She looked calm. Untouchable.
And yet… when I touched her. When my fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist—thin, fragile, far softer than I remembered—something shifted.
In me. In her.
She tensed, just for a heartbeat. Her mask slipped, even if only for a second.
And God, I felt it too. The jolt. The heat of her skin under mine. The sharp inhale as my lips brushed near her hair—her scent, familiar and maddening, dragging me straight back to places I’d locked away for years.
I’d meant to stay in control. I’d meant to intimidate her, to pull her back toward me. But for a second… I wasn’t sure which one was more shaken.
And when she walked away, all I could think about was following her.
My hands itched to grab the keys, to trail her steps—just to know where she went, who she saw, what she was thinking.
But deep down, I knew. She went to Jane.
I remembered how close they’d been. The way Jane had welcomed her, protected her, loved her like a daughter.
No matter how much it burned, I’d stayed back. I told myself she needed that comfort. Told myself it wasn’t my place. Not yet.
But now?
I stare at my phone, jaw clenched tight.
No replies. Not one.
The messages still marked unread. I’m being ghosted. And it makes my skin crawl.
I drag my focus back to my desk, to the stack of contracts, permits, budgets—responsibilities that don’t wait, no matter how much my thoughts wander elsewhere.
I move through them methodically, making notes, signing what needs to be signed. Calls come in—one from the manager at Excalibur, giving me the weekend report. I listen, ask a few sharp questions about upcoming events, but my mind still drifts.
Next, a video call with a partner from my investment group—discussing a property acquisition deal outside the city. I keep my tone steady, my responses sharp, but inside, I’m only half-present. I nod at the right moments, close the call, and stare at the empty chair across from me.
It’s pointless.
I’ve built enough to know the weight of responsibility. Enough to know how to compartmentalize when necessary. But not today.
I check the time. Almost noon. Without hesitation, I press the intercom.
“Call the agency,” I say, voice clipped, low. “Ask to speak with her.”
A minute later my assistant, Julian calls back.
“She’s in a meeting, sir. They said she’s unavailable at the moment.”
I inhale slowly, forcing patience.
“Then try again. Keep trying until you reach her.”
I cut the line before hearing another excuse.
Moments later, David appears in the doorway, eyebrow raised, watching me with that same knowing look he always reserves for my worst decisions.
“You’re spiraling,” he mutters, closing the door behind him. “That’s dangerous territory, my friend.”
I don’t look at him. My gaze stays pinned to the city skyline beyond the window.
