Let Me Go E-Book

Clara Elío

• Herausgeber: Adenike Eniola Mohammed
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

1. What is this book about? Let Me Go is a deeply emotional novel that explores the tangled lives of four people bound by a devastating secret. Kenneth hides a truth that could shatter everything. Jasmine is trying to rebuild her life after a love that nearly broke her. Miranda plays her part in a love triangle she never asked for. And Martin, from the sidelines, sees more than he says. As memories resurface and secrets unravel, they are each forced to confront the past and decide whether love is worth holding onto or if the only path forward is to finally let go. 2. Who should read this book? This book is perfect for readers who love emotionally rich, character-driven stories about love, loss, and redemption. If you enjoy contemporary romance with layers of mystery, internal conflict, and characters who feel real in their flaws and choices. 3. What makes this book particularly exciting? The emotional tension is intense, and the secrets that unfold will keep readers hooked. The story is told through multiple perspectives, offering a layered, intimate view of each character’s inner turmoil. The combination of suspense, forbidden love, and the slow revelation of past events makes this book not just a romance but an emotional unraveling that’s as thrilling as it is heartbreaking. 4. What sets this book apart? Let Me Go stands out for its poetic prose, emotional depth, and realistic portrayal of love’s messy aftermath. Rather than offering a simple happily-ever-after, it dives into the raw complexity of human relationships how love can uplift and destroy, how silence can scream louder than words, and how healing sometimes begins with walking away. The blend of romance, psychological introspection, and dramatic storytelling makes it both literary and accessible.

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Chapter One:

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Chapter Four:

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven :

Chapter Eight:

Chapter Nine:

Chapter Ten:

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Impressum

Copyright © 2025 Clara Elío

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, Or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, Recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One:

The Note That Never Lied

The fluorescent lights above Kenneth's desk buzzed a monotonous, skull-aching rhythm, mirroring the stagnant air in the office.

Rain lashed against the high windows, each dropping a tiny fist against the glass, a sound muted and distant, like the life he felt slipping away outside these walls.

The edge of an invoice sliced lightly against Kenneth's thumb as he shuffled the stack. Each sheet felt like a stone in a cairn built to bury him. Is this all there is?

The question wasn't in his head; it was a pressure behind his eyes, a taste like ash on his tongue. He leaned back, the chair groaning a protest that felt entirely his own, and the mountain of paper seemed to lean with him, threatening to collapse.

The hum of the lights and the tapping of his pen on the desk were the only sounds. There was something almost comforting in the monotony.

It was predictable, and the predictability was what he craved, what he had always craved. When the world felt too loud, too demanding, the work was the only thing he could rely on. Just one more hour, he told himself, Just one more hour, and then I’ll go home.

But there was no urgency to it, no fire. Habit moved his hand, reaching for the next file in the stack.

Each movement was precise, lifeless. Autopilot. His rolled-up sleeves exposed skin clammy against the cool, laminate surface of the desk. His fingers paused, hovering over the crisp edge of the paper, a sudden, almost painful jolt of memory, perhaps? reminding him what it felt like to touch something that wasn't dead currency or dying trees.

A ping broke through the fog and a message from Martin. "Come on, mate. The night’s still young." It was a message he’d read a hundred times before, each one slipping into the same pocket of indifference. But today, it was different.

He wanted to say yes, wanted to grab life by the collar and shake the fog away. But his thumb hovered over the screen. Is this what you want, Kenneth?

He glanced at the clock. Too late for that. I’ve already missed it.

The door creaked open, and his coworker, Andrew, stepped in. “Hey, man. You’re still here?”

Kenneth nodded, offering a thin smile. “Just wrapping up.”

Andrew lingered, as if expecting something more. Kenneth shifted in his seat, eyes flicking back to the stack of papers. The silence stretched too long before he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine, just busy. You go ahead.”

Andrew hesitated, then gave a quick nod, disappearing into the hallway with the faint click of the door behind him.

Kenneth sank back into his chair, the chair that had become a prison more than a place of work.

The office was quiet again, but now it was stifling. His stomach churned, the weight of his grief pressing against his ribs.

He hadn’t felt his father’s presence in months, not since the funeral, and yet, it was as if his father’s absence was louder now than it had ever been.

His mind drifted back to that last conversation, a conversation that should have been anything but ordinary. It wasn’t about the business, or the project, or the future. It was about nothing and everything. His father had asked him a question then, one that still haunted him, and now it hung in the air like smoke. Are you ready to live your life, Kenneth?

A half-smile tugged at his lips, but it was bitter. He wasn’t ready. Not then, and not now.

The sound of the door opening again snapped him back to the present. This time, it was her.

Jasmine Alexander. Her presence was immediate, like a light flicking on in a room that had been dimmed for too long. She entered with a grace that was almost painful to watch effortlessly, like she belonged in the space, like the space belonged to her.

Kenneth felt his breath hitch, a strange tightening in his chest. His fingers twitched, but he kept them still. She was asking for something. Campaign projections, numbers, something about work, something he should be able to give her without thinking.

But her voice the way she spoke, with confidence tempered by something softer made everything feel different. Her eyes, dark and steady, met his and lingered there for a fraction of a second too long, as though she were searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal.

He stood, his legs stiff, as if his body knew before his mind that he was no longer in control.

“I need the campaign projections, Kenneth,” she said, her tone light but carrying a weight that seemed to push him further into himself. “Can you have them for me by tomorrow?”

He nodded, his mind already working through the numbers, trying to forget the way she looked at him.

Or was it the way she didn’t look at him? As if she saw straight through him, into the parts of himself he had buried for so long.

You’re not ready for this, he told himself. You’ve buried too much. You can’t just

But there was no room for self-doubt when she was standing there, when her presence was a question that made everything inside him stir.

Can I really keep pretending this is enough? His heart was already hammering, and it hadn’t even been a full minute since she’d walked in.

Later, at The Rusty Anchor, the dim lights and the low buzz of conversation did nothing to quiet the storm inside him. His friends tried to pull him into their laughter, their usual banter, but Kenneth’s mind kept drifting back to the office, to Jasmine, to the way she had looked at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

“Come on, mate. You’ve been quiet all night,” Martin teased, nudging him with a grin.

Kenneth forced a laugh, but it felt hollow. “Just tired,” he muttered, swirling the drink in his hand. But it wasn’t just tiredness. It was something deeper, something more unsettling.

Lucy, ever the perceptive one, caught his gaze and held it for a beat longer than was comfortable. “You okay?” she asked, her voice low, almost tentative. She was a good friend, but sometimes her kindness felt like a spotlight, one he wasn’t sure he could bear.

He nodded quickly, trying to mask the heaviness creeping in. “I’m fine,” he said, though the words didn’t sit right.

Lucy didn’t press. Instead, she just gave him a small, knowing smile, before turning her attention back to the group.

But Kenneth didn’t hear the conversation. His thoughts were elsewhere on the curve of Jasmine’s smile, the way she spoke with such purpose, yet there was something behind it, a quiet challenge in her eyes. What do you want from me?

He wanted to ask her, but the words never left his mouth.

The next morning, as the soft light filtered through the blinds, Kenneth sat at his desk again.

The numbers and reports were still there, still pressing against him. But this time, something was different. Jasmine’s words were echoing in his mind, a question he wasn’t sure how to answer.

Am I ready to live?

Kenneth's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the hum of the office around him fading into the background. The truth was, he wasn’t sure if he could. But there was something in her presence, something in the way she had made him feel, that made him wonder if it was worth trying.

Chapter Two:

When Silence Screams Louder

Kenneth’s hand trembled as he eased the car onto the shoulder, the engine sputtering one last protest before dying completely.

Outside, the late-afternoon city hummed with impatience honking horns, the hiss of brakes, the occasional shout from a pedestrian weaving through the traffic.

He wiped sweat from his brow, the heat clinging to his skin despite the slight breeze drifting through the cracked window.

He sighed and reached for his phone. No signal. Of course. Perfect.

Just then, a city bus hissed to a stop beside him. Kenneth glanced up and there she was.

A woman near the window, mid-conversation, laughing. Her auburn hair caught the light like a flame. Her eyes green, clear, alive met him for a heartbeat. Time paused. She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to place him, and then the bus pulled away. Gone.

The image stayed with him. Her expression, the quiet energy in her gaze stirred something. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The next morning, Kenneth slipped into his usual rhythm at Northern Reach Solutions: coffee in one hand, tablet in the other.

The scent of roasted beans mixed with the sharp tang of ink and freshly printed paper. He settled into his desk with the ease of habit.

“Morning, Kenneth.” Rebecca’s voice snapped him out of his focus. Her heels clicked with authority as she approached.

“Morning.” He stood, tucking a pen behind his ear.

“We have a new consultant joining the project,” she said. “You’ll be working closely with her.”

He nodded absently, already running through project timelines in his mind.

Then Rebecca turned slightly and gestured to someone behind her. “This is Miranda Thompson.”

Kenneth looked up.

It was her.

A beat passed before he managed to step forward. “Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

Miranda’s handshake was firm, but her palm was cool. She smiled a small, cautious smile, not the wide laugh from the bus.

“You too,” she said. Her voice had a softness to it, like velvet wrapped around steel.

Rebecca left them with brief instructions, and the moment she disappeared around the corner, Miranda let out a breath. “So. That was formal.”

“Welcome to corporate life,” Kenneth replied with a crooked grin. “We breathe efficiently and blink emotions.”

Miranda laughed lightly. “I’ll try to blend in.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, his smile lingering. “You’ve already stood out.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Kenneth hesitated, then waved it off. “Just... saw you on the bus yesterday. Briefly. Weird coincidence.”

Her eyes lit up in recognition. “That was you! The car on the side?”

He nodded.

“Well. Small world.”

They walked to a quiet corner of the open-floor office, the clack of keyboards and low murmur of colleagues creating a familiar work hum.

They set their coffees on the table, laptops between them.

“So,” Miranda said, pulling her hair into a loose bun. “What am I walking into this project?”

Kenneth launched into the overview, grateful for the shift in focus. Still, as they talked, he caught himself watching her hands, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way her brow furrowed when she concentrated.

“I moved here a couple weeks ago,” she mentioned in passing. “Still figuring out the coffee spots and how not to get lost.”

“You paint, right?” he asked, recalling a line from her bio.

She blinked, a bit surprised. “Yeah. You read that?”

He shrugged. “I like to know who I’m working with.”

Her lips curved. “That’s rare.”

A short silence fell between them, not awkward, just full. Miranda took a sip of her coffee. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You seemed… distracted, earlier. Everything okay?”

Kenneth exhaled, leaning back slightly. “Just... life stuff.”

“Ah. The infamous life stuff.”

“Something like that.” He paused. “Let’s just say, I’ve got a past I’m still untangling.”

She didn’t press, just nodded. “That’s fair.”

More silence. More understanding.

Over the next few days, they worked side by side. The tension between them grew not in sparks, but in moments: a shared glance over a joke, the way their hands brushed when they passed a file, the ease with which their conversations drifted from work to music to favorite cities.

One afternoon, they sat outside on the office balcony, coffees warming their hands. The wind teased Miranda’s hair, and she didn’t bother taming it.

“Are you always this calm under pressure?” Kenneth asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “No. But I fake it well.”

He chuckled. “Convincing.”

Miranda hesitated, then asked, “Does Jasmine have anything to do with the distractions?”

Kenneth stiffened slightly, the name catching him off guard.

She looked away. “Sorry. I overheard someone mention her.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah. She’s... part of it.”

Miranda didn’t pry. Instead, she picked at the lid of her cup. “Sometimes it’s hard knowing when something’s over and when you’re just afraid to let go.”

Kenneth studied her profile. “Are you speaking from experience?”

She gave a small nod. “We all carry our ghosts, don’t we?”

He said nothing, but her words sat with him.

They returned to their work, but the space between them now held something unspoken. Not a declaration, not even a flirtation, just the recognition of shared wounds and mutual curiosity.

Later, as they packed up for the evening, Miranda brushed his arm lightly. “No pressure. But if you ever want to talk... or not talk... I’m around.”

Kenneth met her gaze. “Thanks.”

They left together, their footsteps in quiet sync, the city folding around them like the first pages of a story still being written.

Later that evening, after their conversation, Miranda made her way home, her thoughts lingering on Kenneth’s quiet revelations.

She arrived at her apartment to the smell of something comforting her sister Elaine was in the kitchen, the soft hum of music filling the room.

“Hey, how was your day?” Elaine’s voice was warm, the ever-present concern in her tone evident as she wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Miranda kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag on the couch, leaning against the doorframe. “It went well. Kenneth’s… not what I expected.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow, stirring the pot on the stove. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Miranda sat down at the kitchen island, running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know.

He’s a little more complicated than I thought. There’s a lot going on behind his quiet exterior.”

Elaine’s gaze narrowed as she moved toward the counter. “You seem to be taking a special interest in him.”

Miranda looked up, her expression unreadable. “He’s just a coworker, El.”

Elaine’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “You’re always so quick to say that.

I know you better than you think. What’s really going on?”

Miranda hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I think... I think he’s struggling with something.

He said he’s ‘untangling’ his past. And I” she stopped, meeting her sister’s eyes, “I don’t know, I just... feel like he needs someone to talk to.”

Elaine leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

“That doesn’t sound like someone you should be getting too close to. You’ve always had a soft spot for people who seem complicated.” And if you’re not careful, you might find yourself tangled in his mess.”

Miranda’s expression softened. “I’m not trying to fix him, El. I just... I don’t know. Something about him feels real. Not like the other guys I’ve known.”

Elaine’s voice turned gentle, but there was a warning in it. “Careful, Mira. Don’t confuse sympathy for attraction.

That man has a way of getting under your skin, and before you know it, you’re so deep in his world, you forget about your own.”

Miranda looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug. “I’m not trying to get involved. But... it’s hard not to feel something when he opens up like that.”

Elaine watched her sister, the concern in her eyes deepening. “I get it, I do.

But remember what I always say: don't love with your heart.

Love with your head. Don’t get pulled in just because someone’s showing you a side of themselves that others don’t get to see.”

Miranda exhaled slowly, her thoughts swirling. “I’m trying to stay balanced, El. Really. But something about him... I don’t know. It’s different.”

Elaine stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her sister’s shoulder. “Time will tell, Mira. And when it does, you’ll know if it’s worth it.

Just promise me one thing: be careful. Don’t lose yourself in someone else’s pain.”

Miranda met her sister’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. “I promise.”

Chapter Three:

A Kiss in Borrowed Time

The café hummed with the quiet murmur of conversations and the faint clink of cutlery on porcelain. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, bathing the rustic interior in a soft amber glow.

The scent of roasted coffee beans and something sweet cinnamon, maybe hovered in the air.

Kenneth sat across from Miranda, stirring his espresso though he had no intention of drinking it. His thumb tapped against the ceramic cup a small, restless rhythm.

Miranda leaned back slightly in her seat, her green eyes scanning him in that gentle, observant way she had. “You’ve been somewhere else all day,” she said, her voice low and coaxing, not accusatory.

He didn’t meet her gaze right away. “Yeah. Just… stuff on my mind.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she let the silence settle between them, the kind that invites honesty.

Finally, Kenneth exhaled. “Jasmine’s leaving.”

He watched her reaction closely. A flicker in her eyes sympathy? Relief? but her expression stayed composed.

“Wow. I didn’t know.” She traced the rim of her coffee cup with a fingertip. “Are you okay with that?”

He gave a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know. I should be. We were never really anything... not officially.” He paused, then added, “But I guess I kept hoping.”

Miranda didn’t say anything immediately. She just looked at him, her features softening not pity, but something steadier, like understanding built from her own quiet regrets.

“I used to think feelings like that had to mean something more,” she said. “But sometimes they just sit there. Heavy. Without ever moving forward.”

Kenneth looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something about the way she said it—to precise, too lived-in to be theoretical.

“Are you talking about anyone in particular?” he asked.

She offered a small smile, then glanced away. “Let’s just say I’ve had my own... stuck moments.”

Their eyes met again, and for a beat, neither spoke. The clatter of a dropped spoon somewhere in the café startled them both slightly, as if yanked back from an edge.

Kenneth shifted in his seat. “Miranda, I don’t want to make this weird. You’ve been... easy to talk to. Especially when things with Jasmine felt like this background noise I couldn’t shut off.”

Miranda smiled, not the full kind just a curve at the corner of her mouth. “We’re good. No pressure here.” She hesitated, then added, “But I like this... whatever this is. Us. Talking.”

A beat passed. Then Kenneth nodded. “Me too.”

Outside, the wind stirred the trees, rustling leaves in quiet waves. They watched for a while in silence, their hands resting on the table, not quite touching.

Later that evening, Kenneth stood in the quiet of his apartment, staring at the city lights flickering beyond his window.

The buzz of life outside only seemed to highlight the quiet inside. His jacket hung loosely over a chair, untouched since he tossed it there after returning from the café.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Jasmine’s contact. A deep breath later, he hit the call.

It rang.

And rang.

Then

“Hey, Kenneth,” Jasmine’s voice came through, warm but distracted.

“Hey. I heard you're moving. Just wanted to” He paused, unsure of how to pack months of silence and longing into a few words. “I wanted to talk before you left.”

A silence stretched. Not awkward, just... loaded.

“Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow? The park, near King’s Meadow?”

“Yeah. That works.”

When he hung up, Kenneth didn’t feel relief. He felt the cold edge of finality creeping in. The chance he’d been holding onto like a secret flame might finally burn out for good.

***

The Next Day

King’s Meadow was half-drenched in late afternoon light, golden and forgiving.

The oak trees cast long shadows across the grass, and the air carried a hint of oncoming summer cut grass, distant laughter, the promise of something new.

Kenneth saw Jasmine first, seated on their usual bench, legs crossed at the ankle, phone in hand.

She looked up as he approached and smiled. Not the kind of smile he’d imagined during late-night daydreams. This one was distant. Friendly. Safe.

“You came,” she said.

He sat beside her, keeping a respectful distance.

“I always thought I would,” he replied.

Jasmine nodded, folding her hands on her lap. “So. You wanted to talk.”

He looked at her, the way sunlight kissed the edges of her curls, the way she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I think I’ve been stuck on something that wasn’t really there,” he said slowly. “Or maybe... it was. But only for me.”

Another silence. Jasmine breathed in, then out, slow and careful.

“You’re someone I care about, Kenneth,” she said, her voice quiet. “But not in the way you want. I guess I should’ve said that sooner.”

He looked down, nodding. It didn’t sting the way he’d feared it ached, yes but the ache was familiar, almost gentle. Like finally letting go of a story that had stopped making sense.

“I needed to hear it,” he admitted.

She touched his arm briefly, then stood. “Take care of yourself.”

And then she walked away, her figure growing smaller between the trees. No drama. No lingering glance. Just the closing of a chapter.

***

Two Days Later…

Kenneth sat on a low stone wall outside the office, the sky above painted with streaks of lavender and fading blue.

Miranda joined him quietly, offering a bottle of sparkling water.

“Peace offering,” she said, nudging him lightly.

He accepted it with a nod. “Didn’t know we were at war.”

She shrugged, grinning. “It’s been a couple of quiet days. Figured you were busy processing.”

He cracked the bottle open. “Something like that.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the kind that comes only when words feel unnecessary.

“I saw her,” he said finally.

Miranda turned toward him, not speaking, just listening.

“It was... final. But clean.” He paused, thinking. “She wasn’t cruel. Just honest.”

Miranda nodded. “Honesty can sting. But it clears the fog.”

He glanced at her, catching the soft lines around her eyes, the quiet patience in her expression.

“I’ve been foggy for a while,” he admitted. “Didn’t realize how much until... lately.”

“Funny thing about clarity,” she said, tilting her head.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---