself. Maybe the universe has twisted and shifted exactly the way it was meant to, and I’m standing right where I’m supposed to be. The thought hurts, but I let it sit there for a moment before I force myself to breathe through it.

I’ve spent too many days curled up in sadness, too much time drowning in what-ifs and regrets. It’s enough. I have a website to build, ideas to organize, and a thousand tiny details waiting for my attention. I can’t afford to keep wasting time on self-pity.

I won’t let myself.

My brand-new determination barely lasts a heartbeat before my phone buzzes in my hand. The Network’s logo flashes across the screen. I’m not expecting any bookings, since I’ve been turning everything down, so I’m already ready to reject whatever got through—until I see the name.

Locke Stonebridge.

The owner of The Network himself is requesting a meeting with me.

My eyes practically leap out of my skull. Mr. Stonebridge is hardly ever here. He has an entire team of assistants and coordinators to handle things, and they keep the whole place running like clockwork, but he’s the one who built it. He’s the reason The Network even exists, and the one every single girl respects without question.

A small lump forms at the back of my throat as I stare at his name. Panic tries to push its way up my chest, whispering that maybe my cancelled bookings have turned into a problem. The Network gets a cut of everything we do, and I haven’t exactly been a source of income these past two weeks. Maybe I’ve cost them more than I realized.

Focus, I tell myself, forcing a steady breath. The message says he wants to meet tomorrow afternoon at one.

The last—and only—time I saw him was the day I was hired. Every girl has to be personally approved by him, and after that, he stays in the background unless something major comes up.

I can only hope that this second meeting, whatever it’s about, will be just as pleasant as the first.

My throat feels uncomfortably dry as the elevator climbs toward the seventh floor of The Network’s building, where Mr. Stonebridge’s office is. Ironically, while my mouth feels like sandpaper, my palms are drenched in sweat. My breathing is shallow and uneven, like my nerves have taken over every part of me.

A loud ding breaks through the silence, announcing my arrival. The doors slide open to reveal a long hallway covered in maroon carpet. Elegant statues line both sides of the hall, and golden frames hold artwork that probably costs more than I make in a year. My eyes drift from piece to piece, trying to distract myself, before I finally force my feet to move forward.

At the very end of the hallway is a door with a golden nameplate with Mr. Stonebridge’s name on it. I pause for just a second, then lift my hand and knock against the polished wood.

“Come on in, Scarlet,” a deep voice calls from inside.

I exhale slowly and push the door open. The office mirrors the hallway in every way—rich décor, plush carpet, and dark brown walls. The same artwork style continues here as well, tying everything together.