Chapter 2 A pivot

Morning sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Nicholas Wade’s penthouse, hitting the marble floors with all the subtlety of a flashbang.

Nicholas didn’t even flinch. He rolled over, tossing a heavy arm across the king-sized mattress, and blinked his eyes open to the sight of Chloe. She was standing by the closet, already slipping into her second-choice designer dress while aggressively swiping through a text thread about whose credit card was paying for her morning Uber.

She wasn't interested in pillow talk or lingering over coffee; she was purely transactional, treating his high-end apartment like a luxury hotel where the room service came with a pulse and a bank account.

"Leaving so soon?" Nicholas’s voice was a low, raspy morning purr.

Chloe didn't even look up from her screen. " My phone battery is dying, and your driver takes forever to get down here. Toss me your gold card so I can hit the spa on your dime before lunch."

Nicholas propped himself up on one elbow, a slow, amused grin spreading across his face as messy dark curls fell across his forehead. He didn't mind her transparency—in fact, it was refreshing. No fake sweetness, just straightforward exchange rates. "It’s on the foyer table, help yourself."

Before Chloe could grab it, his phone—resting on the sleek walnut nightstand—vibrated violently.

Nicholas glanced sideways at the screen. Flashing across the display in bold letters was Arthur Wade.

His smile instantly vanished, the easygoing playboy mask shattering to reveal the cold, hard steel underneath. Nicholas didn't work for or with his father. Years ago, he and a tight-knit group of university friends had built their investment firm from the ground up, completely independent of the Wade family name and Arthur’s massive industrial empire.

Yet Arthur still called, usually to insert himself where he wasn't wanted. Their relationship was fractured beyond repair—not because Nicholas hated his step-sisters, he actually adored and protected them fiercely, but because Arthur had spent Nicholas’ entire childhood emotionally absent, only to pour all his affection, time, and validation into two girls who weren't even his biological children. It was a bitter pill that never quite dissolved.

Nicholas swiped the screen with his thumb, cheerfully hitting Decline, and tossed the phone face down onto the mattress.

"Dad?" Chloe asked, not sounding like she cared in the slightest as she spritzed herself with his expensive cologne.

"The sperm donor," Nicholas muttered, his tone flat as he threw off the covers and stretched.

"Come on, let's get you out of here. I've got a morning meeting to destroy."

Across the city, Zavia Thorpe’s morning was running with Swiss-train precision—until Thomas Pike opened his mouth and proved once again why dating him was an exercise in emotional self-harm.

"I just don't get why you have to act like such a cold, unfeeling robot, Zav," Tommy grumbled from the kitchen island. He was leaning against the marble counter in his sweatpants, nursing a mug of black coffee while Zavia frantically zipped her tailored navy blazer. "Honestly, your mom raised you to be completely incapable of actual human warmth. It’s pathetic."

Zavia froze, one hand hovering over her structured leather work tote. The air left her lungs. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Tommy scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "You dropped everything last night at exactly 9:00pm to report to Dorothy like the good little soldier you are. Anyone with a pulse would get tired of walking on eggshells around two obsessive control freaks. You’re just like her: rigid, unlovable, and entirely obsessed with your stupid little plans."

Zavia’s chest heaved. A hot, violent spike of pure fury shot straight from her toes to her temples, nearly blinding her.

For months, she had actively twisted herself into a pretzel, editing Tommy’s glaring flaws into mere "quirks," making excuses for every missed anniversary, every lazy habit, and every time he belittled her efforts. She had tolerated it all because breaking up meant tearing up her life plan, and admitting failure terrified her. But dragging her mother into a petty argument about punctuality?

That didn't just snap a wire. It blew up the entire circuit board.

"Get out," Zavia whispered, her voice shaking with a terrifying, lethal calm.

"What?" Tommy blinked, suddenly looking defensive. "Come on, I'm just joking, you can't take a—"

"I said, get out of my apartment," Zavia screamed, her voice cracking as she slammed her palm down on the marble counter.

She didn't wait for him to argue. She grabbed her keys off the console table with a sharp click, her entire body trembling with adrenaline. She refused to let him see her cry. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing her shoulders straight.

"I have a major M&A review meeting at 7:30 AM with a new Managing Director who will eat me alive if I am thirty seconds late," Zavia spat, her eyes blazing. "And unlike you, I actually respect my life. Pack your things. You're leaving by tonight."

"You're making a huge mistake, Zavia! You're throwing away a real relationship for a spreadsheet!" Tommy yelled after her as she threw the front door open.

"I'm finally following the right plan," she hissed.

She slammed the door shut behind her, the heavy thud echoing down the quiet hallway. “It’s my apartment too Babe” she heard Tommy yell out.

Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, and for the first time in her life, her meticulously structured world felt entirely unmoored.

She had just blown up her relationship. She had twenty minutes to make it across town. And a long day of looking at spreadsheets till the world becomes rows and columns.