Page 29 of Forever, Never, Always (Forever #2)

Sofia

By Monday morning, I’m practically a zombie. I haven’t slept, not really. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, Zoe’s voice on repeat in my head like a song I never asked to hear.

It’s me or him.

Four little words, and somehow, they’ve managed to hollow me out completely.

I asked Ric to sleep at his place last night.

He didn’t want to go—his face fell like I’d physically punched him—but I needed space.

Needed to breathe without his warmth clouding my thoughts.

He kissed my forehead before leaving, whispered, “I love you,” and I think I said it back, but honestly, I can’t remember. My mind’s been buzzing ever since.

Now, I’m at my desk at the magazine, surrounded by the gentle hum of typing and the distant clink of coffee cups, the comforting chaos of normalcy. But nothing feels normal. Not today.

I stare blankly at my screen, fingers hovering above the keyboard, trying to remember what I’m supposed to be writing. My coffee’s gone cold. My inbox is full. And I can’t stop hearing Zoe’s voice.

You don’t get to have both.

Guilt creeps in again, cold and clinging. I keep glancing at my phone, hoping for—and dreading—a message from her. But there’s nothing. Just silence. And it’s so much worse than shouting.

I rub my temples and glance at the time. It’s only nine-forty-seven. God, help me.

The worst part is, I don’t even know what the right choice is. I love Ric, I do , but the thought of losing Zoe, of that friendship just disappearing like smoke, makes my chest ache. She’s been there through everything, and now, she’s just . . . gone.

Torn in two. That’s how I feel. Like I’ve split myself down the middle, and no matter which half I choose, something vital will be left behind. God, I just want someone to tell me what to do.

A notification from Dexter pops up on my screen. My office now . I groan, glancing over to see where Amelia is. She’s not in her seat. I don’t even recall seeing her at all so far.

I trudge into the office, bracing myself for whatever mountain of work Dexter’s about to throw at me, especially if Amelia’s isn’t around. But when I push open the door, she’s already there.

Dexter leans back in his chair, unusually relaxed. Amelia stands on his side of the desk, arms folded, a smug little smirk on her face.

My stomach drops. What the hell is she up to now?

“Take a seat,” Dexter mutters, not looking up.

I do as I’m told, trying to still the sudden flutter of nerves in my chest. “Is everything okay?” I ask carefully.

“Not really, Sofia.” Dexter clasps his hands and rests them on the desk.

“Over the weekend, Amelia and I came in to do a stock check.” I frown, unsure where this is going.

“Every few months, we go through the cupboard and take inventory of the products we’ve been sent to feature,” he explains.

“Items we still need are put aside. The rest are packaged up and returned to the client.”

My breath catches.

The trainers. The bag.

“We’re missing some items,” he says.

“Missing?” My voice comes out small.

“A pair of Fendi trainers, size five, and a Fendi handbag.”

My eyes flick to Amelia. She’s still smirking, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Amelia mentioned seeing you wearing trainers matching that description on a recent staff night out,” Dexter continues. “Along with the bag.”

“Yes, that’s right.” I sit up straighter, forcing the words out. “It was my first week here. Amelia showed me the stock cupboard and told me to take them. I asked if we should check with you, but she said she was in charge of fashion and it was her call.”

Even as I speak, I know how it sounds. Like a weak excuse. Like I’m grasping.

Dexter narrows his eyes.

Amelia gasps, the picture of false outrage. “I did no such thing.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. This is ridiculous. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. She practically shoved them at me. Said it was part of the job.”

“She’s lying,” Amelia mutters, placing a hand on Dexter’s shoulder like she’s the wounded party.

“I’m not,” I say firmly, meeting Dexter’s gaze, “and you know it.”

“Do you have the items?”

I nod. “Yes, they’re at home.”

“I’d really like to deal with this and not involve the police.”

“The police?” I cry.

“Of course, you’ll need to return the items ASAP. And seeing as you already had a warning, I have no choice but to let you go.” The words sound muffled as the ringing in my ears intensifies.

“You’re firing me?”

“It’s that or a criminal record,” Amelia pipes up.

I glare at her. “This is what you’ve wanted all along,” I cry, standing.

“Why? Because you thought I wanted him?” I yell, waving my hand in Dexter’s direction.

“Well, I don’t. Men are nothing but trouble.

So, you’re welcome to him.” I spin on my heel and crash straight into a woman holding a toddler.

She arches a brow as I mumble an apology.

“Marie,” says Dexter, sounding panicked. I glance back, and Amelia looks less confident, putting space between her and Dexter.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she says.

“Sofia was just leaving,” Dexter rushes to say.

Marie eyes me. “Who’s welcome to him?” I don’t reply, unsure who this is or why she’s asking me questions. “Is he shagging the office tramp?”

I inhale sharply, my eyes widening. “Don’t ask her. I’ve just fired her. She’ll say anything,” he snaps. “Sofia, get out.”

Marie blocks my path. “Is my husband fucking the office tramp?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I have enough drama of my own and I don’t need this, but she’s his wife . He’s married. Shit . “Yes,” I say clearly. “if by tramp you mean Amelia.” Then I step around her and leave, smiling smugly.

The sound of yelling can be heard from the office as I pack up my desk. I tune out, my head full of panic and my heart aching.

Minutes later, Amelia appears, stopping at my desk. “Are you happy?” she hisses, folding her arms over her chest. “Your little stunt got me fired.”

I smirk. Finally, some good news. “I think it was your little stunt that got me fired,” I tell her.

“Karma is a bitch in Fendi trainers,” I sneer.

“Now, fuck off and don’t ever speak to me again.

” She looks taken aback as I throw the last of my things into my box and snatch it from the table.

“You’re lucky I haven’t smashed your face in for all the crap you’ve pulled. Bullies never win.”

Eric

The day’s dragged, and all I’ve thought about is Sofia and where her head is at. The second the bell rings, I’m out the door with the kids. I need to get back first and make dinner. Show her just how much I love her.

I pat the pocket with the plane tickets. A week in Bali, just the three of us. If the mood is right, it’s the place I’ll ask her to be my wife.

Maybe it seems rushed or even out the blue, but it feels right, especially with the threat of Zoe hanging over us. Whatever she said to Sofia yesterday is already driving a wedge between us.

I’m surprised when I step into Sofia’s house and find her curled up on the couch with a blanket over her while Harry watches a cartoon. She sits up looking surprised. “Hey,” I say gently. “Are you sick?” I place my hand on her forehead.

“No. I got fired.”

I gasp, sitting on the couch. “Fired? Why?”

“It’s a long story,” she whispers. And I hate it, the way she’s already shutting me out.

“Well, I thought I’d cook dinner tonight,” I say, standing abruptly, too loud in the silence.

“Actually—”

“I got us steak,” I cut in fast, not wanting to hear whatever she’s about to say. I head into the kitchen, forcing normal, grabbing the shopping bags like it’s just another evening.

Sofia appears in the doorway, the blanket wrapped like armour. Her eyes are swollen, her skin pale, but she’s never looked more real. More heartbreakingly her .

“Ric, please.”

“And I know you’re not mad on vegetables,” I go on, ignoring the break in her voice, “but you need to eat better, and asparagus is—”

“We need to talk,” she says quietly.

“It goes well with red meat, and I thought maybe wine too.” I reach for the rack. “I forgot to grab a bottle, but I’ll replace what we drink.”

“ Stop, ” she says, firm this time. I freeze, bottle midair. “Please,” she adds, her voice cracking. “You’re making this harder.”

I set the wine down carefully then cross to her in two quick steps. I take her hand, desperate. “Then don’t say it,” I plead. “Don’t say the words.”

Her eyes fill again. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” I whisper. “Not to me.”

She swallows, tears spilling now. “It’s all I’ve thought about. I wish it was easier.”

I shake my head. No. No, this isn’t how we end. “Pick me,” I say, voice breaking. “Please, Sofia. Choose me. ”

She closes her eyes, sobs wracking her. “I can’t. ”

My heart cracks. “I love you,” I say, pushing the words out like they’ll save us. I glance past her to where Harry sits on the rug, oblivious. “I love him. I love you. Don’t do this.”

She’s still crying, but she doesn’t take it back. She’s not choosing me.

Something inside me slips, a tether snapping. “This doesn’t make sense,” I say, stepping back like the extra space will help me breathe. “You said you loved me. You said you wanted this. ”

“I did,” she whispers.

“Then why are you throwing it away?” My voice rises, cracking under the weight of everything. “Because she gave you an ultimatum? Screw that. She doesn't get to do that. She doesn’t get to rip this apart.”

“She’s my best friend, Ric.”

“And I’m what? Just someone you can cut loose when it gets complicated?” I laugh, but it’s hollow, broken. “You don’t get to make me a maybe. Not after everything.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she cries.

“You already have,” I snap, but then I see her flinch and I hate myself. I drop my head into my hands, swallowing down the burn in my throat.