The bell above the café door chimed just as I reached for my drink, a soft silver sound that barely rose above the low hum of conversation. Still, it made me glance up — and that’s when I saw him.

He stepped inside like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged there, brushing snow from his dark hair, blinking against the sudden warmth. His eyes swept the room once, quick and searching, before landing on the only empty seat left — the one directly across from me.

Of course.

He hesitated, and for a second I thought he’d turn around and leave. But then he offered a small, apologetic smile, the kind that tugged at something in my chest.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, voice low and warm.

I shook my head, trying to look casual even though my pulse had decided to sprint. “Go ahead.”

He sat, setting down a worn leather backpack that looked like it had stories of its own. Up close, he was even more distracting — sharp jaw, soft eyes, a tiny scar near his eyebrow that made him look like he’d lived a little. Or maybe a lot.

I tried to focus on my laptop screen, but the words blurred. He smelled faintly of cedar and winter air, and it was impossible to ignore the way he kept glancing at me, like he was trying to figure something out.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’m new in town,” he said, almost sheepish. “Do you know if this place is always this busy?”

“Only when it’s cold enough to freeze eyelashes,” I said. “So… basically every day.”

He laughed — a real one, warm and surprised — and I felt ridiculously proud for being the cause of it.

“I’m Rowan,” he said, offering his hand.

I took it. His palm was warm, steady. “Lena.”

Something flickered in his expression, something curious and bright, like he’d just found the first clue in a mystery he didn’t know he was solving.

“Well, Lena,” he said, leaning back slightly, “I think this might be the best accidental seat choice I’ve made in a long time.”

I tried to play it cool, but my cheeks betrayed me with heat.

Outside, snow kept falling in soft, quiet sheets. Inside, the world felt suddenly smaller — like the universe had nudged two people a little closer, just to see what might happen.

And I had the strange, certain feeling that this wasn’t the last time Rowan and I would cross paths.

Not even close.

The next morning, the café felt different.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was the way I kept glancing at the door like some lovesick character in a paperback novel. Or maybe it was the fact that every time the bell chimed, my heart did this ridiculous little leap.

I told myself I wasn’t waiting for him.

And then Rowan walked in.

He spotted me instantly — like he’d been scanning the room for one face, and mine was the one he hoped to find. His smile was small but unmistakably real, the kind that warmed the space between us even before he reached my table.

“Morning,” he said, sliding into the same seat as yesterday, as if it had been reserved for him all along.

“Morning,” I echoed, trying not to sound too pleased.

He set down his backpack, fingers brushing the frayed strap. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“I’m here most mornings,” I said. “It’s my unofficial office.”

“Good,” he said softly, almost under his breath.

I pretended not to hear the warmth in that single word.

For a few minutes, we worked in silence — or pretended to. I typed the same sentence three times. Rowan kept tapping his pen against his notebook, not writing anything. It was obvious we were both more aware of each other than our tasks.

Finally, he closed his notebook. “Can I ask you something?”

My pulse jumped. “Sure.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the window where snowflakes drifted lazily past. “Yesterday… when I sat here… it felt like—” He stopped, searching for the right word. “Like something shifted.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I felt that too.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, surprised and relieved all at once. “You did?”

Before I could answer, the barista called my name — loudly, cheerfully, and at the worst possible moment.

I stood to grab my drink, trying to steady my breathing. When I returned, Rowan was staring at his hands, like he was debating something.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting down.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just… I’m not great at this.”

“At what?”

He looked up, and there it was — that spark again, bright and unguarded.

“Meeting someone and feeling like I’ve known them longer than a day.”

My breath caught.

But before I could respond, the café door swung open and a gust of cold air rushed in. A woman stepped inside — tall, confident, wrapped in a sleek coat. She scanned the room, her gaze landing on Rowan.

Her face lit up.

“There you are,” she said, walking straight toward him.

Rowan stiffened.

My stomach dropped.

The woman reached the table, placing a hand on his shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times before. “I’ve been calling you. You didn’t answer.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I turned my phone off.”

She finally noticed me, offering a polite but curious smile. “And you are…?”

I opened my mouth, but Rowan spoke first.

“She’s—”

He stopped.

And in that pause — that tiny, fragile moment — everything shifted again.

Rowan stood so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. The woman’s hand slipped from his shoulder, but she didn’t look offended — just expectant, like she was used to him reacting this way.

“Lena,” he said, voice tight, “this is… Seraphina.”

Seraphina.

The name alone sounded like it belonged to someone unforgettable — soft, elegant, almost too beautiful to be real. And when she smiled at me, I understood why Rowan looked like he’d swallowed a stone.

She was stunning in that effortless, unfair way: long waves of honey‑gold hair spilling over a cream coat, eyes the color of warm amber, cheekbones that could’ve been carved by someone with a very expensive chisel. Even the snow melting on her lashes made her look like she’d stepped out of a winter perfume ad.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic. “Rowan didn’t tell me he’d made a friend already.”

Friend. The word hit harder than it should have.

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. “Seraphina and I… we used to work together.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Used to?”

He shot her a look that said not now, but she ignored it, sliding gracefully into the seat beside him like she’d been born knowing how to take up space beautifully.

I tried to focus on my coffee, but the air felt too tight, too full of her perfume — something soft and expensive, like jasmine and winter air. Rowan noticed my discomfort immediately, his eyes flicking to me with a quiet apology.

“Sorry about the surprise,” he murmured.

“It’s fine,” I lied.

Seraphina glanced between us, her smile sharpening just a touch. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” I said quickly.

Rowan didn’t say anything at all.

For a moment, the three of us sat in a silence that felt like it had edges. Seraphina crossed her legs, her coat falling open to reveal a sleek black dress that looked like it belonged at a gallery opening, not a snowy morning café.

“So,” she said lightly, “are you two…?”

“No,” I said.

“No,” Rowan echoed — but his voice didn’t match mine. His sounded unsure, like he wasn’t convinced of his own answer.

Seraphina’s eyes flicked to him, curious. “Interesting.”

Rowan exhaled sharply. “Seraphina, what do you need?”

She shrugged, her hair shifting like silk. “I just wanted to talk. You left without saying anything, and I thought maybe you were upset.”

“I wasn’t upset,” he said. “I just needed space.”

Her gaze softened. “You could’ve told me.”

Rowan looked away, jaw tight.

I suddenly felt like I was sitting in the middle of a conversation I had no right to hear. I closed my laptop, trying to give them some kind of exit.

“I should probably get going,” I said.

Rowan’s head snapped toward me. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “I have work to do anyway.”

Seraphina watched him watching me, and something flickered in her expression — not jealousy, but recognition. Like she’d just realized she wasn’t the only person in the room who mattered to him.

I stood, slipping my bag over my shoulder. Rowan rose too, almost instinctively.

“Lena,” he said quietly, “can we talk later?”

My heart did that stupid leap again. “Sure.”

He looked relieved — and something else, something warm and unguarded.

Seraphina noticed that too.

As I stepped outside, the cold air hit my cheeks, sharp and bracing. Snow crunched under my boots, and for a moment I just stood there, breathing in the winter silence.

I didn’t know what Rowan and Seraphina were to each other.

I didn’t know what Rowan and I were, either.

But I knew one thing with absolute clarity:

Whatever this was becoming… it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

I didn’t make it far.

Just a few steps down the sidewalk, I stopped under the awning of the bookstore next door, pretending to check my phone while my heart tried to settle into something resembling a normal rhythm. Snow drifted lazily around me, soft and quiet — the opposite of what I felt inside.

I shouldn’t have cared so much.

But I did.

Through the café window, I could see Rowan and Seraphina still at the table. She leaned in close, her honey‑gold hair falling over one shoulder like it had been styled for the moment. Rowan looked… tense. Not angry. Not happy. Just caught.

I hated how familiar that expression felt.

I turned away, ready to leave, when the café door opened behind me.

“Lena.”

Rowan’s voice.

I closed my eyes for a second before facing him. Snow clung to his hair, melting slowly down his temples. He looked like he’d run after me — breath visible in the cold air, cheeks flushed.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” I said.

“I did,” he replied, stepping closer. “I didn’t want you to leave like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you thought she meant something.”

I swallowed. “Doesn’t she?”

He hesitated — and that hesitation said more than any answer could.

Before he could speak, the café door opened again.

Seraphina stepped out, her presence almost cinematic against the falling snow. Her coat shimmered faintly in the streetlight, her amber eyes catching every bit of glow. She looked like she belonged in a winter romance movie — the kind where the girl always gets the guy.

“There you are,” she said to Rowan, her voice warm and lilting. “You left so suddenly.”

She moved to his side, slipping her hand around his arm with the kind of ease that comes from history. Rowan stiffened, but she didn’t seem to notice — or maybe she did, and chose not to care.

“I thought we could finish our conversation,” she said, tilting her head up at him. “Unless you’re busy.”

Her gaze flicked to me, soft but undeniably assessing.

Rowan gently removed her hand from his arm. “Seraphina, not now.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but something sharper glinted beneath it. “I’m not trying to intrude. I just missed you, that’s all.”

Missed you.

The words hit harder than I wanted them to.

Rowan exhaled, frustrated. “Seraphina, we talked about this.”

“No,” she corrected softly, stepping closer to him, “you talked. I listened. And I still think you’re making a mistake.”

She reached up, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder — slow, deliberate, intimate. Rowan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either. He just stood there, caught between us like gravity was pulling him in two directions.

Seraphina’s eyes lifted to his, warm and pleading. “Can we just… go somewhere and talk? Like we used to?”

Rowan looked torn.

And that hurt more than anything.

I took a step back. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I said quietly. “Really.”

Rowan turned to me, eyes wide. “Lena, wait—”

“It’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “You two should talk.”

Seraphina’s smile returned — soft, triumphant, beautiful. “Thank you,” she said, her voice like velvet.

Rowan looked at her, then at me, then back at her. “I’ll talk to you,” he said finally, “but not tonight.”

Seraphina blinked, surprised.

“Tonight,” he continued, turning fully toward me, “I’m walking Lena home.”

The snow fell silently around us.

Seraphina’s expression didn’t break, but her eyes did — just for a second. A tiny crack in the perfect porcelain.

Then she nodded, graceful even in disappointment. “Another time, then.”

She brushed past Rowan, her perfume lingering in the air like a challenge, and disappeared into the night.

Rowan stepped closer to me, his breath warm in the cold air. “I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want to walk you home.”

My heart thudded once, hard.

“Okay,” I whispered.

And as we started down the snowy sidewalk together, I couldn’t help but wonder:

Was this the beginning of something real?

Or the start of something heartbreakingly complicated?

Either way… I wasn’t turning back.

Three days passed before I saw her again.

Three days of Rowan walking me home, of quiet conversations that felt like secrets, of moments where his hand brushed mine and neither of us pulled away fast enough.

Three days where I almost let myself believe Seraphina was part of his past, not his present.

But then she walked into the café.

And this time, she didn’t come quietly.

Heads turned — every single one — because Seraphina didn’t just enter a room. She arrived. Her coat today was a deep wine‑red, cinched at the waist, falling open just enough to reveal a silky, low‑cut top that shimmered like liquid gold. Her makeup was flawless: smoky eyes, glossy lips, cheekbones glowing like she’d been sculpted under perfect lighting.

She looked like temptation wrapped in winter air.

And she was looking for Rowan.

He noticed her before I did. His posture stiffened, his jaw tightening the way it did when he was bracing for something he didn’t want to face.

Seraphina’s smile bloomed when she spotted him — slow, confident, devastating.

“Rowan,” she purred, gliding toward our table. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He stood, but not eagerly. “Seraphina… what are you doing here?”

She ignored the question, stepping close enough that her perfume — jasmine, warm vanilla, something expensive — wrapped around us. She placed a manicured hand on his chest, fingers splayed lightly over his shirt.

“You didn’t return my calls,” she said softly, her voice dripping with charm. “So I thought I’d come to you.”

Rowan gently removed her hand, but she only smiled wider, as if the rejection was part of the game.

Then her eyes landed on me.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “You’re here too.”

I forced a polite smile. “Hi, Seraphina.”

She tilted her head, studying me with a kind of amused curiosity. “You two seem… close.”

Rowan stepped slightly in front of me — subtle, protective. “We’re talking.”

Seraphina’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look threatened. If anything, she looked intrigued.

“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of honey‑gold hair behind her ear, “maybe you can talk later. Rowan and I have some unfinished business.”

“No, we don’t,” Rowan said firmly.

Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Rowan, darling, we always have unfinished business.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered something I couldn’t hear — but I saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he closed his eyes for a second like he was fighting something old and familiar.

Seraphina pulled back, her lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“Walk with me,” she said. “Just a few minutes. I promise I’ll behave.”

Rowan didn’t move.

Seraphina stepped closer, her voice dropping into a soft, intimate tone. “Rowan… please.”

For the first time, I saw something vulnerable flicker in her eyes. Not manipulation. Not charm.

Something real.

Rowan exhaled slowly. “Five minutes,” he said. “That’s it.”

My stomach dropped.

Seraphina’s smile returned, triumphant and radiant. “Perfect.”

She looped her arm through his — lightly, but deliberately — and led him toward the door. Rowan glanced back at me, guilt written all over his face.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

I nodded, even though it hurt. “Okay.”

As they stepped outside, the cold air rushed in, carrying Seraphina’s perfume with it. I watched them through the window — her leaning in close, her hand brushing his arm, her laughter bright and melodic.

She was trying to win him back.

And she wasn’t subtle about it.

But Rowan… Rowan wasn’t leaning in. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t giving her what she wanted.

He kept glancing back at the café.

Back at me.

And for the first time, I realized something:

Seraphina might be beautiful, charming, unforgettable.

But I wasn’t invisible.

Not to him.

Spring arrived slowly, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to commit. But after weeks of gray skies and melting snowbanks, Rowan suggested a drive to the coast — “just to get out of the city,” he said.

Two hours later, we stood on a pale stretch of early‑spring sand. The air was cool but gentle, the kind that hinted at warmer days coming. Waves rolled in under a soft blue sky, and for the first time in weeks, Rowan looked like he could breathe.

“I’m glad we came,” I said.

“Me too,” he replied, giving me a small smile that warmed me more than the sun.

We walked along the shoreline, shoes in hand, the wind tugging at our clothes. It felt peaceful. Easy.

Then I heard her voice.

“Rowan?”

My heart sank.

We turned — and Seraphina stood at the top of the dunes, framed by tall grasses swaying in the wind.

And she looked… impossible.

Her outfit was designed to be unforgettable: a sheer, flowing beach cover‑up that tied loosely at her waist, slipping open with every breeze. Underneath, she wore a pale gold bikini top with delicate straps that crossed over her chest, shimmering whenever the sun hit it. Her skirt was barely a skirt — more like a soft, airy wrap that revealed long, toned legs with every step she took.

Her makeup was dramatic and perfect: bronzed cheeks, glossy lips, eyes lined in warm gold that made her amber irises glow. Her hair fell in loose waves, catching the light like spun honey.

She looked like the first warm day of spring had decided to take human form.

And she was walking straight toward Rowan.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said, her voice soft and melodic. “You always loved this beach when winter started to fade.”

Rowan stiffened. “Seraphina… how did you know we were here?”

She smiled, brushing windblown hair from her face. “I didn’t. I just hoped.”

She reached him and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck — slow, lingering, intimate. Her body pressed against his, her perfume drifting around us like a warm cloud.

Rowan froze. “Seraphina—”

“I missed you,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You look good.”

Her fingers slid down the front of his jacket, tracing the zipper, the fabric, the shape of him. It was deliberate. Confident. Designed to remind him of every moment they’d ever shared.

I looked away, the wind stinging my eyes.

Seraphina finally acknowledged me, her smile sweet but edged. “Lena. You came too.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

She turned back to Rowan, stepping even closer, her hands sliding down his arms until she was holding his hands. “Rowan… can we talk? Really talk? I’ve been trying to give you space, but I can’t pretend I don’t care.”

He gently pulled his hands free. “Seraphina, we’ve talked.”

“Not enough,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound real. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Rowan inhaled sharply.

She took that as encouragement, pressing her forehead to his chest. “Please… just give me a chance to fix things.”

He stepped back, but she followed, her fingers curling into his jacket like she couldn’t bear to let go.

“Seraphina,” he said firmly, “I’m not going back.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t break. Instead, she reached up, cupping his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You don’t mean that. I know you. I know us.”

Rowan gently removed her hands. “I’m here with Lena.”

Seraphina’s expression cracked — a tiny fracture in her perfect composure — before she smoothed it over with a trembling smile.

“I see,” she whispered.

The wind tugged at her cover‑up, revealing more gold fabric beneath, shimmering like a challenge.

She looked at Rowan one last time, eyes shining with something between heartbreak and determination.

“This isn’t over,” she said softly. “Not for me.”

Then she turned and walked down the beach, her silhouette glowing in the pale spring light.

Rowan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know she’d show up.”

“I know,” I said, though my chest felt tight.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “I’m here with you. That hasn’t changed.”

The waves rolled in, cool and steady, brushing our feet as we stood together on the edge of a new season.

But Seraphina’s words lingered in the wind.

This isn’t over.

The drive back from the coast was quiet.

Not uncomfortable — just full of things neither of us knew how to say yet. Rowan kept glancing at me like he wanted to explain everything at once, but the words never quite made it out.

By the time he pulled up in front of my apartment, the sky had shifted into a soft lavender dusk. Early spring air drifted through the cracked window, cool and sweet.

“Thanks for today,” I said softly.

He nodded, fingers tapping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry it got… complicated.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though we both knew it wasn’t.

He walked me to my door, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. For a moment, I thought he might say something — something real, something that would change everything.

But then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

Seraphina.

His jaw tightened.

“You should answer,” I said quietly.

He shook his head. “Not right now.”

But the phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Finally, he sighed. “Let me just… make sure she’s okay.”

I nodded, even though my chest tightened.

He stepped a few feet away, answering in a low voice. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could hear the tone — frustrated, tired, resigned.

Then his expression changed.

Concern.

He hung up quickly. “She’s at my place.”

My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”

“She said she needs to talk. That it’s important.”

I swallowed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He hesitated — not because he didn’t want me there, but because he didn’t want me to see whatever waited for him.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll call you after.”

I nodded, even though every part of me wanted to say don’t go.

He left.

And I waited.

It was nearly an hour before he called.

“Can I come over?” he asked, voice low.

“Of course.”

When I opened the door, Rowan looked… shaken. Not hurt. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

“What happened?” I asked.

He stepped inside, running a hand through his hair. “She was waiting on my steps. Dressed like—”

He stopped, exhaling sharply.

“Like she wanted to make a point.”

I didn’t see it happen, but Rowan told me everything.

Seraphina had been sitting on the stairs outside his apartment, wrapped in a thin, silky robe that barely stayed closed, her legs stretched out in the early‑spring air like she didn’t feel the cold at all. Her makeup was perfect, her hair styled in soft waves, her perfume drifting around her like a warm cloud.

When Rowan approached, she stood slowly, letting the robe slip just enough to reveal the shimmering gold bikini top beneath — the same one from the beach.

“Rowan,” she whispered, stepping close. “Please… don’t shut me out.”

He told her they needed space.

She didn’t listen.

She cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “I love you,” she said, voice trembling. “I can’t lose you.”

He tried to step back.

She followed.

And then — before he could react — she kissed him.

A soft, desperate kiss. Not passionate. Not mutual.

A plea.

A last attempt.

He pulled away immediately.

“Seraphina,” he said, breath unsteady, “you can’t do that.”

She looked shattered. “I just… I thought if you remembered—”

“I remember everything,” he said. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

She broke then — really broke — tears slipping down her cheeks as she whispered, “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Rowan didn’t know what to say.

So he left.

Back in my apartment, he sat on the edge of my couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“I didn’t kiss her back,” he said quietly. “I need you to know that.”

“I know,” I said, sitting beside him.

He looked at me then — really looked — eyes tired, honest, searching.

“I don’t want her,” he said. “I want—”

He stopped himself, but the unfinished sentence hung between us like a held breath.

I felt my heart stutter.

“Rowan,” I whispered, “you don’t have to say it yet.”

He exhaled, relieved and frustrated all at once.

But he reached for my hand.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

The night felt different.

Rowan stayed after telling me everything, the two of us sitting close on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp turning the room warm and golden. The tension between us wasn’t sharp anymore — it was soft, magnetic, inevitable.

He looked at me like he was finally letting himself feel everything he’d been holding back.

“Lena,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want any more confusion.”

“You’re not confusing me,” I whispered.

He exhaled, relieved. “Good. Because I—”

He stopped, eyes flicking to my lips.

My heart thudded.

Slowly, he reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, warm against my skin. I leaned in without thinking, breath catching as the space between us shrank to almost nothing.

His forehead touched mine.

“Can I—” he began, voice barely a breath.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He tilted his head, lips brushing mine—

And then someone pounded on the door.

Hard.

Rowan froze.

The knock came again, louder this time. “Rowan! Open the door!”

My stomach dropped.

Seraphina.

Rowan stood, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The pounding continued, frantic and insistent. “Rowan, please! I need to talk to you!”

He sighed, defeated. “I’ll tell her to leave.”

But the moment he opened the door, Seraphina didn’t wait.

She grabbed his wrist with both hands — not hurting him, but with a desperate, emotional force — and pulled him into the hallway.

“Seraphina—”

“Please,” she said, breathless, eyes shining. “Just come with me. I have to show you something. Something I should’ve shown you before we broke up.”

“Seraphina, not now—”

She didn’t let go.

Instead, she tugged him down the hall, her grip tight, her voice trembling. “Just five minutes. Please, Rowan. Please.”

He looked back at me, torn, guilt written all over his face.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly.

But Seraphina was already pulling him toward her apartment across the hall, her hair swinging, her perfume trailing behind her like a warm, clinging cloud.

“Seraphina, slow down,” he said, trying to steady her.

She didn’t.

She dragged him inside, the door closing behind them with a soft, final click.

And I was left standing in my doorway, heart pounding, wondering what she could possibly show him that she hadn’t before.

Wondering if this was the moment everything changed.

Or the moment Rowan finally chose.

If you want, I can write Chapter Nine where we see what Seraphina wanted to show him — something emotional, dramatic, or shocking — or we can stay with Lena’s point of view as she waits, worries, and wonders what’s happening behind that closed door.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Rowan felt the shift.

Seraphina didn’t let go of his wrist. If anything, her grip tightened, her fingers trembling as she pulled him deeper into her apartment — past the entryway, past the soft glow of her lamps, straight toward her bedroom door.

“Seraphina,” he said, trying to steady his voice, “what is this? What do you need to show me?”

“You’ll see,” she whispered.

She pushed open the door.

Her room looked different than he remembered — candles lit on the dresser, soft music playing, curtains drawn. It felt staged, like she’d been preparing for this moment.

She stepped inside and tugged him with her, then closed the door behind them with a quiet, final click.

Rowan’s pulse jumped. “Seraphina—”

“Just listen,” she said, turning to face him.

Her outfit was even more revealing than earlier — a silky, pale‑rose camisole that clung to her curves, thin straps slipping off her shoulders, paired with soft shorts that looked more like lingerie than clothing. Her makeup was perfect, her lips glossy, her eyes shimmering with something desperate and determined.

She looked like she had dressed for him.

For this.

“I didn’t show you this before,” she said, voice trembling. “I should have. Maybe things would’ve been different.”

She reached into her nightstand and pulled out a small box — velvet, worn at the edges. Rowan’s breath caught.

“Seraphina…”

She opened it.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet — the one she’d bought months before they broke up, the one she’d said she was saving for “the right moment.”

“I was going to give this to you,” she whispered. “The night you left.”

Rowan swallowed hard. “Seraphina, this doesn’t change anything.”

“It should,” she said, stepping closer. “It should mean something.”

He took a step back.

She followed.

“Seraphina—”

“No,” she said softly, placing her hands on his chest. “Don’t pull away from me. Not yet.”

He gently took her wrists, lowering her hands. “I’m not here for this.”

But she didn’t let go.

Instead, she moved closer, her body brushing his, her voice breaking. “Rowan, please. Just let me show you how much I still love you.”

He shook his head. “Seraphina—”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was a kiss full of longing and panic, her hands sliding up to the back of his neck, holding him there like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. She pressed closer, her lips insistent, her breath shaky against his.

“Seraphina,” he said against her mouth, trying to pull back.

She didn’t let him.

She kissed him again, harder this time, her fingers curling into his shirt, her body pressed fully against his. “Please,” she whispered between kisses. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Rowan finally managed to break free, stepping back with a sharp breath.

“Seraphina, stop.”

She froze.

He wasn’t angry — but he was firm. Steady. Unshakable.

“You can’t trap me in here,” he said quietly. “And you can’t kiss me hoping it’ll change my mind.”

Her eyes filled instantly, tears clinging to her lashes. “I just… I thought if you felt it again—”

“I didn’t,” he said gently. “Not the way you want me to.”

She shook her head, stepping toward him again, but he held up a hand.

“Seraphina,” he said, voice soft but final, “I’m not yours anymore.”

Her breath hitched.

He reached for the door.

She didn’t stop him this time.

She just whispered, voice breaking, “Then why does it still hurt like you are?”

Rowan didn’t have an answer.

He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a quiet click — leaving Seraphina alone in the candlelit room, clutching the bracelet she never got to give him.

And as he walked back toward Lena’s apartment, his heart pounded for a completely different reason.

Because he knew exactly who he wanted now.

And it wasn’t Seraphina.

Rowan didn’t stay long after leaving Seraphina’s apartment. He came straight back to mine, shoulders tense, eyes tired, but something in his expression had shifted — like he’d finally closed a door he’d been afraid to touch.

We sat on the couch again, closer than before, the air between us warm and quiet. He kept my hand in his, thumb brushing gently over my knuckles, grounding himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For all of it. For tonight. For her showing up. For—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I whispered.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure he deserved that kind of forgiveness.

We were leaning toward each other again — slowly, carefully, like the universe was giving us a second chance at the moment Seraphina had shattered. His breath brushed my cheek. My heart thudded.

Then his phone rang.

Rowan flinched.

He didn’t want to answer — I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled around mine like he didn’t want to let go.

But the phone kept ringing.

He sighed and checked the screen.

His face went pale.

“It’s her neighbor,” he said quietly.

Before I could speak, he answered.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then Rowan stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “What? Slow down — what happened?”

My stomach twisted.

Another pause.

Rowan’s eyes softened with something like worry. “Is she okay?”

He listened, shoulders tense, breath shallow.

Then he closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”

He hung up.

“What happened?” I asked gently.

He sat beside me again, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly. “Her neighbor heard her crying. Loudly. Then something fell. They knocked, but she didn’t answer.”

My chest tightened. “Is she hurt?”

“They don’t know,” he said. “They just… they thought I should know.”

He stared at the floor, breathing slowly, like he was trying to steady himself.

“Do you need to go check on her?” I asked, even though the words tasted bitter.

He looked up at me — and the answer was already in his eyes.

“No,” he said softly. “Not tonight.”

I blinked. “Rowan—”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said, voice steady. “Not again. Not because of her. She’s not alone — her neighbor’s calling the building manager. They’ll get in if they need to.”

He leaned back, exhaling shakily. “But I can’t keep running every time she falls apart. It’s not helping her. And it’s destroying me.”

He reached for my hand again — not hesitant this time, but certain.

“I’m staying here,” he said. “With you.”

My breath caught.

He wasn’t choosing out of obligation.

He was choosing out of clarity.

Out of want.

Out of something real.

I squeezed his hand gently. “Okay.”

He looked at me then — really looked — and something warm and fragile flickered in his eyes.

“Lena,” he whispered, “I don’t want to lose this. Whatever this is becoming.”

The room felt still, like the world had paused just for us.

Outside, the early‑spring wind brushed softly against the windows.

Inside, Rowan stayed.

And for the first time, it felt like the beginning of something neither of us had words for yet.

Rowan didn’t leave my side after the call.

He sat close, his knee brushing mine, his hand still wrapped around my fingers like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. The room felt warm, quiet, suspended — like the world outside had stopped moving.

“Lena,” he said softly, “I meant what I said. I’m done letting her pull me back.”

I nodded, but my heart was pounding. “I know.”

He looked at me then — really looked — and something in his expression shifted. The tension between us wasn’t sharp anymore. It was warm. Pulling. I felt it in my chest, in my breath, in the way he leaned in just a little closer.

His hand slid up, brushing my cheek with the lightest touch. “I almost kissed you earlier,” he murmured.

“You did,” I whispered.

“And I still want to.”

My breath caught.

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. I didn’t. I moved closer, my hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

His forehead touched mine.

“Lena…” he breathed.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hesitant. It was warm and full and real — the kind of kiss that felt like a beginning. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me gently closer, and I melted into him, my fingers curling into his shirt. He kissed me again, deeper this time, like he’d been holding this in for weeks.

I didn’t want to stop.

Neither did he.

He pulled me into his arms, kissing me again and again, soft and slow and certain, like he was memorizing the shape of this moment. My heart felt too full, too bright, too alive.

Then his phone rang.

Again.

Rowan groaned softly against my lips, forehead falling to my shoulder. “I swear, if that’s—”

He checked the screen.

His face went pale.

“It’s her neighbor again.”

My stomach tightened. “Answer it.”

He did.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then Rowan stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “What? What do you mean she collapsed?”

My breath caught.

Another pause.

Rowan’s shoulders tensed. “Was it a seizure?”

He listened, jaw tightening.

Then he closed his eyes.

“Alright. Thank you for calling.”

He hung up slowly.

“What happened?” I asked.

He swallowed hard. “They heard a loud noise and found her on the floor. She wasn’t responding. They think she had a seizure — a bad one. They’re taking her to the hospital now.”

My chest tightened. “Is she awake?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

He sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “She’s alone. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

I touched his arm gently. “Rowan… if you need to go—”

He looked up sharply.

“No,” he said, voice steady. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Rowan—”

“I’m not running to her every time something happens. I can care about her without sacrificing myself. Or us.”

He took my hand again, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m staying here,” he said. “With you.”

I felt my chest tighten — not with fear this time, but with something warm and overwhelming.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against mine, soft and certain.

“I choose you,” he whispered.

And when he kissed me again, it felt like the truth.

Rowan stayed with me that night.

He didn’t move from my side, not even when the room went quiet and the weight of everything settled around us. His hand stayed in mine, warm and steady, grounding both of us.

But neither of us slept much.

Every time Rowan closed his eyes, I could see the worry flicker across his face — the guilt he didn’t want to admit, the fear he didn’t want to voice.

Just before dawn, his phone rang again.

He jolted upright.

I sat up too, heart pounding.

He answered immediately. “Hello?”

A pause.

Then Rowan’s face drained of color.

“What do you mean she stopped breathing?”

My breath caught.

Another pause — longer, heavier.

Rowan stood, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Is she stable now? Is she—”

He listened, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.

Then he whispered, “I’m on my way.”

He hung up slowly, staring at the floor like the world had tilted under his feet.

“Rowan,” I said softly, “what happened?”

He swallowed hard. “She had another seizure. A worse one. They said her heart… slowed down. They almost lost her.”

My chest tightened. “Is she awake?”

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “But she’s alive. Barely.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands shaking.

“I should’ve gone,” he whispered. “I should’ve been there.”

I touched his shoulder gently. “Rowan, you didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “But I left her. I left her alone.”

“You didn’t cause this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can care about her without blaming yourself.”

He looked at me then — eyes full of guilt, fear, and something deeper.

“I need to see her,” he said quietly. “I need to hear what happened.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

He hesitated — then reached for my hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m coming back,” he said. “I’m not running away from us.”

The hospital was quiet when Rowan arrived, the early‑morning light turning the hallways pale and cold. A nurse led him to Seraphina’s room.

She looked small in the bed.

Too still.

Her hair spread across the pillow like gold threads, her skin pale, her breathing shallow. Machines hummed softly around her, steady but fragile.

Rowan’s chest tightened painfully.

He sat beside her, taking a slow breath. “Seraphina… what happened to you?”

Her eyelids fluttered.

Then opened.

Barely.

“Rowan…?” Her voice was thin, cracked, barely there.

He leaned forward. “I’m here.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I thought… you wouldn’t come.”

“I’m here,” he repeated, softer.

She swallowed, struggling for breath. “I didn’t want to die without… telling you.”

Rowan froze.

“Telling me what?”

Her eyes filled, shimmering with something raw and unfiltered. “I loved you more than you ever knew.”

He closed his eyes.

She continued, voice trembling. “I pushed too hard. I tried to hold on to you so tightly that I… broke everything. Including myself.”

“Seraphina—”

“No,” she whispered. “Let me say it.”

He nodded, throat tight.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said. “Not for a single day. And losing you… it felt like losing air.”

Rowan’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For everything. For hurting you. For hurting her. For not letting you go.”

He felt something inside him twist — guilt, grief, memories he’d tried to bury.

“Seraphina,” he said softly, “I cared about you. I still do. But we weren’t good for each other anymore.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I know. I just… didn’t want to believe it.”

She reached for his hand — weakly, shakily — and he let her hold it.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she whispered. “Even if it’s not with me.”

Rowan’s eyes burned.

“Seraphina…”

“Don’t feel guilty,” she said, her voice fading. “Just… don’t forget me.”

Her eyes closed again, her breathing shallow but steady.

Rowan sat there for a long time, holding her hand, feeling the weight of everything he’d tried to outrun.

When he finally stood, he whispered, “I won’t forget you. But I can’t lose myself again.”

And as he walked out of the room, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

Back to Lena.

Back to the person who made him feel alive again.

Back to the future he wanted — even if the past still hurt.