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The smell of citrus and heat fills the air as I step onto the studio floor, my heels clicking against the polished concrete. Massive reflector panels bounce sunlight across a mock lemon grove, and just beyond, the photographer’s assistant calls out lighting adjustments.

The product shoot needed to be redone, though with the same clean aesthetic but tighter messaging now. The original assets were compromised, thanks to Lily’s leak, so my team and I work around the clock. We reframe the brand story, emphasizing transparency, innovation, authenticity.

Talia stands beside me, arms crossed, watching our new campaign unfold in real time.

“It’s stronger than the original,” she says under her breath, and I know she’s right.

Everything’s sharper now. Clearer. The model’s dress is simpler, the colors richer. There’s a glass bottle in her hand—our serum in its final packaging—held up like it’s some kind of salvation. And maybe it is.

Raj leans toward me. “We’re leaning all the way in on transparency,” he murmurs. “Organic sourcing, no filters, full ingredient traceability. People want the truth now.”

Especially after everything that has happened.

I cross my arms, jaw tight. “Good.”

The camera flashes.

Talia nudges me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just thinking.”

We watch the hero shot get re-framed. The model laughs on cue, sun glinting off her skin as she tosses a lemon into the air. It lands in the basket beside her.

Perfect. Polished. Just like we need it to be.

We have just five days left before the launch, and this reshoot cost us three. The team is exhausted. I haven’t slept a full night since Lily was escorted out.

Talia hands me her tablet with the preliminary ad layout mocked up. I swipe through the pages—sun-washed photography, a new slogan: Clean. Real. Uncompromised.

“It’s good,” I murmur. “Real good.”

“You want to feel like you won,” she says, “but mostly you feel like someone stabbed you and walked away.”

I glance at her. “That obvious?”

Talia lifts a shoulder. “Only because I know you.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I step closer to the set, watching the model do a slow spin as the wind machine picks up the hem of her dress. For a second, I forget the bitterness. The betrayal. I just see what we’re building. What we’re fighting to protect.

But the moment the last shoot wraps, and the crew starts packing up, a sharp emptiness cuts through her.

Because Sean hasn’t touched me since I pushed him away.

He’s still here. Still guarding me, still watching every car that passes, still checking the perimeters each night. But he doesn’t linger in the kitchen anymore. He doesn't find reasons to sit beside me on the couch. He doesn't tease me about my caffeine addiction or correct my terrible knife skills when he watches me cook.

He’s careful now.

Detached.

Just the way I asked him to be.

So why does my heart ache? Why do I miss him? Why do I yearn for affection? For his attention?

“I need to go,” I say all of a sudden, handing the tablet back to Talia.

“Where?”

“Home.”