“Do you?” She steps closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to test. “Because it feels like you decided that for me again.”
That lands.
The room feels smaller.
“I’m not here to force anything,” I say carefully. “I’m here because silence didn’t fix it.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “Silence didn’t fix it because you were the silence.”
I inhale slowly through my nose. I could push. But I see it in her face—She’s not ready for explanations. Not here. Not like this.
“You’re right,” I say. “I left. I didn’t explain. I own that.”
Her eyes flicker. Surprise. As though she was ready for an argument.
“Then I think you should leave.” she presses.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because I can’t breathe in a world where you think I didn’t choose you.
Because I’ve replayed the look on your face for ten years.
Because I would burn down anything that threatens you.
“You heard what Miranda said. That penalty clause is insane,” I point out. Technically, it’s not a lie. And this still gives me a legitimate reason to be “stuck” here.
“You’ve already disappeared once, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
I let out a deep sigh. “You know it’s not that simple.”
She steps closer again, anger rising. “Oh, please. How complicated can ghosting someone be? You’re already good at it.”
There’s more to what happened then, more than she knows.
I glance at the camera in the corner. The red light steady. Listening. Recording. This is the first real conversation we’ve had in a decade, and I’d rather it not happen under surveillance, much less for the world’s entertainment.
Her laugh is brittle. “Of course it’s not that simple. Convenient.”
“It’s not about convenience. I just can’t spend six-figures willy-nilly.” I could, but that’s beside the point.
I push off the door slowly, hands visible. Intentional.
She studies me for a long beat, as though searching for some angle I might have.
Her lips press together in a tight line.
“I guess that makes sense,” she yields, staring between the couch and the bed.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” I state before she can argue.
Her brows lift slightly. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
That’s the truth. Her comfort will always come before my own.
