He looked exhausted. Remote. Yet somehow still so devastatingly composed that it made my chest ache.
God, he'd always carried the room like this. Even a hallway bent toward him, like it belonged to him.
My eyes dragged over the sharp line of his jaw, the veins corded faintly in his hands where they hung at his sides, the faint crease between his brows. Every detail screamed familiarity and distance all at once.
And then his eyes locked on me.
Those beautiful eyes I'd spent too many nights dreaming about.
The silence between us stretched… thick, suffocating, like a glass wall that neither of us wanted to break. My lungs burned with the weight of all the things I wanted to say. I opened my mouth, desperate, reckless enough to try…
But his voice cut in first.
"The meeting is about to start." His tone was cool. Controlled. That voice that made even walls listen.
His gaze didn't waver, but it was unreadable, closed off in a way that made my stomach twist.
