Page 58 of Iridescent
Colette isn’t here yet, but in another half hour, there will be footsteps in the halls, the low murmur of voices, the clink of dishes, the familiar rhythm that keeps this place running as though nothing inside it is broken.
I am almost grateful for the silence. Almost grateful no one was here to witness what we became last night.
Halfway down, the smell of coffee reaches me. I slow, then stop at the kitchen threshold.
Breakfast is laid out on the island as though he had expected me to sit across from him and share a meal. Eggs, toast, two mugs of coffee—one still steaming, the other gone cold.
The effort behind it is impossible to miss. He ruined it. Us. Everything.
My throat tightens as I step closer. A folded note rests against the sugar bowl beside the hot cup. I pick it up and unfold it. His handwriting stares back at me, strong and elegant, the ink pressed harder in some places than others.
I know you don’t want to see me right now, so I’m stepping out.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
—X.
The words blur in front of me as a tear hits the page, smudging the last word.
I’m crying again.
That does it. I have to get out of here.
Almost without thinking, I unlock my phone, search for the first flight to Crete, and book it. It leaves in three hours. The sooner the better.
Upstairs, a suitcase still sits half-unpacked from the trip we never took. I’ll use that. A few clothes. Essentials. Nothing more than I need.
Decision made, I leave the kitchen. My mind is already miles away, fixed on sea air, sunlight, and Crete.
It is time to go home.
Chapter 11
There are days that test your competence, and then there are days that expose its limits. This one has done both with ruthless precision, turning my morning into a procession of delays, complications, and losses I can’t afford—professional or otherwise.
First, one of the banks backing a deal I’d spent months putting together decided they wanted “additional reassurances,” which was corporate-speak for we’re about to waste your fucking time. Then Legal flagged a problem with one of our proposals, triggering three conference calls, two revised drafts, and a migraine throbbing behind my left eye.
By four, news leaked that one of our biggest positions was tied to a widening regulatory investigation, and the numbers on my screen started dropping so fast they barely looked real.
Running a global investment firm means living inside leverage, risk, and other people’s expectations. Crisis management isn’t optional. It’s the job. Usually, a mess like this would command my full attention. It should. But every dip in the market, every new problem landing on my desk, only brings me back to the one thought I’ve been trying—and failing—to outrun since morning. Yara. Because no matter how badly things are going at the office, itstill isn’t the part of my life closest to collapse.
My whole life is a fucking mess, and for the first time in years, I have no idea where to begin cleaning it up. I know how to manage losses, close gaps, contain fallout, force bad situations back under control. But Yara isn’t a balance sheet, and what happened between us left me with the fear that I’ve finally pushed her too far. That she’s done with me. And if that’s true, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Everything else in my life can fall apart, and I’ll still know how to put it back together. Yara is the only loss I don’t know how to survive.
Last night, I thought we had finally found some peace after weeks of misery. I finally had the chance to tell her the truth. Then the past I’d tried so hard to keep buried broke loose at the worst possible time, and I did what I always do when it shows up where it shouldn’t. I let it in.
“Xavier.”
Adrian, my CFO, cuts through the noise in my head. I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose before I look up. It does nothing for the pounding behind my eyes. The screens at the front of the conference room are awash in red; the tension around the table thick enough to choke on. Legal is on my left. Risk is on my right. Compliance is dialed in. No one speaks unless they have to.
Adrian sets his tablet on the table. “We need a decision on exposure before the close.”
That’s how this works. The second things start bleeding, everyone looks at me to decide how much of the hit we’re willing to take.
I straighten in my chair and force my attention back where it belongs. “Walk me through it.”
