Owned By My First Love

Chapter 8

The city looked different the morning after my story went live.

It wasn’t the skyline or the rush of traffic—those were the same. It was me. I walked through it taller, my notebook heavier in my bag but lighter in my hands.

The Frontline had published my piece. The robotics lab wasn’t a secret anymore. The photos of kids soldering, the mural of constellations, Noah’s grease-smudged smile—all of it was out in the world, stamped with my name.

For once, the byline didn’t feel like a leash.

It felt like a key.

Emma practically tackled me when I reached the newsroom.

“You viral i***t,” she said, waving her phone like it was on fire. “Do you realize this thing has already been shared by three council members and one celebrity chef?”

My heart stumbled. “You’re kidding.”

“Read the comments.” She thrust the screen under my nose. People weren’t just clicking—they were feeling. Talking about how the kids gave them hope, how the city needed more places like the lab.

One comment caught my eye: I want to donate. Who do I contact?

I pressed a hand to my chest. The words blurred.

Emma leaned closer, her grin sharp and proud. “Kate, you did this. Not Ryan. Not the firm. You.”

The glow of her words settled into me, fragile but real.

Then the office door slammed.

Ryan walked in.

He didn’t look at me at first. He went straight to my editor’s office, his stride clipped, suit immaculate. But the moment before the door closed, his eyes met mine.

Cold. Sharp. Promising war.

The glow in my chest faltered, but it didn’t die.

Emma muttered, “Dragon’s back.” She straightened her spine, ready for the fight. “Don’t let him twist this, Kate.”

I nodded, though my pulse thudded against my ribs like a trapped bird.

At lunch, Noah called.

“I just checked our inbox,” he said, excitement spilling over his words. “We’ve had twenty people reach out. Donations. Volunteers. Someone wants to start a scholarship.”

I sat down hard on a bench outside the building. “Already?”

“Already. And it’s because of you.”

I laughed, shaky but full. “Because of the kids. Because of you.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said gently. “You told their story. You made people see them.”

His faith in me felt like sunlight.

For a moment, I let myself soak in it.

That evening, I stopped by the lab.

The kids mobbed me at the door, their voices high with excitement. They shoved scraps of paper and circuit boards at me, demanding autographs.

I laughed until my cheeks hurt. “You don’t need my name on your robot!”

“Yes we do!” one girl insisted, thrusting a soldered mess of wires at me. “You made us famous.”

Noah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smiling so wide it looked like it hurt.

“You’ve created a monster,” he teased.

“I think you mean twenty monsters,” I said, scrawling my name on the back of a plastic casing.

When the crowd thinned, Noah brought me a cup of tea in a mismatched mug. “You good?”

I nodded, holding it between my palms. “Better than good.”

He studied me for a moment, eyes soft. “You’re different, Kate. Lighter.”

I swallowed. “Maybe I finally remembered how to breathe.”

He didn’t say anything, just smiled—quiet and warm—and it was enough.

The glow lasted until Monday morning.

That was when HR called me in.

The office was beige and airless, the blinds drawn against the city. A man I barely knew cleared his throat, sliding a paper across the desk.

“Concerns have been raised about your conduct,” he said stiffly. “Potential conflicts of interest. Sharing unpublished material externally.”

My blood ran cold. “Concerns raised by who?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Ryan.

The paper blurred. Conflict of interest. Professional integrity. Words meant to gut me, meant to clip my wings before I’d learned to fly.

“I didn’t breach anything,” I said, my voice steady even as my pulse raced. “The piece was mine. The lab is public. There’s no conflict.”

He cleared his throat again. “Be that as it may, we’ll be monitoring future assignments closely.”

A warning. A leash disguised as procedure.

I walked out, my hands shaking.

Emma was waiting by the elevator. She took one look at me and cursed under her breath. “He went nuclear, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

She put a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “Kate, listen to me. This is proof you hit him where it hurts. He wouldn’t be this desperate if he wasn’t scared.”

Her words steadied me, but only barely.

Because fear was clawing back in.

That night, Noah called again.

“You sound tired,” he said.

“HR meeting,” I admitted. “Ryan filed complaints.”

There was silence on the line, then a low, steady voice. “Do you want me to come get you?”

The offer startled me. Warmth spread through my chest, cutting through the cold fear.

“No,” I said quickly. “I just… needed to hear your voice.”

“You’ll get through this,” he said firmly. “Because the truth’s on your side. And you’re not alone, Kate.”

The way he said it—simple, without hesitation—nearly undid me.

For two days, I kept my head down. I filed the infrastructure story, went to the lab in the evenings, ignored Ryan’s texts.

Each time my phone buzzed, my stomach clenched. Each time I didn’t answer, a little piece of the leash snapped.

By Thursday, I almost believed he was retreating.

Until I saw him outside the lab.

It was late, the kids gone, the warehouse lights dimmed. Noah was locking up when I spotted the car across the street.

A sleek black sedan, engine idling.

The window rolled down.

Ryan’s face in the shadows, pale and sharp.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His presence was a claim, a warning.

Noah followed my gaze, his body tensing. “Who’s that?”

“Ryan,” I said, the name tasting like iron.

Noah’s jaw clenched. “He’s been sitting there long?”

“Too long.”

We stood in silence, the city humming around us, the sedan a dark, patient predator.

Finally, Noah put a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to face him alone.”

The words were simple. But they cracked something open inside me, a fear I’d carried for years.

For the first time, I believed it.

But when I looked back at the car, Ryan’s eyes were still on me.

Watching. Waiting.

And I knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

I pulled my notebook from my bag, holding it tight against my chest like a shield. For months, it had been nothing but pages and ink, but now it felt like the only weapon I had left. Ryan could sabotage my drafts, whisper into HR’s ear, wait outside my lab like a shadow—but he couldn’t touch this. My words were mine. And if he wanted a war, I was finally ready to fight one.

The sedan’s headlights blinked once, a slow pulse like the narrowing of an eye. Then the car eased forward, not rushing, not retreating, just sliding down the street as if to remind me it could follow any time it wanted. My skin prickled. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Ryan had moved from boardrooms and drafts to sidewalks and shadows. He wasn’t just trying to own my work anymore. He was trying to own my nights.