Chapter 2: Three Days of Silence

Lily's POV

The city lights blur into streaks of gold and white beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ethan's office is dark except for the desk lamp throwing shadows across the mahogany surface. There's a bottle of whiskey in front of him. Half-empty glass beside it.

He pours another shot. Throws it back. The burn down his throat barely registers anymore.

A two-bedroom apartment. That way it'll be easier for you going forward.

Her words loop in his head like a broken record. Three years. He thought he meant something to her. Not love, maybe. But at least... something.

Dependence. Habit. Anything.

But all she wanted was real estate. A clean exit strategy.

The door opens without warning.

"Mr. Cooper, I'll just leave the contracts on your—"

His assistant stops mid-sentence, eyes taking in the scene. The scattered papers. The tilted bottle. Ethan's shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie hanging loose.

"You alright, sir?"

Ethan lets out a sound that might be a laugh. "Alright? Yeah. Perfect. She wants an apartment. Not me. Just an apartment."

He pours another glass, hands steadier than they should be.

"I thought these three years she at least felt something for me."

His assistant shifts his weight. "Mr. Cooper, maybe you should just ask her. Could be a misunderstanding."

"She made herself clear." Ethan's voice drops. "That way it'll be easier for you going forward. She wants out."

He's on his feet before he realizes he's moving. The whiskey sloshes in the glass, nearly spilling over.

"I spent a month picking out a ring. A week planning everything. And she wants an apartment. She's been playing me this whole time. I was just a fucking ATM to her."

The words taste like ash. He drops back into the chair, hands covering his face.

His assistant opens his mouth. Closes it. Finally sighs. "Get some rest, sir."

The door clicks shut.

Ethan stares at the neon lights painting the walls. Something cold settles in his chest where the hope used to be.


I pick up the same book for the third time. Put it back. Pick it up again.

My phone sits face-up on the counter. Black screen. No notifications.

Two days. Two full days since he walked out.

His phone goes straight to voicemail. My messages show as delivered but unread.

Is he that angry? Or is he with Sophia now, too busy to even bother turning his phone back on?

"Excuse me, do you have any García Márquez?"

I blink at the customer standing in front of me. Middle-aged woman with reading glasses on a chain.

"García... sorry, what?"

"One Hundred Years of Solitude?"

"Oh. Right. Literature section. I think. Or maybe..."

I turn toward the shelves and forget what I'm looking for. Just stand there like an idiot.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Let me find that for you."

"Lily."

Emma's voice cuts through the fog. She's walking out from the storage room, frowning at me like I'm a problem that needs solving.

She grabs my arm and pulls me into the corner behind the classics section.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You've been a zombie all day."

My lip trembles. "Ethan. He's gone."

"Gone?"

I take a breath and tell her everything. The message from Sophia that morning. The candles and cake that night. Me asking for an apartment. Him slamming the door. The two days of silence since.

Emma's eyes get wider with each sentence.

"So you asked for an apartment?"

"His ex is back in the country. I saw the message. He obviously wants to start over with her, so I just made it easier for both of us."

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. "Lily. Did it occur to you that maybe it was just a business meeting? Sophia runs a company too, doesn't she?"

"You didn't see how the message sounded. And Emma, he hasn't called once. Not once. He's with her. I know he is."

Emma stares at me for a long moment. Then she sighs.

"You're both idiots."

"What?"

Emma goes quiet. I see the gears turning in her head.

"He's a CEO now," I say, voice dropping. "He's got beautiful, successful women everywhere. And I'm just this." I gesture at the cramped bookstore around us. "I don't belong in his world."

"Who saved him three years ago? Who stayed with him when he had nothing?"

"That doesn't matter anymore. He's moved on. I'm still here. Same place. Same small life."

My throat tightens. "You don't understand what it's like, Emma. Watching him get higher and higher while I can only look up from the ground."

Emma's expression shifts. Something sparks in her eyes.

"I have an idea."

"What idea?"

"You know what they say. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone new."

I frown. "Emma..."

"Hear me out. My brother Jake just got back from abroad. Twenty-one, good-looking, sweet kid. You should meet him. Maybe you'll stop torturing yourself."

"No. I can't."

"Just one coffee." Emma grabs my hand. "Look at you. You're not eating, not sleeping. One conversation. That's all I'm asking."

Her eyes are so earnest. Like she really thinks this will help.

"Fine. When I meet him, I'll see."

I'm already planning to say No, I'm sorry.

"Perfect! Tomorrow afternoon. That little place on Maple Street. Three o'clock."

Emma turns away to straighten a shelf, mouth curving into a smile I don't see.

She pulls out her phone and types fast: Tomorrow, 3pm. Maple Street Café. Be friendly, but don't overdo it.


The café smells like espresso and cinnamon. I'm sitting by the window with a latte going cold in front of me.

Across from me is Jake. Twenty-one, all sunshine and dimples when he smiles.

"Want sugar? I'll get it for you."

He reaches for the container before I can answer and carefully adds two cubes to my coffee.

"Thanks."

But I'm not really here. My mind is somewhere else. With Ethan. Wondering where he is. What he's doing. If he's still angry or if Sophia's already filled the space I left behind.

"So, Emma said you like books? Me too. I'm reading One Hundred Years of Solitude right now..."

"That's nice."

"Where's your bookstore? I'd love to check it out sometime."

"Arts district."

My answers are short. Mechanical. Jake doesn't seem to notice. He keeps trying.

In the corner, behind a magazine and oversized sunglasses, Emma watches. She pulls out her phone and types a message.

They're at Maple Street Café. Get a picture.

Ethan's phone buzzes on the desk. He opens his eyes and sees a message from his assistant.

He clicks it.

It's a photo.

Lily. Sitting by a café window. Across from her is some kid. Young, smiling, leaning forward like he's hanging on her every word. He's pouring something into her coffee.

The image burns into his retinas.

He's moving before he thinks. Jacket. Keys. Out the door.

"Car. Now."

"Yes, sir."

The city blurs past the tinted windows. Ethan sits in the backseat, jaw clenched, hands in fists so tight his knuckles are white.

The driver glances at him in the rearview mirror. Doesn't say a word. Just presses the gas pedal harder.

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