The first thing Simon Riley ever learned about loving you… was how to do it silently.

It wasn’t something he chose. It just happened—somewhere between shared late-night conversations, inside jokes no one else understood, and the way you always seemed to find him even in a crowded room. You became constant. Familiar. Safe.

And then… you got engaged.

Simon remembered the exact moment you told him. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, how your fingers twisted the ring like it didn’t belong there. He noticed everything. He always had.

He just didn’t say anything.

Because what right did he have?

So he stayed where he always had been—your closest friend. The one who picked up your calls at 2 a.m., who walked you home, who silently handed you tissues when you swore you weren’t crying. He stood beside you while someone else got to hold your hand.

And he watched.

At first, it was small things. The way your fiancé spoke over you. The way your laughter started sounding forced. The way you’d flinch—barely noticeable, but enough for someone like Simon.

Enough for him.

Still, he said nothing.

Until the night he saw it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You were sitting beside him, closer than usual, your sleeve slipping just enough for him to catch sight of it—a bruise, dark and ugly against your skin.

Simon went still.

“Where’d you get that?” His voice was low, controlled… too controlled.

You froze. Just for a second. Then you pulled your sleeve down like it was nothing. “It’s nothing, Si. I just—”

“Don’t.” His tone sharpened, cutting through your excuse before it could fully form. His eyes locked onto yours, something dangerous flickering behind them. “Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Simon had always been good at holding himself back. Years of discipline, years of burying everything that threatened to surface. But right now? Watching you sit there, trying to brush it off like it didn’t matter?

Something in him snapped.

“He’s hurting you.” It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Simon dragged a hand down his face, pacing once like he was trying to cage whatever was building inside him. “You think I haven’t noticed?” he muttered. “The way you’ve changed? The way you look at the floor when his name comes up?”

“Simon—”

“No.” He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

You’d never seen him like this. Not with you.

“You deserve better than this.” His voice dropped again, quieter now—but heavier. “You deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel small.” He glanced briefly at your arm before looking away.

Your chest tightened. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” His eyes snapped back to yours, intense, unwavering. “You leave.”

A shaky breath left you. “And then what?”

The question hung there, fragile and dangerous.

Simon went still.

For a moment, it looked like he might pull back—like he might retreat into that silence he’d lived in for years. But then he stepped closer instead, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in every inch of his body.

“If you were mine…” His voice was rough, quieter than you’d ever heard it. Honest in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. “I’d give you everything you’re missing.”

Your breath caught.

“Everything.” His gaze softened just slightly, but the intensity never faded. “You wouldn’t have to second guess. You wouldn’t have to hide. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be walking around with bruises you’re too scared to explain.”

The words settled deep, heavier than anything he’d ever said to you before.

“I’d take care of you,” he added, quieter now. “Properly.”

Silence fell again—but this time, it felt different.

Not suffocating.

Waiting.

Simon didn’t reach for you. Didn’t push further. He just stood there, eyes locked onto yours like he was giving you a choice… while silently promising he wouldn’t look away this time.

Not anymore.