4. Shiloh

Chapter four

Shiloh

It’s been a long day at work, and now it’s back to the hell of my ex’s apartment.

I push the door open and am greeted by the ambient glow of the television flickering across Chris's face. He's sunk into the couch, thumbs mashing on the game controller like it's his lifeline.

The room is scattered with poli-sci textbooks, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared, symbols of a future he's chasing—a future I once thought would be mine, too. My heart squeezes tight, mourning my deferred dreams of grad school.

I tell myself I’ll get in next year. There’s still time…

… as long as I don’t get trapped in my job as an assistant.

"Hey," I say, but he doesn't glance up, lost in his virtual world.

I take a step closer, and the sight of him there—so absorbed, so distant—strikes a nerve in me. A memory flashes, unbidden: us, entwined, hands exploring the terrain of each other's bodies. I feel a jolt of something like disgust, wondering how I could have ever craved his touch.

How did I ever convince myself that this was what I wanted?

And why can’t I get his older brother out of my head?

I shake the thoughts away, needing something to take the edge off. I walk behind the couch, my presence barely registering in his consciousness.

He's always been able to tune out the world when he's gaming. It used to be endearing. Now, it's just another reminder of how different we are—how different our paths have become.

The kitchen feels like a safe haven compared to the living room. The fridge hums softly as I open the door and grab a hard lemonade, the cold bottle a small comfort in my hand. I pop the top, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment, but even that fails to snag his attention.

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath, not sure if I'm more relieved or irritated by his indifference. I guess ignoring me is better than yelling at me.

I take a long swig, letting the tartness sting my tongue, and then decide I've had enough of sharing space with ghosts of my past. Without a backward glance at Chris, I step into the guest room and close the door softly behind me.

I kick off my shoes, sending them skittering across the wooden floor with more force than necessary. They hit the wall with a thud, and I wince at the sound, but it's too late for regrets now. I flop down on the futon, the cushion accepting me in a soft embrace that I'm grateful for.

With my phone in hand, I unlock the screen and start scrolling through social media, the glow illuminating my face in the dim room. It's a mindless activity, one that usually helps me unwind after a long day of feeling like I'm barely treading water—but today, after an underwhelming first day of work, it feels like all I’m doing is swiping past the life updates that scream about everyone else moving forward while I feel stuck in the same place.

Then, amidst the clutter of happy faces and filtered lives, I pause.

There she is—my best friend Nadia, covered in dirt, grinning from ear to ear next to a half-excavated artifact. The lush green of Ireland stretches behind her, and the caption reads: Living the dream at Trinity College! #ArchaeologyLife #DiggingHistory

A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. Nadia is living out her passion, doing what she loves. And here I am, so far from where I hoped I'd be. I can't help but envy her freedom, the way she's embraced her path without looking back.

Chris got me so down that I let my grades slip… and then I missed the deadline to apply with her. I remember her being so mad at me last winter that I’d missed my chance to go to Ireland with her—we’d had so many plans, and I let Chris convince me I wasn’t good enough.

Liam was right all those years ago.

Chris was bad for me.

Looks like you're having the time of your life! So proud of you.

I type quickly, my thumbs tapping against the screen. My comment isn't just a platitude; I mean every word. Despite the twinge of jealousy, I genuinely love seeing my friend succeed.

It's just hard not to compare their highlights to my behind-the-scenes.

The whole situation makes my heart hurt. It's like the world spun on its axis, flinging everyone forward into their futures, and I'm still here, anchored to a life I never wanted. Personal assistant to a billionaire isn’t what I envisioned for myself. The money's good, sure, but money can't buy back lost time or dreams deferred.

And Liam.

God, he was such an asshole today. All business, no pleasantries, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel. He doesn't even see me—not really. Just another cog in the machine that is his empire.

But then there's that memory, refusing to be boxed away—a kiss that shouldn't have happened but did. A kiss that lingered longer than it had any right to. Even now, with his jerk behavior fresh in my mind, I can't shake off the sensation of his lips against mine.

It's infuriating.

I've thought of him too often since that single meeting two years ago. And I hate that I remember every detail—the way his eyes darkened, how my heart raced, the heat between us at odds with the snow falling down.

I even had a dream about Liam the very night after Chris and I split up, after crying myself to sleep on Nadia’s sofa. Liam had been between my legs, those dark eyes looking up from the juncture of my thighs, my hands tangled in his thick curls, his tongue—

The shrill ring of my phone slices through the haze of my daydreams, startling me back to reality. The screen flashes Nadia's name, and a swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. I hesitate for a moment, caught between wanting to hear a friendly voice and dreading the inevitable comparison of our lives.

"Hey," I answer after the third ring, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside.

"Shy! How are you?"

"Surviving," I reply with a half-hearted chuckle. "How's Dublin treating you?"

"Ah, it's amazing here! The city, the history—I feel like I've stepped into another world." Nadia’s excitement is palpable even through the phone, and a genuine smile tugs at my lips.

"Sounds like you're settling in just fine then.”

"Absolutely. But enough about me. Tell me about the new job!" she probes, and there's a note of eagerness in her voice that tells me she's been dying to ask.

"The new job's... interesting," I hedge, not quite ready to dive into the details of working for Liam—the older brother of my ex, the source of my frustration, and the man who kissed me senseless two years ago.

"Interesting good, or interesting 'I'm plotting my escape?’" Nadia knows me too well.

"Jury's still out," I admit. "Just trying to keep my head down for now."

"Come on, Shy. Spill it. I know there's something you're not saying." Nadia’s voice is warm but insistent, like she can see right through the phone line.

I sigh, my fingers tracing the edge of the futon absentmindedly. "It's... well, it's good money," I start, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Never really saw myself as someone's PA, but it'll help pay the bills."

There's a pause, and I can practically hear Nadia's eyebrows rising in suspicion. "Shiloh Sanders, since when do you settle for 'it'll pay the bills'? You're the most ambitious person I know."

"Things change, Nads," I say, trying to keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice. "We can't all gallivant around the world living our dreams."

"Shiloh..." Her tone softens, and she is full of concern now. "What's going on? Is it Chris?"

The question hangs between us, and I feel the weight of the secret I've been keeping. I take a deep breath, my heart racing despite my resolve to remain detached.

"My boss is Chris's older brother, Liam," I confess, the name feeling like a betrayal as it passes my lips.

"Wait, Liam? The one who—" her voice cuts short with realization.

"Yep, that Liam. The Thanksgiving incident Liam," I confirm, my stomach twisting into knots.

"Wow. That's... wow." Nadia's surprise is evident, and for a moment, the silence stretches out uncomfortably.

"Yeah, 'wow' is one way to put it," I mutter, flopping back onto the futon, staring at the ceiling.

"Did... did anything happen between you two? Any remaining sparks?" Nadia's voice is laced with curiosity, but also a hint of something else—perhaps hope for some juicy details that might take the edge off my current misery.

"Sparks?" The word feels like a joke as it leaves my mouth. I let out a huff of disbelief.

"If by sparks you mean him being a total ass, then sure." I sit up, suddenly too agitated to stay still, pacing the small confines of the guest room. "He put me on notice first thing, said he needs to see if I have any work ethic."

"Seriously? What a jerk!" There's indignation in Nadia's voice, and I'm grateful for it.

"Yep, seriously," I reply, the anger giving way to exhaustion. "So much for workplace pleasantries, right? It's like he forgot that kiss ever happened. Or maybe he didn’t, and that's exactly the problem."

"Shiloh," she says, her tone earnest, "you're better than that guy. Don't let him get to you."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with him every day." I stop pacing and take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

"Listen to me," Nadia's firm, almost commanding voice says. “You stay strong, okay? It's just a year. You can handle this, Shiloh. And then, when it's over, you can go after grad school again. Get out of that place. I’m sure you’ll get into Trinity, then we can live out our Dublin dreams together."

I let myself smile, shaking my head. “You digging up old bones and me telling the world about the classics?”

"Exactly!" she exclaims, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "You have a plan, girl. You're going to get through this. Just hang in there."

"Thanks, Nadia. I hope you're right." My voice is barely above a whisper, choked with the emotion that's been threatening to spill over all day.

"Of course, I'm right," Nadia says with a chuckle, but her laughter doesn't quite mask the concern lacing her words. "And don’t you dare forget it."

With a small sigh, I reply, "I won't."

"Good. Now, go rest or something. You sound like you need to relax."

"Will do. Talk soon?"

"Absolutely. Love you, Shy."

"Love you too, Nads." I end the call and let my phone drop to the futon beside me, staring at the ceiling.

Nadia believes in me more than I believe in myself. The thought stabs through me, sharp and unexpected. I've always been the one who fades into the background, the supportive friend, never the star of my own life. And now, I'm supposed to rise up, face the world, and chase after dreams that seem as distant as the stars?

The room feels too small suddenly, the walls closing in. Everyone else is moving forward, living out their dreams, while I feel anchored in place, weighed down by my own doubts and fears.

Can I really do this for a year?

Can I stand working for Liam after what he said, what he did?

But then, there's that flicker—a kiss from two years ago that I haven't been able to shake, a moment of passion that promised so much more. What if...

No.

I push the thought away. That's not the reason I'm staying. I'm staying because I have to. Because I need the money to get a new apartment and get out from under Chris’s thumb.

With a heavy heart, I curl up on the futon, pulling my knees close. Nadia has faith in me. Maybe one day, I'll find enough faith in myself to believe that I can truly pursue those dreams, no matter how far away they seem.

For now, though, I just need to make it through tomorrow.