Claire’s hands trembled slightly as she shut off the television, plunging the apartment into darkness. The room felt unbearably silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. She sat motionless, her eyes still fixed on the black screen, as if hoping it would somehow erase the image of Grayson and Evelyn from her mind.
But it didn’t.
The phantom sensation of his touch still clung to her skin, haunting her. The way he had once traced lazy circles along her bare back. The way his lips had moved over hers with desperate reverence, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She could still hear him murmuring her name in the stillness of dawn, his voice rough with sleep and longing.
But now that voice belonged to Evelyn. That touch belonged to Evelyn.
Claire exhaled sharply and dragged a shaky hand through her hair. She needed air.
Without bothering to grab a coat, she slipped on her worn sneakers and left her apartment. The night was cold and brisk, the chill biting through her sweater as she walked aimlessly through the quiet streets. She didn’t care. She barely noticed.
Her feet carried her toward the park—a small, tree-lined escape where she had once sat with Grayson on a lazy Sunday afternoon. She could still remember the way he had stolen her ice cream cone with a smug grin, the way he had pulled her into his lap on the bench and kissed her senseless, ignoring the amused glances of strangers.
But tonight, the park was empty. The bench was cold. The memories were merciless.
She sat down anyway, folding her arms tightly across her chest, staring at the city lights beyond the trees. Her throat burned with the effort of keeping the tears at bay.
She had told herself she was done crying over him.
But the tears came anyway....
================================
The next day.
Claire stood in front of the mirror in her small bathroom, staring at her reflection with vacant eyes. Her skin was pale, and faint smudges of sleeplessness shadowed her eyes. She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water over her face, trying to shake the heaviness clinging to her chest.
She was done feeling sorry for herself.
Her hands gripped the edges of the sink as she forced herself to breathe.
She needed to let him go. She had no choice.
==================================
Grayson sat at the lavishly set dining table, the clink of fine silverware and the gentle murmur of conversation swirling around him. The Harrington estate was as extravagant as ever—tall crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the flawless porcelain plates and gleaming wine glasses. A fire crackled softly in the grand stone fireplace, filling the space with a cozy hum that felt entirely at odds with the coldness he felt in his chest.
He reached for his wine glass, fingers tightening around the stem, though he hadn’t taken a sip in several minutes. Across the table, Evelyn’s mother was speaking with animated enthusiasm about the floral arrangements for the wedding. Lilies and roses. Soft blush tones. Elegant, but understated. Evelyn nodded along with polite interest, the corner of her mouth lifted in a refined, practiced smile. She was the perfect image of a bride-to-be—poised, graceful, and utterly detached from his thoughts.
Because Grayson wasn’t here.
He was somewhere else. Somewhere dimly lit by the pale morning sun slipping through thin curtains. The memory was so vivid he could almost feel the warmth of the sheets tangled around his legs and the slow, lazy glide of Claire’s fingertips tracing circles over his bare chest. She had looked so beautiful that morning—her hair messy from sleep, eyes still heavy with exhaustion, but she had smiled at him with such tenderness that it made his chest ache.
“Don’t go yet,” she had whispered, her voice husky with sleep. She had curled into him, pressing her lips softly to his collarbone. “Just a little longer.”
He had stayed. And for a brief moment, the world outside that hotel room had ceased to exist.
“Grayson?”
His eyes snapped up, blinking back to the present. Evelyn’s father was looking at him expectantly.
“Hmm?” he murmured, clearing his throat. He realized too late he had missed the question.
Her father arched a brow but smiled good-naturedly. “I was asking if you’ve given any thought to the honeymoon destination. Evelyn mentioned Greece, but I suggested the South of France. You can’t beat the view of the vineyards at sunset.”
Greece. France. It didn’t matter.
For a fleeting moment, Grayson wondered where Claire was right now. Was she sitting in her tiny apartment, watching some mindless show, her face lit by the pale glow of the television? Or was she walking through the city, lost in her own thoughts, the way she always did when something weighed heavy on her?
Was she thinking about him, too?
The crystal stem of his glass creaked faintly under the pressure of his fingers.
“Yes,” Grayson finally answered, though he had no idea which destination he was agreeing to. His voice sounded detached even to his own ears. “That sounds… nice.”
Evelyn turned to him, her smile bright but shallow, and slid her hand over his. The gesture felt mechanical. A show for her parents.
And Grayson—trapped in the performance—forced himself to squeeze her hand in return.
But all he could think of was the way Claire’s fingers had once tangled with his, as if she were afraid to let go.
Grayson lifted his wine glass to his lips, not to drink, but to mask the sharp ache in his chest. He wondered if Claire was looking at the same night sky. If, somewhere out there, she still remembered the way he had once whispered her name in the dark.
He is aching and longing to see her again but how? She suddenly disappeared without a trace and now, he is going to marry another woman, and it's just purely business...