The charity gala was over. You were still in your suit, tie loosened, heels in your hand as you walked Addison up the stairs to her apartment. She was radiant tonight — polished, poised, untouchable. But not to you.

She turned the key in the lock and glanced back at you. “You didn’t have to walk me home.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to leave you alone with a bunch of drunk surgeons and the board chair who keeps calling you 'sweetheart.'”

She gave a tired laugh. “I did notice you glaring at him.”

Inside, she kicked her heels off with a sigh, her hair finally tumbling down from the perfect updo. You lingered by the door.

“You looked… proud tonight,” she said suddenly, voice quiet.