After three years of trial and error, Chris and Morgan are now committed to giving the "normal" life a try.
Old habits die hard, though, which they come to find out when trouble inevitably finds them.
Sweeping things under the rug, the couple just...
"Sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones fought within, between who we were and who we're becoming"
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I was hunched over the blueprint, tracing the measurements of the new apartment complex with a pencil, though my mind wasn't really on the task. It kept drifting back to the festival, to the fight, to Morgan and everything that had happened in that moment. I should've been focused, should've been working. But the pressure, the tension—it was too much.
The sound of heels clicking against the concrete floor snapped me back to the present. I didn't have to look up to know it was Nia. The sharp, no-nonsense way she walked was something I had learned to recognize a mile away.
"Chris," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room as she stepped inside. "You know we have to talk, you can't keep hiding in here, avoiding me."
I straightened in my seat, the knot in my stomach tightening. "I certainly tried to."
"I'm not thrilled with the festival fiasco, frankly."
I sighed, running a hand over my face. Of course, she wasn't happy. Neither was I. "I get it," I muttered, hoping the weight of it all didn't come through in my voice. "It wasn't my best moment."
"You're damn right it wasn't," Nia said, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "I don't know what you were thinking, but you can't afford to make a scene like that—especially not in front of that crowd. You know how fast something like this could turn into a disaster."
I couldn't help but roll my eyes, though I kept it to myself. Of course, she was right. Everyone had seen me. Everyone had been watching when I lost my temper. I knew better than to let something like that happen, but in the heat of the moment...
"I didn't want to make a scene," I muttered, feeling the frustration twist inside me again. "But I wasn't just going to let him—"
"Yeah, I know," Nia interrupted. "You were defending Morgan. We all get that."
I stayed quiet. She was right, but it didn't make me feel any better. Defending Morgan had felt natural, but I couldn't ignore how it had spiraled into something much bigger than either of us had expected.
Nia took a step forward, shifting her weight as if preparing to explain herself. "I'm glad you held back. You could've made it worse, but you didn't. That was smart. But I'm still not happy about it."
I nodded, biting my tongue.
"There's more," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Tony—your lawyer—got a good publicist to spin this. The story is already out there, and it's been framed so it looks like you were defending Morgan's honor, not just beating some guy in a fit of rage."
I leaned back in my chair, my hands gripping the armrests as I processed what she said. A publicist. Of course.
"And with Morgan's influence," Nia went on, as if she was reading my thoughts, "the story's already circulating on TikTok. People are supporting her. It's turning into good press for us—at least in the short term."
