The elevator rose with a soft hum. She stood near the corner, arms crossed, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of reluctance and resolve. The numbers on the digital panel slowly climbed: 18... 19... 20...
He’s not going to stop unless I talk to him.
That was the truth she had accepted after a long, emotionally exhausting day at the convention. Leonard had made it clear he wasn’t going to back off quietly. Not after breakfast. Not after the look in his eyes when he held her wrist like it ant sothing—like she still ant sothing.
So she agreed. A conversation. Nothing more.
But only after the schedule was over, and only in a place far away from curious stares and whispering mouths. The hotel restaurant had been enough of a spectacle already. She had felt the eyes. The questions. Her private life being asured in glances and rumors.
The rooftop, however, was different. Quiet. Empty. A place above everything else.
He was too eager when I said yes, she thought, rembering the way Leonard’s face lit up like a child being given another chance. Like he didn’t expect to say yes at all.
The elevator chid, and the doors glided open.
Katherine stepped into the night.
The rooftop was bathed in soft ambient lighting—small lanterns mounted along the railing. Beyond the edge, the city stretched wide beneath them, a sea of blinking lights and distant sirens. The sky above was clear, stars barely visible under the urban glow.
She tightened her arms around herself as a breeze swept by, stirring the loose strands of her hair.
And then she saw him.
Leonard stood by the railing, his back to her, gazing out at the city like a man lost in thought. The outline of his shoulders, the way his hands were tucked in his pockets, the calm curve of his posture—it was all so familiar and yet so distant.
Katherine cleared her throat.
Leonard turned.
When he saw her, a smile blood instantly on his face—soft, surprised, hopeful.
"I can’t believe you really ca," he said, stepping forward with the kind of joy one might reserve for a long-lost friend finally returning.
"I said I would," Katherine replied, keeping her tone even. "But are you sure this place is okay? I don’t want to be caught sowhere I shouldn’t be."
Leonard nodded. "I made arrangents. No one will disturb us up here."
She raised a brow, but said nothing more. She wasn’t going to ask how he managed it. Leonard Ford always had a way of pulling strings.
As another gust of wind passed by, Leonard slid off his suit jacket and stepped closer. Without a word, he draped it gently over her shoulders.
"The wind’s strong tonight," he murmured. "Careful. You don’t want to catch a cold."
Katherine blinked, looking down at the jacket now hanging around her like a weight. The fabric still held his warmth and the faint scent of his cologne—earthy, familiar.
She frowned and imdiately shrugged it off, holding it out toward him stiffly.
"I don’t think I deserve your kindness," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "It feels... strange."
Leonard paused, his smile faltering. He took the jacket back slowly and didn’t put it on again. Instead, he just held it in his hands, looking down at it like it held sothing heavier than fabric.
"I guess that’s fair," he said quietly.
A silence stretched between them, filled only by the breeze and the distant hum of traffic below. Katherine glanced away, her eyes finding the lights of the city rather than the man beside her.
"You wanted to talk," she prompted. "So talk."
Leonard exhaled. "I wanted to see you. Properly. Without distractions. Without bitterness hanging in the air."
Katherine let out a quiet laugh. "That’s a bit hard when the past is sitting right between us."
He turned to her. "I know I ssed up. There’s no excuse. But I want to be a part of the twins’ lives. I want them to know . I am their father, Katherine."
The mont the words left his lips, her shoulders stiffened.
"You don’t get to play that card now," she snapped. "You weren’t there when I needed you. When they needed you. Do you even know what it was like for ? To raise them alone?"
Leonard looked pained. "I didn’t know, Katherine. I didn’t even know they existed until—"
"—Because you were too busy screwing Miranda behind my back," she cut in sharply.
The air turned colder.
Leonard’s jaw tensed. "Don’t."
"What? Don’t ntion her?" Katherine stepped closer, eyes flashing. "You think I can forget everything? You think I can erase the mory of hearing my husband talking about other woman like she was so kind of fairy tale?"
Leonard’s expression darkened, his eyes steeling.
"Don’t lump with Miranda anymore, Katherine," he said, voice quiet and sharp. "I’ve got nothing to do with her anymore."
Katherine’s breath caught at the sudden shift in his tone. For a mont, it felt like he wasn’t just defending himself—he was severing sothing completely.
"You may be done with her," she said coldly, "but I’m not done rembering how little I mattered back then."
"Call a bastard if you want," Leonard said, stepping closer. "But the truth is, regret doesn’t show up until it’s too late—until I’ve already lost you. I know that now, and I’m sorry."
Katherine’s heart thudded in her chest. Her instincts scread to step back, to walk away—but her feet stayed rooted.
Leonard took another step forward. The distance between them was vanishing.
"Katherine," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I realised you’re the only one for . Even when I didn’t know how to hold onto you... it’s always been you."
And then his hand rose—slowly, gently—until his fingers brushed against a lock of her hair.
He let it curl around his fingertip, gazing at it like it was sothing sacred.
"There’s only you," he whispered.
Katherine stood still, frozen under the weight of his touch, his words, his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
The city roared below them, indifferent.
But here, beneath the cold night sky, everything felt unbearably quiet.
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