Elise's POV
The trip back from the beach felt quieter than I expected.
The laughter from earlier lingered faintly in my mind, but every mile we drove toward town felt heavier, like something inside me had begun to settle into silence.
When Mason offered to drive me straight home, I quickly shook my head. "No, just drop me off near the salon," I said.
He frowned slightly. "It's already late. I can take you at least until your gate."
I smiled faintly, trying to sound firm but gentle. "It's fine, Mason. Really. Just here."
He pulled up near the salon, the streetlights already glowing orange against the growing dusk. I opened the door and stepped out, holding my bag close to me. Before I could shut the door, his voice stopped me.
"Elise."
I turned toward him.
He was leaning slightly against the steering wheel, the headlights washing his face in pale gold. Then, with a strange, calm determination, he said the words that tightened my chest:
"Elise Morgan, when I get back from Japan… I want you to be my girlfriend, okay?"
For a second, I couldn't breathe. His tone was light, but the way he looked at me made it impossible to pretend that this was another fleeting promise.
I forced a smile. "I'll think about it," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Now go home before your mom starts calling."
He grinned, unaware of how that smile felt like it carved another wound into me. "Don't forget about me while I'm gone."
"Goodbye, Mason."
I turned quickly and walked away before he could see the tears threatening to fall. Because deep down, I already knew that when he came back… I would no longer be here.
By the time I reached home, unease had already built into something heavier. Ever since yesterday, I couldn't shake off the strange calmness in Carter's behavior. He hadn't asked too many questions — not about where I was going, not even about who I was with. That wasn't like him.
When I stepped through the front door, the fresh scent of dinner filled the small apartment. Carter was standing by the counter, arranging bowls, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly tousled — the kind of domestic calm I used to find comforting.
He turned at the sound of the door opening, smiling warmly. "You're home," he said, walking forward. "How was your trip?"
"It was fine," I managed.
He reached for my bag automatically. "Here, let me take that."
"Thanks."
He placed it aside neatly, then pressed a soft kiss on my forehead. "Dinner's ready," he said with that same easy tone. "I made your favorite — spicy tuna pasta."
He was calm. Too calm.
And that was what terrified me most.
"I… need to talk to you first," I said quietly.
He blinked, surprise flashing briefly across his face. "Alright."
I walked into the living room first, my footsteps slower than usual. He followed after me, carrying two cups of coffee — one of them mine — and set them gently on the table.
"What's this about?" he asked, settling across from me.
I looked at him for a long moment, searching his face. There was no hostility there, no confusion. Just calm, steady Carter.
"Carter," I began carefully, my heart pounding, "do you know about Mason and me?"
The silence that followed was enough of an answer.
My throat tightened. "How long?"
He didn't speak for several seconds. Then finally, his voice came, quiet and filled with regret. "I knew," he said. "From the start."
I tried to breathe, but my chest felt constricted. "From the start," I echoed. "So—when you came here, to Silver Lake—"
He looked down for a moment, then nodded. "It wasn't just work. I found out about him first — about the two of you. Then Mr. Jones reached out with the partnership offer, and I… took it. It gave me a reason to stay close."
Tears blurred my vision, and I tried to blink them away, but they came faster than I could stop them. "Carter," I whispered, "why didn't you say anything?"
He sighed, his own eyes glistening now. "Because I didn't want to chase you away. I wanted to understand first — what he had that I didn't. How he managed to get your attention in just a few weeks when it took me years for you to even see me that way."
"Please don't," I said, shaking my head, my voice breaking. "Don't say it like that."
"I was jealous," he admitted, his hands gripping tightly together. "Jealous in ways I didn't know I could be. But more than that, I was scared. Scared that he'd make you feel something I couldn't. So I pretended not to know. I stayed still. Waiting."
I cried harder, my voice trembling. "So you just watched me lie to you every day? Does that make you feel better? Did you enjoy seeing me panic—seeing me scramble to come up with excuses?"
He looked up sharply, shocked. "Elise, no—"
"Did it amuse you?" I demanded, my voice cracking mid-sentence. "To act like nothing was wrong while watching me destroy everything we built?"
That was when his composure broke. "No!" His voice rose for the first time in years. "God, Elise, I hated it! Every minute of it. But I couldn't lose you. Even if you were lying, at least you were still here. At least I could still hold you."
My tears were uncontrollable now. Every word hurt more than the last because this pain—his and mine—was completely deserved.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, sinking to my knees. "I hurt you. I betrayed you. You shouldn't even be near me, Carter. You deserve someone better, someone who hasn't—who didn't—"
Before I could finish, I felt his hands on my shoulders, warm and trembling. He knelt down, eyes wet with his own tears.
"Elise," he murmured, "stop saying that. You think I don't know what you've done? I do. And I still love you. I still choose you."
He reached up, cupped my face gently, and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. "If loving you means being hurt a thousand times, then so be it. I'll take it."
"Carter…"
"I'm serious," he said softly but firmly. "I'd give up everything — my job, the company, all of it — if it meant keeping you. Do you understand? There's nothing in this world I wouldn't trade for you."
He leaned forward and pressed a trembling, gentle kiss against my lips — the kind of kiss that was more sorrow than affection, more forgiveness than passion.
When he pulled back, his whisper lingered in the air.
"I love you, Elise. More than anything in this world."
My tears spilled again — quietly this time — as I wrapped my arms around him, knowing that no matter how close we were, there were wounds in both of us that might never fully heal.