Raina
I decided to stay.
Not because I was brave.
But because pretending he never existed? That I could do.
It was easier to fake amnesia than to beg for closure.
So that was the plan. Corporate Raina. Cool, contained, utterly unfazed.
He was just another rich client.
And I was just a woman with great lighting instincts and a knack for not crying on the job.
Camille barged in that evening with a bottle of red wine, a tub of overpriced gelato, and the kind of chaotic energy that usually came with a minor crime.
"Tonight," she declared, dropping her bag on my floor like it offended her, "we train."
I blinked. "Train for what?"
"For war, babe."
She marched into my living room, flopped dramatically onto the couch, and kicked off her heels like she was done with civilization.
"Wine me." she ordered.
I brought two glasses. She filled them both like she had stock in the vineyard.
"Okay," she said, handing one over, "pretend I'm Elias."
I raised a brow at her.
She then adjusted her posture. She cleared her throat as she sat straighter. She then lowered her voice three octaves. "Miss Morgan. Pleasure to see you again."
I choked on my drink. "You sound like Morgan Freeman in a tux."
"Focus, Raina."
I put the glass down. "Fine."
She continued in her gravelly Elias impression. "May I offer you a seat?"
"No," I deadpanned. "I prefer to stand and silently judge your taste in wall finishes."
"Excellent," she said. "That sounds like the woman I forgot. Wait, I mean never met before in my life."
I snorted.
Camille dropped the voice and narrowed her eyes. "Seriously. What's the tone? Are we going with 'chilly professional' or 'sultry frost queen'?"
"Chilly professional."
"No eye contact?"
"Minimal."
"Short sentences?"
"Yep."
"Do you plan to stab him in the heart with a mood board?"
"Only if I get the chance."
She leaned back. She nodded while she said, "I'm so proud of you. You're going full 'Office Ice Witch.'"
I raised my glass. "To my Oscar-winning performance in emotional repression."
She clinked hers against mine. "To your emotional repression being very on-brand this season."
We practiced for the next hour.
Camille kept switching roles. Sometimes Elias, sometimes Elaine from the firm, sometimes the fictional security guard at Langston Tower who apparently moonlighted as a tarot reader.
Every time she played Elias, she added new ridiculous lines.
"Miss Morgan, I don't know who you are, but I'd like you to design my soul."
"Do I know you? You seem familiar, like a dream I once had in Italy."
"You have lovely hands. Have we held each other before?"
"Stop!" I gasped. Laughing so hard that my sides cramped. "You are ruining it!"
"You're the one trying to survive heartbreak with spreadsheets." she said between giggles.
"Spreadsheets are reliable." I argued.
"So was Elias once."
That sobered the room for exactly 2.5 seconds.
She looked at me then, quieter, gentler. "Are you sure youre okay, Raina?"
I just shrugged my shoulders, "Define okay."
She tilted her head.
"I'm functioning," I said. "I'm designing. I'm not yelling into the void or throwing things."
"Low bar."
"I'll take it."
She nodded. "Well. If you need backup, I've got wigs and a burner phone."
"Why do you have a burner phone?"
"You know better than to ask questions that you don't want answers to."
We were curled up on the couch later. We had our wine glasses empty and the gelato half-melted between us. Camille scrolled through Instagram. She narrated influencer drama like it was the evening news.
I tried to focus. Tried to laugh when she showed me a post of someone posing with a goat and a ring light. Tried to stay in this bubble of sarcasm and comfort she'd created.
But somewhere under it all, something clenched.
Because tomorrow I'd see him again.
And no matter how many times I rehearsed it, no matter how sharp my lines were…
My chest still felt like it might collapse under the weight of remembering.
Camille noticed. She always did.
She turned her phone off, tossed it on the floor, and pulled her knees up under her chin. "Hey."
I glanced over.
"You don't have to prove anything to him."
"I'm not."
"You're not doing this to show you're fine?"
"No."
"You're doing this because you've emotionally transcended and become a goddess of indifference?"
"Exactly."
She smiled, sad and sweet. "Then why do you look like that?"
"How?"
"Like you're just one playlist away from crying in the shower?"
I didn't answer.
She reached over and squeezed my hand in hers. "I'm really proud of you, Rai. Seriously. You're walking into that penthouse like it's just another job, even though it used to be your future."
I blinked fast.
"But remember," she added, "you're not bulletproof. And that's okay."
I saw her off at the door around midnight.
She hugged me tight and kissed my cheek. She then whispered, "Burn the place down if you need to."
"Sure. I will keep the lighter handy."
I didn't sleep much.
Too many memories leaking out of corners I thought I'd sealed off.
Too many versions of Elias, half-formed and unfinished, showing up in my dreams.
The one who held me. The one who left. The one who looked me in the eye yesterday and said my name like it meant nothing.
By morning, I had the outfit ready.
High-waisted black slacks. Silk blouse. Blazer sharp enough to cut through emotion.
No jewelry. Light perfume.
Just me, clean lines, and ice in my veins.
I looked in the mirror and practiced my face.
Neutral. Distant. Confident.
Then I practiced my voice.
Professional. Detached. A touch of boredom, like he was just another check to cash.
I even practiced my nod.
I was ready.
So ready.
So perfectly, devastatingly ready.
But here's the thing they don't tell you about rehearsed numbness.
It works right up until the second you see the person again.
Because all your plans. Your curated expressions, your emotional fencing? They melt the minute you look them in the eye and remember how they used to look at you.
And me?
I was never great at chemistry in school.
But somehow, I still managed to feel it.
Even when I didn't want to.
Even when I swore I wouldn't.
Even when I was standing right in front of the man who forgot me and my traitor heart still sparked like a fool.