Prologue

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The night her world changed, he held her.

Amina’s voice barely made it above a whisper when the call ended. “My mom… she’s gone.”
Just like that.

No warning. No final words. No time to prepare.

Milan didn’t know what to say. What could you say when someone lost the only anchor they’d ever known? So, he didn’t speak. He just pulled her into his chest and let her crumble. He held her through the silence. Through the scream, she wouldn’t let out. Through the phone calls she had to make to people who never expected to receive them.

He helped her make travel arrangements, packed her bag, and stayed up while she stared out the window, silent tears soaking the sleeve of his hoodie.

And when she finally closed her eyes near dawn, curled on his couch with a blanket wrapped around her like a shield, he told himself he’d never let her go.

But he felt it.
Even then.
The slow unraveling.

Grief had already begun to pull her away from him, thread by fragile thread. And a selfish fear crept into his chest: What if she never came back?

 

By morning, she was gone.

Milan woke to cold sheets and an even colder ache in his chest. Her bag was missing. So was she. She hadn’t even woken him to say goodbye. The only trace left behind was a text blinking on his lock screen.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t say goodbye.

That was it. Seven words.

He reread them over and over, hoping they'd change. Hoping she’d change her mind.

She was only hours away, but it felt like a lifetime had wedged itself between them.

 

Later that day, his cousin Brandi called.

“She’s with me,” she said softly. “Amina made her decision. She’s going home to be with her brother. She won’t be coming back.”

He couldn’t blame her. Wouldn’t.

But that didn’t mean he knew what to do with the heartbreak. Or the confusion. Or the guilt of not knowing how to hold on to someone who’d lost too much to be held.

That night, Milan let his pain lead him somewhere familiar.
Paris.
His ex. His comfort. His mistake.

He told himself it was just for the night.
But in that one night, grief met regret, comfort met consequence, and it changed the course of everything.

Chapter One

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The glass doors of Sanchez & Shaw swung open with a quiet hush as Amina stepped into the lobby, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It was early enough that the office hadn’t started buzzing yet, just how she liked it. The stillness offered space to breathe before the flood of emails and client calls swallowed her whole.

She passed the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the front hall, pausing to adjust the collar of her soft camel trench. May sunlight poured through the glass, too bright for the heaviness sitting in her chest. The month always stirred grief in quiet corners. It had been years since her mother passed, but May still held the ache of those first days after the funeral. The air was warmer now, but not quite soft.

She didn’t dwell. Couldn’t. Not today. There was too much to do.

Inside her office, Amina dropped her bag on the leather chair in the corner and flipped on her desk lamp. Her planner was already open, the to-do list scrawled in neat cursive. Twelve-Fifty, Chaz’s restaurant, had a rebrand rollout coming up, and the social launch and print deliverables still needed finalizing.

He’d surprised her. Their first meeting had felt like any other pitch, but something about him, sharp, charismatic, just a little too observant, had made her pulse tick differently. Since then, they’d fallen into a rhythm that didn’t quite have a name.

Still, no one at the firm knew. Especially not Brandi.

Brandi Shaw, Amina’s best friend since college, turned sister-in-law, and co-founder of the marketing firm they built together, breezed in as if on cue, carrying two coffees and a white paper bag. Her braids were swept into a high bun, skin glowing in the way only melanin kissed by sleep and serums could.

They had met at Langston Southern University (LSU), an HBCU named after Langston Hughes that blended legacy and creativity in every brick of its campus. From poetry nights to pitch competitions, it was where they first learned the power of their voices and how to use them. 

“Morning,” Brandi said, handing her a cup. “Almond milk, no sugar, extra cinnamon. Don’t say I don’t love you.”

Amina smiled, accepting it. “I won’t say it, but I’ll definitely think it the next time you forget the almond milk.”

“I forgot once,” Brandi said as she flopped onto the couch, kicking off her heels. “Please let today be quiet. My toddler was up at four a.m. asking if clouds sleep. Clouds, Amina. Clouds.”

Amina laughed. “Ryan’s deep. A little too deep for that hour.”

“She’s lucky she’s cute,” Brandi muttered. “Anyway. How’s grief month treating you?”

Amina blinked. “We’re really calling it that now?”

Brandi shrugged with a warm smile. “It’s what it is. And I’m your best friend, I get to ask. What do you need?”

Amina hesitated, then sipped her coffee. “Nothing. Just quiet, space, a good playlist, and some wine.”

Brandi tilted her head. “That sounds like a whole vibe full of healing. You been journaling?”

Amina nodded. “Some.”

“Good. Just like before, you’ll make it through. Stronger.”

A pause settled between them.

Brandi studied her. “I know there’s a small connection between losing your mom and losing your relationship with Milan. Have you thought about him at all?”

Amina didn’t flinch, but her grip on the cup tightened.

“I have,” she said softly. “It’s hard not to. Everything changed around the same time.”

Brandi nodded. “I talked to him a few weeks ago. He’s still in New York. Being an amazing artist and dad.”

Amina’s eyes flicked toward her. “Yeah?”

“He’s… different, Mina. Softer, but still Milan.”

Amina gave a faint smile. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

Brandi raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Amina ignored the question. “I’ve got back-to-backs today. If I’m not at my desk, I’m in a meeting.”

Brandi took the hint but not without a knowing smirk. “Alright, but don’t think I won’t bring it up again. You know I will.”

Once she left, Amina let herself breathe. The past had a way of creeping in through open doors. She wasn’t running from it anymore.

However, that didn’t mean she was ready to open the door all the way.

Not yet.

Later that day, the midday light filtered through the conference room’s sheer panels, leaving soft golden stripes across the table. Amina tapped her pen against her notepad, only half-listening as designers discussed specs and a junior copywriter nervously pitched a tagline.

Her thoughts wandered.

The Twelve-Fifty relaunch was moving along. Her team was sharp. The branding felt fresh, refined, with the cultural edge she wanted. Chaz had given her full creative control, something rare, almost dangerous.

She smiled at the thought of his last text: “If the food doesn’t win them, your presence will. Meet for a tasting?”

No pressure. Just an implication, and yet it lingered.

She blinked back to the room as the final slide closed.

“Let’s aim for first-round edits by Thursday,” she said, closing her planner. “We need everything locked in before the press teaser hits.”

The team nodded and trickled out. Amina stayed behind, organizing her notes. She didn’t hear Brandi enter until the thud of a large purse hit a chair.

“I brought snacks to ensure you’re taking time to eat,” Brandi announced. “Also, tea. Not gossip, but actual tea. Though I could brew both.”

Amina chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s how I cope with Ryan’s second question of the day, asking if she can marry her daddy one day. I told her to find him and sort that out.”

“Wow. Shar’s in trouble.”

“Per usual.” Brandi grinned, then her voice softened. “You seem good. Present and focused. I like it.”

“I am,” Amina said. “This campaign helps. Keeps me moving.”

Brandi leaned in. “So, it has nothing to do with a certain someone you’ve been seeing that you don’t think I know about?”

Amina shot her a look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine.”

Amina rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips.

They sat in a comfortable silence before Brandi spoke again, gentler this time.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “You carry so much and still lead like it’s second nature.”

Amina blinked. “Where’s this coming from?”

Brandi shrugged. “Just watching you. It’s easy to forget you’re grieving when you keep everything so tight.”

Amina was quiet, then nodded. “Thanks. I’m trying.”

“Try softer,” Brandi said. “You don’t have to hustle your way through healing.”

Amina exhaled. “Noted, friend.”

Her phone buzzed with a calendar alert: ‘Twelve-Fifty walkthrough, tomorrow.’ She tucked the planner under her arm and stood.

“Back to it.”

Brandi followed. “Just one last thing.”

“What now?”

“If this guy ends up being more than just a friend…”

Amina narrowed her eyes.

Brandi grinned. “I just want the exclusive. I meet him before anyone.”

Amina laughed as they exited together, the door clicking shut behind them.