Mia's POV
The silence between us had grown roots. Days passed without real conversation—only necessary exchanges about Eric, the house, or work. The moment Ryan returned from a business meeting late one evening, smelling faintly of an expensive perfume that wasn't his own, something inside me cracked.
I didn't ask questions. I didn't cry. I simply… stopped speaking.
He noticed, of course. Ryan Saint was many things, but clueless wasn't one of them. But instead of trying to fix things, he leaned further into the silence. He started leaving earlier, coming home later. I began sleeping in the guest room.
It became clear—we were strangers again.
I folded my last set of clothes and zipped the suitcase shut. The penthouse that once felt like a strange kind of home now felt like a luxurious cage. I couldn't breathe here anymore.
When I stepped into the living room, he was already waiting, hands in his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose around his neck. His silver eyes flicked to my luggage, then to me.
"You're leaving," he said simply.
I nodded.
A pause.
"I won't stop you," he added, voice unreadable. "If anything, I support your decision."
Something in my chest tugged painfully. I wanted him to fight. To ask me to stay. But instead… he looked relieved. Distant. Cold.
"I can't stay here if I'm the only one feeling something," I said softly, almost to myself.
Ryan exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. "Feelings complicate things, Mia. And I don't do complications. You knew that."
I swallowed my heartbreak. "I did."
With one final look, I wheeled the suitcase to the elevator.
As the doors slid shut, I realized something:
Maybe walking away from him… was the only way to protect myself from loving him deeper than he ever intended to love me back.
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Ezra's POV
Paula's laughter echoed across the café patio, drawing a smirk from me. Her energy had this wild, unfiltered joy that clashed beautifully with my usually calculated world. And damn, it was addictive.
We'd been texting, meeting casually—but tonight felt different. She was wearing this breezy white blouse, hair tied in a ponytail, sipping on iced tea with a glint of amusement in her eye.
"What?" she asked, catching me staring.
"Nothing. You're just… bright."
She blinked, surprised. Then, she smiled. "You're not as serious as you pretend to be, are you?"
"I have a reputation to maintain," I replied, grinning.
There was a beat of silence. Then her voice softened. "You know, Mia moved out."
I raised a brow. "Trouble in the Saint kingdom?"
She shrugged. "If I'm reading her right, it was more like a quiet heartbreak. One where you leave before you're the only one drowning."
I stared at the passing cars beyond her shoulder. Something about what she said hit close to home.
"Do you think… all powerful men fear love?" I asked suddenly.
Paula tilted her head. "No. I think they fear being powerless in love."
Our eyes locked. That moment stretched—warm, tender, and electric.
I leaned forward. "I don't scare easy."
She leaned in, too. "Good. Because I'm not easy either."
Our lips met halfway. It was slow, but full of promise—a kiss not born out of desperation, but possibility.