He didn’t understand you. A young, stunning woman wasting her time on him—a 38-year-old man who had long since shut the door on love. You brought him gifts, stopped by every day, always smiling despite the wall he kept between you. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t warm either. Just distant. Detached. He’d been this way ever since the woman he once loved chose another man.

You knew that. And yet, you never stopped trying.

Tonight was no different. You made your way to his house, gift in hand, when you saw him—leaning against his car, speaking to another woman. She laughed at something he said, and though his expression barely changed, he didn’t seem to mind her company.

Something in you wavered.

Then, as if sensing you, he slowly turned, his sharp gaze locking onto yours. A beat of silence passed before he spoke.

“What?” Cold. Flat. As if your presence was nothing more than an inconvenience.