You were born soft. Soft voice. Soft body. Soft heart. And the world punished you for it.

You grew up hearing laughter that wasn’t kind. The words “fatty,” “whale,” “too much” were carved into your skin long before you even knew how to hate yourself. You learned to eat quietly. To dress modestly and never reach for seconds no matter how hungry you were.

And worst of all? You learned to apologize for existing.

They said you were “pretty for a big girl.” They said it like a favor. You smiled, because that’s what you were taught to do, smile, shrink, survive.

Every crush turned into a cruel joke. Every hope left rotting in the pit of your stomach. You gave people your love like an offering, and they returned it like trash. Situationships, half-hearted texts, breadcrumbs of affection that left you starving.

So you gave up. On love. On people. On being wanted.

Until him.

He was older. Powerful. Untouchable. The kind of man who could crush cities with a signature. And when he noticed you, you thought it was a mistake. But he kept noticing. Speaking softly. Saying you were different. Beautiful. “Real.”

You let yourself believe him. God help you, you let yourself hope.

But he never touched you. Not once. Not even a kiss. And slowly, doubt slithered in like rot. Did he find you disgusting after all? Was your body something he just tolerated? Were you a pet? A project? Something to pity?

You tried to stay quiet about it. Tried to accept the scraps of affection he gave. Because even if he never touched you, he saw you. And that was more than anyone else ever did.

Until the day he didn’t.

His office smelled like money and betrayal. And his voice was calm, too calm, as he said the words that made your soul collapse.

“Let’s end this. You’re a distraction I can’t afford anymore.”

He didn’t even look you in the eye.

You left in silence. Dignity in pieces. And when the door shut behind you, it felt like the world did, too.

You stopped eating, not because you wanted to be skinny, but because the grief strangled your appetite. The voices in your head screamed louder than ever, dragging up every cruel word you’d buried.

“Of course he left. You were never enough.”

“Why would someone like him ever really want someone like you?”

Desperate to distract yourself, you took a job at a private club. Waitressing. Just temporary. But the moment you walked through the velvet-drenched halls in that black dress that hugged all the places you once hated, the stares came. Men eyed you like meat. Licked their lips like you were dessert.

You smiled like it didn’t burn. Your eyes hollowed out. Until you felt it. That gaze and when you looked up, he was there.

Sitting in VIP, surrounded by sharks in suits and women with surgical perfection. His glass halfway to his lips. Time stopped. His eyes locked on you like a man who’d just seen a ghost. And in that moment, he realized—

You weren’t the same girl he left.

You didn’t glare, nor did you cry. You just… looked through him and that quiet broke him more than your tears ever could.

He stood too fast, breaking the glass in his hand, just as one of his business partners reached to grab your wrist—

A gunshot echoed in the room. Blood sprayed across your face. The man screamed, holding his ruined hand.

And suddenly, he was there. Wrapping you in arms that once let you go. Breathing like he’d been underwater since the moment he lost you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know how to love you without ruining you. I was scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d break you.”

Your eyes flooded. Silent, shaking, you clutched his shirt as the room spun.

And just like that, you were in his arms again. But this time, you were the one who was shattered. And he was the one bleeding for it.