Chapter 25: The Letting Go
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
The words inadequate and too late.
“I’m so sorry, Martina. For all of it. For wasting five years. For making you invisible. For not seeing what everyone else apparently saw.”
“That you’re extraordinary. And I’m a fool.”
“I know you are,” she said, smiling through her tears.
“But Jordan, being sorry isn’t enough. And loving me isn’t enough.”
“I need consistency. I need certainty. I need someone who values me on Monday morning just as much as they did on a balcony in Paris on Saturday night.”
“And I don’t know if you can be that person.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you to be that person.”
She opened the door.
Paused.
Looked back one last time.
“I’ll work my two weeks professionally and efficiently,” she said.
“I’ll train whoever you hire to replace me. I’ll make the transition as smooth as possible.”
“But Jordan, after that, I need you to let me go completely. No texts. No calls. No showing up at my apartment or sending flowers or trying to compete with Marcus.”
“I need space to build my new life without you in it.”
“Can you give me that?”
Jordan wanted to scream no.
Wanted to tell her that letting her go was impossible. That he’d spend every day for the rest of his life trying to win her back. That she was his and he was hers.
And nothing Marcus Ashford offered could change that fundamental truth.
But that was what the old Jordan would say.
The old Jordan who thought he could negotiate anything. Buy anything. Win anything through sheer force of will and unlimited resources.
The old Jordan who had lost the woman he loved because he didn’t understand that love couldn’t be won.
It had to be earned.
And he hadn’t earned it.
“Okay,” he said quietly, the word costing him his soul.
“I’ll let you go. I’ll respect your boundaries. I’ll give you the space you need.”
“But Martina—yes. If you ever change your mind. If you ever decide that Paris was real and New York can be too. If you ever want to give me another chance to prove I can be the man you deserve.”
“I’ll be here. Waiting for however long it takes.”
She smiled sadly.
“Don’t wait for me, Jordan. Build a life. Find someone who fits into your world naturally. Someone who doesn’t have to fight to be seen.”
“There is no one else,” Jordan interrupted fiercely.
“There will never be anyone else. You’re it for me, Martina. You’re the one.”
“And if that means I spend the rest of my life alone, then that’s the price I pay for being too stupid to see what I had when I had it.”
Martina’s breath hitched.
For a moment—one fragile, desperate moment—Jordan saw her waver. Saw her consider coming back. Choosing him. Giving him the chance he didn’t deserve.
Then she straightened her shoulders. Wiped her tears.
And walked out of his office.
Jordan Blackwell, who had never lost anything that mattered, stood alone in his corner office forty-seven floors above Manhattan.
And learned what it felt like to have his heart ripped out.
The rain continued to fall.
The city continued to move.
And somewhere across town, Marcus Ashford was probably opening champagne, celebrating his victory.
Because Jordan had finally lost.
And this time, losing might actually kill him.
