Page 115 of Love so Hot

"Done," Emily announces at last, breaking the stillness. She turns the screen toward me, revealing a document marked with her meticulous edits. Her eyes lock onto mine, a silent question lingering in their depths.

"Thank you," I say, my voice steady. "I know it's not... conventional, but it's time for transparency. For responsibility."

"Conventional has never been your style," she replies with a half-smile. There is a trace of doubt there, a hint of concern for the repercussions that tomorrow might bring.

I stand. "We've always been a good team, Emily. And I trust your judgment. But this—" I gesture towards the screen, "—it's more than just a press conference now. It's about setting things right."

Her nod is reluctant, but in it, I see the emergence of understanding. "Just be prepared," she cautions. "Not everyone will see it your way."

"I'm ready."

Chapter Fifty-Six

Lawrence

The office doorswings shut behind me with a soft click, the last echo of a day spent confined within decisions and fluorescent light. A cool evening breeze brushes against my face, carrying away the stale air of the office. My hand grazes the pocket of my suit jacket, feeling the outline of the speech for tomorrow's press conference—a heavy reminder of the crossroads I stand at.

The first steps into the parking lot feel like breaking free from shackles, yet there's an invisible chain tugging at the corner of my consciousness. It’s the decision—the one that could pivot my life’s course. With each step, the asphalt seems softer, more forgiving than the marble floors I've paced all day.

"Lawrence!" The voice slices through my reverie, sharp and insistent.

I halt and turn, finding Jason barreling toward me. His tie is askew, his brow glistening under the orange hue of the streetlights. There's something in his eyes that speaks of more than just end-of-day fatigue—it's alarm, it's disbelief.

He comes to a stop, chest heaving, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. "I—I talked to Emily," he manages between gulps of air. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that has nothing to do with the physical exertion of his sprint. "She told me about your plan."

My nod is slow, almost contemplative. "Yeah, what about it?" I watch as frustration carves deeper lines into Jason's already furrowed brow.

"Lawrence, you can't do this," he implores, the urgency in his voice clashing with the soft chirping of crickets from the nearby grass. He steps closer, shadows playing across his face, making him look more haggard than I've ever seen him. "Think about everything we've put into this project. Years of our lives, man."

The words are meant to sting, to shake the resolve that’s carried me out of the office and into this cool, open space. And yet, they don't. There's a steady beat in my chest, a pulse of certainty that drowns out the clamor of his concern.

"Jason," I say, my voice surprisingly even, "there are more important things than work and money." The sentence hangs between us, stark and irrefutable.

He stares at me, searching my eyes for the fiery colleague he's known—a man easily baited into heated debates over deadlines and bottom lines. But that version of me is absent, replaced by this stillness, an inner tranquility that feels foreign yet fitting.

"You're saying that now?" Jason's voice cracks slightly as he struggles to grasp the concept. "After all this?"

"Hopefully," I reply gently, "you'll meet someone someday who teaches you that." There's a softness to my words, an open wish for him, even as I stand firm in my decision.

"Lawrence, no!" The protest bursts from him as he steps into my path, arms animated. "You're making a huge mistake! You're throwing away everything we've built together—our dreams, ourplans." His hands slice through the evening air, carving his frustration into the space between us.

I observe the desperation flickering in his gaze, the way his jaw clenches with each word he spits out. Yet, inside me, there's no echo of his panic, no sympathetic tremor. Only the deep-rooted knowledge that what I'm doing transcends the empire of effort we erected.

"Think about the team, Lawrence," he continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper, thick with emotion. "Think about the sacrifices we've made. The long nights, the missed holidays. We've bled for this project. I've invested my own money into this deal, as have so many others."

"I have thought about it," I reply, my tone unwavering. "And I’m certain—this is the right thing for me to do."

A vein throbs in Jason's temple as he processes my unwavering stance. He opens his mouth, perhaps to argue further, to lay another guilt trip or brandish a veiled threat, but nothing comes. The futility finally dawns on him, and his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"Jason," I begin, my tone imbued with a quiet finality, "my mind is made up."

His eyes search mine, seeking an ally in the familiar battleground of our shared ambitions, but only finding the reflection of his own disillusionment. With a shake of his head, he steps aside, muttering under his breath, "You’re going to regret this, Lawrence. Mark my words."

I watch him for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his disappointment, but not letting it alter my course. "Maybe," I say softly, "but it's a chance I have to take."

Turning away from him, I stride toward my car, feeling each step lighten as I distance myself from the confrontation. There's a harmony in my heartbeat, a gentle affirmation that whispers through the evening breeze. The parking lot lights cast longshadows that stretch out behind me, symbolic of the path I'm leaving behind.

I get into my car and close the door with a soft click, enveloped by silence. It wraps around me, a comforting embrace. And in this cocoon of resolve, I feel it—the profound peace of a man who has chosen his course with clarity.

---