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Electra couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment her knees stopped trembling. All she knew was that she was standing in the middle of the B&B design studio, surrounded by the familiar scents of fabric, polish, and incense—comforting once, now cruel in their familiarity. Bolts of silk and lace blurred before her eyes as the truth about Will’s infidelity finally finished crashing through her defenses. This wasn’t rumor anymore. It wasn’t whispered speculation passed between assistants who assumed she couldn’t hear. It was confirmed, undeniable, and devastating in a way that made her chest ache and her thoughts ring.

What haunted her most was how certain she had been. How fiercely she had defended Will every time Brooks hesitated, every time Steffy’s concern carried an edge she refused to acknowledge. Now those moments replayed relentlessly, like scenes from a badly written script she’d starred in without realizing she was the only one who didn’t know the ending. Her fingers tightened around her bag as if gripping harder could somehow keep the ground beneath her from giving way.

R.J. noticed. Of course he did.

He always did—even when he pretended not to. Even when he stayed quiet in the background with his sketchbook and those observant eyes that saw more than he ever said. He crossed the room without hesitation, without asking permission, his hand hovering near her elbow with careful restraint, understanding how fragile she was in that moment, how easily she might shatter if handled the wrong way.

When Electra finally looked up at him, she saw the shock in his expression too—but not the kind fueled by gossip. This was deeper. It came from empathy. From knowing exactly how betrayal cuts. And suddenly, everything hit her at once—the humiliation, the grief, the anger, the sharp realization that she had been planning a future with someone who had been living a double life.

Her breath caught so hard she thought she might collapse right there between the cutting tables and unfinished designs. But R.J. didn’t let her. He stepped closer, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers, grounding her, reminding her she wasn’t alone—even if it felt like the world had just turned its back on her.

When she leaned into him, it wasn’t dramatic or deliberate. It was instinct. Her body seeking safety before her mind could catch up. Her forehead rested against his chest as if it had always known that was where she would land when everything fell apart.

R.J.’s arms came around her slowly, carefully, yet with a quiet certainty that finally allowed her to exhale. His hands rested between her shoulder blades—steady, warm—while the controlled chaos of the studio continued around them. Scissors snipped. Voices carried on. Life moved forward as if hers hadn’t just split wide open.

And that was what she hated most—that the world didn’t stop. That there was no pause button for heartbreak.

But in R.J.’s arms, the noise softened. The sharp edges dulled just enough for her to breathe.

She whispered his name—not as an explanation, not as a request, but like a confession. He didn’t ask her to explain. He already knew. Everyone knew now. Will’s betrayal was spreading fast, devoured by the same world that had celebrated him days before.

R.J. listened as she spoke in broken fragments—about messages she’d never seen, lies that made her question her own memories. His jaw tightened, not in judgment of her, but in disbelief that anyone could be so careless with a heart like hers.

And standing there, clinging to him, Electra realized something quietly profound: this was the first time she felt safe enough to fall apart. Safe enough to be messy. To not package her pain into something polished and acceptable.

She cried into his shoulder—softly at first, then harder. The kind of crying that empties you out. R.J. held her through all of it. Through the shaking. Through the bitter, humorless laughs. Through the silence that followed when there were no words left, only feeling.

And somewhere in that silence, something shifted.

Not dramatically. Not recklessly. But subtly—the way connections deepen when trust replaces expectation. When comfort becomes something more.

Electra felt it. The steadiness of R.J.’s presence. The way he didn’t demand anything from her—not reassurance, not gratitude, not affection. Just honesty. She pulled back slightly, searching his face for pity or anticipation.

She found neither.

Only concern. And an unspoken promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

That realization hurt almost as much as it healed.

Because it made her wonder how she hadn’t seen him sooner.

R.J., for his part, felt the weight of the moment too. He knew this was a fragile line. He refused to cross it carelessly. He told her gently, sincerely, that none of this was her fault—that trusting someone wasn’t weakness. Those words, simple as they were, landed like lifelines.

As the day unfolded, Electra realized Will’s betrayal hadn’t just pushed her away from him—it had pushed her toward clarity. Toward understanding what real support looked like.

Nothing was fixed. Her heart was bruised. Her trust fragile. But something essential had changed.

She wasn’t facing it alone anymore.

And as she stepped forward into the uncertainty of what came next, she felt a quiet certainty settle in her chest: sometimes betrayal doesn’t just end a love story.

Sometimes, it clears the space for a truer one to begin.