They stood like that — two still points in the storm — while rain hammered the windows and her heartbeat counted time.
Then he said it — the one thing that stripped the air clean.
"As your boyfriend, I don't feel comfortable with you going. Even if, as you say, it's nothing."
The words hit like a slap.
Her face didn't move. Her voice stayed calm. But inside, something detonated — a silent, contained explosion burning through the last of her restraint.
Boyfriend.
That single lie — that quiet fiction he still dared to use — obliterated any ground he might have regained.
It infuriated her. Not because he said it, but because he believed he could.
Because he thought that word still meant something.
She gave him a small, convincing smile. "Noted."
He frowned, catching the shift but not the meaning. "Willow—"
"Relax," she said smoothly, lifting the suitcase handle. "It's just a business trip."
