"Hey, old man. Wake up."
Tau gave Vince a nudge, shaking his shoulder.
Vince stirred, yawning as he straightened up in the booth. He checked his phone. 9:03 PM.
"Shit... I'm getting too comfortable here," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
"You're finally awake. I'm about to close—you need to get out."
Vince looked around. "Who the hell closes a convenience store at 9 p.m.?"
"I do," Tau shot back.
"Yeah, yeah. I got you." Vince stood slowly, stretching his back. He tossed an unopened banana milk into the trash on his way out.
The door shut behind him with a hollow chime.
Tau watched the old man disappear into the streetlight glow, shaking his head.
"Tsk... Funny how she stopped by, and he didn't even notice."
⸻
Flashback – Three Hours Earlier
Vince was sound asleep, arms crossed, head bowed slightly.
A quiet figure entered the store. She moved carefully, eyes scanning until they landed on him.
Vanessa.
She approached, her heels soft against the floor, and reached out—fingertips brushing through Vince's silvering hair. Her face softened into a bittersweet smile.
"So stubborn," she whispered. "Why are you still here, after all this time? Didn't we break up seven years ago?"
Tau watched from behind the counter, arms folded.
"That idiot shows up every day hoping to see you. Are you sure you two ever really broke up?"
Vanessa chuckled lightly. "That's a secret. As usual, don't tell him I was here. It's been over a year since he last caught a glimpse of me through these dusty windows."
"Dusty?" Tau muttered. "Guess I need to clean up this dump. Yeah, yeah—I won't say anything. But seriously... when are you going to tell him about Alisa?"
Her smile faded. Her eyes sharpened.
"He can't know. Not yet. Not while I'm still alive. His family... would not accept her."
Tau let out a low whistle. "Damn. That serious, huh?"
Vanessa nodded silently.
"Rich families really are a different kind of messed up," Tau said, glancing at the man still sleeping in the booth. "Still... he deserves to know."
Vanessa turned toward the door. "One day. Maybe."
Then she was gone, and Vince never even stirred.
Present Day
Vince drove through the city's pulsing heart, his Mercedes gliding past neon-lit towers and crowds that never seemed to sleep. He didn't mind the noise. The city was loud enough to drown out the silence he carried.
His penthouse sat high above it all—sleek, modern, cold. He liked living in the city. It kept him close to work, and even closer to distractions.
Taking his private elevator to the top floor, the doors slid open to reveal Dale standing outside his apartment, dressed in plain clothes and holding a bottle of wine.
"What the hell are you doing here, pipsqueak?" Vince muttered as he brushed past and unlocked the door.
"I figured you could use a drink," Dale said, stepping inside behind him.
"Give me the bottle."
Vince grabbed it, headed to the kitchen, and poured two glasses without asking. He handed one to Dale and dropped himself onto the leather sofa, sinking into it like a man twice his age.
Dale took a seat across from him. "Was it another miss?"
Vince nodded. "Yeah."
"You really miss her that much?"
"I do."
Dale stared into his glass. "Then why did you let her go?"
Vince swirled the wine before taking a sip. "Because we came from different worlds. And mine... mine started to hurt her. If I had known how deep the damage would go, I never would've pulled her in."
Dale raised an eyebrow. "You always talk like you're writing a tragic poem. Cut the crap. You didn't let her go for her sake—you let her go for the money."
Vince didn't answer right away. He stared out at the skyline.
"You're not wrong," he finally said. "But it wasn't just money. It was legacy. Power. My family was watching, and back then... I still thought I needed their approval. I thought I could build something and come back for her later."
Dale leaned back. "Yeah. And look how well that turned out."
Vince didn't respond. He just took another long drink of his wine and looked out into the night, where nothing but glass and ghosts stared back.
"Who knows," Dale said with a smirk, "if I were rich, I'd probably do the same thing. Let happiness overflow straight into my pockets."
"You gold-digging bastard," Vince shot back, grinning. "I hope you meet a girl who tears those pockets wide open."
"Never!" Dale said with mock defiance, then casually tossed a file from his bag onto the kitchen counter. "Anyway—here you go."
Vince squinted. "You son of a—did you actually come here to make me do more work?"
"Yup," Dale said, completely unfazed.
"Nope. Not happening. I'm not signing anything!" Vince shouted, bolting from the kitchen couch like a teenager.
Dale chased after him. "You're going to sign it, bastard! You keep dumping all your work on me!"
"Never!" Vince yelled, dodging around the living room, using furniture as cover.
The chase circled the couch twice until Dale, grinning like a madman, kicked a chair into Vince's path. Vince tripped, hit the floor with a dramatic groan, and lay sprawled out.
"Got you!" Dale said triumphantly, holding up the file like a trophy.
"You dirty, cheating bastard!" Vince groaned from the floor, defeated but laughing.
They both sat there for a second, catching their breath. For a moment, it felt like they were kids again—before the companies, before the scars, before the regret.
And for Vince, moments like this were rare. But they mattered.