Page 31 of My Only (My First, My Last)

As much as I wanted to fight what he was saying, I couldn’t. Because deep down… I already knew it was true.

Everything was too much.

I had to be at work soon—probably late again—and I’d have to stay even later to fix the design flaw I’d been struggling with for days. I hadn’t really spoken to my wife since she told me she wanted out of our marriage. I felt like I was failing at everything.

I had driven all the way to Long Island City to get advice from my father, and he wasn’t even giving it.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he repeated. “But I can tell you this—fight for your forever.”

I locked eyes with him.

“Fight for your wife the way you fight for this damn project. I see you sacrificing everything to make sure it’s running well?—”

“Even the project is driving me half-crazy, Dad,” I mumbled. “For real, man. Shit.”

My dad stopped and stared at me for a few beats.

Then he closed the space between us and took me by the back of my head.

He leaned his forehead against mine and that was all I needed to release the tension in my shoulders.

My dad gave me a few seconds before lifting his head to press a kiss to my forehead.

He patted my shoulders twice then stepped back.

I took a deep breath, trying to inhale courage.

“You’re experiencing a shift, and that’s okay,” he assured me.

“But while you’re killing yourself over Greene Gardens, make sure you’re tending to your own garden.

” His voice deepened. “You must protect your marriage, Hassani. You must . That’s the only way you’ll keep it. There’s no other way, son.”

I swallowed hard, letting his words sink in.

He was right.

I had been pouring all my time and energy into work—into making sure this project was successful—but I had forgotten balance. I promised myself I would balance. I promised Ayla.

I nodded, my voice hoarse. “Aight.” I cleared my throat. “Aight.”

And just like that, the advice I was looking for was right there in my father’s last few words.

You must protect your marriage, Hassani. You must. That’s the only way you’ll keep it.

Tonight, I was going home to my wife.

Tonight, I was fixing this.

* * *

I pushed the side button on my phone, lighting up the screen.

I sighed.

Kissed my teeth.

Then dropped my head back between my shoulders.

Though I was late getting into the office, I wasn’t late enough to justify still being here at 8 p.m.

This damn design flaw had me stuck.

Again.

I’d been staring at the blueprints since morning, honestly, since Harper pointed it out days ago, but something about it just wasn’t adding up.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. My brain was a split battlefield—half of it still stuck on my father’s words earlier, the other half stuck on these goddamn blueprints.

I turned toward my computer screen, narrowing my eyes at the design, searching for the flaw.

Still couldn’t see it.

The anger built in me like a slow fire.

Harper said there was an issue. She claimed the interior spaces were too enclosed. That the natural light flow was off.

But I was having a hard time believing that.

I had designed this meticulously. Measured every curve, every angle, every single detail.

Something about having to fix this didn’t feel right.

“Hey, Hassani,” Harper’s voice cut in as she pushed open my office door.

I exhaled sharply. Didn’t even bother looking at her.

“What’s up, Harper?” I muttered, my eyes still fixed on the screen.

She strolled in, taking a seat across from my desk.

“You’re such a dedicated man,” she said softly.

I kissed my teeth, finally looking up. “That’s what they pay me for.”

I pulled my sketchbook closer, flipping to the same page I’d been stuck on all damn day.

“Although,” I said low, pencil already moving, “I’ve been struggling to find this flow issue you said was here.”

I glanced up, only briefly, before returning to my sketch.

Harper giggled. Nervous.

“I… umm … I have to be honest about something.”

I barely looked up. “Okay…?”

She exhaled heavily, like a weight had been lifted off her chest.

“There isn’t a flow issue.”

I stopped mid-stroke.

The pencil hovered over the page.

I lifted my head, fully focusing on her now. “What?”

Harper pressed her lips together, then exhaled again. “There’s no real problem with the light flow through the townhouses.”

I jerked my head back, feeling my jaw slack slightly.

She gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“I just…” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping. “I just wanted more time with you.”

A cold wave crashed into me.

Hard.

What the fuck did she just say?

I blinked, slowly, deliberately. “I’m sorry?”

The air shifted.

Like I’d misheard her. Like the universe was giving me one last chance to pretend I didn’t hear what she just said.

She swallowed, then pressed a hand to her chest. “I never do this, Hassani. I swear I don’t.”

She placed a delicate hand on my desk next.

“This is my career,” she whispered. “I’m a respected designer. I’ve worked too hard to get here.”

Then she lifted her big, wide eyes to mine. Breathless. In awe.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You’re just… so different.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Is she telling me she lied?

I straightened, hands tightening into slow fists.

“Harper,” I said, voice controlled, measured. Sharp. “What are you saying to me right now?”

She licked her lips. Didn’t even hesitate.

“I lied about the design flaw,” she admitted. “What you created was perfect. There was never anything wrong with it.”

I exhaled, forcing all the air out of me. There was some relief in knowing what I created was perfect . I knew the design was solid, even after putting myself through hell trying to find the flaw she swore was there. But as much as that gave me relief, it also left me confused as hell.

“I’ve intentionally been creating delays to spend more time with you.”

Something in me recoiled.

“What?” I whispered.

Harper leaned forward, voice low. “The urgent model home adjustments. The wrong flooring situation. The design revisions…” She took a deep breath. “You didn’t have to stay late for any of those things.”

My pulse slammed into my ears.

The urgent model adjustments? That’s why I missed Ayla’s work mixer.

The wrong flooring? That’s why I missed the dinner where Ayla met her mother’s boyfriend for the first time.

The design flaw? That’s why I stayed late the night Harper suggested we go to Vernon’s. The night I ran into my father. The night I ended up in The Green Room getting my ass handed to me. And, most devastatingly, the night I came home to a fed-up Ayla who told me she wanted a divorce.

Harper had lied. About all of it.

The flow issue. The accessibility concerns. The layout revisions.

Every delay was a fucking lie.

“You wasted my time,” I said, voice low. My eyes lifted to hers, steady. Controlled. Lethal. “You wasted the team’s time. Harper…”

I dropped my head, inhaled deep, trying to rein myself in.

“Do you know how much money you may have cost this project?”

Harper didn’t even flinch. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Serene. Unbothered.

“I don’t care about any of that.”

My breath halted in my chest.

She doesn’t care?

“You don’t care?” I repeated slowly.

“No.” She shook her head, like she was clarifying something simple. “I see those things as means to an end.”

“Pardon me?”

She sighed. “I’m not used to wanting someone as much as I want you , Hassani.”

My head snapped back so fast, my neck cracked.

“I’ve been with successful men before. Plenty ,” she added. “But none of them—not even one—is like you .”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m married , Harper. Married.”

“I know.” She was quick with it. “And… I don’t care.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat, bold now. Confident.

“Hassani.” She sighed. “You are too extraordinary to belong to just one woman. Let’s be real here.”

She tucked a loose wave of hair behind her ear.

“I’m not trying to replace Ayla,” she said, her voice soft. “I just want a little space in the world you’ve already built.”

I stared.

“No one has to know.” She shook her head, almost pleading. “I promise, I won’t say a thing.”

My eyes collapsed closed.

How could I be so fucking stupid?

Believing Harper was simply attracted to me was one thing.

But her creating fake problems to keep me late? Causing me to stress out unnecessarily over this project? Costing me time—precious time—away from Ayla?

Time I could have spent nurturing my marriage?

Now that shit was unforgivable.

My pulse pounded, hot and violent, thudding in my temples.

Harper wasn’t just playing games with work.

She was playing games with my fucking life.

And worst of all?

Ayla—my wife, my friend, my entire goddamn world—had been right about Harper all along.

And I didn’t listen.

I exhaled sharply, then locked eyes with Harper.

“You never asked me about Ayla.”

Her brows furrowed.

“And now, I see why.” A humorless laugh left my chest.

“If you’d taken the time to ask me about her—instead of plotting against her—you’d know she’s a phenomenal woman.”

I leaned forward, voice steady.

“A woman who has been through hell and back—but never let it change her for the worse.”

A pause.

“A woman who doesn’t look anything like what she’s been through.”

Harper stilled.

“You would have known that I’ve known Ayla since we were fourteen years old. That we started as just friends. Only friends.”

I swallowed hard. My chest burned.

“And our bond—our love—only grew stronger after she lost her father on September 11th, when he didn’t make it home from his job in the North Tower.”

Harper gasped. Loud. Eyes wide.

“Yeah.” I gritted my teeth to keep my chin from quivering.

“It’s a pain she still feels today.” My voice dropped, rough around the edges. “A pain I wish I could take from her— every fucking day, Harper.”

My jaw locked.

“A pain I have been helping her heal from since we were kids.”

I forced myself to breathe.