The morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their Manhattan office, catching the edges of glass and steel, but it did nothing to soften the tension that had settled like a heavy fog over the room. Tyler Bennett sat at his desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, his mind miles away in Brooklyn, in the dim light of that old basement where he and Jesse had first dreamed of building something bigger than themselves. He forced himself to focus, scanning over the Whitmore proposal, but each number, each margin note felt poisoned. Chloe’s name was on the documents, in bold letters, her influence bleeding into everything that had once been theirs.
Jesse Marquez came in shortly after, briefcase in hand, a distracted frown on his face. Tyler caught a glimpse of the subtle crease between Jesse’s brows—a man usually so composed, so deliberate—and for a moment, he wondered if Jesse was battling the same guilt that Tyler carried. But that hope was fragile, because in the elevator that morning, he had overheard Jesse laughing softly with Chloe, the kind of laughter reserved for intimates, the kind of intimacy Tyler had only ever shared with him.
“Tyler,” Jesse said, voice careful, almost too casual, as he leaned against the edge of his desk. “We need to discuss the timeline for Whitmore’s launch.”
Tyler’s eyes didn’t lift. “I’ve reviewed the drafts. Chloe’s team has a lot of errors in the budget allocations. Some of these projections could sink the campaign if we go forward without correcting them.”
Jesse’s gaze flickered, a shadow of something—frustration? hesitation?—passing over his features. “I know. I’m aware of it. But I think we should follow Chloe’s suggestions this time. Let’s give her team some leeway.”
The words hit Tyler like ice water. “Leeway?” His voice was low but edged with something sharp, the temper he usually suppressed against Jesse, against the memory of eight years of trust, breaking through. “We can’t just ignore these mistakes. It’s our company, Jesse. These projections affect every client, every campaign.”
Jesse leaned back, arms crossed, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “Tyler, I said give her some leeway. She’s our partner. You need to trust me on this.”
Tyler’s chest tightened, every muscle in his body screaming, not with rage, but with heartbreak. Trust you? he thought bitterly. I’ve trusted you with my life for eight years, and now you side with her?
Before he could answer, Chloe appeared in the doorway, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, a slow, deliberate smile curving her lips. “Everything okay here?” she asked, though the way she looked at Tyler said more than words ever could. “Or are you upset that I might be showing Jesse a different perspective?”
Jesse didn’t meet Tyler’s eyes. He looked at Chloe, nodding slightly. “See? She’s just trying to help us. Tyler, I want you to see it from her point of view.”
Tyler felt the air leave his lungs. From her point of view? This is what it’s come to? After everything we’ve built together… He wanted to scream. He wanted to shove the papers off the desk, to make Jesse see what he was doing, to remind him of the Brooklyn basement, the cramped apartment, the nights when they had no money but had each other. But instead, he swallowed the words, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. “Of course,” he said, the syllables bitter in his mouth. “Whatever you think is best.”
Chloe’s smile widened, victorious, almost predatory. She knew exactly the effect she had, and she reveled in it. Jesse’s head tilted slightly toward her, his expression softening in ways Tyler didn’t recognize—ways that had once been reserved for him.
After the meeting, Tyler retreated to his office, shutting the door softly behind him. He needed to breathe, to think, to remember why he had chosen to stay in this world of lights and glass when his heart was breaking. Miles appeared moments later, leaning against the doorframe, silent until Tyler looked up.
“You’re not gonna let her do this, are you?” Miles asked quietly, but with that unmistakable edge that carried concern and warning.
Tyler shook his head, eyes fixed on the skyline outside. “I can’t… I can’t fight him right now. Not when he’s—” He swallowed hard. “Not when he’s defending her. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see what she’s doing to us.”
Miles stepped closer, putting a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “He’s human, man. Jesse’s never ignored you before. He’s probably just confused. He’s struggling with all this sudden attention, all this wealth, all of it. He doesn’t know how to handle it—and she knows it. But he’s not gone. Don’t lose him yet.”