"Liam."
"Elara," he said, voice low, easy. "I was hoping to catch you."
I stopped three steps above him, forcing a smile. "You didn't have to wait."
"I wanted to. I got worried when you didn't reply me." His eyes searched mine as he came closer. "Dinner?"
I almost said yes out of habit. But then the faintest whiff of perfume hit me — Chloe.It clung to his coat like a whisper.
My stomach turned. "I have work to finish at home."
He frowned. "Why are you avoiding me."
"I've been working," I said evenly. "You know how it is. With the launch coming up."
He took anoter step closer. "Elara, it's just dinner. However busy things are, you have to eat right? We have things to discuss. The engagement party, for one. My father's been asking why we haven't been out together lately."
Of course he has. The Vancourts liked things polished and visible — the perfect façade of union.
I looked up and met his gaze, a small smile cutting through. "I'm sure Chloe is managing the party just fine. She always was better at charming your family than I was."
The words slipped before I could stop them — soft, but sharp enough to draw blood.
A flicker crossed his face — guilt, gone as quickly as it came. Then his jaw tightened.
"You're too jealous," he said, his voice cooling. "I've told you before, there's nothing between me and Chloe. How can you think of your sister like that? Do you not trust me?"
I opened my mouth, but the words tangled. The world tilted — just slightly — and then again, harder.
The ground seemed to roll beneath my feet, colours bleeding at the edges. I hadn't eaten all day. My pulse thudded hollow in my ears.
"Elara?" Liam's voice sounded far away.
I swayed. His hands caught my arms before I hit the steps, the pressure startlingly firm.
The scent of his cologne, his coat — her perfume beneath it — closed in like smoke.
"Kae…" The syllable tore itself out before I could stop it — faint, broken.
Liam froze. "Elara! What did you say?"
I didn't answer. My vision dimmed, the world narrowing to sound and shadow — I felt someone holding on to me — before everything went black.
When I woke, the light was soft — too soft for morning, too still for night.
For a moment I couldn't place where I was. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and linen spray, the kind hotels used to mask the scent of recycled air. An IV line trailed from the crook of my arm, a thin ribbon of plastic catching the glow of the bedside lamp.
V Hotel?I recognised the minimalist décor — white walls, muted gold fixtures, the view of the city skyline through glass that never opened.
I tried to sit up, but the movement sent a dull throb through my skull.
"Elara?"
Liam was there — sitting in the armchair by the window, jacket draped over the backrest, his tie loosened. His voice was gentler than I expected. "You're awake."
I blinked at him. "How long—?"
"Just a few hours," he said. "You fainted outside the building. Low blood sugar, the doctor said. Why didn't you eat?"
His tone — half chiding, half concerned — pulled at something buried deep inside me.
There was a time when I believed this was love. When his worry was a shelter, not a cage. When he'd bring soup to my apartment after long nights at work, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, smiling like I was the only thing that mattered. I was happy then. The happiest I've been. I can barely remember how it felt, until today.
Maybe this is a dream, if it is I shouldn't wake up. Or maybe the whole Liam and Chloe was a dream.
A smile tugged at my lips, small and tired.
His expression softened — or maybe I imagined it.
"Elara…" he began, but before he could finish, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. The sound was sharp in the stillness.
I glanced at the screen as he reached out to pick up the phone. Just one letter glowed back at me.
C.
My chest tightened.Chloe?
He hesitated for half a second, thumb hovering over the screen. Then he stood, clearing his throat. "I should take this. Work."
I smiled, because that's what you did when you were supposed to believe."Of course," I said quietly. "Work's important."
He nodded once, slipping out into the hallway.
The door didn't close all the way.
I shouldn't have followed. I knew that. But the silence was heavier than the IV in my arm, heavier than the ache in my head.
His voice carried from just beyond the corner — low, familiar, threaded with a warmth. A voice I once thought was just mine.
"Hey. Yeah, I'm still here."A pause."I know. I'll see you tomorrow. We're not doing anything. But-"
The quiet after that was louder than anything.
I pressed my hand against the wall, the cool surface grounding me. My reflection in the glass opposite looked composed — hair mussed but face calm, the picture of someone who should have known better.
And I laughed.Not loud. Not bitter. Just a small, hollow sound that barely reached my throat.
Because I had wished — even for a moment — that this was a dream. That I was still the woman he brought soup to. That I was still happy.
And maybe that was the cruelest thing of all.
I was already back in bed when Liam stepped back in, slightly flustered.
"Liam, is everything alright?"
He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Yeah it is. You should rest," he said, as if nothing had happened. "It's just that I have to head back to the office — I promised my father I'd send something out tonight. I'll come back later."
"Of course," I said lightly. "Don't worry about me."
He gave a small nod, relief flickering behind his eyes, mistaking my calm for acceptance.
"Try to sleep. Don't overthink," he added, his voice softening for effect. He leaned down, brushed a strand of hair from my cheek and kissed my forehead. The gesture felt rehearsed. Familiar in the way lies often are.
When the door clicked shut behind him, the silence swelled again — thick, humming, heavy.
I got out of bed to sit by the window, legs curled beneath the white hotel blanket, watching the city skyline. Watching people going about with their lives. The IV drip ticked beside me in slow rhythm.
I should have cried. I wanted to. Instead, I just sat there — listening to the hollow sound of my own breathing.
Of course it was Chloe.Of course he lied.
And of course, I'd still wished — for one foolish heartbeat — that it wasn't true.
The rain had started again, tapping gently against the window. I let my fingers rest on the cool glass, tracing the path of a droplet as it slid down, smearing the city lights into soft ribbons of gold and grey.
My head still throbbed, but it wasn't from the fainting. It was from the ache of pretending that the past hadn't already ended.
He said he'd be back later.He wouldn't.I wasn't sure if I wanted him to.
The minutes stretched thin. I reached for the glass of water by the bedside, but my hand trembled just enough that a few drops slid down my wrist.
A knock startled me.Soft, deliberate.
I opened the door.
And for a moment, I thought I was still dreaming.
Kaelen stood there — tall, handsome, composed, in his perfectly tailored suit. The light caught on his cufflinks, that quiet, immaculate kind of wealth that didn't need to announce itself.
"Kaelen." My breath caught. "What are you—"
"I had a meeting at the lobby," he said, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable. "The staff saw Liam carrying you in. They said he'd called for a doctor."
He stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. I took a step back.
"I didn't mean to intrude. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
For a heartbeat, I couldn't answer.
It wasn't the words — it was the tone. The steadiness of it. Like he'd built it carefully, brick by brick, to keep something else from slipping through.
"I'm fine," I managed, though my voice betrayed me. "Just low blood sugar, apparently."
His gaze flicked to the IV line, then back to my face. "You should really take care of yourself, Elara."
"It was a busy day at the office today."
He didn't answer at first. Just stood there, his gaze tracing the line of the IV tube, then the faint bruise at my wrist where the needle sat. His expression stayed composed, but I caught it — the slight tightening in his jaw, the unspoken question.
Finally, he said quietly, "You shouldn't have been alone."
Something in me bristled. "I wasn't."
His eyes flicked to mine — steady, unreadable. "That's not what I meant."
The words settled between us, heavy and deliberate. I looked away, pretending to adjust the blanket, pretending I didn't hear the care beneath the calm.
I sighed, "I've been alone for a long time, Kaelen."
His eyes softened, and that was somehow worse than pity.
"I know," he said. "But that doesn't mean you have to keep choosing it."
The words hung between us, steady and devastating.
I looked away first, back to the city beyond the glass — to the thousand lights flickering like ghosts of better decisions.