Zane
By ten-thirty, my patience was already unraveling.
Natalie’s voice still haunted me from the night before. That confrontation had been a disaster from the start. She never listened. Instead, she twisted the breakup into her narrative: that I was lucky she’d ever wasted her precious time on me, and that she was the one who decided when relationships ended—not me.
I’d walked out of her condo feeling like I’d just gone a few rounds in the ring with a fighter who didn’t know when to stop swinging. And I knew her well enough to recognize that she wasn’t done. Natalie never let go.
Now she’d found her new tactic—calling the office switchboard.
For three days straight.
The kind of relentless obsession that didn’t just irritate me, it made my employees miserable.
I rubbed my temples as
