MORE (Completed)

Chapter 14

London weather can be cruel—especially when you've just come back from the sun-soaked dreamscape of L.A. The air here bites, not like a slap but a slow, creeping chill that slips under your skin. Walking from the parking lot to my office felt like a full-body balancing act. My handbag kept sliding down my shoulder, my laptop bag was cutting into my side, my coffee was dangerously close to spilling, and my thin cardigan offered no real defense from the wind. Goosebumps rose across my arms like tiny protests.

"Good morning, Monet!" I called as I stepped inside, grateful for the warmth. My assistant looked like she'd barely slept. She sat slouched at her desk, one hand propping up her head, her eyes fixed on her computer screen like it had personally wronged her.

"Morning... You have a meeting at ten, class at eleven, and again at two," she informed me between yawns, voice coated in exhaustion.

"I know about my classes, Monet." I chuckled, setting down my coffee.

She groaned and let her head drop face-first onto her desk.

"I'm sooo sleepy," she whined dramatically, muffled by her sleeve.

"Go home," I said, softening. "You've worked your ass off while I was gone. You deserve the break."

Her head lifted an inch. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," I smiled. "I've got this."

"But you've only been back, what—five days? Are you sure you'll be okay?" Her eyes were wide, hopeful but hesitant, like she thought I might take it back.

"It's fine. I'm prepped. Meeting notes are on my USB, classes are ready." I gave her a reassuring nod.

"Thank you, Ash. I owe you big time." In record speed, she was packing up, checking in three more times on her way to the door. By the time she left, she was already texting from the hallway, probably letting her bed know she was on her way.

Alone at my desk, I dove into my notes until a new email from Elizabeth pinged. Subject: Enjoy.

Oh no.

I hesitated for a breath before clicking the download. My chest tightened the second the images appeared—photos of Harry and me. At the diving lesson. Laughing during beach volleyball. Caught in candid moments before our not-a-date. Posing, sort of, at the shoot. We looked... happy. Carefree. Unburdened.

I scrolled, one after the other, each image a snapshot of a life I don't live—of a version of me I hardly recognized. Untroubled. Open. Smiling like I hadn't smiled in years. And Harry...

Harry was looking at me like I was the only person in the world.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but there wasn't much to say. I finally typed: I know what you're trying to do.

Then I hit send.

She's been relentless since I left L.A.—calling, texting, guilt-tripping me like it's her full-time job. She even called me a heartless bitch. And maybe, in her eyes, I was. But deep down, she knows I'm not that kind of person. I didn't leave to be cruel. I left because I had to.

What happened between Harry and me? It was what it was: two extraordinary days filled with reckless passion, emotional release, and yes—love-making. Or, let's not dress it up—fucking. Beautifully. Shamelessly. Again and again.

Harry seemed satisfied with his latest conquest: me. And I—well, I was euphoric. It had been so long since I'd felt wanted like that. Since I'd let someone see me, touch me, take me apart and put me back together with just their mouth and hands and whispered words. It was more than just sex. It was release. Freedom. Escape.