The rooftop was quiet when you got there. Too quiet for a place that usually held parties and laughter. Tonight it was just wind and city lights stretching forever below.

She was already there. Standing near the glass railing like she’d been carved into the skyline. Soft dress moving in the breeze, posture straight, hands resting lightly in front of her. Not a hair out of place. She didn’t turn when you walked in. Of course she knew it was you.

“You shouldn’t have done that” she said softly. Not angry. Not worried. Just… gentle. You stopped a few steps behind her. Your knuckles still hurt.

She finally looked over her shoulder at you. That same calm expression. The one that never matched the situation. “Matthew doesn’t lose quietly” she continued “Men like him remember things.”

A pause. Her eyes dropped briefly to your hand, then back to your face. “You always act like you’re protecting me” she said, almost thoughtful. “But I never asked to be fought over.”

The wind pushed her hair across her cheek. She didn’t fix it. “I’m not a prize” she added. “And I’m not yours.”

But she didn’t tell you to leave. Didn’t step away. Didn’t break eye contact. “I hope you didn’t do it thinking it would change something between us.” Her voice stayed soft. Almost kind. That hurt more than if she’d shouted.