Two days passed.
Noah worked. Quarterly reports. Budget meetings that should've been emails. His father mentioned the Sterling partnership once—Noah kept it short. Professional.
Emma came over Tuesday night. Thai food, some Netflix show. She fell asleep on his shoulder around eleven. He drove her home after midnight.
Normal. Regular.
He wasn't thinking about Atlas.
He was trying really fucking hard not to think about Atlas.
Wednesday morning his phone buzzed: Coffee? Miss your face ☕💕
Noah stared at it.
Typed: 11am? Usual spot?
Emma: Perfect! See you soon 😊
He put the phone down.
Went back to the sales report.
Same paragraph. Third time reading it.
Numbers kept sliding out of his head.
The café was packed. Lunch rush starting.
Emma waved from a corner table, yellow dress bright against dark wood. Hair up, that smile.
She stood and kissed his cheek. "Finally. Felt like forever."
"It's been two days."
"Forever," she said, teasing.
They sat. Emma had already ordered—iced latte for her, black coffee for him. She always remembered.
"Okay, so." She pulled out her tablet. "Need your honest opinion."
She spread fabric samples across the table. Paint chips next to them. Floor plans underneath.
"New client?" Noah asked.
"Penthouse renovation. Upper East Side. The wife wants—"
Penthouse.
Something twisted in Noah's gut.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights. Atlas by the glass, turning—
"—minimalist but cozy, you know? So cream or ivory?"
Noah blinked. "What?"
Emma held up two samples that looked the same. "Cream or ivory?"
"Cream."
"Really? I was leaning ivory."
"Then ivory."
She laughed. "You're not even looking."
"Sorry." He made himself focus. "Long week."
"It's Wednesday."
"Long Wednesday."
Emma set the samples aside and reached across, taking his hand.
Her palm was warm. Soft.
Safe.
"You okay?" she asked. "You've been kind of... off."
"I'm fine. Just the Sterling thing. Lot of prep."
"Atlas Sterling, right?"
Hearing her say his name felt weird.
"Yeah. Him."
"He seemed intense at the party. Kind of intimidating." She smiled. "But you'll crush it."
Noah picked up his coffee instead of answering.
Emma squeezed his hand. "I'm proud of you, you know that?"
"I haven't done anything yet."
"You will."
She meant it. Total faith.
Noah pulled his hand back and picked up his coffee. "How's your mom?"
Emma let him change the subject.
Back at the office, Noah's inbox refreshed.
New email: Wells-Sterling Partnership - Project Kickoff
Tomorrow, 2PM. Conference Room B.
Attendees: Noah Wells, Atlas Sterling, Project Team
Noah stared at the name.
Atlas Sterling.
He closed the email.
Opened a spreadsheet instead.
Revenue projections. Market analysis.
Focus. Work.
His phone buzzed.
Emma: Love you. Dinner Friday?
He typed: Love you too. Friday works.
Hit send before he could think about how automatic it felt.
Five o'clock meeting. Sales review.
Noah sat at the conference table with seven other people. His father at the head.
Someone talking about market trends. Consumer behavior. Stuff that probably mattered.
Noah's pen moved across his notepad. Taking notes.
Except he wasn't writing words.
Just lines. Random shapes.
"Noah?"
He looked up fast.
His father. Watching. "Thoughts on the Q3 forecast?"
Everyone looking at him.
"Conservative but realistic," Noah said. "We'll hit targets if retention holds."
His father nodded. "Good."
Meeting continued.
Noah went back to his notepad.
Drew another line.
He'd written a letter without meaning to.
A.
He scribbled it out.
Six-thirty. Most people gone.
Noah shut down his computer, grabbed his jacket.
His phone rang.
Emma.
He answered. "Hey."
"Hi." Soft voice. "I know it's last minute, but I made way too much lasagna. Want to come over?"
Noah hesitated.
"Or not," Emma added quickly. "If you're tired—"
"No. Yeah. I'll come."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." She sounded relieved. "See you soon."
Emma's apartment smelled like tomatoes and garlic. She'd set the table with candles, wine glasses.
"Fancy," Noah said.
"It's Wednesday. We deserve fancy."
They ate. Emma talked about her client, the impossible penthouse wife, contractor drama.
Noah listened. Laughed when he should. Said the right things.
Normal.
"You're quiet tonight," Emma said.
"Am I?"
"More than usual." She touched his arm. "You sure you're okay?"
"Long day."
"You keep saying that."
He met her eyes. Brown, warm, worried.
"I'm fine," he said. "I just need to sleep more."
Emma looked at him for a long moment.
Nodded. "Okay."
But she didn't believe him.
After dinner they ended up on the couch.
Emma picked some comedy.
She curled up against him, head on his shoulder, hand on his chest.
The movie played. Noah couldn't tell you what happened.
Emma laughed at something. He felt it more than heard it.
"This is nice," she murmured. "Just us."
"Yeah."
Her hand moved, fingers tracing patterns on his shirt.
She tilted her head up and kissed his jaw.
Noah turned and kissed her properly.
She responded right away. Warm, eager.
Her hands in his hair. Body pressing closer.
Noah kissed her back. Tried to feel what he used to feel.
Nothing came.
He pulled back.
"What's wrong?" Emma asked, breathless.
"Nothing. I just—" He stood. "I should go."
"What? Why?"
"Early meeting tomorrow."
"Noah—"
"I'm sorry. I just—" He grabbed his jacket. "I'll call you."
"Did I do something wrong?"
That hurt.
"No. God, no. You're perfect. I'm just—not feeling great. Think I'm getting sick."
Another lie.
Emma walked him to the door.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Rest up."
He kissed her forehead. "Thanks for dinner."
"Noah?"
He stopped, hand on the doorknob.
"You'd tell me if something was actually wrong, right?"
"Of course."
He left.
Noah sat in his car in Emma's parking lot.
Didn't turn the key.
Just sat there.
His phone lit up.
Emma: I love you
Three words.
He typed back: I love you too
Started the car. Drove home through quiet streets.
His apartment was dark.
Noah dropped his keys on the counter. Stood in the entryway.
Tomorrow was Thursday.
Project kickoff at 2PM.
Conference Room B.
Atlas would be there.
Noah walked to his bedroom, lay down without changing.
Stared at the ceiling.
Couldn't sleep.
The clock read 11:47 when he gave up and reached for his phone.
Opened his contacts.
Scrolled to Sterling, Atlas.
Company directory. Work number.
His thumb hovered.
What would he even say?
He locked his phone. Put it face-down.
Rolled onto his side.
"It's nothing," he said to the empty room. "He's nothing."
Didn't sound true.
When sleep finally came, it didn't help.
Thursday morning. Alarm at 6:30.
Noah got up. Showered. Dressed.
Made coffee. Made toast he didn't eat.
His reflection looked tired.
Good. He felt tired.
His phone buzzed.
Emma: Good luck with your meeting today! You'll be amazing 💪
He typed: Thanks
Sent it.
Felt nothing.
The office was normal. Meetings stacked on meetings. His inbox wouldn't stop. Lunch at his desk—half a sandwich he didn't finish.
The afternoon crawled.
1PM.
1:30.
Noah grabbed his folder, headed to Conference Room B.
The hallway felt too long.
Through the glass walls he could see people already there.
His father. The CFO. Project manager.
And across the table—
Atlas.
Dark gray suit. White shirt. Reading something on his tablet like this was just another Thursday.
Like the last three days hadn't happened.
Like nothing had changed.
Noah's hand on the door handle.
Breathe. Professional.
He pushed it open.
Atlas looked up.
Their eyes met.
One second. Two.
Then Atlas looked back down at his tablet.
Like Noah was nobody.
Like that moment in the study never happened.
Noah took his seat across from him.
Three feet of table between them.
Nothing resolved.