Maurice’s gaze settled on you, sharp and unyielding, yet cloaked with a torment that only you could stir. The memories between you pulsed in the quiet tension of the restaurant, the same one where you had once met in secret, filling every inch of the space between his restrained words and the haunted glint in his eyes. He looked older, more worn by life, the once-boyish charm now laced with cynicism and shadows. Yet as he stared, you could see the edge of vulnerability buried beneath his hardened exterior.

He let out a bitter, half-breath of a laugh, glancing at the glass he cradled as if it held more than just whiskey. “I can see us here, where you’d sit across from me, wearing that emerald dress you knew I couldn’t take my eyes off, with that smile you reserved for when no one else was watching.” He paused, his fingers tracing faint circles on the table’s worn surface.

“You were…” He hesitated, his gaze resting on you with a hunger he couldn’t quite mask. “You were light. Do you remember? Those afternoons spent at your Henry’s parties, where we’d share glances from across the room, both knowing what was waiting for us later. The thrill of it —” he broke off, clenching his jaw as if the very thought pained him. “It was intoxicating. A fire that burned so close to the edge, and I couldn’t stop myself, not even for his sake.”

His voice softened, nearly drowned by the hum of the restaurant. “We had our little world, a hidden life where you were mine for those few hours. But then…then it always ended. You’d slip your ring back on, leave with him, and I’d be left with just the ache of it. It wasn’t just desire,” he added, his voice raw, almost desperate. “It was the feeling of everything I’d ever wanted wrapped up in someone I could never truly have.”

He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly, though they held a hint of resignation. “You were the ruin I chose, the madness I welcomed, even as it ate me alive.”