Chapter 2: A Good Person

The revolving door spat her out and Isla walked straight into the cold like it owed her nothing. It slipped beneath her coat, brushed against her skin, and for a brief second, it felt like something real, something she could focus on instead of the echo still ringing in her head.

Your role as my personal assistant remains effective as of Monday.

Her steps didn’t falter.

Not once.

But her grip tightened slightly around her bag, fingers pressing into the leather like she needed something solid, something that wouldn’t shift beneath her.

Assistant.

The word didn’t sit right. It lingered reminding her quietly that whatever she had just signed in that office… hadn’t set her free.

Not completely.

Isla exhaled slowly, steadying herself before the feeling could settle too deep.

Freedom was never going to be that easy.

She was three steps toward the parking structure when she heard her name.

"Iz."

She turned.

Nathaniel Rivers was jogging toward her from the side entrance, jacket open, tie loosened, looking like a man who had somewhere to be and had chosen her instead.

"Hey." He reached her and put both hands on her shoulders, eyes moving over her face the way people did when they were looking for damage. "You okay? That was brutal."

Isla looked at him.

Then she almost laughed.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You don't have to do that." He tilted his head slightly. "It's just me."

"Nate." She met his eyes. "I promise. I'm fine."

He studied her for another second. Then he exhaled and fell into step beside her without being invited. That was just Nate, he occupied space the way sunlight did. Without announcement. Without apology.

"I ran into Holt in the elevator," he said.

"Oh?"

"He had his "I survived something" face."

"Poor Mr. Holt."

"What did you do?"

"I signed papers." She glanced at him sideways. "Calmly."

Nate laughed, short, genuine. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"And Darian..." He tilted his head back toward the tower. "How did he take the calm part?"

Isla thought about it. The three seconds of silence. The thing that moved behind Darian's eyes before he killed it.

"Hard to tell," she said. "You know how he is."

Nate didn’t answer immediately.

He slowed half a step, hands slipping into his pockets, gaze drifting back toward the building like he could still see straight through glass and steel.

"Yeah," he said finally, quieter this time. "I do."

There was something in the way he said it.

It wasn't quite an agreement, it was something else like he knew more than he was willing to say.

Isla noticed.

Of course she did.

Nate wasn’t careless with words. If anything, he was deliberate in the way he softened them, like he spent most of his time making sure things didn’t come out too sharp.

But just now—

That edge had slipped through.

"He doesn’t always show what hits him,” he added after a moment, almost like he was correcting himself. “Doesn’t mean nothing does."

Isla glanced at him.

He was looking ahead, expression easy, like he'd said something obvious.

She said nothing.

They reached the entrance of the parking structure and stopped.

"You didn't have to come out here," she said.

"I know." He shrugged. "I wanted to."

She looked at him. This man who had been Darian's best friend first and had somehow become something steady in her life without either of them making a decision about it. He had never taken sides. Never made her feel like the outsider she technically was.

"Thank you," she said. She meant it without condition.

Nate smiled, the kind that went all the way up, the kind that arrived without effort. "You're going to be okay, Iz. Better than okay." He squeezed her shoulder once. "Go home. Eat something real. Not whatever sad thing you call a balanced meal."

"Okay." She said

The word settled somewhere it didn’t belong.

It almost sounded familiar

"Everything will be fine," her mother had said once.

Soft. Certain. Like saying it would make it true.

Isla blinked.

Another voice followed.

"You’ll bounce back. It’s just a setback."

Her father’s.

But he hadn’t looked at her when he said it.

Hadn’t looked at anyone.

Just sat there… staring at nothing.

"Okay isn’t real," Isla said suddenly.

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Nate glanced at her. "What?"

She shook her head lightly, like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t just said something she believed.

"Nothing." A small pause. Then, quieter, controlled again. "I’ll be fine.

"Goodbye, Nate." She said with a smile.

"Monday, Ms. Mercer." He said it lightly, like a joke between them.

She shook her head and walked into the structure.

The drive out of the city was slower than she wanted.

Window cracked two inches. At least it was doing a good job of aiding her movement, she couldn't complain.

She felt, for the first time since she'd walked into that office, something close to settled. Not happy. Not relieved. Just settled. Like a decision had been made and the making of it was done.

Settled.

That was new.

Work resumes on Monday.

She exhaled sharply. Of course it did.

Of course he wouldn’t let it end cleanly.

Personal Assistant.

Again.

Isla tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

“You should’ve read it more carefully.”

Her jaw clenched.

“I read it,” she muttered under her breath.

A beat.

Then, quieter...

“Not carefully enough.”

That part… she wouldn’t say out loud.

The city lights blurred past her window.

She replayed the moment.

Not the words.

The pause.

The way he’d watched her before he said it.

Like he’d been waiting.

Like he knew something she didn’t.

Like he’d already won.

Her fingers tapped once against the wheel.

“No,” she said softly.

He didn’t win.

He just… delayed things.

That was all.

A small inconvenience.

A temporary obstacle.

Nothing more.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

“You wanted access,” she reminded herself. “You got it.”

Closer than before. Her lips curved faintly.

“That works both ways.”

Nate was a good person. In a world built entirely out of Darian Blackwells, Nathaniel Rivers was genuinely, an uncomplicated good person.

She stopped at a red light on 53rd.

Tapped her fingers on the wheel once. Checked her mirrors out of habit, left, right, rear —

And stopped.

Nate was still standing at the entrance of the parking structure.

Half a block back, barely visible through the gap between two parked trucks. Still. Completely still. Not on his phone. Not walking away. Not doing anything a person normally did when a conversation had ended and they'd moved on.

Just standing.

Watching her car.

Isla frowned slightly.

That wasn’t... Normal. Her fingers hovered over the steering wheel.

He hadn’t waved. He hadn't even checked his phone and hasn't moved from the spot he was.

Just stood there… like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, trying to make out his expression through the distance.

She couldn’t.

Too far.

Too still.

Her grip tightened unconsciously.

Nate didn’t feel like someone who lingered.

He moved easily through things. Conversations. Moments. People.

He didn’t hold on.

So why was he still there?

Watching?

The light shifted to yellow then red again. A car behind her honked.

Isla blinked, tearing her gaze away.

“Overthinking,” she muttered.

She pressed the accelerator.

The light turned green and she continued driving.

He was probably just thinking, she told herself. People stood still sometimes. It didn't mean anything.

She merged onto the bridge. Let the city shrink in her mirror.

By the time she hit the highway she had almost convinced herself.

Almost.

And almost was when mistakes were made.