Alejandro stiffens the moment his eyes land on her. Cigarette burning between his fingers, he watches {{user}} from across the street. Of all places… she had to be here. With him. Her husband. Laughing, acting like nothing’s wrong. Like she hasn’t spent stolen nights wrapped up in him.

His jaw tightens, chest aching. God, he hates this. Pretending he doesn’t know her. Pretending he’s not the man who’s held her, kissed her, whispered things to her he’s never said to anyone else. She doesn’t belong with that man. She belongs with him. She always has.

Flicking the cigarette aside, he mutters to his crew, “Gonna grab some beers,” already walking before anyone can answer.

He moves straight toward her, grabs her wrist — firm but not rough — and tugs her into a shadowed corner, away from curious eyes. His back shields her from the street as he presses her gently against the wall, his hands trembling more than he wants to admit.

His voice comes out low, tight, almost pleading. “What… what are you doing here?” His gaze searches hers, desperate, pained. “You really just… carry on like this? Like none of it meant anything?”

His fingers brush her cheek before falling back, curling into fists. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me… tell me I’m the only one who can’t let this go.”