I saw her the moment I stepped into the office.
Sienna.
Poised. Immaculate. Distant.
Her heels clicked with calculated grace as she walked past the reception, not sparing a glance for anyone. Like nothing happened. Like last night didn't split something open between us again.
She didn't even flinch when our eyes briefly met. Just kept walking, head high, chin firm, that signature red lipstick a slash of control across her face.
God, she was good at this. Pretending.
I lingered through her office door for a beat too long, hands resting on the knob like I needed permission to enter my own building. Like I needed permission to step into a space that used to feel... different when it was her.
I finally pushed it open.
She was already seated, fingers gliding across her keyboard, eyes on the screen, not even looking up.
"Morning," I said.
She leaned back slightly in her chair. Not warm. Not cold. Just... blank.
"Morning."
The word landed between us like ice.
I studied her, her perfectly drawn expression, her stiff shoulders. She hadn't slept well. I knew that look. I used to be the one to soothe it away. Now I was the reason it was there.
"I need you to accompany me to the Bexford foundation Gala tonight," I said, my hands slipping into my pockets because I didn't trust them not to reach for her. "It's important. Investors, partners, and everyone who matters will be there. You're my liaison."
She blinked slowly. Once. "A ballroom gala?"
Her voice was calm, unreadable. But I saw the subtle stiffening in her frame, the twitch in her jaw. She hated this. Hated me.
I nodded. "Yeah."
She opened her mouth, probably to refuse. She should have rejected. If I were her, I'd walk out of this damn office and never look back. Not after what she saw yesterday.
Amber.
Damn it.
I saw it in Sienna's eyes yesterday, hurt, betrayal, the same damn pain I saw six years ago when everything shattered. But she hadn't stay to hear me then either. Just like now.
I wanted to explain. I wanted to explain that Amber meant nothing. That nothing had ever felt real since the day she left.
But before I could say anything more, she nodded.
"Of course. What time should I be ready?"
The way she asked it, so professional, so unaffected _ it made something inside me ache. Like she'd throw a curtain and shut the lights off in whatever room I used to exist in.
"A car will pick you up by at seven." I said.
She nodded again and turned back to her screen, dismissive. Like the conversation was over. Like we were over.
I hesitated, standing there like a fool, wanting to say something. Anything. Apologize. Ask her why left all those years ago without a word.
But she didn't give me the chance.
She didn't even look at me.
So I left.
The door clicked behind me, and I stood in the hallway for a moment, jaw tight, fists clenched in my pockets.
She was right there, and still so far away.
And somehow, it was worse than her absence.