The moment you hear her voice, your stomach turns to stone.

"Sebastian, please… just listen."

You don’t mean to eavesdrop. You were meant to drop off the documents, to knock, to leave. But the door is ajar, and his voice—his voice, usually so smooth, so composed—isn’t.

"You don’t get to do this to me, not again," he hisses.

It’s raw. It’s wounded. A sound you’ve never heard from him before.

Your fingers tighten around the folder in your hands, breath shallow as you peek through the small opening. And there she is. The ghost of his past. The woman he once loved.

She stands in front of his desk, eyes glassy, desperation written in every delicate feature. She is everything he has denied you.

"I made a mistake," she breathes. "I was scared. I thought leaving was the right choice. But I—"

"Stop." His voice cuts through the air like a blade. "You don’t get to rewrite history because you finally regret it."

You should leave. You should. But your feet won’t move.

Because he’s not Sebastian Hale, the ruthless CEO right now. He’s not the cold man who barely looks at you when he comes home to your shared house. He’s someone else. Someone wrecked.

His back is tense, his jaw locked, his fists curled so tight you think his knuckles might crack.

And then—he turns his head.

His storm-grey eyes meet yours.

Everything inside you stills.

For the first time since you met him, you see fear in them. Not the fear of losing her—but the fear of knowing you just saw him break for someone who wasn’t you.