The lunch bag sat forgotten on the corner of Cole's desk, its contents growing cold beneath layers of well-meaning care.
He hadn't opened it. Couldn't. Didn't dare.
He could still see her face, Jade, standing in that same worn coat, hair pulled back like always, her eyes rimmed red with the kind of practiced restraint that came from years of swallowing pain. She hadn't cried. Not in front of them. Not even when Vivien twisted the knife with that cruel smile.
Cole loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair, guilt blooming beneath his ribs like a coiled spring, tight and unforgiving.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
He hadn't asked Jade to come. Hadn't even expected her to remember where his office was, much less bring lunch like she used to on slow Thursdays when work ran late. He hadn't expected the scent of home to arrive in a humble bag or the flicker of something dangerously close to hope in her eyes when she held it out to him.
He told himself it was pity. Maybe embarrassment.
But it felt a lot more like regret.
Meanwhile
Jade didn't make it past the lobby.
The elevator doors had barely closed before her posture collapsed, her shoulders folding inward as if her spine couldn't hold up the weight anymore.
The dam cracked wide open, not with heaving sobs or wailing cries. Just quiet, sharp breaths and a hand pressed to her mouth, as the tears came in waves too soft to be heard, but deep enough to hurt.
She clutched her coat tighter around herself like armor, but it was no match for the memory playing on repeat, Vivien's condescending voice, Cole's silence, the way he hadn't even looked her in the eye when she offered him food made with her own hands.
She remembered how he used to love it thick but smooth, with just enough scallion. She'd spent an hour getting it right. Not too salty. Not too bland.
She even included a note.
Eat while it's hot. –J.
God, she was so stupid.
By the time she reached her car, her cheeks were streaked with mascara and self-loathing. The city spun around her like a blur of color and noise, but all she could see was that unopened bag and Cole's eyes, flat, unreadable, distant.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the keys, breath shallow, jaw tight.
No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, it would never be enough.
She was the mistake that refused to fade quietly.
Back at the firm
Vivien perched herself on the edge of Cole's leather sofa, legs crossed with practiced elegance, tea in hand like she owned the room.
"Well, that was awkward," she said airily, swirling the tea in its cup. "She's… persistent."
Cole didn't answer.
He was still staring at the bag.
Vivien followed his gaze and gave a soft, knowing smile. "Do you want me to toss it?"
"No," he said, too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Suit yourself."
When she finally left, her heels clicking down the hall like a punctuation mark, silence flooded in like a tide.
Cole sat there, alone.
He reached for the bag as if his body moved before his mind could stop it. Opened it. The smell hit him instantly, home, memory, warmth that made his throat ache.
He found the note at the bottom.
Eat while it's hot. –J.
The handwriting was careful. Hesitant. It looked like a version of Jade he hadn't seen in months. The one who used to wait for him with sleepy eyes and coffee breath, who'd lean against the kitchen counter while he tied his tie, who used to—
He didn't eat it.
But he didn't throw it away either.
He just sat there, surrounded by quiet, and ghosts made of porcelain and memory, wondering, truly wondering, when exactly it all began to fall apart.
And for the first time in a long time, Cole Blaine realized he might not be the man he'd convinced himself he was.
Not anymore.