The Troubled Heart

Chapter1

The photo is everywhere.

It’s on Archer’s phone, on Luca’s tablet, on the giant screen dominating one wall of his office. I can’t escape it. My face and his face half-lit in the reflection of glass, caught in a moment that never should’ve left the shadows.

I can barely breathe.

The room smells like espresso and tension,it’s so suffocating. Archer is pacing behind his desk like a man who just realized the ground under him isn’t solid anymore. The sound of his shoes against the marble floor echoes sharp and rhythmic, the only sound aside from my own heartbeat crashing in my ears.

“We need to fix this, Luca. This is a f*****g disaster,” he snaps. His voice is usually smooth, the kind that commands a boardroom without effort. But right now, it’s cracked, human, jagged with panic. “We need to fix it before it hits the news . I’m supposed to be getting married next month—how the hell am I supposed to explain this?”

He gestures at the screen like it’s something filthy.

Luca doesn’t even flinch. She’s perched on the edge of the table with her tablet in hand, scrolling through what I assume are messages and statements. Her tone is maddeningly calm which I’ve always admired but in this moment it’s quite triggering. “PR is already drafting a response. I’ve told legal to prepare a cease and desist for any outlets that post it. We just need to decide which version of the truth we’re selling.”

“The truth?” Archer scoffs, turning sharply. “The truth is someone’s trying to destroy me. To destroy us.”

Us.

The word hits me harder than it should. I’m standing by the window, pretending to be invisible, trying not to crumble under the weight of my own stupidity. I can still remember that night—his hand in my hair, his breath against my skin, how dangerous it felt to want someone I shouldn’t.

Now that moment is frozen on every screen in this goddamn office.

Luca glances at me briefly, assessing. “Henry,” she says, voice steady, “have you spoken to anyone about this? Anyone at all?”

I shake my head so fast it’s almost desperate. “No. I swear, I didn’t even know the picture existed until five minutes ago.”

Her eyes flicker “Then we start there. Damage control, narrative, containment.” She’s talking mostly to herself, with her fingers tapping notes. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t even panic, she dissects situations instead.

Archer stops pacing. His reflection stares back from the window, a blur of tension and anger. “Containment,” he repeats, voice low. “Find out who leaked it.”

He turns toward Luca, then toward me. The look in his eyes is ice over fire,his eyes looked empty like all the color had been drained out. “Find out who did this—” He slams a hand against the desk, making a stack of papers jump, “—and destroy them.”

The sound echoes.

For a second, no one speaks,Luca doesn’t react. She just watches him, then exhales softly. “We’ll find out,” she says, calm and deliberate. “But we need to be smart about it. Every move we make now gets magnified.”

Archer’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. His tie’s loosened, sleeves rolled up, the picture of control unraveling.

He sinks into his chair and drops his elbows on his knees, fingers pressed against his temples. “Maya’s going to see it,” he mutters. “She’ll see it before I can even call her. Jesus Christ.”

The name lands heavy between us. Maya—his fiancée. The woman who thinks she knows him better than anyone.

I feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. My voice sounds foreign, too small for the room.

He looks up sharply, like he’d forgotten I was still here. His eyes are darker than usual, the blue swallowed by something heavier. “Sorry?” he repeats, as if the word offends him. “You think sorry fixes this?”

“No,” I whisper. “But it’s all I have and it’s not my fault.”

For a heartbeat, he looks like he might say something else something real—but it dies in his throat. He looks away. “This never should’ve happened,” he says instead, voice quieter now but somehow sharper. “Not the photo. Not that night.”

I don’t respond. Because he’s right. And because the truth is worse than guilt—it’s wanting him still, even now.

Luca stands, slipping her tablet under one arm. “I’ll start coordinating with PR. Henry, stay off social media, don’t answer calls from any unknown numbers. Archer—” her tone softens just slightly, “—don’t speak to the press until we decide on the official story.”

I nod once, without looking up.

When she leaves, the silence that follows is unbearable. The city hums faintly through the glass, a world still spinning while ours burns.

Archer finally speaks, low and hoarse. “Do you realize what this means? What people will think?”

“I know,” I say. “But it’s not like we—” I stop myself. Not like we planned it. Not like we meant to fall into something neither of us were ready to name.

He stands again, restless. His hands drag through his hair. “They’ll tear me apart,” he mutters. “They’ll tear the company apart. Everything I’ve built—gone.”

I take a small step forward before I can stop myself. “We’ll figure it out. You always do.”

That gets his attention. His gaze snaps to mine, raw and burning. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t act like this is something we can fix.”

The distance between us feels alive, charged. Every part of me wants to reach for him, but I don’t. Not this time.

He exhales shakily, turning back to the desk, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. “You should go.”

I hesitate. Then nod.

As I reach the door, he adds, “Luca will call you if we need anything else.”

“Right,” I say softly. My hand lingers on the doorknob. “Archer—”

He doesn’t look up.

“—I didn’t regret that night,” I say. It slips out before I can decide to care about the consequences.

The silence after is deafening.

Then, barely audible: “You should.”

I step out into the hall before I can break.

Outside his office, the building is unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that follows explosions. I can still feel his voice in my chest, the heat of it, the guilt. And I know, as the elevator doors close in front of me—

this is where everything ends.