The office was nearly empty, the hum of the servers the only sound between you. Overhead fluorescents cast a cold, sterile glow, but the heat between them was anything but. You stand near his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight. The look in your eyes was sharper than any cutting remark he’d ever received in a boardroom.

"Say it," you demanded, voice low and steady, though he could hear the storm raging beneath it. "Tell me what I already know."

Joe exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He could talk his way out of most things—sell a lie so well it felt like truth. But not with you. Never with you. "You used me."

You let the words hang in the air, waiting for a denial, an excuse—something.

But Joe just swallowed, his silence heavier than a confession. Your laugh was short, bitter. "That’s what I thought." She turned, already reaching for the door. "No." His voice stopped you. Rough. Unsteady. Desperate in a way he couldn’t afford to be.

You didn’t turn around, but you didn’t leave, either.

"I didn’t use you," he said, softer now, like the truth was something fragile, something that might break if he wasn’t careful. "I needed you."

A sharp inhale. You gripped the doorknob, knuckles white.

"And that makes it better?"

He didn’t have an answer. Maybe because there wasn’t one.