NOAH
She had left it here months ago, back when we were still "us." Back before the breakup, before she told I was pathetic and boring.
Back when I had been foolish enough to think I’d be the one putting a ring on her finger. I brought the fabric to my face, and a faint, ghost-like scent of her perfu still lingered in the fibers.
A flood of mories hit , but they felt strangely distant, like a movie I’d watched a long ti ago.
Lila had dumped because she thought she’d found soone better... soone she thought was Cassian Wolfe.
That mistake led to punch the actual Cassian, which led to the contract, which led to Spain, which led to Alex...
She started all of this, I realized, standing frozen in the middle of my studio. And I haven’t thought about her in weeks. I literally forgot she existed.
It was a staggering realization. My entire world had been defined by the heartbreak she caused, and yet, in the span of a month, Cassian Wolfe had consud everything.
He had filled every thought, every fear, and every waking mont until the mory of Lila was nothing more than a footnote. Even my grief had been replaced by the high-stakes chaos of being his assistant.
The weight of it made sink to the floor, the pink cardigan draped across my lap. I felt a fresh wave of sadness... not for Lila, but for the version of that used to care about things like cardigans and proposals. That person felt dead, too.
No. Not doing this. No spiraling. I forced myself up, jaw set, and threw the cardigan into the trash bag with the moldy dishes.
I was done with the past. I was done with her.
I spent the next hour angry-cleaning, dusting the shelves with an aggressive vigor that probably took years off the wood finish. I hauled three heavy bags down to the dumpster, the physical labor making my muscles ache in a way that felt productive.
Finally, I gathered the dead plants from the windowsill. They were brown and brittle, crumbling to gray dust between my fingers as I dumped them. No saving them, I thought grimly. Just like .
Before I allowed myself the luxury of a shower, I gathered my laundry bag and headed to the basent. The building’s laundry room was a dim, humid place that slled of cheap detergent and scorched lint. I stuffed my clothes into the coin-operated machines and sat on a folding table, watching the clothes spin in a hypnotic, rhythmic blur.
My mind, of course, went straight back to Cassian. Was he at his hotel? Was he looking at the reports from the gala? Was he thinking about the way I’d looked at him in the car? Stop it. He’s a billionaire. You’re a guy in a basent waiting for socks to dry.
Once the laundry was done, I returned to an apartnt that was finally clean. It was still small and depressing, but it was tidy. I stripped off my gri-streaked clothes and stepped into the shower. I let the hot water drum against my back, trying to wash away the sweat, the gri, and the lingering, phantom sensation of Alex’s touch. I scrubbed until my skin was pink, trying to rinse the scent of Spain out of my pores.
I erged feeling raw but human. I pulled on fresh, soft clothes... sweatpants and a t-shirt that slled like mountain spring detergent. It didn’t sll like Cassian’s expensive cedar and citrus. I hated how much I missed that scent.
Hunger finally set in. I hadn’t eaten since the plane, and my stomach was starting to protest. I opened my tiny cabinet and found a single pack of spicy instant ran. I boiled the water, added the noodles, and didn’t even bother with a bowl.
I stood at the kitchen counter, eating directly from the pot like the quintessential bachelor. It was a familiar routine, one that should have felt like a hocoming, but it just felt lonely.
To drown out the silence, I grabbed my laptop and pulled up a lodramatic K-drama I’d been aning to finish. I lived for lodrama... the high stakes, the lingering stares, the ridiculous plot twists. It was the ultimate escapism.
I sat on my bed, slurping noodles as I watched the screen. The male lead was currently pushing the female lead away, claiming he "never cared" about her to protect her from his dangerous world. His hand was clenched into a fist, his jaw tight with suppressed agony as he told her to leave.
So dramatic, I thought, a noodle dangling from my lip. So beautiful. Why can’t life be that aningful?
I sighed wistfully. Even if my life were a movie, I’d be the guy in the background holding a clipboard.
I felt a side character in my own life... the one who gets pushed around and lets people walk all over him. So what difference would it make in a movie or book?
I finished the ran, slurping the last of the spicy broth, and closed the laptop. The confessing lovers on the screen were too much for my current state.
Exhausted by the cleaning and the emotional whiplash, I collapsed onto my bed and fell into a heavy, midday nap. I dread of warmth and safety... of large, scarred hands holding steady while the world blurred around us.
...
I was jolted awake by a loud, insistent ringtone.
My heart hamred against my ribs, disorientation making the room spin. I scrambled under the pillow, fumbling for my phone. The screen showed a na I hadn’t seen in a while: Mason.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes. Mason was a guy with enough chaotic bro energy to power a small city. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but the guilt of ignoring his previous texts won out. I answered.
"DUDE!" Mason’s voice exploded through the speaker. "You will NOT believe what happened!"
"What?" I croaked, my voice thick with sleep.
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