The kiss was supposed to be goodbye—I could feel it in the way his lips lingered like they were afraid to let go. Like they wanted to say everything his voice couldn't.
When we pulled apart, silence wrapped itself around us again. Not the comfortable kind we once shared on quiet nights in his penthouse—but the heavy kind. The kind that stung with finality.
I took a small step back.
"We can't keep doing this," I said, softly.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"Denzel, what do you want from me?" My voice cracked as I pushed out the question I'd been holding onto for weeks. "Do you want to play savior again? Do you want to pretend this didn't happen? Do you want to fall in love but never admit it?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
I swallowed the rising ache in my throat, folding my arms across my chest like armor. "I'm not doing this anymore. You made it clear what this was. An agreement. And now, it's over."
Denzel looked at me for a long moment. His silence said everything—he wanted to speak, but he didn't know how to, not when it mattered most.
"We're not… this," I said, motioning between us. "Whatever happened between us, whatever we felt—it wasn't enough for you to stay. So let's just be honest and stop pretending it might turn into something more."
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said at last, voice rough like gravel.
"And yet, you did."
We both stood there, surrounded by the pieces of a love that never got the chance to become one.
He took a shaky breath. "I want to give you something before you go."
I frowned. "What is it now?"
"Money," he said. "To help with the baby. To help you live."
I shook my head before he could finish. "No."
"Star…"
"I'm not taking anything from you. Not like that." I felt my body trembling. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm on your payroll."
He stepped closer. "It's not about that. You're the mother of my child. I want to make sure you're okay. That our child is okay."
"You don't get to control how I live just because I'm pregnant," I said, voice thick. "I want to build something for myself. Not something that came from your pity."
His brow furrowed. "It's not pity."
"Then what is it?"
Silence again.
My chest rose and fell, the tension pulling tight at my ribs.
"I know you're not going to say what I want to hear," I whispered. "You never have. But I've learned something from all of this. I can't keep waiting for you to choose me."
He watched me with unreadable eyes, something dark and broken flickering in them.
Then he reached for his briefcase on the side table, pulled out a manila folder, and handed it to me.
I opened it slowly.
"What is this?" I asked, scanning the document.
"It's an agreement," he said. "It states that I'm giving you money as a gift. No strings. No ownership. No expectations. You don't owe me anything. I'm not doing it for control. I'm doing it because you're carrying my child, and you deserve to have something of your own."
Tears stung my eyes as I looked up at him.
"You signed this?"
"Yes."
"And this… this is really just for me?"
"Yes."
My lips trembled. I wanted to believe him. And maybe for the first time—I did.
"This doesn't mean we're going to try again," I said, still holding the papers like they might dissolve in my hands.
"I know."
"This doesn't mean you get to be in my life however you want."
"I know that too."
We stood in silence, the agreement between us like the final stitch in a wound neither of us knew how to close.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
I walked toward the door, my legs feeling heavier with each step. But before I stepped outside, I turned one last time.
"I'll keep you updated. About the baby."
"I'd like that."
"Goodbye, Denzel."
His throat bobbed. "Goodbye, Star."
And then I walked away—this time not just from his penthouse, but from the illusion of us.
I walked away carrying more than heartbreak.
I carried myself.
Six Weeks Later
The boutique was small—tucked between a bookstore and a florist—but it was mine. The name "Star Bloom" gleamed in silver letters above the windows, and inside, soft lights bathed the racks of curated fashion in warm elegance.
I'd poured my heart into it.
The first morning I opened, Zoey brought me flowers. Tyler brought a speaker and played loud music until we danced barefoot on the empty floor.
And now, every day, I walked into something I built. On my terms.
Some days, Denzel texted to ask about the baby. He never crossed a line. Never asked to visit. He just… checked in. Quiet. Careful. Respectful.
Maybe that was all we could ever be.
But I had peace now. Peace and a tiny heartbeat that reminded me I'd never be alone again.
As I sat behind the counter that afternoon, hand resting gently over my growing belly, I smiled for the first time in a long while—whole and proud.
Not because someone gave me a title.
But because I'd finally claimed my own.