Chapter 8 ✨Lyra

Distance is supposed to dull things.

Instead, it sharpens them. Turns them into edges I keep running my thoughts across until something bleeds.

By Monday morning, I convince myself I’m fine.

Put-together. Functional. The kind of woman who wakes up, showers, dresses, and goes to work without replaying a man’s voice in her head like a secret she shouldn’t know but refuses to forget.

I move through my routine carefully, like balance matters more than speed. Clothes pressed until they fall neatly into place. Coffee brewed strong. Hair pulled back.This version of me,the one that looks composed,

reliable, unbothered….. the one people trust.

It’s the one I trust.

Work helps. It always has.

Work is predictable. Clean. Numbers behave. Deadlines don’t flirt with you, don’t look at you like they’re holding back something dangerous. They either get done or they don’t.

By mid-morning, I’m buried in code, fingers flying, mind fully engaged for the first time in days.

“Lyra.”

I look up.

My manager stands beside my desk, tablet tucked under his arm, expression unreadable.

“Yes?”

“The Harrison proposal,” he says. “They loved it. Especially the redesign.”

Relief spreads through me, warm and earned. “That’s great.”

“You saved us weeks.” He pauses, studying me. “There’s another opportunity coming in. Bigger. External contract.”

My spine straightens without permission.

“I want you on it.”

I don’t hesitate. “I’m interested.”

A faint smile. “I thought you would be. I’ll forward the details once legal clears it.”

When he walks away, I lean back in my chair, staring at my screen while my reflection stares faintly back.

This is what I’ve been working toward. This is momentum. Growth.

So why does it feel like stepping closer to something I should be running from?

My phone vibrates.

Serena.

I let it ring once. Twice. Then answer.

“Hey.”

“Well, look who finally remembers she has a best friend,” she says, half amused, half offended.

I smile despite myself. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy avoiding my house?”

There it is.

I exhale slowly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” A pause, softer now. “Did I do something?”

“No,” I say immediately. “God, nooo…. This is on me.”

Another pause.

“You know you can talk to me, right?

I do. That’s the problem.

“I know,” I say quietly.

She sighs. “Okay. I won’t push. But….” Her tone shifts, casual, careless. “Dad’s been… weird lately.”

My stomach drops.

“Weird how?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

“Quiet. Distracted. He forgot his keys yesterday.” She laughs. “I told him he needs a vacation or a girlfriend.”

My fingers tighten around the phone.

“And??” I ask.

“And he looked at me like I’d committed a crime.” She snorts. “Widower logic.”

Widower.

The word lands heavy.

I murmur something neutral, make an excuse about work, and hang up before my breathing betrays me.

I set my phone face down on the desk.

This isn’t just attraction. It’s interference.

That night, I make rules.

I don’t go to Serena’s. I don’t ask about him. I don’t replay the way his voice softened when he apologized or how his restraint felt heavier than touch. I delete a number I never officially saved. I tell myself the tension was situational. Alcohol-fueled. Misread.

Distance is survival.

By Wednesday, it almost works.

Then the email arrives.

Subject: Contract Offer – Immediate Review Requested

My pulse spikes as I open it.

The message is polished. Professional. Promising. Six months. High profile. The kind of contract people whisper about in break rooms. The kind that doesn’t just pad a résumé…it changes the direction of your life.

I skim it once.

Twice.

My cursor hovers over the attachment.

I shouldn’t hesitate. This is what I’ve worked for. What I deserve.

I open the document.

My breath stutters.

Blackwell Holdings.

The name sits there, bold and unmistakable.

The office noise fades. My ears ring softly. Recognition hits harder than surprise.

I scroll.

The scope is massive. The expectations clear. The compensation generous enough to make my chest tighten.

At the bottom…..signature pending.

Soren Blackwell.

My fingers go cold.

This isn’t coincidence. This is convergence.

I could decline. I should. It would be clean. Sensible. Safe.

I imagine Serena’s laugh. Her trust. The way she looks at me like I’m home.

I imagine his voice. His restraint. The way he pulled away like touching me was a mistake he couldn’t afford.

My cursor hovers over Accept.

My phone buzzes again.

Another email.

From: Soren Blackwell

Subject: Regarding the Contract

My heart slams hard enough to hurt.

I open it.

Lyra,

“I wasn’t aware you’d be assigned this project until this morning.

If this presents a conflict, I understand if you’d prefer to step away.

Whatever you decide, it will be respected”.

No pressure. No apology.

Just awareness. And restraint.

I stare at the screen, pulse loud in my ears.

This isn’t just about work anymore.

This is a line drawn carefully and an invitation hidden inside it.

My finger moves.

Accept.

The confirmation appears instantly.

I exhale shakily, heart racing.

Because walking away from him is one thing.

But walking away from myself?

That feels like a different kind of loss.

And as my inbox refreshes, one thought settles deep and undeniable:

This isn’t distance anymore.

This is proximity.

And whatever comes next?

It’s going to cost us both.