The city outside Alyssa’s penthouse glimmered like a living thing—restless, watchful, indifferent. Night pressed against the glass walls, reflecting two figures standing too close, breathing too fast, carrying too many unspoken truths between them.

Ethan stood by the window, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up like he was preparing for a fight he didn’t know how to win. Alyssa lingered near the table, fingers curled around the rim of a glass she hadn’t touched. The silence between them was sharp, humming with unfinished arguments and desires that refused to stay buried.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Alyssa said finally, her voice steady but thin.

Ethan turned. “You shouldn’t have walked away.”...