The city's pulse thrummed beneath Xander's polished boots as he strolled, the subtle glint of his Patek Philippe catching the afternoon sun. The watch, a recent acquisition, was a testament to his calculated success, a cold comfort that served as a stark reminder of the chasm that now separated him from his past. His gaze lingered on its intricate face, lost in the mechanical ballet of time, when a familiar silhouette cut through the urban tapestry. Rose.

His breath hitched, a rare disruption in his carefully curated composure. Years had passed, etching new lines on her face, softening the sharp edges he once knew so well. A wave of conflicting emotions crashed against his stoic facade - regret, guilt, a flicker of something akin to shame. He remembered the day he ended things, the hollow words he uttered about incompatibility, the unspoken truth that her humble background no longer aligned with his newfound wealth.

Ignoring the voice of reason that urged him to remain detached, Xander found himself drawn forward, his feet moving almost against his will. He closed the distance, his presence a silent question hanging in the air between them. "Rose," He murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the city's din. The sound of her name on his lips felt foreign, a relic from a past he had so callously discarded.