Dumped and Divorced, Renew to be Exclusive

Chapter 15

Ezra’s POV

The city felt different at night. Colder. Quieter. More honest.

By the time I stepped out of the elevator and into my penthouse, the ache behind my eyes had settled into a dull throb. I should have been exhausted. I should have wanted nothing more than sleep.

But the moment I closed the door behind me, all I could think about was her.

Liora.

She had barely said two words on the drive to Gina’s place. She tried to act normal, tried to pretend she was fine, tried not to limp when she stepped out of the car. She never wanted anyone to worry about her. She thought that pain made her stronger, and in many ways, she was right.

But I had seen her wince when she thought I was not looking. It had burned into me like a brand.

I loosened my tie and set it on the counter. Bob had already retired for the night. Lisa had gone home after fussing over Liora and lecturing me for an entire hour before leaving. The penthouse was silent, but my mind was anything but.

I replayed the night again, the way she looked up at me while I cleaned her heel, her eyes wide and uncertain. The way she tried so hard to keep her voice steady even as she flinched. The way she seemed surprised every time I cared.

As if she did not expect it from me.

As if I had never earned the right to be someone she trusted.

I walked into my bedroom, turned on the shower, and let the water pound against my shoulders. It should have relaxed me. It never did. Not anymore. Not when the memory of her kept clawing back in.

She should not have been wearing those shoes. She should not have been in pain. She should not have had to hide it from me.

But the truth was simple and selfish.

I liked that she hid it because she thought she had to be strong. I liked being the one who noticed anyway. I liked being the one who took care of it.

I let out a breath, ran my hands through my hair, and stepped out of the shower. I dried off, pulled on a pair of dark lounge pants, and made my way to the office.

It was quiet. My desk lamp cast a warm circle of light across the papers scattered everywhere. Contracts. Property files. Corporate proposals.

All important. All urgent.

But none of them mattered in that moment.

I sat down and opened my laptop. The emails were already piling up. I should have answered them. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

The bar.

I kept thinking about the night I saw her at the bar. The way she walked in wearing that soft blue dress. The way she laughed with Gina, loud and unfiltered, the way she used to laugh when she was seventeen and thought the world could still be kind.

For a moment that night, she had looked exactly like the girl who once sat beside me on my parents’ roof, passing me handfuls of stolen chocolate while I tried not to cry about my father packing his bags.

And I remembered thinking that some people never changed, not where it mattered.

But the truth was she had changed. She had grown up trying too hard for people who never deserved her. She had learned to shrink herself because it kept the peace. She had learned to endure in silence because nobody ever asked what she needed.

Not even me.

I opened my eyes and stared at the screen.

I had kept my distance at the company on purpose. I had watched her get nervous in front of directors, watched her try to prove herself, watched her scramble to keep up with responsibilities she should not have had to shoulder alone.

I kept my voice even. I kept my hands to myself. I kept the walls high.

Because if I let myself be anything more than her boss, even for a moment, I would become something I could not control.

But today, when I saw blood on her heel and she tried to pretend it was nothing, I felt something ugly snap inside my chest.

I could not be detached after that. I could not pretend she was just an assistant. I could not pretend that I did not care.

I pushed my chair back and stood. My reflection stared back at me from the dark window. Clean shirt, damp hair, tense jaw.

She used to tell me I looked angry even when I was not.

Maybe she was right.

I moved back to the desk and opened a folder that had nothing to do with her job but everything to do with her future. A large project was launching next quarter and it would consume a great deal of my time. It would also consume hers if I did nothing.

I would not let her drown under it. I would not let her spend every night fighting exhaustion or hiding pain.

She deserved better.

She deserved support. She deserved structure. She deserved someone who paid attention.

She deserved someone who saw her.

I typed a few notes into a document, outlining a new workflow that would shift unnecessary responsibilities away from her. It would take weeks to implement. I did not care.

I would arrange it piece by piece, even if she never knew.

I rubbed my thumb along my lower lip, thinking again about her expression when Lisa gave her the slippers. She had looked surprised, embarrassed, and touched all at once. I wondered when the last time was that someone took care of her without asking for anything in return.

I wondered why it had taken me so long to see it.

A notification appeared on my computer. Another email. Another deadline. Another demand.

Instead of answering, I opened a blank document.

My fingers hovered over the keys.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do. What I had been wanting to do since she first walked into my office with those nervous hands and that too bright smile, pretending she was fine when she clearly was not.

I smiled to myself.

Fine. If she would not take care of herself, then I would.

I drafted a plan. Slowly. Carefully. Thoughtfully.

Revised schedules

Reasonable hours

Flexible workloads

Coordinated support with Bob and Lisa

Additional staff for the legal division to prevent overload

Mandatory breaks disguised as policy

New guidelines for in office delegation

All subtle. All seamless. All designed to make sure she never reached the point of limping across a marble floor while pretending she felt nothing.

I reread the plan twice, then leaned back in my chair. It was late. My coffee had gone cold. My apartment was silent.

But something in my chest felt lighter than it had in years.

Because I knew I had done something good. Something right. Something that mattered.

I thought again of the past. When she held my hand under the dinner table because I could not look at my parents without feeling sick. When I found her crying in her backyard because her father announced he was remarrying and she felt like an afterthought in her own home.

We had carried each other through things no one else knew about.

Maybe that was why I kept watching her from the corner of my eye at work. Maybe that was why I kept noticing the way she rubbed her temples when she was overwhelmed or the way her voice softened when she was unsure.

Maybe that was why I always stepped closer when she was stressed even when I told myself I should not.

I closed the laptop halfway and stared at the soft glow beneath the lid.

She was not a child anymore. She was not the girl who used to steal my hoodies or kick her feet on my parents’ couch. She was not the teenager who whispered secrets into the dark and trusted me without question.

But somehow, she still looked at me with those eyes. Still reached for my hand without thinking. Still softened when I spoke to her gently.

She still felt like home.

And tonight, watching her limp into her building trying to pretend nothing hurt, I realised something with startling clarity.

I did not want distance.

I did not want professionalism.

I did not want boundaries.

I wanted her safe. I wanted her respected. I wanted her protected from anything and anyone who dared hurt her. Including herself.

I smiled again, slow and certain.

I had made my decision.

A small one for now. A quiet one. One she would not notice until weeks later when her world became easier, steadier, better.

But it was a beginning.

I closed the laptop fully and stood up, stretching the tension out of my shoulders. The city lights blinked against the window like scattered gold.

Tomorrow, she would walk into the office with that determined expression she always wore. She would pretend she was fine. She would try to carry the world on her back.

And I would be ready.

Because I was done standing on the outside.

I walked toward the bedroom, and for the first time in months, maybe years, I felt something like peace settle over me.

Whatever lay ahead, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

I would not let her fall again.

Not while I was here. Not while I was watching.

Not while I still remembered how it felt to have her hand in mine when the world was breaking.

Tonight, I smiled because I knew exactly what I needed to do next.

And in the quiet of my apartment, I finally allowed myself to admit the truth.

I never stopped choosing her.