Marcus's POV
Marcus sits in his car outside Zoe's apartment building and tells himself he's not nervous.
He's lying.
His hands are gripping the steering wheel at six in the morning and his heart is doing something that resembles a panic attack. He hasn't slept. He's been thinking about this moment for six months since he found her. Now it's here and he's terrified he's going to mess it up.
The sun hasn't come up yet. The street is quiet. He watches her building door and waits.
She walks out at exactly six o'clock and she's carrying a small bag and wearing one of the emerald dresses he sent. Her dark curly hair is down today instead of in that messy bun. She looks like someone about to walk into their own execution and simultaneously something beautiful.
Marcus gets out and opens the passenger door for her.
"Morning," he says, keeping his voice steady when everything inside him is falling apart.
Zoe gets in without making eye contact. The silence between them is heavy. Thick. Like something living and breathing in the space between two people who used to know each other and now don't.
Marcus drives toward the highway and doesn't speak. Neither does she. The radio plays softly but it feels too loud. Everything feels too loud and too quiet all at once.
An hour passes.
Two hours.
The silence is suffocating.
Finally, Zoe speaks. "Tell me about the last fourteen years," she says quietly. "Everything I missed. Everything that happened to you after fifth grade."
Marcus's hands tighten on the wheel.
"That's a lot of ground to cover," he says carefully.
"I have time," Zoe replies. "We have the whole drive."
So Marcus starts talking and he can't stop.
He tells her about the scholarship. About going to a private school where everyone had money and he had holes in his shoes. About how he felt like an imposter every single day. About MIT and how he was so desperate to prove something that he barely slept for four years.
He tells her about his parents. How his dad died when Marcus was twenty-three from a heart attack that no one saw coming. How his mom followed six months later like she couldn't survive without him. How Marcus came home to an empty house and decided that if he was going to hurt this badly, he might as well turn it into something that mattered.
"I built the company so I wouldn't have to feel," he says, and the admission costs him something. "Worked eighteen-hour days. Made deals that scared me. Took risks that should have destroyed me. And somehow it worked. The company went public. The money came. The success everyone dreams about became real."
He pauses.
"And it was the loneliest thing I've ever experienced," Marcus continues quietly. "I had everything and I had nothing. Money doesn't fill the empty spaces. Achievement doesn't bring people back. Success just means you're alone in a more expensive building."
Zoe is listening with complete attention the way she used to do. Like every word from his mouth matters. Like he matters.
"You're not alone though," Zoe says softly. "You have your brother."
"I do. Carter saved me a lot of times. But it's not the same as having people who knew you before any of this. People who see the person underneath the empire." He glances at her quickly. "People like you."
The car is warm but Zoe's hugging herself.
"Now you," Marcus says, unable to sit in his own vulnerability any longer. "Tell me. Everything."
Zoe's voice is small when she starts talking.
She tells him about watching her mom get sick. About how the diagnosis was stage four and everyone knew what that meant even though no one said it out loud. About dropping out of college senior year because her mom needed someone and her sister was already gone and it had to be Zoe.
"I worked the night shift at a restaurant," Zoe says. "Then I'd come home and care for her. Change her bandages. Give her medication. Hold her hand when the pain was bad." Her voice shakes. "And it still wasn't enough. She still died."
Marcus wants to pull over. Wants to hold her. Wants to fix something that can't be fixed.
"The medical bills were insane," Zoe continues. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars. I've been working three jobs trying to pay them off. Waitressing, cleaning houses, selling my art on street corners for nothing. And I'm still drowning, Marcus. I'm still barely surviving."
She's quiet for a moment.
"My mom used to tell me that hard work pays off. That if you hustle long enough, you'll get ahead. But she was wrong. Hard work just means you're tired while you're poor. There's no payoff. There's just more work and more bills and more nothing."
Marcus's hands are so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles are white.
She should never have gone through any of this. She should have been in college studying art. Should have been opening galleries instead of selling paintings on corners. Should have been living instead of surviving.
The injustice of it burns in his chest.
"I'm sorry," Marcus says, and he means it in a way that goes beyond words.
"For what? It's not your fault I was born poor."
"For not being there. For leaving you in fifth grade and never coming back."
Zoe looks at him then. Really looks at him.
"You didn't owe me anything, Marcus. You got out. That was the whole point. One of us had to escape."
But she's wrong. He owed her everything. She was the only one who treated him like he mattered when nobody else did. And he abandoned her to build an empire that meant nothing without her.
They drive in silence for another hour and Marcus plays back everything she said. The three jobs. The medical debt. The exhaustion in her voice when she talks about survival.
This is why he hired her. This is why he paid extra. This is why having her near him feels like finally being able to breathe.
The resort appears in the distance. Expensive. Sprawling. The kind of place that costs more per night than Zoe made in a month working three jobs.
Marcus pulls up to the entrance. Valets appear immediately. Security guards position themselves. The performance is about to begin.
He cuts the engine and turns to face her.
Zoe is staring out at the resort like it's a palace she's never allowed to touch.
"Before we go in," Marcus says, "you need to know that everything I'm going to do this weekend is because I care about you. Not because of the contract. Not because of the money. Because I care."
"Marcus," Zoe starts but he's already getting out of the car.
He walks around and opens her door. Extends his hand like he did in the parking garage on their first day. Offers her the same choice she made then.
Trust or run.
She looks at his hand for a long moment.
Then she takes it.
The touch is electric. Her skin is warm and soft and real against his palm. For a moment, they're not at a resort about to perform for investors. They're just two people who used to know each other trying to figure out if they still can.
"Ready?" Marcus asks.
Zoe squares her shoulders. "As ready as I'll ever be."
He should let go of her hand. Should release her before they walk inside because once they're in front of people, this becomes part of the performance. This becomes fake.
But he doesn't let go.
He keeps holding her hand as they walk toward the entrance. Keeps holding it as photographers start snapping pictures. Keeps holding it like he's terrified if he releases her, she'll disappear and he'll lose her again.
For the cameras, he tells himself.
But when Zoe doesn't pull away, when she actually squeezes his hand a little tighter like she needs to hold on too, his heart hammers against his ribs with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
Maybe this won't destroy everything.
Maybe she can feel it too.
Maybe, just maybe, the fake is becoming real.