The last wisps of ash still glowed faintly near my shoes when Lorenzo’s fury finally burned itself out, leaving behind something far more dangerous—regret. Under the pale wash of moonlight spilling through the towering glass windows, his face looked unfamiliar, stripped of the confidence he wore like a second skin. He tugged at his collar, straightening it as if reclaiming control by force of habit, but his body betrayed him. The rapid pulse at his throat, the tension in his jaw—none of it lied.
I brushed the soot from my palms with deliberate care and raised my chin, meeting his stare without offering even a hint of softness.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said coolly. “I noticed insects crawling through the album. Cockroaches, I think. Burning it seemed like the cleanest solution.”
He frowned, clearly thrown off, and moved closer, disbelief etched into every line of his face.
“You burned it?” His voice dipped, rough and strained. “Ten years of our life—gone just like that? How could you—”
The sentence broke apart, swallowed by a low, involuntary snarl.
I tilted my head, unimpressed.
“Are you done?”
That single question hit harder than shouting ever could. He sucked in a sharp breath and dragged a hand through his hair, the anger draining away and leaving something raw behind.
“I reacted badly,” he admitted, quieter now. “But that album mattered to us. You could’ve waited. Why destroy it before I even had a chance to stop you?”
I let out a short, hollow laugh. Us. That word had lost its meaning the moment his attention shifted to Francesca—the perfectly polished newcomer who knew exactly how to smile for the public and whisper into the right ears.
“You’ve been busy,” I replied flatly. “With work. With her. I didn’t think something this trivial deserved your attention.”
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice, trying to pull me back into a familiar rhythm.
“I know I’ve been absent. I see that now. But we don’t have to end it this way. We can fix things. Start over. Make new memories—better ones—if you’ll let me.”
Once, those words would’ve undone me. Years ago, I would’ve reached for him without hesitation. But I’d seen the way his eyes followed Francesca, smelled her perfume lingering on his suits. Whatever part of me once hoped had already gone quiet.