For three days, Willow avoided Star Engineering.
The first morning, she told herself it was temporary — she needed distance, perspective. Besides, she still had the program to finish, and her team could manage her absence better than her emotions could.
By the second, it had become something else entirely.
Her phone lit up in waves: Zane. Miles. Then Zane again.
Missed calls. Messages. Short, restrained ones at first — then longer.
MILES: We need to talk.
MILES: I am serious, Willow.
MILES: Hello?
MILES: Willow, we need to talk!
ZANE: Are you alright?
ZANE: You can't just disappear.
ZANE: You're not answering any calls now?
ZANE: Please, Willow.
She read them all and replied to none.
It wasn't about punishment. It was self-preservation.
Every time she heard his voice in her head, the same conflict coiled through her chest — anger and longing, restraint and ache.
He'd taken her choice away and somehow still made her care. That was the worst of it.
