Arabella hadn't answered a single call in three days. Not Dimitri's. Not Sophie's, who kept trying to talk her into "closure" like it was some kind of cute new skincare brand. Closure? Please. What she needed was a lock, a bolt, and a five-man security team around her damn heart.
Since the night of the launch, Dimitri had sent flowers. Twelve roses, black and red, with a note that read:
> "To the woman I never stopped wanting — D."
She tossed them in the bin. The only "D" she needed right now was Distance.
Sophie showed up on the third night, uninvited, with Thai food and the kind of look that meant business.
"I love you, but you can't just ghost the world," she said, tossing a box of noodles on Arabella's couch.
Arabella curled deeper under her blanket. "Watch me."
"You've had your dramatic moment. Time to get up. You're Arabella freaking Monroe. You make heels scream and men cry."
Arabella gave a weak laugh. Sophie sat beside her.
"Talk to me. What happened after the show?"
"He said he wants a second chance."
Arabella stared at the ceiling, hollow.
Sophie blinked. "And?"
"I told him no."
"Good."
"But he looked at me like… like he meant it."
Sophie groaned. "Girl. Don't do this to yourself. You built a whole career on what he broke. You don't need to go back to the wreckage to feel whole."
"I know." But knowing and feeling weren't the same thing.
---
Dimitri hadn't slept either. Three days, and her silence ate at him like acid. His phone was full of unsent texts.
> "I miss you." "I shouldn't have left." "I didn't know how to stay."
He didn't press send. What good were words to a woman whose heart he had crushed under his ambition?
He wanted to give her space, but tonight he couldn't take it anymore.
---
The Gallery. It was where Arabella went when she needed to breathe — a quiet private exhibition space she funded herself. Minimalist, glass-walled, and always open to her.
He knew the security. Knew the night guard. Knew the code.
He wasn't stalking her. He was remembering her.
And when he walked in…
She was there. Standing in front of her latest unreleased piece — a silk sculpture of a broken heart suspended mid-air.
She didn't hear him at first. Until the scent hit her. Familiar. Expensive. Dangerous.
Her spine stiffened. Again.
"I should've changed the code," she said without turning.
"You knew I'd come."
"I hoped you wouldn't."
Dimitri stepped closer. "Three days."
She turned to him slowly. "Three years."
He swallowed. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness. But I'm here because I meant what I said."
Arabella crossed her arms. "So what now? You want to pick up where we left off? Pretend the betrayal never happened?"
"No. I want to start again — from where you are now. Not the past."
Her voice cracked, just slightly. "You hurt me, Dimitri. I wasn't just some girl you dated. I was in love with you."
"And I was in love with you too. That's why I left. Because love — my kind of love — ruins things."
"Then maybe don't love me at all."
He looked at her then, really looked — like she was both the storm and the shelter.
"I don't think I have a choice anymore."
Arabella blinked. The silence between them wasn't loud this time. It was soft. Electric.
For a second, her heart leaned forward. But she caught it. Straightened her shoulders.
"I'm not ready," she said.
He nodded. "Then I'll wait."
She started to walk away, heels clicking like punctuation marks. Then paused.
"Don't wait too long," she said without looking back.
And then she was gone.
Dimitri stood alone in the gallery, staring at the sculpture she'd created. He didn't need a translator to know what it meant — love, broken mid-air, suspended but never forgotten.
And in that frozen space between forgiveness and farewell, he made a silent vow:
He wouldn't lose her again. Not this time.
Outside, the rain fell in sheets against the glass walls.
The same way it had the night he walked away.