Chapter 3

The pain in my chest was a physical thing, a tight, heavy knot that made it hard to breathe. I focused on the world outside the car window, on the gray buildings and the empty streets, anything to distract from the words on David's phone screen. "Pick up Emily's ring." The apathetic finality of it was worse than any angry outburst could have been.

When we arrived at the construction site, a cold drizzle had started. David immediately got out, opened an umbrella, and held it over Emily as he helped her out of the car. He didn't even glance in my direction. I was left to fend for myself, the cold rain soaking through my jacket as I grabbed the heavy roll of blueprints from the back seat.

The memory of another rainy site visit, three years ago, surfaced. I had forgotten my hard hat, a minor but stupid mistake. David had berated me in front of the entire construction crew. "Are you an intern, Miller? Or a professional? Get your head in the game." He hadn't offered me his umbrella then, either. He had let me stand in the downpour, humiliated. Now, he was fussing over Emily, making sure not a single drop of rain touched her expensive coat.

I forced the thought away. It didn't matter anymore. None of this mattered. I just had to get through the next two weeks. I focused on the task at hand, unrolling the blueprints on the hood of the car, my fingers stiff with cold. I pointed out the structural load points to the site foreman, my voice all business. I could feel David' s eyes on me, but I refused to look at him.

We stayed at the site for hours, long after the inspection was over, triple-checking every detail. My initial anger had faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. I worked on autopilot, my mind numb. By the time we got back to the office, it was late afternoon. I slumped into my chair, the dampness from my clothes seeping into the fabric. I must have closed my eyes for just a moment, because the next thing I knew, the office lights were dimmed and the room was quiet.

I had fallen asleep at my desk. Someone had draped a coat over my shoulders. It was heavy, made of fine wool, and it smelled faintly of sandalwood and him. It was David's coat.

I sat up, my heart pounding. The coat felt impossibly warm against my skin. It was a gesture of kindness, a small, intimate act that was completely out of character for him. For a moment, I was confused. Did he feel something? Guilt? Pity?

I touched the soft fabric, my fingers tracing the lapel. This was the kind of thing you did for someone you cared about. But he was buying an engagement ring for another woman. The coat wasn't kindness, it was a boundary being crossed, a confusing signal in a game I was no longer playing. The warmth it offered felt like a lie.