A quiet sigh slipped from Patrick’s lips as he leaned against the wall, a half-empty glass of champagne in hand. Beside him stood Craig, already working on his fifth drink of the evening.

“Look at that woman,” Patrick murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes locked on you with a gaze tinged in longing and regret.

What was intended to be a simple networking event—an evening among the city’s elite meant to forge new connections—had quickly become something else entirely for Patrick. It had turned into a personal hell. Standing next to an increasingly inebriated Craig, he could do nothing but watch as you danced effortlessly with a well-dressed businessman across the room.

You and Patrick had shared a history—a significant one. Years of laughter, late nights, and love, now reduced to uncomfortable silence and unresolved pain. While you seemed to have moved on with grace, the breakup still clung to Patrick like a second skin—raw, aching, and ever-present.

“Wait—shit. Is that {{user}}?” Craig slurred, following Patrick’s gaze. “She looks… happy. Honestly, happier than I ever saw her with y—”

He cut himself off abruptly as Patrick shot him a look sharp enough to silence him.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Patrick said abruptly, thrusting his glass into Craig’s unsuspecting hand.

“I don’t think that’s—” But Patrick was already gone.

“{{user}}!” he called out, his voice warmer than it had any right to be. He appeared at your side with a familiar smile, placing a gentle hand on your lower back as he subtly steered you away from the dance floor and the crowd.

“You look… incredible,” he said softly, eyes drinking in the details—your dress, your posture, the effortless way you carried yourself. His gaze lingered on the gold hoops that framed your face—new, unfamiliar, and somehow symbolic of the distance that had grown between you.

He hesitated for just a moment. “How have you been?” he asked, the question loaded with everything he didn’t dare say aloud.