Ella stood rooted to the spot, her lips parted but no sound coming out. Across the room, Leon clutched the edge of the table, his fingers whitening as he tried to steady his breath.
His eyes—always so unreadable—were filled with something foreign now: fear.
Not of her.
But of himself.
"What did I do?" he asked again, voice cracking. "What did I do to you, Ella?"
Her hands curled into fists.
And this time, she didn't look away.
She had sworn she would never speak of it.
Never open the scars.
But seeing him like this—half a man, remembering only pieces, confused and shaking—something snapped inside her.
He didn't deserve the silence.
Not anymore.
He didn't get to forget while she carried the weight alone.
She had buried those memories so deep they'd started to rot—festering wounds she disguised as strength.
But if he really wanted the truth—
Then he would drown in it.
Her voice broke through the stillness like a whip cracking through glass.
"You locked me in a penthouse for three months," she said quietly. "You erased my name from the industry. Made people fear even saying it."
Leon's body stiffened.
"You told me no one would love me like you do," she continued, each word like a blade. "And I believed you. That was the worst part—I believed you."
His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
It was like watching a building collapse in slow motion—his pride, his false calm, the fragments of who he thought he was… turning to ash.
He took a shaky step forward.
"Tell me what I did," he whispered. "All of it. Don't spare me."
Her eyes shimmered with something dangerously close to tears.
"I won't," she said, voice sharp. "Because this time… you'll feel every wound you gave me."
And as she turned to leave—
Leon reached for her again.
But this time, not to stop her.
This time, to beg.
"Please… help me fix it."