Chapter 5

Nate moved out the next day.

He packed a bag and moved into the small apartment near the office. The one he used when work ran late.

He said her sudden talk about marriage made him feel suffocated. He needed space.

Fine. She needed space too.

She quietly spent the following days putting things in order.

The apartment — the one they had picked out together five years ago, furnished together, built a life in together — she listed it with a real estate agent.

The day she handed the keys to the agent, she went home and sorted through the last of her things.

In an old magazine, she found a project file. One of Nate’s current deals. She hesitated, then decided to bring it to him.

His studio was not far. She could drop it off.

When she arrived at his apartment, the door was shut. Muffled laughter came from inside. More than one person.

She raised her hand to knock.

A familiar voice drifted out, pitched in that particular register of feminine distress — just helpless enough to be charming:

"Mr. Sinclair, it's all my fault. I've never caught a bouquet before — I had no idea it would cause such a fuss. Now everyone in the office group chat is talking. Several coworkers asked me privately if you and I are…”

She paused. “You really need to clear things up for me in the group. Otherwise, I’ll be too embarrassed to show my face.”

Ella's hand froze in midair.

Before Nate could answer, one of his friends cut in, laughing. “Come on, Rain. Do you actually want him to clear it up? Or are you just trying to get him to say something else?”

A ripple of knowing laughter.

Rain's voice came back, mock-offended and sweet: "You're terrible!" Not a trace of genuine annoyance.

“Enough,” Nate said. His voice was easy. Indulgent. “Don’t tease her. It’s not important. People will forget about it in a few days.”

*People will forget about it in a few days.*

The words opened a door in her memory.

Early in their relationship, Ella had stopped by the office to help Nate with some paperwork. He had forgotten himself — draped an arm over her shoulder in the hallway. A colleague spotted them.

That same afternoon, he had posted a calm message in the company group chat. *Just clearing up a misunderstanding, everyone please stay focused.*

She had understood back then.

She had stopped going to his office.

Now she understood something else.

It wasn’t office romance he minded. It was being seen with *her*.

A woman who couldn’t help his career.

Nothing to his ambition. Nothing but love — and love, apparently, was not a currency that spent well in public.

Another friend spoke up, confused. “Wait, Nate. How did you smooth things over with Ella? I actually got a wedding invitation this morning. This is too sudden.”

A brief silence.

Then Nate laughed — short, cool, hollow.

"The small stuff, I can indulge. But this time, she needs to learn on her own that throwing a tantrum doesn't get results."

“So you’re really not going?” someone asked.

Nate didn’t answer.

Silence was its own answer.

Then another friend spoke, more carefully. “Nate, are you sure you want to let it go this far? We’ve been waiting to drink your wedding toast for years.”

He paused. Then he said, half joking, half probing, “Unless… you have other plans? Like, with a certain secretary?”

“Mr. Vic~” Rain drew out his name in a teasing voice. “Don’t joke like that. Mr. Sinclair knows what he’s doing.”

Those last words — soft, intimate, loaded.

Nate did not correct her.

A murmur of shared, masculine amusement filled the room.

Someone else chimed in, “To be fair, Nate’s already more loyal than most. After all these years, anyone else would have run out of patience.”

“What does Ella even do for you? She just gives you trouble. Not like our Rain here. Smart, capable, shows up when it counts…"

Rain interrupted, playing coy. “Don’t say that.”

The motion-sensor light in the hallway had gone dark again.

Ella stood in the blackness, the project file pressed against her chest.

After a long moment, she bent down. Slid the envelope beneath the door with the toe of her shoe. Quietly. Precisely.

Then she turned and walked away.