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Ant the worst part is…

Even through all the anger, I can still feel the memory of his hand around my waist. The warmth of his body behind me. The way it felt like home.

And it fucking hurts.

Twenty minutes later, I finally register where we are—the familiar gates of Nick’s complex looming ahead.

I’ve been so lost in my own head, so wrapped in everything unsaid, that I didn’t notice a damn thing about the drive.

My stomach knots tighter.

The car glides into the underground garage, and the driver maneuvers it smoothly right in front of the private elevator. The second the tires stop moving, Nick opens his door with the kind of force that says “I need to move or I’ll explode.”

Then, to my surprise, he doesn’t walk away. He stays there, holding the door open.

For me.

I hesitate. My eyes flick up to his face—tense, unreadable. He doesn’t meet my gaze, his jaw’s clenched tight, like he’s fighting to stay in control.

So, of course, I roll my eyes. On purpose. Slowly. Dramatically. Just so he sees it.

And I make sure to sigh as I step out, brushing past him without a word. My heels echo sharply against the polished garage floor like a warning bell.

I walk ahead, my finger punching in the access code like muscle memory. Within seconds, the elevator doors slide open with a quiet chime.

I step in.

He follows immediately.

The moment the doors close behind him, the air thickens—the silence shifting into something physical, something pressing and relentless. It crawls up my spine, creeps into my lungs, settles in my bones.

It’s suffocating.

We don’t speak. We barely breathe.

I stand on one side of the elevator—arms folded, back straight, chin high. Every nerve in my body is buzzing with rage, confusion, and the kind of longing I wish I could shout down.

I can feel him behind me—not close, but not far enough either.

His presence is everywhere—in the air, in the walls, under my skin. It fills the space like smoke, thick and choking.

I stare at the glowing numbers above the door.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Every second stretches like an eternity. And yet, I don’t want this elevator ride to end. Because I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side.

His breath shifts. Just once. Like he’s about to say something.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do I.

Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’d scream… or break. And I’m not sure which one would hurt more.