Chapter 3 - The Night She Finally Walked Away
There are humiliations you can prepare for.
Being criticized in public.
Getting fired.
Failing.
Being rejected.
Then there are humiliations so intimate that your first instinct is to disappear from your own body.
When Nathaniel told me Derek had photographs, I knew exactly which photographs he meant.
I had never sent them to Derek.
Not intentionally.
Years earlier, before we lived together, I had taken a handful of private photographs on my phone.
They had stayed in a hidden folder.
Or so I believed.
At some point during our relationship, Derek had found them.
Copied them.
Saved them.
And now he was threatening to use them.
I sat down hard on Claire’s sofa.
“I’m going to be sick.”
Nathaniel lowered himself into a chair across from me.
“He didn’t distribute anything.”
“Yet.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We’re checking.”
I covered my face.
“Oh my God.”
“Isla.”
“My coworkers.”
“He didn’t show them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because security stopped him in the lobby.”
I lowered my hands.
“He told them what he had?”
“He told them he had ‘proof’ of what kind of woman you were.”
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“What kind of woman I am.”
Nathaniel’s expression tightened.
“He demanded to see me.”
“What happened?”
“He’s currently sitting in a conference room with building security and my general counsel.”
I stared.
“You detained him?”
“No. He agreed to wait because he thought I would meet him.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“No.”
Nathaniel looked up.
“No?”
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because this is what he wants. He wants to pull you into it. He wants you to react.”
“I’m already in it.”
“Because I called you.”
“Yes.”
The word landed differently this time.
Not accusation.
Commitment.
I looked away.
“This is exactly why I should have called someone else.”
Nathaniel stood.
“Who?”
I didn’t answer.
“Who, Isla?”
“My friend.”
“Which friend?”
I hated him for asking.
Because we both knew.
There was no one.
Not really.
Not anymore.
Derek had spent years making sure of that.
Nathaniel’s voice softened.
“You called the person you believed would come.”
My throat tightened.
“That doesn’t make this your responsibility.”
“No.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
For the first time, Nathaniel looked uncomfortable.
Barely.
But enough.
He placed his phone in his pocket.
“Because I watched you become quieter for a year and told myself it wasn’t my place to ask.”
I stared at him.
“At work?”
“Yes.”
“You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed.”
I felt suddenly exposed.
“When?”
“When you stopped staying for team dinners.”
I swallowed.
“When you began wearing long sleeves in July.”
My pulse slowed.
“When you flinched one afternoon because someone dropped a metal tray behind you.”
I stared at the floor.
“And I told myself that respecting your privacy meant saying nothing.”
Nathaniel paused.
“I’m not making that mistake now.”
I couldn’t speak.
He moved toward the door.
“Stay here.”
I almost objected to the phrasing.
Then I saw a tiny shift in his expression.
He corrected himself.
“Please.”
That mattered.
“Okay.”
Nathaniel left.
Three hours later, Derek was arrested.
Not because Nathaniel threatened him.
Not because powerful businessmen possess secret privileges.
Because Derek was stupid enough to threaten me in front of witnesses.
Apparently, the meeting lasted less than four minutes.
Nathaniel entered the conference room with his general counsel, Victoria Shaw.
Derek stood.
“You think you can steal my girlfriend?”
Nathaniel sat down.
“I didn’t steal anyone.”
“She belongs with me.”
“No one belongs to you.”
Derek threw an envelope onto the conference table.
Inside were printed copies of my private photographs.
He said Nathaniel should “know what he was rescuing.”
Then he threatened to send copies to every person in my company if I refused to come home.
Victoria quietly signaled security.
Derek became more aggressive.
And when security moved toward him, he said something that transformed the situation completely.
“Tell Isla I know where her new apartment is.”
He did not.
Not then.
But the threat was enough.
Police were called.
The previous night’s report already existed.
The messages had been documented.
The doctor had photographed my injuries.
For once, the evidence had formed a straight line.
Derek was arrested on harassment and threat-related charges while additional allegations were investigated.
When Mara called to tell me, I expected relief.
Instead, I cried.
“I feel terrible.”
“That’s common,” she said.
“He’s in jail because of me.”
“No.”
“But if I hadn’t—”
“Isla.”
Mara’s voice became firm.
“He is in custody because of decisions he made.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“What if I ruined his life?”
“He was willing to ruin yours to maintain control.”
I sat there for a long time.
That evening, Nathaniel returned.
I opened the door.
He held a paper bag.
“What’s that?”
“Thai food.”
I blinked.
“You went from handling extortion to ordering noodles?”
“People still have to eat.”
I stepped aside.
He entered.
We ate at Claire’s kitchen island.
For several minutes, neither of us mentioned Derek.
Nathaniel asked whether I had ever been to London.
I said once.
He said Claire had lived there intermittently for fifteen years and still complained about British coffee.
I said British people complained about American coffee.
He said everyone complained about American coffee except Americans.
It was absurdly normal.
Then I asked:
“What did Derek say about me?”
Nathaniel put down his fork.
“Nothing worth repeating.”
“I want to know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Please.”
He studied me.
Finally:
“He said you’d come back.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said you always come back.”
I stared at my food.
“That’s true.”
“No.”
“It was.”
Nathaniel leaned back.
“Past tense matters.”
I looked at him.
I had spent years around people who made grand promises.
Derek specialized in them.
I’ll change.
I’ll never do it again.
I’ll get help.
Nathaniel rarely promised anything.
He simply showed up.
Perhaps that was why I trusted him.
The next morning, I returned to work.
I was terrified.
I wore a high-neck blouse even though there were no marks on my neck.
I used concealer beneath my eyes.
When the elevator opened onto the thirty-third floor, conversation briefly dipped.
People knew something.
Not everything.
Enough.
Then Lina from finance approached me.
My stomach tightened.
She hugged me.
No questions.
No pitying expression.
Just a hug.
“I saved you a bagel.”
That was all.
I nearly cried again.
Nathaniel arrived fifteen minutes later.
He did not come to my desk.
Did not treat me differently.
At 9:05, I received a calendar invitation.
Project review — Conference Room B.
Normal.
I went.
He discussed budgets.
Construction schedules.
A hotel opening in Chicago.
At the end, everyone left except me.
Nathaniel closed his laptop.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
His eyebrows lifted.
I sighed.
“Getting there.”
“Better.”
I stood.
Then hesitated.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Not making today weird.”
“I’m extremely capable of making things weird if you prefer.”
I smiled.
“No.”
“Good.”
I reached the door.
“Isla.”
I turned.
“HR can arrange paid leave.”
“I don’t want leave.”
“All right.”
“No argument?”
“Why would I argue with a decision you’re capable of making?”
Those words followed me all day.
A decision you’re capable of making.
Derek had spent years convincing me that my decisions were irresponsible.
Nathaniel seemed determined to remind me that I had judgment.
Over the next several weeks, my life changed in tiny increments.
I changed passwords.
Opened a bank account Derek could not access.
Cancelled shared cards.
Changed emergency contacts.
Met with an attorney.
Retrieved my belongings from the apartment with a police escort.
Derek was not there.
His attorney had arranged it.
The apartment looked smaller than I remembered.
Less powerful.
I entered the bedroom.
My old side of the closet was still open.
I packed clothes.
Shoes.
Books.
Photographs of my mother.
A ceramic bowl she had made when she was twenty-three.
Then I saw the anniversary bracelet.
Still in its velvet box.
I left it.
Before walking out, I looked once at the doorframe.
A faint dark mark remained where my nose had struck it.
I touched the wood.
Then walked away.
Two months later, the protective order was granted.
Derek moved out of Manhattan.
Or so I was told.
I stopped asking.
I found my own apartment.
Small.
One bedroom.
Five floors above a bakery.
The kitchen was terrible.
The bedroom window faced a brick wall.
I loved it.
The first night, I slept on a mattress on the floor because my furniture had not arrived.
At midnight, I woke suddenly.
For one confused second, I thought I heard Derek’s key in the lock.
My heart raced.
Then I remembered.
There was no Derek.
There was only me.
I got up.
Made tea.
Sat on the floor by the window.
At 12:17, my phone lit up.
Nathaniel.
I stared.
You moved in today?
Yes.
How is it?
I looked around my half-empty apartment.
Perfect.
A pause.
Then:
Good.
I smiled.
Over the following months, something shifted between us.
Nothing dramatic.
No secret affair.
No reckless kiss in an elevator.
Instead, we became friends.
Real friends.
Nathaniel occasionally walked with me after late meetings.
I learned he hated cilantro.
He learned I read mystery novels when stressed.
I learned he had been married once in his early thirties.
Divorced amicably.
No children.
He learned I sang badly while organizing spreadsheets.
Then, one October evening, we were leaving the office when rain began hammering the sidewalk.
Nathaniel opened an umbrella.
I stepped beneath it.
We walked three blocks in silence.
At the corner, I realized our shoulders were touching.
My entire body became aware of it.
I moved slightly away.
He noticed.
Neither of us spoke.
That frightened me.
Not because I disliked it.
Because I didn’t.
I had promised myself that any feelings created during the crisis were gratitude.
Nothing more.
But crises ended.
Feelings did not always follow.
At my building, Nathaniel handed me the umbrella.
“You’ll need it tomorrow.”
“What about you?”
“My car is thirty feet away.”
I looked toward the black SUV.
“Right.”
I hesitated.
“Nathaniel.”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Usually.”
I smiled nervously.
“The night I called you…”
His expression softened.
“What?”
“Why did you answer so quickly?”
A pause.
Then Nathaniel looked out at the rain.
“Because I’d been worried about you for months.”
My heartbeat changed.
He continued before I could respond.
“And because when someone calls at 11:40 at night and starts by apologizing, something is wrong.”
That was sensible.
Reasonable.
Professional.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt strangely disappointed.
I stepped into my building.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Isla.”
The doors closed.
Upstairs, I leaned against my apartment door and laughed quietly at myself.
Absolutely not.
I was not falling for my boss.
I refused.
I had barely rebuilt my life.
I needed independence.
Space.
Time.
The last thing I needed was another powerful man occupying the center of my world.
So I made a decision.
I would create distance.
It was responsible.
Healthy.
Necessary.
And it worked beautifully.
For exactly eleven days.
Because on the twelfth day, Nathaniel Carver collapsed in the middle of a board meeting.
And suddenly I was the one being asked a terrifyingly simple question.
May you like
“Who should we call?”
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