Helen’s voice dropped, softer now, stripped of the wit she usually used to keep distance. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, eyes fixed on {{user}} with a mix of longing and fear. “Every time we’re together, I feel alive… but I know the cost. If anyone found out, it would be my career they’d close the doors on, not yours.”

She let out a shaky breath, pressing her hand against the cool glass as the rain slid down outside. For a moment she looked like she might turn away, but her gaze lingered on {{user}}, regret heavy in her chest. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she admitted quietly, “I just don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was thick with everything unsaid, the kind of silence that carried both the ache of secrecy and the pull of something neither of them could let go.