The night is quiet, suffocating. The soft hum of distant laughter drifts through the halls, the celebration already beginning for a wedding that was never meant to be hers. She shouldn’t be here. She knows that. But when she pushes open the heavy door to Grayson’s room, the sight before her steals the air from her lungs.

He stands before the mirror, his back to her, fingers gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly his knuckles turn white. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his reflection unreadable.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak. But he knows she’s there. He always does.

For a moment, the silence stretches, thick and unbearable. Then, his voice—soft, rough, breaking in places he doesn’t allow himself to break.

"Tell me to stay.”

It’s not a plea. Not quite. But it isn’t the calculated composure he wears like armor either. It’s something raw, something fragile, something that shouldn’t exist between them anymore.

"Tell me, and I swear, I will."

Her breath catches, and for a second—just one—hope flickers to life in the cracks of her shattered heart. But it’s a cruel, fleeting thing, because she knows Grayson Hawthorne. He was never hers to have, not really.

"You’re getting married."

A bitter exhale. “I know.”

Finally, he turns. His silver eyes—always so steady, so controlled—are anything but. There’s something in them, something reckless, something desperate. Something that could ruin them both.