Chapter 4

Eveline Sawyer POV:

The office door creaked open, and Kathie poked her head in, her expression a perfect blend of innocence and concern.

"Jace? Are you ready to go over the final renders?" she asked, her eyes flicking to me for a fraction of a second. She took in the scene-Jace cornering me, my stony silence-and her lips curved into a triumphant little smirk before she quickly smoothed it away.

Jace immediately straightened up, stepping away from me as if I were contagious. That easy intimacy he' d shown just moments before vanished, replaced by a cool professionalism.

"Sorry to interrupt," Kathie said, stepping fully into the room. She wasn't sorry at all. "I just really need your eyes on this before the client sees it."

Without a word of apology or a backward glance at me, Jace moved toward her. "Yeah, of course. Let's take a look."

They huddled over the tablet she was holding, their heads close, their voices a low murmur. They were in their own world, a world where I was an inconvenient piece of furniture. A world where he was the brilliant mentor and she was the devoted protégée.

As they turned to leave, their shoulders brushing, Kathie looked back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes were glinting with smug victory. Then she gave the door a firm, decisive push, and it slammed shut with a resounding bang that echoed the cracking of my own heart.

The office was suddenly, profoundly silent.

And in that silence, I heard another sound. A soft, sharp snap.

I looked down at my wrist. The thin, delicate silver bracelet Jace had given me for our first anniversary lay in two pieces on the floor. The clasp hadn't come undone. The chain itself had broken, clean through, as if it had simply given up.

It was the first piece of real jewelry he had ever bought me. He' d told me it was like us-delicate but strong, a perfect, unbroken circle.

For a moment, I just stared at the two silver threads lying on the gray office carpet. My heart gave a painful lurch, a final, futile protest against the inevitable.

Then, with a detached calm that felt utterly foreign, I bent down and picked up the pieces. The metal was cool against my skin. There was no pain, no surge of grief. There was nothing.

I walked over to the wastebasket by the desk and dropped the broken bracelet inside.

I was finally, completely, done with unbroken circles.