"Still, it would feel strange to work here if he's gone. I mean, I'd miss him too much, and this place would just be a constant reminder." I keep my tone as even as possible, hoping it won't betray my emotions, but my voice still comes out shaky. I refuse to let anyone here see how much this revelation has affected me.

"Ella," Harry says, his eyes filled with unease.

"Yes?" My response is cold, direct. I look straight at him, daring him to explain.

"Excuse me," Mark interrupts. "It was great meeting you, Ella, but I've got a business to run." He shakes my hand, but my focus remains locked on Harry, who looks like he's bracing for impact.

"The offer's on the table, Ella," Mark adds before walking off, leaving us standing in a thick, suffocating silence.

"Ella," Harry repeats, but I don't move. I just stare at him, trying to process what the hell just happened. I wait for an explanation, for something—anything—that will make this make sense. But I know what I really want to know, so I just ask it.

"How long have you known?" My voice cuts through the noise, rising over the music that seems to be getting louder, as if it's adding to my frustration.

"I'm not leaving in a week," he blurts out quickly.

"That's not what I asked, Harry."

He hesitates.

"How long?" I demand again, this time louder.

"A while," he finally admits.

"Way before we slept together?" My chest tightens as I brace for the answer.

"Yes," he confesses, looking afraid now.

And there it is. The truth. The betrayal.

"Then why?" I shake my head, the weight of it all crashing down on me. I take a step back, instinct telling me to get away from him before I say something I'll regret.

"Ella—" His voice is desperate now.

"Don't!" I snap, holding up my hand. "Don't follow me. I need space."

He nods, looking like he wants to fight it, but he knows better. And I mean it—I need to get the hell away from him because if I stay, this will get ugly. Jesus, I just got out of his bed. He just made love to me, touched me, kissed me, whispered my name like I was his whole world.

Before I turn to leave, I give him one last look, unable to stop myself.

"You said you'd screw up, and I expected it," I tell him, my voice steady, but my heart is breaking. "But I didn't expect it to be this soon or this big."

He bites his lip, struggling for words. But what is there to say? Nothing he says will change this.

"To the moon and back," I finish, the words dripping with irony, then turn and walk away as fast as I can.

Sylvia frowns as I wave a quick goodbye, but I don't stop to explain. I push through the doors, and the cold air outside hits me like a slap. It actually feels good. It clears my head for just a second—until the weight of reality crushes me again.

I hail a cab, give the driver my address, and sit in silence, staring blankly at the passing streetlights. My thoughts won't stop spiralling.

He's leaving.

He's going to Florence.

Gucci's headquarters are there.

It's not just a trip—he's moving.

And he's known for a while.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The meetings, the secrecy, the conversation with Jimmy at the hospital. That's what they were talking about. That's why he was avoiding me. He didn't want to tell me.

What did he think? That I wouldn't notice he was gone? That he'd wait until the last day and break the news at the airport?

Damn it, Harry. Why?

"Ten fifty," the driver says, pulling me back to reality.

I hand him the cash and step out, only to find myself standing in the parking lot across from Harry's building. I get into my car, gripping the wheel tightly as the truth sets in.

He's leaving.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

This is his career. He worked for this, fought for this, even fucked someone for this. Who am I to stand in his way? He has a sister and a niece who depend on him. This is what he wanted, what he deserves.

He wouldn't quit for me. And I wouldn't ask him to.

But he's guilty. Not for choosing his career—he'd be a fool not to—but for making me love him while knowing he was leaving. For saying he loved me but keeping me in the dark. For not telling me before we started this, before I fell for him. Before he became my whole world.

I don't even need to turn off my phone. I already know he won't call.

He didn't call when I was sick.

Why would he now?

I start the engine and drive, not thinking about where I'm going until I pull up outside Shadows. Jimmy's bar.

I walk in and head straight for him, throwing my keys on the counter.

"Tequila," I order.

Jimmy takes one look at me and knows.

He doesn't ask.

He just pours.

Because if there's one person in the world who understands me without words, it's Jimmy.

I wake up with a pounding headache. My entire body aches, my stomach twisted in knots that remind me exactly why I don't drink like this. Alcohol is a sneaky little bitch—why do people do this to themselves again? Oh right. Because it numbs everything, dulls the edges, and lets you say things you wouldn't otherwise dare to say.

I blink, trying to adjust to my surroundings. I'm not at home. I'm at Jimmy's, sprawled out on the sofa beneath his lofted bed. The moment I register where I am, I remember the infamous square hole in the ceiling and let out a weak chuckle. I want to see it, but moving feels like an impossible task.

"Jimmy?" My voice comes out hoarse. Silence.

"Jimmy?" Nothing.

"Jimmy?" I groan, louder this time, wincing at the sound of my own voice.

"He's sleeping," a female voice replies instead.

Wait. What the fuck? Jimmy had someone over while I was here? Well, that's just fantastic. Thank you, alcohol, for making everything even more humiliating. You really are the best thing since tampons.

"Oh. Okay," I mumble, trying to pretend this is all completely normal.

"Eddie's outside making breakfast," she continues, as if we're catching up over coffee. "I just saw him when I went to get some water."

I internally groan. Eddie? Really?

"You were pretty wasted last night," she adds, clearly not picking up on the fact that I don't want to have this conversation.

"Yeah... sorry for being a pain," I mutter, attempting to sit up. The moment I do, the room spins, and I have to pause, gripping the edge of the couch. I glance down, noticing my sandals on one side of the room and various articles of clothing scattered on the floor—some Jimmy's, some definitely belonging to the mystery woman still lounging in his bed.

Well, at least she has good taste in thongs.

"Eddieeeeee?" I call out as I shuffle toward the kitchen, desperate for coffee.

"Eddieeeeee?"

"Oh, you're up," he says, flipping something in the pan as I slump into a chair at the kitchen table, pressing my fingers to my temples.

"Why the hell did you let me sleep in there?" I groan.

He bursts into laughter. "Jimmy insisted. Said Harry would lose his shit if you slept in my bed."

"But he'd be fine with me sleeping under his while he was screwing someone else senseless?" I scoff, pointing toward the coffee pot, silently begging him to pour me a cup. I don't give a damn about my ulcer right now—I need caffeine.

"So, was I really that wasted?" I ask, rubbing my temples.

"Oh yeah," he chuckles.

"So, he told you, huh?" I prod.

"So, you knew, huh?" he counters with the same smug tone.

"We all did, El," he admits, flipping an egg onto a plate. "But it wasn't our place to say. You guys were just starting, then you got sick—"

"I have an ulcer, Ed, not fucking cancer," I interrupt, exasperated.

"He called me, you know," he says casually.

I freeze. "When?"

"Last night."

"Why?" I ask, though I already know.

"What do you mean, why?" Ed shakes his head. "The guy's a wreck, Ella. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to lose you."

I let out a dry laugh. "Well, there's not much he can do about that now, is there?"

"Don't be like that," Ed says, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of me.

I take a sip of my coffee, sighing. "What should I do, Ed? Be thrilled that the guy I love is moving to Florence? That he'll be surrounded by half-naked women all day while being half-naked himself, thousands of miles away? He's moving, Ed. Moving. Do you get it?" My voice rises, frustration spilling out of me.

Ed remains calm, taking a seat across from me. "What would you have done if you'd known sooner?" he asks.

I shake my head. "That's not fair."

"But it is, Ella," he insists. "Would you have changed anything? Would you have walked away before you fell for him?"

I don't answer right away. I take a bite of toast, stalling.

Before I can react, Ed snatches it out of my hand. "Answer me, damn it!" he snaps.

Stunned by his outburst, I'm forced to finally confront the question I've been avoiding. Would it have made a difference? Would I have stopped myself from loving him?

"No," I whisper.

"But..." I hesitate.

"But you don't want him to leave," he finishes for me.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I want him with me," I admit, my voice small and breaking. I hate feeling this way, hate that I'm clinging to something that's already slipping away.

"I know you do," he says gently. "But what if it was your dream, El? What if it was you being offered a job overseas, like, I don't know, fucking CNN or something? Would you want Harry to hold you back?"

I exhale sharply. "When did you get so damn wise, Eddie?"

He smirks. "I have my moments."

I know he's right. I know Harry leaving isn't a betrayal—it's his dream. I'd never ask him to give it up, and I'd hate myself if he did. But it still fucking hurts that he didn't tell me, that he let me fall so deep without giving me all the facts.

"Talk to him, El," Ed urges. "He was a wreck last night. He called me like twenty times, losing his mind, thinking you were getting drunk because of him."

I glance at him, seeing the truth in his words.

"You two have really become besties, huh?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood. But deep down, I know this conversation is exactly what Harry asked him to have with me.

Not that it changes the outcome.

I swallow hard, staring at my plate.

No matter how much I love him, no matter how much he loves me...

Harry and I are over.