Chapter 34

Lila’s POV

The street lights blurred past me in long golden streaks, the engine humming beneath me like a low heartbeat.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Only that I was doing it. That Drew’s voice had unraveled something inside me, something tight and brittle and aching and I couldn’t ignore it. Not tonight. Not when he sounded like he was about to break.

I drove like the road was pulling me in, like something inside knew this moment mattered more than anything else.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter the closer I got to his penthouse. My thoughts were loud, my breath uneven, my chest too full with feelings I didn’t want to name.

This shouldn’t have been my problem. But it was. It had become mine the day he stopped being just my boss and became something more, something complicated and raw and confusing.

When I pulled up outside his building, I parked without thinking, my eyes fixed on the high rise like it might swallow me whole. A part of me wanted to turn around and it kept reminding me of how messy this all was. But that part quieted as I took the elevator up.

When I got to his door, I stood frozen for a moment. The last time I had been here, everything had changed. A night that began in vulnerability had ended in silence, shame, and heartbreak. It should’ve made me turn around.

But it didn’t.

I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. My heart kicked harder in my chest as I reached for the doorknob and found it unlocked thankfully.

“Drew?” I called softly.

No response.

I stepped in slowly. The apartment was dim, shadows stretching across the walls like they belonged there. It was too quiet. Too still.

Then I saw him.

Laying flat on the floor, close to the couch and struggling to breathe.

“Drew!”

I ran to him and dropped to my knees beside the ground where he lay.

His eyes fluttered open. Barely. “You came,” he whispered hoarsely.

“What happened?” I asked, reaching for his shoulders as I pulled him up to a sitting position, his back was now resting on the couch. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t…” He struggled for breath. “I can’t… breathe.”

My throat tightened. “Okay. Listen to me. Just breathe with me, alright?”

He shook his head, hand gripping the couch like he might fall through it. The panic was back, worse than it had been in the office.

“Drew,” I said, more firmly now, placing his hand on my chest, then layering mine over it. “Feel that? Match my breathing. In… and out. We’ll do it together.”

At first, he was too far gone. His eyes weren’t even focused. But I didn’t stop. I sat there, grounded in front of him, anchoring him with the steadiness of my breath, the firmness of my voice, the warmth of my hand.

“Again,” I whispered. “In… and out. You’re okay, Drew. I’m right here.”

And slowly, painfully slowly, his breathing began to catch rhythm. His chest rose and fell less erratically. His grip on the couch loosened.

When he finally slumped forward, I caught him before he could fall.

He rested his head on my shoulder, his breath damp against my skin, his weight heavy and exhausted in my arms. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

I just held him.

And I stayed.

I stayed because something in him felt too fragile to leave. Something told me that if I left now, I might not find this version of Drew again. The version that wasn’t guarded or cold or cruel. Just human. Hurting. Needing.

He didn’t thank me.

He didn’t say anything.

He just breathed.

And that was enough.

___________

Drew’s POV

The hum of the city outside my window was the only sound in the room when I finally opened my eyes.

I raised my head and glanced at the clock: 2:04 a.m.

The light in the living room had dimmed to a soft orange glow, and my body felt unusually warm. It took me a moment to understand why.

Lila.

She was still here.

Fast asleep, sitting beside me on the floor, her head tilted backwards slightly against the couch. One of her arms was looped around my shoulder her other hand resting gently against my stomach as if she had fallen asleep mid comfort.

I stared at her.

Really stared.

How had she held me like that? I was almost twice her size. She was tired, probably hadn’t even had dinner and had not changed out of her work clothes, but still, somehow, she had stayed. She had anchored me when nothing else had worked. Not the meds. Not the silence. Not the overpriced penthouse I lived in.

Just her.

Her breathing was steady, soft. Her lips parted slightly. Her brow, always pulled in concern when she looked at me, was now smooth. Peaceful.

I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right there, with her asleep beside me. But the weight of guilt in my chest wouldn’t let me. Not after everything I had done to her.

I shifted carefully, trying not to wake her, and managed to ease myself out from beneath her. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. I lifted her gently and carried her into my bedroom. God, she felt light and curled into me like my hands were built to carry her.

She deserved to sleep in a real bed, not slumped on the ground beside the man who’d made her life hell.

When I laid her down, she curled instinctively into the pillow. Her office blouse was creased, the buttons slightly undone at the top. She looked exhausted. Completely drained.

And still she came to me.

Why?

Why would she do that?

I turned away quickly and headed to the bathroom. I needed cold water, something to snap me out of whatever was building in my chest.

The shower blasted over my skin, but it couldn’t drown out the question that kept rising louder and louder in my mind.

Why did she come?

She should’ve ignored my call. She should’ve blocked my number. She should’ve turned her back like I’d done to her after that night in this very apartment.

But she didn’t.

She came back.

She saved me from myself, from the panic, from the memories of Kimberley.

God, Kimberley.

Just the sound of her voice earlier today had brought everything crashing back. The weight of our past, the lies, the betrayal, the way she had shattered every piece of me when she left.

And Lila… she had walked into that chaos without hesitation.

And held me like she belonged there.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly, pulling on a clean shirt and sweats before heading back to the bedroom. Lila was still curled on the bed, the sheets barely covering her.

I stood there, unsure of myself.

Then, against my better judgment, I lay down beside her.

I didn’t touch her. Didn’t reach for her. Just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence.

Until I felt it.

Her hand.

It drifted over in her sleep and landed gently across my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as if she was still holding me together even in sleep.

It stirred something deep in me.

Something I didn’t want to name.

Something I had fought for years to kill.

And yet here it was, alive and loud and aching.

I couldn’t sleep.

I lay there, completely still, listening to her soft breathing and wondering what the hell we were doing. What I was doing. I had promised myself not to cross lines. Not to feel. Not to fall. But here I was, already halfway gone.

I said I wanted us to stay professional.

But my actions had never matched my words.

I looked at her one last time before closing my eyes, not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

But one thing was clear.

Lila was bringing up feelings I had longed buried.

And that terrified me more than any panic attack ever could.