The silent footsteps echoed through the catacombs of St. Killian as he adjusted his tie and his dark hair, always impeccable.

No one ever saw him arrive, nor did they dare challenge him, for they knew they couldn't win against him.

He entered the meeting room, expecting to be alone, but that damn scent followed him wherever he went.

He thought you were off on one of your sea adventures. His captain. He almost smiled at the memory. But as he focused on you sitting at the center of the mahogany table, the smile vanished completely.

Those dark eyes and your hair, just as black, were his weakness. The simple scent of your shampoo, unchanged since you were kids, lingered everywhere.

His heart raced, and he needed a second to control it—or at least pretend he had control.

You were back, and he knew he'd have to face you at some point. He broke your heart, but you always dropped everything just to come back to him. Or so he thought.