You're right. About everything.
I have been trying to control you. Trying to force you to acknowledge me. Trying to make you feel even a fraction of what I feel every day.
I'm sorry. Not for the first time. Not for the last time. Just... sorry.
I'll stop. I promise. No more coffee shop ambushes. No more interrupting in class. No more taking your seat.
I'll be professional. Distant. Whatever you need me to be.
Except honest. Because if I'm honest, I'll tell you that destroying you was the worst thing I've ever done. That I think about that night constantly. That I wish I could go back and choose differently.
But I can't. So I'll just be what you asked for, a project partner who stays in his lane.
After the October trip, you'll never have to deal with me outside of required class interactions.
I promise.
-E
I read the note three times.
It's not enough. One note doesn't undo weeks of torment. Doesn't erase three years of hurt.
But it's something.
It's him admitting fault. Admitting that he's been wrong. Promising to back off.
I should be relieved, should be happy to finally have the space I've been demanding.
Instead, I feel hollow.
Like I just won a battle but somehow also lost something I can't name.
Chapter 8
Ethan
I meantevery word of that note.
And I hate myself for it. Because the truth is, staying away from Ivy is killing me. But hurting her is worse.
So I back off. Do exactly what I promised.
Monday, I go to a different coffee shop. Even though it's farther away and the coffee is worse.
Tuesday, in Business Strategy, when I have thoughts on the discussion, I write them down instead of interrupting. Professor Hendricks notices my unusual silence but doesn't comment.
Wednesday, I arrive at our project meeting exactly on time. Sit where she hasn't claimed. Keep my comments professional and brief.
"Your market analysis is excellent," I tell her, reviewing her latest work.
"Thank you."
"I've revised the supply chain section. Incorporated your feedback."
"I'll review it." She says, with no emotion in her tone.
That's it. That's the entire conversation. Forty-five minutes of stilted professionalism and careful distance.