---- Chapter 10 The day | walked out of Cole & Vance Global for the last time, the city felt different. 4 Or maybe | was different. The resignation letter, typed and signed, sat on Ethan' s gleaming, empty desk. | hadn' t seen him. He was "off-site." With Isabella, no doubt. It didn' t matter. The words on the paper were enough. They were my declaration of independence. | felt a strange lightness as | rode the elevator down, a feeling | hadn't realized |' d lost. Back in my small Queens apartment, the silence was a welcome friend. | started to pack, a duffel bag and a couple of boxes. Not much to show for years of my life, but it was all mine. My phone buzzed. An unknown number. | almost ignored it. ---- But a small, nagging feeling made me answer. "Mia?" Ethan's voice. Not cold this time. Not demanding. Almost... hesitant. "| got your letter." A pause. "Are you serious?" "Yes, Ethan. I'm serious." "But... why? Is this about the gala? About Harrington? Mia, | can fix things. | can-" "It's not about fixing things, Ethan," | said, my voice surprisingly calm. "It's about me. It' s about what | want. And | don't want this anymore." Silence on his end. | could almost hear him processing, his mind, always so quick, struggling to catch up. "Where will you go?" he asked finally, his voice small. "That' s my business, Ethan." Another pause. Then, "Mia... don' t do this. Don' t leave." There was a raw edge to his voice |' d never heard before. Desperation? ---- It was too late for that. "Goodbye, Ethan." | hung up before he could reply, before that old, familiar ache of pity could sway me. | took out the SIM card from my phone and snapped it in half. Asmall, symbolic act. A clean break. The bus ride upstate was long. | watched the city skyline recede, then the suburbs, then the endless green of the countryside. Each mile felt like a shedding of old skin. The small town Noah had mentioned was even smaller than I'd imagined. One main street, a few shops, a diner. It was perfect. | found a room for rent above Rosie' s Diner. Cheap, clean, and it smelled faintly of coffee and bacon. The first few weeks were a blur of anonymity. | worked at the diner, waitressing. The work was honest, tiring. My hands, used to holding fine- ---- tipped pens, learned to balance heavy plates. | met Noah again, by chance, at the local farmers market. He was surprised to see me, but his smile was warm, welcoming. He didn' t ask too many questions. He just seemed... glad | was there. We started spending time together. Walks by the river, coffee at Rosie's. He told me about his work at the regional hospital, the challenges, the rewards. He listened when | talked, really listened. He saw the sketches | made in my spare time, pages filled with the faces of diner regulars, the way the light fell on the old buildings. "You have a gift, Mia," he said one evening, looking at a drawing |' d done of the town square. "You see things." His belief in me was a fragile seed, starting to sprout in the barren ground of my confidence. Ethan, however, was not one to be easily thwarted. Weeks after |' d left, a sleek black car pulled up outside Rosie' s. ---- My heart leaped into my throat. He stepped out, looking rumpled, out of place. He' d found me. He walked into the diner, his eyes scanning the room, landing on me behind the counter. "Mia." The diner went silent. All eyes were on us. "What are you doing here, Ethan?" | asked, my voice low. "l came to bring you home," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "This is my home now, Ethan." He looked around the small diner, his expression a mixture of confusion and distaste. "This? This is not you, Mia. You belong in New York. With me." Isabella was not with him. He was alone. "| belong where | choose to belong," | said, my voice gaining strength. "And | choose here." He stepped closer, reaching for my hand. "Mia, please. | miss you. |... | made a mistake." ---- His eyes pleaded. It was a look |' d seen before, a look that had always, always worked. But something had changed. In me. Noah walked in then, on his lunch break from the hospital. He saw Ethan, saw the tension, and came straight to my side. He didn' t say anything, just stood there, a quiet, solid presence. Ethan' s eyes narrowed, taking in Noah, then the almost imperceptible way | leaned towards him. "Who is this?" Ethan demanded, his voice regaining its old arrogance. "This is Noah," | said. "My friend." "Friend?" Ethan scoffed. "Is that what you call it?" "Ethan, you need to leave," | said, my voice firm. He looked from me to Noah, then back to me. A flicker of understanding, then a wave of anger, crossed his face. "You can' t be serious, Mia. Him? Over me?" The arrogance was back, full force. The belief that he was, and always would be, the better choice. ---- "It's not about him, Ethan," | said. "It's about me. And what | deserve." "And you think you deserve this?" He gestured dismissively around the diner. "This... nothing?" His words, meant to wound, bounced off the new armor |' d grown. "| deserve peace, Ethan," | said. "And |' ve found it here." He stared at me, his jaw tight. For a moment, | thought he might cause a scene. But then, something in my eyes, some new strength he didn 't recognize, made him hesitate. He turned, without another word, and walked out of the diner. The black car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust on Main Street. The diner slowly came back to life. Noah put his hand on my arm. "Are you okay?" | took a deep breath. "Yes," | said. And for the first time in a long time, | truly was. "Yes, | am."