The dinner table feels different tonight.
I notice the shift before I can name it. Violet's attention—that laser focus she's been directing at Jake for days—has pivoted entirely.
Zachary sits across from her, recounting his weekend with animated gestures, and she's leaning forward like he's the most fascinating person she's ever encountered.
"The scoring system is brutal." Zachary's voice carries that natural charisma that serves him so well in boardrooms. "Three judges watching every movement. One misstep, one hesitation, and you lose points you can't recover."
"That sounds intense." Tommy rests his forearms on the table, genuine interest lighting his features. "How do you even train your eye for that?"
"Years of practice." Zachary reaches for his water glass with the ease of someone accustomed to holding court. "You learn to see patterns. Anticipate where fighters will move before they know themselves."
"My friend competed in regionals last spring." Paige glances at Violet, then back to Zachary. "She said the judges were terrifying. All stone-faced and silent."
"That's the role." Zachary's smile curves with practiced charm. "We're not there to encourage. We're there to evaluate."
Violet twirls her fork between her fingers, her dark eyes tracking every movement Zachary makes. The predatory gleam remains—she's simply found new prey.
The relief should comfort me. Without her relentless pursuit of Jake, the air feels lighter. Conversation flows easier. Tommy and Paige exchange glances that carry their own private language, and even the food tastes better without tension souring every bite.
But Jake's eyes stay fixed on me. I feel his attention like physical weight pressing against my skin.
Every time I lift my fork, he's watching. Every time I push food around my plate, he's cataloging the details. The scrutiny makes my pulse quicken in ways that have nothing to do with fear.
"The most challenging part is maintaining objectivity." Zachary continues his story, but my focus has fragmented. "Personal preferences can't factor into the score. You have to see what's actually happening, not what you want to see."
Violet laughs at something he says. The sound is different now—lighter, genuinely amused. Younger.
Jake's gaze burns against my cheek.
I can't do this anymore tonight.
"If you'll excuse me." I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. "The work has caught up with me. I need to rest."
Tommy's brow furrows with concern. Paige offers a sympathetic smile. Zachary's eyes sharpen briefly before he returns to entertaining his new audience.
Jake says nothing. But I feel him watching as I leave.
The hallway stretches ahead, cool and quiet. My footsteps echo against the hardwood, each one carrying me further from the complications waiting at that table.
"Adison."
His voice stops me before I reach my door. I turn to find Jake closing the distance between us, his expression tight with something I can't quite read.
"Is everything alright?" He keeps his voice low, meant only for me. "Did work troubles bring Zachary here? Is someone scheming against you again?"
The question carries genuine concern. I remember the board members who tried to destroy me, the scandals that followed me through Manhattan. He remembers too.
"Nothing like that." I lean against the wall, exhaustion pressing harder. "Just formalities. Large numbers that require in-person discussion. Corporate tedium."
Jake doesn't buy it. His eyes narrow, studying my face with the same intensity he's shown all evening.
"You're not eating." The observation lands like an accusation. "You tire so quickly now. And your color—" He stops, jaw tightening. "Maybe you should see a doctor. Sarah mentioned someone earlier. When we talked."
My spine goes rigid. "You discussed my condition with Sarah?"
"We're worried about you." The admission comes out rough. Honest. "Both of us. You don't look well, Adison. Something is wrong, and you won't tell me what it is."
The deflection rises automatically. Words I've been using as shields for weeks.
"I'm grieving." My voice cracks on the word. "My father is dead. I'm alone now."
Jake goes still. Listening.
"Orphaned." The reality of it crashes through me without warning. "No parents anymore. Even parents whose love was imperfect. Even a father who sent me away as punishment and a mother who died before I could understand what I was losing."
The words crack open something I've been holding shut. Some locked door deep inside my chest that I've been guarding since the funeral. Since before the funeral. Since the hospital room where I watched my father's chest stop moving.
Tears spill before I can stop them.
"Hey." Jake's voice softens to something almost broken. "Come here."
He pulls me against his chest, and I shatter.
The sobs tear through me—ugly and raw and completely beyond my control. I grip his shirt like it's the only thing anchoring me to the earth. His arms wrap around me, solid and warm, holding me together while I fall apart.
"I've got you." He murmurs the words into my hair. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I can't speak. Can't do anything except cry against him while the grief I've been suppressing finally demands its due.
His hand strokes down my back. Gentle. Patient. Like he has all the time in the world to stand in this hallway and hold me while I break.
"Let's get you to bed." Jake's voice is quiet, careful. "You need rest."
He guides me toward my room, one arm still wrapped around my shoulders. The door opens under his palm. The bed waits like a promise of escape.
I collapse onto the mattress without ceremony. Jake follows, settling beside me, pulling me back against his chest. The position feels natural. Inevitable. Like we've done this a thousand times before.
His heartbeat thuds steady beneath my cheek. His arms hold me close, and the warmth of him seeps through my exhausted body.
"Sleep." The command comes soft against my temple. "I'll be here."
The tears slow. My breathing evens. The grief doesn't disappear, but it loosens its grip just enough for exhaustion to take over.
Jake's hand keeps moving in slow circles across my back. Comforting. Grounding. Real.
I close my eyes and let the darkness claim me. For the first time in weeks, I don't dream at all.