The Distance Breaks
548 Words
Zara didn’t plan to go on a date.
But when a colleague from a different department—Ethan, clean-cut, charming, and utterly harmless—asked her out for drinks, she said yes.
Maybe she needed the distraction. Maybe she needed the contrast.
Or maybe… she just needed to see if her heart was still her own.
---
Ethan was sweet. He listened. He didn’t push. He complimented her writing and offered to help with her freelance gigs.
They laughed. They clinked glasses. He touched her hand lightly when she joked about her bad dating history.
Zara smiled.
But she felt nothing.
And then Jason walked in.
---
He hadn’t known she’d be there.
The restaurant was one he took clients to often—intimate, polished, low lighting. He was mid-call when he saw her at the back booth.
Smiling.
With someone else.
Something cold and electric cracked through his chest.
Her laugh. That dress. That look on her face he hadn’t seen in days.
He ended the call without finishing it.
Then he walked toward her table.
---
Zara saw him a second too late.
He looked like control personified. Black suit, open collar, eyes hard as obsidian.
“Zara,” he said, voice polite but laced with tension. “Didn’t know you were out tonight.”
She raised a brow. “Didn’t know I needed your permission.”
Ethan looked between them, sensing the air shift. “Hey—Jason Cole, right? You’re the creative director upstairs.”
Jason’s jaw ticked. “CEO.”
“Right. Of course,” Ethan said awkwardly, extending a hand.
Jason ignored it.
Zara stood. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“So was I,” he said softly. “Until I saw you.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll give you two a minute.”
Zara blinked. “No, Ethan, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” he said gently, eyes flicking toward Jason. “I’ll call you later.”
He left.
Jason said nothing.
Zara crossed her arms. “You came over here just to ruin my night?”
“I came here by accident. But watching him touch you? That wasn’t an accident.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to act territorial. Not when you’ve been silent for days.”
He stepped closer. “You really think I don’t want you?”
“I think you’re afraid of what that means.”
Jason exhaled. Then—suddenly—his voice changed. Quieter. Deeper.
“Come to the gala with me.”
Zara blinked. “What?”
“The media fundraiser tomorrow. Come with me. Publicly.”
She stared. “You’re asking me to be seen with you?”
“I’m asking you to stand beside me. No hiding. No silence. No pretending.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I’m done being like me,” he said simply. “You make me want more. And I’m ready to show the world that.”
Zara didn’t answer right away.
She was still mad. Still scared.
But something in his eyes—raw, pleading, unfiltered—cut through all her reasons to say no.
“Pick me up at seven,” she whispered.
Jason smiled, slow and real.
Then walked away.
- Writer
