Leonard still couldn’t quite believe it—Katherine. She was standing in front of him, very real, very alive, very beautiful. And in this mont, his fingers were gently wrapped around her wrist, holding her in place, as if he feared she might vanish again the second he let go.
She had changed. He could see it clearly now that they were no longer separated by the haze of champagne or the dim lighting of the ballroom. Her hair was styled elegantly, swept back to reveal the delicate slope of her neck. Her makeup was soft but sophisticated, highlighting features he once knew too well. But it wasn’t just her appearance—it was sothing else. There was a composed distance in her eyes, a wall that hadn’t been there before.
Leonard clenched his jaw and took a breath, trying to ground himself in the mont. How many tis had he imagined this? The hundreds of variations of what he would say, what she might do if they crossed paths again? But none of them prepared him for the cold, unfamiliar tension now hanging in the air.
He glanced down at his hand. Her skin was still soft, familiar under his fingers, but he could feel the stiffness in the way she stood. She wasn’t welcoming the touch. She wasn’t even tolerating it.
He let go imdiately.
Katherine didn’t hesitate. She stepped back, smoothing her dress with both hands before raising her chin.
"Mr. Ford," she said flatly. "Is there sothing you need from ?"
Mr. Ford.
Leonard blinked. The words hit him harder than they should have. She had never once called him that. Not even in their worst argunts. Hearing it now felt like an ice-cold slap to the face.
"I..." he began, but found no words. What was he supposed to say? Ask her to stay so they could catch up? Pretend the years hadn’t turned them into strangers?
Her gaze stayed on him, unreadable. Steady. She didn’t even flinch.
Leonard’s mind involuntarily wandered back, to earlier that evening when he first saw her.
For a mont, ti stopped.
Leonard stood half-shadowed by a column near the bar, his fingers curled loosely around a glass of sothing he’d long stopped tasting. The ice had lted. His thoughts, however, hadn’t softened in the slightest.
She was surrounded by a small group of people, chatting, laughing occasionally. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could read body language well enough to know she was at ease—or at least pretending to be.
He took a breath and held it, like that might hold the mont in place. As if letting it out would force him to decide.
Should he go to her?
Would that even make sense? After all this ti, what right did he have to step into her life again, even for a few minutes?
His eyes didn’t leave her. Not when she leaned in slightly to hear a joke from the man beside her. Not when she smiled—not the full kind, but the polite version. Not when she glanced briefly across the room and he thought, just for a heartbeat, that her gaze might have landed on him.
Leonard turned slightly, using the rim of his glass as a distraction. He hated this indecision, this fraying edge inside him.
He told himself he was being cautious, respectful. That he was giving her space.
But truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of—that she wouldn’t want to talk to him, or that she would.
Sohow, the second possibility was scarier.
She laughed at sothing—genuinely this ti, her hand brushing her chest—and he felt the mory of that sound echo down through the years.
Before he could take a single step forward, Marco appeared out of nowhere with a fresh drink, bumping him on the shoulder. By the ti Leonard looked back, she was gone.
He convinced himself he had imagined her. That maybe the alcohol was getting to him earlier than expected. He had distracted himself by sticking close to Marco and Alisha, later catching up with Becca when she arrived.
And Lawrence had shown up, giving him enough conversation to keep his mind occupied. But when he finally excused himself and stepped out onto the balcony for air—there she was again. This ti, alone. This ti, real.
He had approached carefully, almost cautiously, like getting too close might scare her off. He wasn’t prepared for the mont her heel twisted, her balance faltered, and without thinking, he caught her. Just like that.
And now, here they were.
Still too quiet.
Still too tense.
Katherine’s eyes darted to the side and she shifted slightly. Leonard realized she was preparing to leave.
"Katherine," he said, softer now. Her na slipped out without permission, just an instinct.
But before she could respond, a third voice cut through the quiet.
"Everything alright here?"
Leonard turned.
A man had stepped out onto the balcony. Tall, sharp suit, confident stride. His brows were slightly furrowed as he approached them, eyes settling on Katherine before flicking to Leonard with a flicker of sothing unspoken. Not suspicion, not quite. But not friendly either.
Leonard didn’t need to be told who the man was. He could feel it. The way he moved, the way he stood—just a little too close to Katherine for Leonard’s liking. Close enough to send a ssage, subtle but clear: She’s with .
He didn’t touch her. Not outright. But his presence was a hand on her back all the sa.
Leonard’s jaw tightened. He kept his face blank, eyes steady, forcing down the rush of sothing bitter rising in his chest.
He noticed how the man’s hand hovered near Katherine’s, not quite brushing hers, but close enough to suggest familiarity. That irritated him more than he expected. It was a small gesture—barely noticeable—but it ant sothing.
Leonard imdiately felt it—a territorial tension.
The kind of thing that flared in your gut before your mind could catch up. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t fair. But it was real.
He didn’t like this man.
Reviews
All reviews (0)