BREAKING HIS OWN RULES

734 Words
🖤 Caleb Garcia had rules. Strict ones. Clear ones. Unbreakable ones. — He didn't mix work with emotions. He didn't chase people. He didn't explain himself. And most importantly, he didn't lose control. — But today, every single one of those rules felt irrelevant. — Because Cassy was leaving. — Not physically. Not yet. But emotionally, she already had. — "Sir, your 2 p.m. meeting—" "Cancel it." Adrian blinked. "Again?" "Yes." No hesitation. No explanation. — Adrian studied him carefully. "…This is about her, isn't it?" Caleb didn't answer. Because silence was already an answer. — Across the office, Cassy stayed focused. Working. Typing. Reviewing. — Like nothing had changed. Like nothing existed beyond her desk. — But she felt it. Of course she did. — That presence. That awareness. That tension in the air. — She just refused to look up. — Until, "Cassy." — Her name. Not "Miss Williams." Not "secretary." — Just Cassy. — Her fingers froze. Just for a second. Then slowly, she looked up. — Caleb stood in front of her desk. Not at his office. Not calling her in. — Here. In her space. — "Yes… sir?" she said carefully. That hesitation, that distance. He heard it. And didn't like it. — "Come with me," he said. Cassy blinked. "I'm working." "I know." A pause. Then, "Come anyway." — That wasn't an order. That wasn't a request. — It was something else. — And that alone made her stand. — They didn't go to his office. They didn't go anywhere inside the building. — They walked out. Again. — "Where are we going?" she asked softly. Caleb didn't stop walking. "Somewhere you won't pretend." — That answer, that line, made her chest tighten. — They stopped at the same place as before. The quiet street corner. The one where everything had started to shift. — Cassy crossed her arms slightly. "You shouldn't be doing this." "I know." Immediate. — "Then why are you?" Silence. — Caleb turned to face her fully. And for the first time, there was no control in his expression. No calculation. No distance. — "Because you're pulling away," he said. Direct. Honest. Unfiltered. — Cassy looked away. "That's my decision." "No," he said immediately. "That's your reaction." — She frowned slightly. "…To what?" A beat. Then, "To me." — Silence. Heavy. Real. — Cassy exhaled slowly. "You don't get to decide how I react." "I don't," he admitted. A pause. Then, "But I get to ask why." — That honesty, that openness was new. Too new. — Cassy hesitated. Then answered quietly, "because I don't want to get hurt." There it was. Finally. — Caleb stilled. Because that answer, that vulnerability was something he hadn't prepared for. — "And you think I will?" he asked. Cassy met his gaze. "I don't know," she said softly. A pause. Then, "that's the problem." — Silence. — For once, Caleb didn't respond immediately. Because for once, he didn't have certainty. — Instead, he stepped closer. Slow. Careful. — "I don't make promises I can't keep," he said quietly. Cassy's heart tightened slightly. "…That's not an answer." "I know." Another step closer. — "But it's the truth." — She didn't move. Didn't step back. Didn't step forward. — Just stood there. Listening. — "I don't know what this is," he continued. "But I know I don't want you to walk away from it." Silence. — That line, that honesty, that lack of control— — It was everything he had avoided his entire life. — Cassy swallowed lightly. "…That's not enough, Caleb." There it was. His name again. — "But it's more than you had yesterday," he said. A pause. Then, "Isn't it?" — Cassy didn't answer. Because he wasn't wrong. — But he wasn't right either. — And that was the hardest part. — She looked at him for a long moment. Then took a small step back. — "I need time," she said softly. Not rejection. Not distance. — Just… space. — Caleb didn't stop her. Didn't argue. Didn't push. — Because this time he understood. — And that was new too. — "…Take it," he said quietly. A pause. "But don't disappear." — Cassy nodded slowly. "I won't." — And for the first time, the distance between them didn't feel like an ending. — It felt like something waiting. Something unfinished. Something real.
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