The Amtrak train rattled rhythmically in Harper's memory, a soothing contrast to the chaos inside her head. She was sitting in her Brooklyn apartment, but her mind was back in Boston, reliving the final moments before she had fled.
The breakup with Liam had happened three days before she left. It was the catalyst, really. The final straw that made leaving easier.
She closed her eyes, and the scene played out again.
She had been loading the last box into the rental van when Liam appeared. Liam O'Connor. The most recent casualty of the timeline.
He looked rough. Unshaven. His eyes were red-rimmed.
"You're just leaving?" he had asked, standing on the sidewalk, blocking her path.
"Liam, we talked about this," Harper had said, her voice weary. "It wasn't working."
"It was working fine!" Liam shouted, causing a passing woman to clutch her purse tighter. "It was perfect. And then... snap. You turned into an ice queen. You just shut off. It's been exactly two months, Harper. Is there a timer in your head?"
"I have to go, Liam."
"You don't have a heart, Harper!" he yelled as she climbed into the van. "You're a robot! You just execute a program and then delete the user!"
Harper opened her eyes. The accusation still stung. She wasn't a robot. She felt too much. That was the problem.
What she didn't know was that Christian Sterling was currently reading a private investigator's report on that very incident. The PI had interviewed Liam. The transcript was damning.
"She's cold, man," the text on the screen read. "It's like... she studies you. She figures you out. And the moment you fall for her, she gets bored. It's sick."
In his New York office, Julian was reading the same report Christian had forwarded.
The silence in his office was heavy.
He felt a surge of irrational anger. Not at Liam. At Harper.
He felt foolish. He had been admiring her "resolve" and "strength," when maybe it was just sociopathy. Maybe she was just manipulating him like she did everyone else.
His phone buzzed. A text from Harper. A picture of the New York skyline from her window.
Hello, future.
Julian looked at the photo. It was artistic. Melancholy.
He hesitated. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to call her out. He wanted to ask her if he was just another project.
Instead, he typed: Hope your future is more real than your past.
In Brooklyn, Harper frowned at the screen. More real?
What did that mean?
It felt like an accusation.
She put the phone down, unsettled.
Julian stood up from his desk. He walked to the window. He looked down at the city.
He pressed the intercom. "Margaret. Get me the details on the NewGen strategy interviews tomorrow."
"Yes, Mr. Sterling."
"And tell them I'll be sitting in."
"Sir? You usually don't attend mid-level hiring reviews."
"I'm making an exception," Julian said, his voice hard. "I want to see the candidate under pressure."
He hung up.
He needed to see it for himself. He needed to see if the ice queen cracked.
Harper's phone pinged with an email notification. Interview Update: Panel Change.
She opened it. Her eyes widened.
Additional Panelist: Julian Sterling, Sterling Capital.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. He was coming.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her makeup bag. She found a lipstick. It was a deep, blood red.
She applied it, using the reflection in the darkened window.
If he wanted a show, she'd give him one.
