Flight Away From You

I spotted a tube of lipstick on the passenger seat that didn't belong to me. Instead of blowing up his phone or picking a fight, I just tucked it neatly into the console for him. I had fixed every bad habit Alistair hated.

Alistair's jaw snapped tight, and his knuckles turned stark white against the steering wheel.

The tires shrieked against the asphalt as the car slammed to a halt on the side of the road.

Chapter 1

Alistair sank into the leather seat, his long fingers loosening his custom silk tie. His gaze was intensely oppressive, yet he irritably rubbed his brow bone. "That lipstick belongs to Penelope."

"The dinner meeting went late last night. She took a few drinks for me and couldn't drive, so I gave her a ride." He looked over at me, actually offering an explanationsomething he usually found beneath him.

"I've told you a million times. She's my father's old friend's daughter. I have an obligation to look out for her."

"There is nothing going on between us. Not in the past, not now, and not in the future."

When I didn't say anything, that unbreakable composure of his finally cracked. A rare, strained edge crept into his voice. "What is it going to take for you to believe me?"

"I do believe you," I said evenly. "I'm not mad."

He stared at me blankly for a second, like he had just swung a punch and hit thin air. "Then why haven't you said a word this entire drive?"

I checked my watch, doing mental math on the drive to the airport, and threw out a quick excuse. "Didn't you say you hated pointless small talk? Look, I'm going to be late for work. Just drop me off at this intersection."

I was too focused on the traffic outside to catch the dark shift in his expression.

"You always get out at the next light. We're still over a mile away from the office."

I hadn't factored that in. I was forced to meet his heavy, scrutinizing stare.

"It's first thing in the morning. If you're not going to work, where are you going?" His eyes narrowed, suspicion pooling in his stare

[Ring.]

The customized ringtone. Penelope's ringtone.

Alistair's sharp gaze instantly snapped away, his eyes darting to the dashboard like a guilty man caught off guard. "It's a work call. I need to take this."

Whatever doubts he had about me vanished. He hit the button to unlock the doors. "You can get out here, then."

I gave a short nod and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but his voice caught me before I could open the door.

"Don't be so clumsy. Watch where you're going." His tone dropped low behind me, carrying that familiar, coaxing edge.

"I got a reservation at that restaurant you've been wanting to try. I promised you I wouldn't miss another anniversary."

"And I meant it. Happy seven years. See you tonight, Harlow."

My hand froze on the door handle.

Last anniversary, he ditched me for Penelope. The pain had ripped through me like glass back then, but now? The memory didn't even cause a flinch.

"You better answer it," I said softly, stepping out into the cold air. "Don't keep them waiting."

After all, Penelope couldn't be kept waiting. And neither could my flight. As for the anniversary.

This year, next year, and every year after thisI was going to be the one missing it.

I barely made it to the gate in time. As soon as I dropped into my airplane seat, a wave of dizziness hit me from skipping breakfast.

Out of pure muscle memory, I reached into my coat pocket. My fingers brushed against three wrapped chocolates. Ever since I collapsed from low blood sugar ages ago, Alistair had made a habit of slipping chocolates into my pockets before we left the house.

The rich sweetness melted on my tongue, and the spinning in my head slowly leveled out.

But right after, a thick, suffocating bitterness crawled up the back of my throat. Seven years together. How did Alistair and I end up like this?

Chapter 2

At first, I really thought Penelope was just some nepotism hire Alistair was forced to bring into the company as a favor to his father's old friend. I thought that was why he had to draw such a hard, professional line with me at the office, while constantly giving her special treatment.

When the department head made my life a living hell, Alistair turned a blind eye. But the second someone used the wrong tone with Penelope, they were fired on the spot.

Behind closed doors, everyone in the office gave Penelope a nickname. Right in front of meAlistair's secret girlfriend of seven yearsthey called her the boss's wife.

I forced myself to swallow it, to understand his position. But that special treatment bled into our home. Time and time again, Alistair would drop me the second her name flashed on his phone.

The breaking point came one night.

I was scrolling through a private group chat with some coworkers when a photo popped up.

Alistair, who told me he was drowning in overtime, was sitting next to Penelope at a midnight movie screening. It was the exact same movie I had begged him to see with me, only to be ruthlessly shut down.

I had tugged at his sleeve. "Everyone is going to see it! Let's go."

Alistair hadn't even bothered to look up from his laptop. "Watching some brain-dead rom-com is a waste of my life."

Yet the man in the photo was leaning in, a soft, charming smile on his face. Not a single trace of impatience in sight.

The messages in the group chat blurred into a frantic stream of gray and blue bubbles as my vision swam.

When the deadbolt clicked open, Alistair stepped into the entryway, bringing a gust of freezing night air with him. I sat in the pitch-black living room, sliding a printed copy of that photo to the edge of the glass coffee table. "Was the popcorn sweet enough at that midnight screening?"

A flash of surprise seemed to cross his eyes. Or maybe I just imagined it.

His features hardened into an icy, unreadable mask. "Are you having me followed?"

My lungs seized, like someone had shoved a soaking wet towel over my face. I couldn't pull in a single breath. "Do I even need to? Your cozy little date is already plastered all over the office group chat!"

My chest heaved heavily as I dug my nails deep into my palms. "Alistair, if you want out, just say it. You don't have to lie to my face!"

Alistair shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. He didn't even pause his movements. He didn't even spare me a second glance.

"If you can't even give me the most basic level of trust, then I have nothing to say. Harlow, I've been working all day. I don't have the energy to fight with you."

No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my complete unraveling, he was terrifyingly calm. He even took the time to set a sleek paper bag down perfectly on the dining table.

The word Soulmate printed across the bag gutted me like a serrated blade.

The pressure I had been shoving down for months finally snapped. Blood rushed to my ears, drowning out everything else. The last thread of my sanity violently tore apart.

I snatched the bag off the table and hurled it at the hardwood floor. The top wasn't sealed. The contents spilled out, scattering across the floor with a series of dull thuds.

I didn't even look down. I just kept my bloodshot eyes locked on Alistair. We stared at each other, the air between us suffocating and heavy with venom.

A second later, he turned on his heel. The front door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls.

I stood rooted to the spot, frozen in the dark.

Until something rolled right up against the toe of my shoe. I looked down. The breath caught in my throat.

Chocolates. Handcrafted, round truffles scattered everywhere across the hardwood floor.

My defenses crumbled. I just wanted to talk to him, to fix us. But for three whole days, Alistair didn't pick up a single call. He didn't come home.

My vision blurred as I swallowed the lump in my throat and typed out a text.

I shouldn't have lost my temper without talking to you first.

But it's also true that you lied about working late to take her to a movie.

Tonight is our six-year anniversary. I'm waiting for you at home.

Let's just sit down and talk. Please?

Chapter 3

I waited from dawn until the sky bled pitch black. He never showed.

By eleven, I grabbed my coat and headed to the office to find him. But on the way, Wayne blocked my paththe same department head Alistair had fired for disrespecting Penelope.

His hand clamped down on my arm, dragging me toward the dark alleyway. "Son of a bitch. I wouldn't dare lay a finger on the boss's real woman, but you?"

Endless ringing on a phone that was never answered. Desperate, raw screams tearing from my throat. If a passerby hadn't intervened and scared him off, I would have walked away with far more than split lips and bruised ribs.

When my phone suddenly shrilled against the pavement, I flinched, a sharp gasp punching out of my lungs. I scrambled for it.

The second his name flashed on the cracked screen, the rigid spine I had held up all night collapsed. I practically sobbed his name into the receiver, desperate for a lifeline. "Alistair"

"Hello?" Penelope's sickeningly sweet, innocent voice drifted through the speaker. "Alistair is in the shower right now."

"I saw you called a few times. Who is this? Do you need something?"

It felt like someone had shoved a handful of burning coals straight down my throat. The flesh seared, blistering and rotting away. The pain was so violent I wanted to take a scalpel and carve out my own vocal cords. Hitting the red button to end the call was supposed to be easy, but dropping the phone back into my lap drained the very last drop of blood from my veins.

I dragged my battered body to the police station. Limping. Bleeding.

By the time I finished filing the report and stepped out into the freezing wind, the digital clock on a nearby billboard flashed 00:01.

My phone vibrated. Alistair.

His tone was drenched in that same, infuriatingly arrogant superiority. "Realized your mistake yet?"

It clicked. He did it on purpose. Every single ignored call on our anniversary. It was his sick way of punishing me for not trusting him enough.

I clenched my jaw tight. Warm liquid dropped onto the back of my hand, and I wiped it away with a vicious swipe. When I spoke, my voice was nothing but a raspy, hollow scrape. "Alistair, we're done."

Dead silence stretched over the line for exactly one second.

Then, a cold scoff. "Fine. Don't come crawling back."

He hung up. No hesitation. No lingering attachment. Just a dead dial tone.

At first, I just couldn't sleep. I lay awake staring at the ceiling, turning every little detail of our relationship over and over in my head. I was terrified I had misjudged him, terrified I was the one pulling the trigger on a misunderstanding. I started scrolling endlessly through our old texts.

But the more I read, the more the resentment clawed at my chest.

I started to hate him. Six years. Six whole years. I hated how easily he tossed me aside, like throwing out yesterday's trash.

At 4:00 AM, I blocked his number and deleted every single one of his social accounts. I dragged myself out of bed and ruthlessly scoured the apartment, shoving every razor, every watch, every damn shirt of his into heavy-duty trash bags. I hauled them downstairs and hurled them into the dumpster.

I thought doing all that would finally let me breathe. But instead, it felt like I had spent hours hunting down a parasite, only to realize the blood splattered against the wall was my own.

I showed up to work on time. Business as usual.

But inside, it felt like a massive chunk of flesh had been carved out of my chest with a rusty knife. That space used to hold Alistair. Then it rotted.

To survive, I had to gouge out the infected meat. I just forgot that when the wound is that deep, the blood loss kills you anyway.

All that suppressed damage violently backfired the second I saw him at the company-wide meeting.

Alistair looked perfect. Impeccable posture, sharp suit, totally unfazed. If anything, he looked more energized. Losing me hadn't left a single scratch on his armor.

Across the conference room, Penelope shot him a secretive look, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks.

Chapter 4

I stopped sleeping entirely. Whatever I forced down my throat, I threw right back up.

Alistair didn't use social media. So I scoured Penelope's accounts like a madwoman. I dissected every single caption and post that even hinted at him.

Until my blood sugar tanked and I collapsed on the office floor, waking up to the sterile smell of a hospital room.

Alistair actually lowered himself to visit me. It was day twenty-nine of our breakup.

He lazily spun the matching couple's ring on his finger. "You've lost weight, Harlow."

My eyes were hollow. My jaw opened mechanically. "I'm sorry."

A smug, triumphant smirk spread across Alistair's face.

We got back together.

They say ripping off the Band-Aid is the best way to handle the pain. But that doesn't work for everyone.

For someone running on empty, the only real survival strategy is a quiet, systematic withdrawal. You keep them in the exact same spot in your life, but you slowly drain every single drop of expectation you ever had for them.

Boiling a frog, but it's your own chest. The process doesn't kill you. And the final cut doesn't bleed.

In the beginning, I had to dig my nails hard into my palms just to keep a smile on my face. Alistair was incredibly satisfied with my new obedience. His long fingers carded through my hair, petting me like a tamed hound. "You've grown up, Harlow."

Over half a year after we got back together, my little survival tactic started working. I morphed perfectly into the woman Alistair wanted.

When he stayed out all night, my phone stayed dark. Whatever was going on with Penelope, I didn't ask a single question.

By the time I fully realized what was happening, the rotted flesh in my chest had dried up and fallen off like dead weight.

I stared at the ceiling for a second, then let out a quiet laugh.

I immediately fired off my resume to a corporate firm over in France. They had headhunted me a while ago, but back then, I turned them down just to stay glued to Alistair's side.

I got the offer within days. I booked a one-way flight for two weeks out. And I didn't plan on telling Alistair a damn thing.

Our relationship was disposable to him anyway.

The more understanding and compliant I became, the darker Alistair's moods seemed to get. I figured I was just overthinking it and kept pulling my regular overtime shifts.

When I got home, right before I stepped into the shower, his voice stopped me.

Alistair's heavy eyelids slowly lifted. "Don't you have anything to say to me lately?"

I forced a yawn, shaking my head with a perfectly blank look. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing." His tone was flat, completely unreadable. "Go ahead."

But soon enough, I realized he was genuinely pissed.

My toes curled into the sheets as I was forced to take his relentless, punishing rhythm. Alistair wrapped around me from behind, his searing breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck.

His whispered words brushed against me like a feather, but his physical dominance felt like a ruthless interrogation. "Penelope's been making your life hell at the office, burying you in overtime. Why didn't you come to me, huh?"

My lower abdomen practically cramped from the tension. I couldn't comprehend why the hell he was angry. But pinned under him, I was forced to beg the very man who caused the mess.

"Work work is work. Personal is personal. I I'm just being good."

Back when my old department headthat perverted creep Wayneused to make me his personal punching bag, he once pinned a massive screw-up on me. In front of hundreds of people in the main conference room, Alistair had ripped into me without a shred of mercy. "Even a pig wouldn't make a mistake this stupid."

Chapter 5

Back home, I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. "You can check the email logs. Why did you refuse to let me explain in the meeting?"

Alistair's face was a blank wall, exactly like it was at the office. "Business is business, personal is personal. Harlow, I only look at results."

"At the company, I am your boss, not your boyfriend. I am not going to cover for you."

But two days later, my supervisor got fired. The reason? He gave Penelope an attitude.

I busted my ass and held the top performance numbers. When my boss left, everyone thought I was a lock for the promotion. Instead, Penelope got fast-tracked by Alistair before her probation period even ended.

She took my boss's spot. She became my boss.

Now, I knew my exact place. No fuss, no anger, keeping a razor-sharp line between work and play.

Alistair's movements suddenly stiffened, and he flipped me onto my back.

The bedroom lights were blinding. I threw my arm over my eyes, a stray physiological tear slipping down my temple. But Alistair stubbornly pried my arm away.

I slammed my palms against his chest, digging into solid muscle. My voice dripped with raw defense. "Get away from me."

He forced my wrists down anyway. Alistair locked onto my eyes, his tone dark and obsessive. "You used to look at me."

I had no idea what kind of psychotic trip he was on. I just stared back at him, barely hiding my impatience.

For a split second, a frantic, chaotic crack fractured Alistair's gaze.

His breathing hitched sharply as his hand shot up, tightly covering my eyes. He crashed his lips down on mine, repeating my name like a broken record. "Harlow. Harlow."

The next day, Alistair suddenly called on Penelope to give the status report.

I had done all the heavy lifting for that segment. Penelope stammered, entirely unable to string a coherent sentence together.

"If you don't even understand your own deliverables," Alistair stated, his face an ice-cold mask, "you can clear out your desk."

A dead silence choked the conference room. No one dared to breathe.

Penelope slapped a hand over her mouth and bolted out the door in tears.

After the meeting, our floor's breakroom was buzzing.

"God, the boss looked lethal today."

"Do you think the boss's wife is getting dethroned?"

Everyone was gossiping over each other. Someone poked me while I was stirring my instant coffee. "Harlow, why are you so quiet?"

"I gotta say, you've got thick skin. When Alistair ripped you a new one that time, you didn't even shed a tear!"

Honestly, I couldn't care less about their drama. But when the whole room is trashing the boss, silence screams traitor. It puts a massive target on your back.

So I played along, putting on a fake smile. "I'm just a corporate drone. I don't even belong in the same sentence as the boss's wife."

"Couples fight, couples make up. A little toxic office romance is just part of the show. Hey, stop elbowing me! Cut it out."

I looked down, gripping my ceramic mug tightly, making sure to land the punchline. "They're a match made in heaven. Honestly? I ship them."

The second the words left my mouth, the breakroom plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence.

I looked up. I locked eyes with Alistair's freezing, dead-eyed stare.

Under the pitying stares of my coworkers, Alistair summoned me to the top floor, a dark storm brewing in his eyes.

The second I stepped inside, his arms locked around me from behind. I flinched, my heart kicking against my ribs.

Alistair was always paranoid about this. To keep us a secret, he forced me out of his car two traffic lights away from the building every single morning.

But right now, the office door was wide open. He had seven executive assistants out there who could walk in at any second.

I scrambled, shoving at him with everything I had. "Someone's going to see!"

Chapter 6

Alistair stared into my eyes again. Like he was trying to dig something out of my very soul. After a long moment, his hand finally dropped from where it hovered in the air.

"Harlow, there is really nothing going on between Penelope and me. In the past" He cut himself off.

"Forget it. Be mad at me if you want. I'll prove it to you with my actions from now on."

I froze. Before the breakup, I had cried and screamed for a promise like that, and got absolutely nothing. Now, he was just handing it over.

But now. My flight was taking off in seven days. I didn't want anything from him anymore.

Alistair turned into a different person. He started updating me on his every move, even though I couldn't care less.

In bed, he grew obsessed with forcing me to look at his face. But the second I did, he would quickly cover my eyes with his hand.

It was like a derailed train suddenly slamming back onto the tracks. The hands of the clock, our relationship. It felt like everything had reversed back to the days before Penelope ever existed.

A sudden thought hit me. Maybe he didn't entirely not care. I should at least look him in the eye and make the breakup crystal clear.

I hadn't noticed when I booked the flight. My departure date was our seven-year anniversary. And tomorrow was the day.

I stared at the photo Alistair just texted me, updating me on his dinner meeting. I made up my mind to end things tonight.

But then I saw them.

Alistair and Penelope. Kissing.

The summer breeze, the night sky, the stars. Every single detail was a carbon copy of the night we made it official seven years ago. Except back then, I was the one in his arms. Now, it was Penelope.

Penelope's eyes were glossy and stunning. Her lipstick was a beautiful shade. She looked right at me. Provocation and pure triumph flashed in her stare.

A self-deprecating laugh slipped out of my throat. Inside my chest, there was no pain. Just a pool of dead, freezing water.

Finally. I felt nothing