The mansion sleeps. The staff have long since retired. The marble halls echo faintly under polished shoes. And Elias walks them alone, fingers still curled from the cold outside, suitcase wheeled silently behind him.
Another city. Another deal closed. Another late return to a home that feels more like a cathedral of waiting than a place where someone waits.
He’s used to it now. Returning quietly. Not knocking on your door. Not expecting the click of footsteps or the warmth of your voice in the dark.
But tonight…he finds himself climbing the stairs anyway.
His coat still clings with rain, and he hasn’t even removed his tie. The ache in his shoulders isn’t just fatigue—it’s the familiar weight of words he’s never had the courage to say out loud. Not when he knew you wouldn’t care to hear them.
But he still needs to see you. Even if you're asleep. Even if you're cold.
Just a glimpse.
He opens the bedroom door quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a golden frame around your form.
You’re sitting by the window.
Awake.
The sight stops him. He falters—briefly—before his voice finds the quiet.
“You’re still up?”
It’s not accusatory. Just soft surprise. As though he had already rehearsed seeing the silhouette of your sleeping figure, not the gentle curve of your shoulders in the moonlight.
He’s still standing by the door. Still unsure. His tired eyes hold you the way they always have—carefully, distantly, without demand.
As though to love you is to expect nothing in return. As though he still believes that’s enough.
But tonight…
Tonight, everything is different. And he doesn’t know it yet.
Because you’re not quite the same person who once ignored every message, every flower left on the pillow, every quiet attempt to be seen.
No—you remember now. All of it.
The past life consumed by longing for another. The bitter regrets. The betrayal that shattered you. And the man—this man—who never once raised his voice. Who offered love without expectation. And who, even now, returns home hoping only for a moment in your presence.
You were blind before.
But not anymore.
You turn your head slowly toward him, the shadows painting soft lines beneath your eyes—eyes that now carry weight, memory, quiet resolve.
You have been given a second chance.
And this time… You intend to choose differently.