The Collapse in the Hallway-Sydney’s POV
1150 Words
The moment I push through the emergency exit, the burst of cold air should’ve cleared my head.
It doesn’t.
My lungs won’t cooperate. My heart feels like it’s ripping apart in jagged pieces. And the lights—those stupid warm-white fairy lights lining the hallway—blur into streaks as tears keep spilling, refusing to stop no matter how much I claw at my cheeks.
I just need to get away.
Away from the velvet curtains.
Away from their lips pressed together.
Away from Marcus’s stuttered lies.
Away from Tyra’s smug, victorious smirk.
I stumble forward—heels slipping, knees wobbling—
—and the polished marble betrays me.
My ankle twists.
My vision tilts.
I gasp, bracing for the brutal crack of the floor coming up to meet me—
—but I never hit the ground.
Instead, I crash into something solid.
Something warm.
Someone.
Strong hands grip my waist, steadying me like I weigh nothing, like I didn’t just fall apart on the inside minutes ago.
A low, steady voice slices through the haze.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
The world tilts again, but this time it’s because of him.
Tall.
Broad shouldered.
Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that looks carved onto his body.
Eyes—storm-gray, sharp and intense—lock onto mine with a concern so raw it steals the breath right out of me.
My lips part, but no sound comes out.
His brows crease. “Are you hurt?”
“I—” My throat closes. “No. I just—slipped.”
You slipped?
God, Sydney, understatement of the century.
The man steadies me fully, one hand cupping the back of my elbow, the other hovering near my waist like he’s ready to catch me again in case I break… which isn’t impossible right now.
“Take a breath,” he murmurs.
I'm trying. I really do.
But Marcus’s face keeps appearing in my mind like a curse I can’t shake off—the way he held Tyra, the way he kissed her back like it wasn’t the first time.
My breath hitches.
Gray-eyes notices instantly.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
I did.
Because somehow, looking at him keeps the panic from swallowing me whole.
His voice lowers even more. “You’re shaking.”
Of course I’m shaking. My entire world just crashed into splinters and he’s standing here like he saw all of it through my skin.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, even though the words feel like they burn on the way out.
He doesn’t call me out. He just watches me with an expression that’s equal parts gentle and intense.
Then—
“I’m Drake.”
The name hits me like a slow echo.
Drake. Of course I know him. He's Marcus's and Tyra's boss, the Hamilton Empire State CEO.
His eyes study my face, as if trying to memorize what pain looks like on me.
It’s… unsettling.
And weirdly safe.
“I-I’m Sydney,” I manage.
“I know.”
His lips tilt, not quite a smile. “Marcus says your name when he talks about the gala planning.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach. Hard.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Right.”
“So,” he says quietly, “I take it whatever he said wasn’t enough to keep you from running like your bones were collapsing.”
My eyes dart away. “It’s nothing.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shrink. Give a small answer to cover a big wound.”
My breath catches in my chest.
No one’s ever read me that quickly.
Not even Marcus.
Especially not Marcus.
A laugh escapes me—bitter, humorless. “You don’t even know me.”
“You’re right,” Drake says. “I don’t.”
Then, quieter—
“But someone hurt you enough that you forgot how to breathe.”
Something about that sentence almost destroys me.
I clench my jaw to keep a sob down, but it slips out anyway—a broken sound I hate myself for.
Immediately, Drake steps closer. Not touching me—just close enough that I feel his warmth.
His voice softens. “What happened?”
I should lie.
I should say I’m fine.
I should say it’s not important.
But the words unspool before I can stop them.
“I just saw the man I love,” I whisper, “kiss someone else.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. Hard.
His eyes darken like a storm crossing the sky.
“Marcus?” he asks, voice low.
My silence is enough.
For a moment, Drake closes his eyes, like he's trying to control something—anger, disbelief, maybe both. When he opens them again, they’re blazing.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds nothing like the empty way people say sorry at funerals or when they bump you in a grocery aisle.
His sorry sounds personal.
Felt.
Like he’s absorbing my heartbreak into his own chest.
I swallow, the hallway spinning slightly. “I—I need to go.”
“Not alone.”
His voice sharpens. Not a command. A conviction.
“Drake, please— I just want to disappear.”
“That’s exactly why I’m not letting you walk alone into a stairwell while you’re this distraught.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
We stare at each other, tension coiled like a pulled string.
His gaze lowers to my trembling hands.
“Let me help,” he says softly.
My eyes blur again.
This time, not entirely from pain.
“Why?” I ask, voice cracking. “You don’t owe me anything.”
His expression shifts—gentler, fiercer.
“You looked like you were about to break,” he murmurs. “And I don’t walk past people who are breaking.”
My heart thumps, fragile and bruised.
The lights overhead flicker slightly, but not enough to notice unless you’re paying attention.
Drake definitely notices. His eyes sharpen briefly before softening again.
Then he extends a hand.
“Come with me. Just somewhere quiet. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain. Just breathe.”
I hesitate.
But the truth is…
I don’t know how to breathe right now.
My fingers slip into his.
Warm. Steady.
A strange jolt shoots through me—too fast, too hot, too electric to be normal. I gasp softly, glancing at our hands.
He freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly.
But just as quickly, he masks it.
As if he felt it too.
Before I can process it, he guides me gently toward a side corridor.
And for the first time since everything fell apart…
…I don’t feel like I’m falling anymore.
I feel like I’m being caught.
- Writer
