The night crept in with a quiet unease.
Elena stood by the window of the guest room, her gaze fixed on the city lights that blinked like distant stars. The silence in the house was suffocating, heavier than it had ever been. Zayn hadn't returned since their last encounter—a whirlwind of shouting, tears, and words they couldn't take back.
She pressed her forehead against the glass, the coolness grounding her. Her chest still ached from the way he had looked at her before leaving—torn, wounded, but worst of all, disappointed. Not in her, but in himself. That was what hurt the most.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from Ava: "You okay? You've been quiet."
Elena typed a quick reply: "Trying to be." Then turned the screen face down.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She turned. Zayn.
He looked tired, his usual composed expression clouded by something more human—regret, maybe.
"You left your light on," he said, voice low.
"I know. Couldn't sleep."
He stepped in, unsure, like he was walking into enemy territory. But it wasn't a war anymore. It was just two broken people trying to survive each other.
"Elena, I..."
She held up her hand. "Can we not? Just for tonight?"
He nodded. The silence returned, but softer now. Not oppressive, just heavy with unspoken things.
She crossed the room and passed by him, the scent of lavender trailing with her. Zayn stood still, jaw clenched, as if one move would shatter him completely.
Two Days Later
Zayn sat across from his mother at the family estate. Her expression was unreadable, as always.
"You're losing her," she said, sipping her tea.
"She was never mine to begin with."
His mother set the cup down. "That's not true. You had every chance to make her yours. What are you so afraid of, Zayn?"
"That I'll turn into him," he said.
Silence.
The mention of his father was like a poison in the room. Toxic. Permanent.
His mother sighed. "You're not your father. But you will be, if you keep hiding behind that fear."
Zayn looked away, jaw tight. But the words burrowed deep.
That Night
Elena sat at the piano in the living room. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She hadn't played in years. The notes felt foreign. But she let them fall anyway—soft, trembling, like her heart.
She didn't hear Zayn come in until he spoke.
"I remember this song."
She turned her head. "You used to listen."
"I still do."
He sat beside her, not touching. Just near.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."
Elena looked at him, her voice quiet. "You say that, but nothing changes."
He leaned in slightly. "It will. If you let me try. If you don't give up on me."
She hesitated. Her heart screamed yes. Her mind whispered no.
But then she played another note. And another.
And Zayn, for once, just listened.
The Next Day – Office Scene
Elena walked into the office building where Zayn's company was holding its annual charity event. She wore a black dress—simple, elegant, guarded.
People turned. Cameras flashed. Whispers followed.
But she kept walking.
Zayn greeted her at the entrance. "You didn't have to come."
"I needed to see what you're like... when you're not hiding."
He led her inside. The room was alive with ambition and social politics, but all Elena saw was the way Zayn kept checking to see if she was okay.
Halfway through the night, a woman approached. Tall. Confident. Familiar.
"Zayn," she said, smiling too wide. "You didn't tell me your wife was this stunning."
Elena offered her hand. "And you are...?"
"An old friend," the woman purred. "Very old."
Zayn's eyes flickered with unease.
Elena's spine straightened. She smiled sweetly. "Nice to meet you. But just so we're clear—he's not as available as he used to be."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."
Elena took Zayn's arm. "No, we won't."
They walked away, silent but electric.
Zayn whispered, "Thank you."
Elena didn't look at him. "Don't make me do it twice."