Page 72 of The Boss

By the time I finished, Tyler was just staring at me, his brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t have a solution. “Chris, what the actualfuck.”

A dry laugh escaped me. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I gotta be honest with you. I have no idea what to say here. This is some next-level shit.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I shook my head, exhaling slowly. “But it is what it is.”

He studied me for a moment, his teasing gone. “You sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

I lifted my cup, took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle deep. “Well, I better be,” I said. “The wedding’s a week from now. There’ll be a rehearsal two days before it, so we’ll see how that goes.”

Tyler let out a low whistle, then shook his head, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Man, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

A quiet chuckle slipped past my lips, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.Neither would I, I thought. But there was no folding now. The cards were on the table, and all I could do was play thehand I’d been dealt—keep my face blank, my guard up, and hope like hell I didn’t lose the last pieces I was still holding onto.

The show must go on.

32. Zac

The show must go on.

That’s what I kept telling myself as I buttoned my cuffs, my hands steadier than they should have been.

Freddie Mercury had recorded that song while he was dying. Weak, exhausted, knowing his body was failing him, but still, he faced the microphone and sang like nothing in the world could break him. His voice soared—stronger than ever, defiant, transcendent. He delivered perfection on the first take, and the rest was history.‘Inside my heart is breaking, my makeup may be flaking, but my smile still stays on.’That was the kind of strength I needed now.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My tuxedo hung crisp and precise on my frame, a costume tailored for a role I was supposed to play. The rehearsal was about to start, this ridiculous performance where we’d practice standing in the right place, walking at the right time, pretending this was something natural and inevitable. A choreographed prelude to a day that would bind me to Chantelle forever.

My stomach clenched.

Chantelle wanted it to be perfect—flawless, seamless, a pristine execution of a future she had designed down to the last detail. Every step, every word, every gesture accounted for. And I would follow through because that was expected of me. Because that’s what I thought I wanted.

‘I’ll face it with a grin, I’m never giving in, on with the show.’

I exhaled slowly, tugging at my bowtie. The sacristy was dim, tucked away from the grandeur of the main hall, its small stained-glass window casting muted colors over the dark wooden cabinets lining the walls. The air was thick with incense and aged linen, tinged with the faint chill of stone walls thathad absorbed centuries of whispered prayers. A single arched doorway led back into the cathedral, where the others were already gathered, waiting.

Beyond that door, Grace Church stretched in solemn elegance—Gothic arches soaring toward the heavens, chandeliers suspended like frozen constellations beneath the high, vaulted ceiling. Stained glass fractured the fading light into kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floor and polished pews. It was a place meant for devotion, for belief. But belief in what? That love was sacred? That vows were unbreakable? That standing at the altar meant something beyond a carefully arranged recital?

Before I could spiral deeper into cynicism, someone knocked on the door, and when I turned around, Chris was there, stepping inside the small chamber.

“Hey, are you ready?” he said, closing the door behind him. “They sent me to look for you. Duty of the best man, I suppose.”

My hands curled into fists. He was so fucking beautiful. Dressed sharp in his navy blue suit, his blond hair tousled just enough, his lips slightly parted like he was about to say something else—but didn’t. His eyes flickered over me, a fleeting softness before he schooled his expression into a mask of indifference.

I had tried to keep my distance from him, just like he’d asked. He wanted space, and I’d told myself I could give it to him. But the truth was, I couldn’t. I had slipped—small things, stolen moments, a perfectly timed encounter in the hallways when I knew he’d be there, a visit to his department I hadn’t meant to make. Because when I talked to him, it was the only time I felt like myself. Like I wasn’t suffocating under the weight of everything I was supposed to be.

“So, this is it,” I said, taking a step closer to him.

“Yeah.”

“I…” For a moment I got lost in his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He shrugged, casting his gaze down. “But you said it yourself. It was always going to end like this. You, marrying her. Me, being left behind. I knew it from the start.”

I took another step closer. “Then how can you still put up with me?”

Chris parted his lips as if to speak, then pressed them shut, like he was holding the truth back. He looked like he wanted to step back, to put more distance between us, but with his back against the door, there was nowhere to go.

When he didn’t respond, I stepped in, closing what little space remained between us, my body almost brushing his. “Tell me,” I pressed, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Why do you keep going along with this?”

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