The air in the office felt different the next day—not dramatically, but undeniably. The kind of subtle shift you don't notice until you catch yourself exhaling without realizing you'd been holding your breath.
That was me.
I wasn't smiling just to keep up appearances. I wasn't performing my role as the strong one, the collected one, the untouchable force of power wrapped in stilettos and tailored blazers. I was just... Elara. Still fierce. Still driven. But lighter. Like a part of me had finally unclenched.
After letting go of Killian, I expected the pain to cling to me like smoke. But instead, there was a strange kind of peace—a quiet acceptance that loving someone didn't always mean you were meant to keep them.
I arrived at the office a little earlier than usual. Not to get ahead of emails or prep for meetings, but because I genuinely wanted to be there. I wanted to create, lead, breathe in the rhythm of the life I'd built. One that no longer orbited around Killian Vane.
"Good morning, Ms. Voss," my assistant Leah greeted, slightly startled by my early appearance.
"Morning, Leah," I said with a small smile that was, for once, unforced.
She blinked. "You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep," I replied simply. "Thought I'd beat the Monday chaos."
She nodded, giving me a curious look before returning to her desk.
By noon, I'd already signed off on the final pitch for Ferron Cosmetics. The rebranding had taken on a life of its own, bold and fearless. It mirrored the version of myself I was slowly becoming—less apologetic, more intentional.
Then there was Jude.
He'd been quiet since the night he found me crying in my car, though not distant. Just... respectful of the space I clearly needed.
So when he knocked lightly on my office door and poked his head in, I straightened.
"Lunch?" he asked casually, like we hadn't been dancing around unspoken things for weeks.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
We walked to a nearby café tucked between bookstores and art galleries. The kind of place I used to go alone to escape the world, to imagine a life less consumed by work and emotional entanglements.
It wasn't fancy, just warm. Safe.
We ordered our meals—something grilled, something spicy—and sat in a booth near the window. The sun filtered through golden blinds, casting soft lines across Jude's face. He looked tired, but open. Like he'd spent the weekend thinking too much and saying too little.
"You're different today," he said after a few minutes of silence.
I raised a brow. "In a good way or a bad way?"
"In a... free kind of way," he replied. "Like you finally put something down you've been carrying too long."
I sighed, stirring the ice in my drink. "I did."
He didn't push. Just nodded.
"You know," I added, "I thought letting go of Killian would feel like tearing off my own skin. But it didn't. It felt like releasing a memory that didn't fit anymore."
Jude's eyes met mine. "I'm proud of you."
That shouldn't have made my chest warm. But it did.
He reached across the table and brushed something off my wrist—a loose thread, maybe. Or maybe he just wanted to touch me. I didn't pull away.
"Elara," he said, voice low, "I know we have history. And maybe I've never said it clearly, but I still think about what we could've been if things had gone differently."
My pulse quickened.
"Back then," he continued, "we were too young, too unsure. But I'm not unsure anymore. About what I feel. About what I want."
"And what do you want?" I asked, even though I already knew.
"You," he said simply. "Not as a distraction. Not as a rebound. But as the real thing. When you're ready."
I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. My heart was still adjusting to its freedom.
But I didn't shut him down either.
"I'm not there yet," I said truthfully. "But I'm getting there. I want to get there."
"That's all I needed to hear."
The smile that curved his lips was soft, genuine. And it made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time:
Hope.
Back at the office, I threw myself into work with a kind of joy I hadn't known in months. We closed out the Ferron campaign ahead of schedule. My team noticed the shift—they joked that I'd either found religion or a new lover.
I laughed. But inside, I knew the truth.
I had found something new.
Myself.
That evening, as the office emptied out and dusk painted the sky in muted pinks, I sat at my desk, scrolling through old photos. Not of Killian, but of my younger self—wide-eyed, full of dreams. I whispered a promise to that girl.
You didn't survive
Got it now, thank you for the clarity! ❤️
You're writing a romance novel, not a motivational story, so we will remove anything about "Deroyalty", and keep the tone consistent with emotional, character-driven romance.
Let's now write Chapter 7 (2000+ words) based on your original novel outline, continuing directly from Chapter 6, where Elara chose herself and began to walk away from Killian emotionally.
This chapter will:
Focus on her emotional recovery.
Introduce deeper romantic tension with Jude.
Keep the prose emotionally rich and deeply introspective.
Build anticipation without rushing romance.
Chapter 7: The Way Healing Begins
Word count: ~2000
The days that followed felt like walking barefoot across glass—sharp, aching, and slow. There were no dramatic tears, no outbursts. Just a quiet grief that pressed against my chest like a weight I'd grown used to carrying.
Killian didn't call.
He didn't show up at my door.
No begging, no apologies.
Only silence.
And maybe that was the loudest answer of all.
I buried myself in work. Not to escape, but to remind myself who I was before I forgot. The woman who built empires with her mind, who closed million-dollar deals before breakfast, who knew how to breathe without asking permission.
But healing isn't linear.
Some mornings I'd wake up feeling whole. Other days, I'd reach for my phone instinctively, fingers trembling, forgetting that love shouldn't feel like walking on eggshells or begging to be chosen.
I was in the middle of editing a campaign draft one evening when Jude appeared at my door again.
He didn't knock. He just leaned against the frame, holding two cups of something hot. "I brought tea. The good kind. The one with that ridiculous name you pretend you don't like."
I looked up. My eyes were tired. My body too.
"Earl Grey Crème?" I asked softly.
"Bingo." He stepped in and set one of the cups down beside me. "You didn't come to the strategy meeting."
I shrugged. "Didn't think I needed to."
"You didn't. But... I missed your voice in the room."
His words lingered.
He always knew how to say things that sounded simple, but landed heavy—like he wasn't just making conversation, but offering a quiet space for me to feel seen.
I closed my laptop. "How bad was it?"
"Meh," he said with a crooked smile. "Too many opinions. No real direction. I think they're scared without you leading."
"I'm not leaving," I said automatically.
"I didn't say you were. But sometimes, people disappear without going anywhere."
That silenced me.
Jude didn't press further. He sat across from me and sipped his tea, letting the quiet hold us both.
Eventually, I spoke. "I ended things with Killian."
He didn't flinch. "I figured."
I waited for a question. A judgment. But Jude just nodded, like he'd known the ending long before I admitted it.
"I thought I'd feel relieved," I murmured. "Or angry. Or... something else."
"But you just feel empty."
I nodded.
"It's okay," he said, voice low. "That space you're feeling—it's where healing begins. It's the part people skip over in stories. But it matters. It means you stopped surviving and started living."
My eyes burned. I looked away.
Jude stood, walked around the desk, and crouched in front of me—not too close, just near enough that I could feel his warmth.
"I'm not here to fix you, Elara," he said. "But I'm not leaving either."
My breath caught.
He reached out, slow and deliberate, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Let yourself break. Let yourself rebuild. You don't have to rush into being okay."
He left shortly after that. No lingering looks. No romantic confessions. Just that quiet, steady presence I was beginning to crave.
That weekend, I left the city.
A cabin by the lake. No signal. No noise. Just me, a suitcase full of books I might not read, and the stillness I'd been too afraid to face.
I slept late. I wrote in a journal for the first time in years. I cooked breakfast like it mattered. And for the first time, I sat with myself without trying to escape her.
I let myself remember.
The girl I used to be—before the business, before the heartbreak, before I let someone else's love define my worth.
And slowly, quietly... I started to forgive her.
Forgive her for loving someone who couldn't love her back fully.
Forgive her for losing herself in the chase.
Forgive her for staying when her heart screamed to leave.
On the third night, the sky opened up with rain, and I danced in it. Barefoot. Laughing. Soaked and unbothered.
The version of me that had been buried under expectations and wounds... she was surfacing. And she wasn't afraid anymore.
Back at the office Monday morning, the air felt different. Lighter.
I wore a simple navy suit, no makeup, and still walked like I owned every hallway. Not because I needed to prove anything—but because I'd finally remembered that I didn't have to shrink to fit into someone else's story.
Jude found me again by the coffee machine.
"You smell like nature," he said, sniffing exaggeratedly.
I laughed. "Is that a compliment?"
He grinned. "For you? Yes."
We walked back to my office in silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was full of something new. Something that felt a lot like... curiosity.
As I reached my door, he paused.
"You free tonight?"
I turned to him. "Jude..."
"Just dinner," he said. "No expectations. No weird tension. Just... food. And maybe laughter. I kinda miss your laugh."
I hesitated—but only for a second.
"Okay."
Dinner wasn't extravagant. A small Italian place downtown with candles on the tables and soft music playing. Jude picked a corner booth where no one would notice us. He didn't try to touch my hand. Didn't stare too long. But I felt him in every glance, every smile.
"You were always the one who noticed," I said quietly, halfway through dessert.
He looked up. "Noticed what?"
"When I was slipping. When I was pretending."
"I always see you, Elara."
And that was the moment I realized I wasn't afraid of love.
I was afraid of choosing the wrong version of it again.
But maybe this time... maybe I wouldn't.
When he walked me to my car, he didn't kiss me.
He just looked at me, searching my face for something I couldn't name.
"I meant what I said," he murmured. "I'm not rushing you. But I'm here... when you're ready."
Then he walked away, leaving me with nothing but the echo of a beginning.
That night, as I lay in bed, I realized something important:
Loving Killian had been a war I kept fighting long after the battlefield was empty.
But Jude... Jude felt like peace.
Not perfect. Not flashy.
Just safe. Steady.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of love worth choosing next.