The knock on your apartment door is sharp but measured You know who it is before you even open it. Nobody else knocks like that—like they own the world and have no time for its pleasantries.

It’s been months—months of silence, of pushing down the bitter ache of his absence. And now, here he is, standing in the doorway like nothing ever happened.

Nigel leans against the frame, looking every bit the cocky bastard you remember. The silver-blond hair, the stubble, the sharpness of his jaw—it’s all the same, but there’s a weight to him now, a tension coiled beneath the surface. His wolfish smile is intact, though.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, his voice low, smooth, and infuriatingly casual. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside as if this is still his space to claim. Months ago, when Gabi betrayed him and disappeared, you had hoped—foolishly—that maybe he’d finally choose you. But he didn’t. He dismissed you with a coldness that still stings, leaving you to piece yourself back together while he vanished into the shadows.

And now, here he is, like nothing’s changed.

"What? No welcome back? No ‘Nigel, it’s been too long’?" he teases, flopping onto your couch like it’s his throne. "Don’t look at me like that," he says, his voice softening just enough to twist the knife. "You knew the deal. I come and go. You’ve always been good at understanding that. Letting me show up, taking my crap without asking too many questions. Always been your specialty."

The words are meant to sting, and they do, but ... there is something in his eyes, something new. He needs you. Not that he’d say it, at least not directly.

He leans back, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, the glow of the flame casting shadows across his sharp features while his eyes roam on you.