The night pressed against the penthouse windows, silent and heavy. Inside, the room was dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor. Nate sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his blonde hair tousled, chest rising with the faint heat of what had just happened.

She was already dressed.

{{user}} moved with practiced calm, buttoning her blazer, her expression unreadable—cold, distant. Like always. As if nothing they did ever meant anything.

Nate watched her from the bed, unmoving. His gaze sharp. Quiet. But not indifferent.

“You’re running again?” His voice was low, deep—quiet, but laced with something that cut through the space between them.

She didn’t answer. Just grabbed her bag from the couch without meeting his eyes.

He stood slowly. Deliberately. Not to stop her—but to be seen. To be heard.

“You keep walking out like this, pretending it’s nothing,” he said, voice steady. “But we both know the way you shake when I touch you isn’t casual.”

She froze for half a second—almost imperceptible—but enough for him to see it.

“I’m not here for the nights,” Nate continued. “You know that.”

He didn’t close the distance. Didn’t reach for her. He could. He wanted to. But that wasn’t what this was about. He didn’t want her body—he wanted her decision.

One breath. Controlled. Final.

“If you’re leaving again, at least stop lying to yourself.” “I never treated you like something temporary—so don’t treat me like I’m disposable.”