TRACY
I stayed in that small apartment room for five whole days.
Five days of thinking.
Five days of silence.
Five days of shutting everyone out—Fred, Eli, Sonia, Tolu. My phone rang endlessly, buzzed endlessly, and I ignored it all. I needed the quiet. I needed the pain. I needed to sit with what had lodged itself in my belly like a heavy stone.
But on the fifth day, I decided to return just one call.
Fred's.
He had called my number a hundred and twenty times. A hundred and twenty. And somehow, that alone told me everything I needed to know. I didn't want him to suffer for what he didn't do. None of this was his fault.
When he answered, I heard it instantly—the anxiety, the pressure, the frustration, the relief all tangled together in his voice. He took the call so fast it almost broke me. And in that moment, it hit me hard: this man truly cared about me.
Who calls you that many times and doesn't give up?
It wasn't that I didn't want to answer him before. I did. God, I did. But I didn't want anyone to soften the pain yet. I didn't want comfort. I didn't want reassurance. I wanted to feel it all—the betrayal my so-called best friend had dealt me. I wanted to feel the anger, the hurt, the disappointment for not seeing through the camouflage love she'd wrapped me in all these years.
I kept asking myself questions that had no answers.
When did Sonia start hating me?
When did jealousy creep in?
I thought she loved me. I thought she cared. I thought we were sisters. Family. Especially after I'd already lost so much family.
What did I have that she didn't?
Why Eli?
She knew I loved him—even when I was trying to give Fred a chance. She told me to follow my heart. So why couldn't she wait until I was done? Why couldn't she wait until I let go?
I was lost in those thoughts when my phone rang again, snapping me back to reality.
Fred.
I answered. And he told me he was already outside my door.
"I'm coming," I said softly.
I rushed to the mirror. My face looked tired, broken. I applied foundation under my eyes, trying—failing—to conceal the dark circles carved by tears and sleepless nights. My eyes felt weak, swollen, heavy with everything I hadn't said.
I dashed to the door and slid it open.
There he was.
Dressed in pajamas. A bodyguard standing a respectful distance behind him. He looked worried—raw worry written all over his face. I didn't even see him move before his arms were around me.
The hug lasted about forty seconds.
I didn't stop him.
I needed it.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine carefully, like he was afraid I'd vanish if he blinked. He exhaled, rubbed my cheek gently, and muttered,
"You've been crying, baby. Even your foundation couldn't conceal it enough."
That was all it took.
I broke down again.
He pulled me back into his arms, rubbing my back softly, murmuring into my ear.
"It's okay. I'm here now. I'll take care of it. Don't worry. It's okay, baby. Take it easy. You've cried enough."
We stood there for a moment—just breathing, just holding each other. Then he lifted my face gently and smiled. Calm. Charming. Sweet. Romantic. Disarmingly cute.
I wanted a kiss so badly it hurt—but I couldn't move.
He read me anyway.
Slowly, gently, he kissed me.
Deep. Unhurried. Overwhelming.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Just his touch made me tremble. His breath near my ear sent electric signals through me, and I nearly lost my balance. He stopped, glanced at his bodyguard, and signaled him to wait outside. Then he shut the door behind him.
It felt like the world shrank to just us.
He led me into the room like he belonged there.
We sat on the bed, and he looked at me, his voice low and honest.
"You made me go crazy these past days without a word from you. I almost lost it. I was worried. I feared I'd lost you again."
I stared into his eyes as he spoke, and peace washed over me slowly, quietly. The pain I'd been carrying began to loosen its grip. My soul felt soothed—softly, gently—after days of letting sorrow consume me.
I apologized for shutting him out. I explained why I needed the space. I promised I wouldn't do it again.
He listened.
When he asked about everything, I told him—about Sonia, about Eli, about the calls and messages begging for forgiveness I wasn't ready to give. He understood. He told me to take my time.
Then he said calmly, firmly,
"For now, you're coming home with me."
I tried to object.
He wouldn't hear it.
"I lost you the first time. The second time nearly broke me," he said. "I'm not giving the third time a chance."
So I packed my luggage while he watched quietly. When I was done, he called his bodyguard in to take it to the car. We stepped out together, left the apartment behind, and drove away.
Back to his penthouse.
And for the first time in days, I didn't feel like I was running anymore.