Jean's pov:
She didn't mean to come here.
The park wasn't part of any plan. Not that she had one. She just… walked. Ended up here. Same bench. Third from the back. The one near the broken swing.
She sat down. Like her body got there before her mind.
Everything looked… fine.
Birds in the sky. Kids running. The smell of popcorn from the cart near the gate.
She hated how normal it all looked.
Felt wrong.
Like the world should've stopped with her.
She blinked at nothing.
A little girl giggled nearby. Someone threw a frisbee. A woman on a bench across the path laughed into her phone. Loud. Carefree.
Jean didn't move. Didn't want to be noticed.
The sky was stupidly clear. Light breeze. Golden light hitting the grass just right.
Her heart was a cement block.
Then...
"Hi."
She looked up.
Small voice.
Boy. Tiny. Couldn't be more than five. Hair too long, nose runny, smile missing two front teeth.
He was staring at her like they'd met before.
"You're pretty," he said, matter of fact. No hesitation.
She stared back.
No words came out.
Then...
"…what?"
"You're pretty," he repeated. Shrugged. "Like my mom when she's not crying."
Jean felt something punch her right in the ribs.
She forced a tiny smile. It wobbled.
"Thanks, kid."
He rocked on his heels. Kept looking at her. "You look sad."
Jean's smile disappeared.
He stepped closer.
"I'll marry you when I grow up."
She blinked.
"…What?"
"I will. I like you. You're soft."
Jean laughed. Kind of. It came out broken. More like a breath that didn't know where to go.
"You're not supposed to say things like that to strangers."
"You're not a stranger," he shrugged. "You sit here all the time. Like me."
She didn't know what to do with that. So she just… looked at him.
He pulled something from behind his back.
Plastic toy. Scratched. Yellow. Smiley face drawn on with a marker. One eye bigger than the other.
"This is Sunny," he said. "He helps me when I feel like throwing things. You can have him."
"I-I can't-"
He shoved it into her hand.
"It's okay. He told me it's time he helps someone else now."
Jean looked down at it. The stupid smiley face staring up at her. Like it got her. Like it knew.
Her throat burned.
She didn't speak. Didn't trust her voice.
The boy smiled, proud of himself, and then ran off without another word.
Gone. Just like that.
Jean sat still. Toy in hand. Shoulders tense. Breathing weird.
She looked at Sunny.
And she broke a little.
Didn't cry. Just… broke.
Something small. Quiet. Felt like hope. Or pain. Or both.
The world didn't stop for her.
But for a second, it looked back
Zain's pov:
Zane sat in his office, one hand against his jaw, unmoving.
The city outside was loud, the sun throwing gold across the glass walls, but none of it touched him. He wasn't really there.
He was somewhere else.
Still caught in that moment — the way her lips had curved, just slightly. Hesitant. Like a smile that didn't know if it had the right to exist.
Jean.
That name hadn't left his mind since she said it.
She had smiled. Not for him, not really… just to a little boy. But he'd seen it. Felt it.
And it had ruined him.
He'd seen smiles before, sure — in photos, in boardrooms, on people pretending to care.
But hers?
It was a smile born from survival. Quiet. Fragile.
Like it came with bruises on the inside.
He didn't know why it hit him like that. He just knew it did.
He was still holding that image when—
Knock.
Jared walked in. Steady. Unbothered.
"James Maddox is ready," he said. "Wants to view the project. Said he'll decide afterward if he's interested."
And just like that, Zane changed.
Whatever softness had flickered for a brief second — gone.
Wiped clean.
His face turned cold. Controlled. Sharp.
He sat upright, the tension in his shoulders returning like muscle memory. "Schedule the meeting. Two days. Here. I want him on our turf."
Jared gave a small nod. "Understood."
Zane's voice lowered. "And Jared…"
He paused.
Jared looked up, waiting.
Zane's fingers tapped once on the desk. "Keep someone near her."
"Her…?"
Zane met his eyes. His own were unreadable. "Jean."
Jared blinked. Didn't question it. Just waited.
"No one gets near her," Zane said. "No threats. Not even shadows. I don't care how small they seem. Nothing touches her."
"I'll make sure of it," Jared replied, leaving.
Once the door shut, Zane let his hands fall to his lap.
James Maddox.
The name itself tasted like rust in his mouth.
Zane had done business with powerful men. Dangerous men. But James Maddox wasn't just ruthless — he was reckless.
Everyone knew it. They just didn't say it.
He played with people. Women especially. Like they were glass to smash and sweep aside.
Zane had seen the aftermath before. Behind the scenes whispers. Contracts buried. Scandals erased with money.
And now that monster was circling around his company?
Zane's jaw clenched.
No.
He wasn't scared of James.
But he did fear what could happen if that man ever laid eyes on Jean.
Because Jean... she wasn't built for that kind of cruelty.
She was already dragging the weight of too much. She didn't need another devil in the dark.
And if James ever tried - even once - to touch her?
Zane wouldn't hesitate.
Not for business. Not for money. Not for anything.
Jean didn't know it yet.
But she'd already become the line no one was allowed to cross.
Jean's pov:
The world was quiet, unnervingly quiet, when her phone lit up.
Unknown number.
She stared at it like it might bite. Her fingers hesitated — not because she was busy, but because life had taught her that unexpected things never brought good news.
Still, she answered.
"Jean Gray?" a man's voice. Nervous. Familiar.
"…Yes?"
"This is Martin Hall, owner of Café Studio."
Her spine straightened like it had been yanked by a string.
That place. That same damned place where her sketches had been laughed at. Where she'd stood dripping rain, heart in her throat, only to hear them say her art was "too soft" for their modern brand. As if softness was something to be ashamed of.
"I remember," she said, voice hollow.
There was a pause. "I… want to apologize for how things went. We were wrong to treat you like that. Truly. One of our team members just left, and your name came up again. I'd like to offer you the spot."
Her jaw locked. "You laughed at my work."
"I know," the man's voice broke. Literally broke. Like someone had cut through it. "That was a mistake. We'd be lucky to have someone like you on the team. If… if you're still interested."
She didn't answer.
Not at first.
Because something didn't make sense. People didn't just go from mockery to admiration overnight.
Unless they were forced to.
"I'll think about it," she said flatly.
A silence.
"Please do. We'd really love to have you. Training starts tomorrow morning. Just… show up. Everything else, we'll figure out."
He ended the call too quickly.
And Jean stood there - phone still pressed to her ear - feeling like she'd just stepped into someone else's story.
Meanwhile - behind the call -
Mr. Hall's hands were shaking so hard he dropped the phone onto the table.
Behind him, Jared stood still. Gun low. Voice like ice.
"You're lucky he wants subtlety," Jared said flatly. "Next time, think twice before humiliating someone he watches."
Jean's Apartment-Evening
She sat on the edge of her bed, the offer letter still open on her phone.
It didn't make sense.
Two days ago, they had laughed at her work like it was a joke. Her sketches tossed aside like crumpled napkins. Her wet clothes, her trembling hands, her soaked drawings… and their cold laughter.
Now?
"Dear Miss Gray, we sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding-"
Misunderstanding? She almost barked out a laugh.
She read the message again. Twice. The words didn't change, but the weight behind them felt… wrong. Off. Like someone had pressed the reset button on a memory she couldn't forget.
She rubbed her arms. The apartment felt colder than usual.
Elsewhere - in the penthouse of Zane:
Jared stood before him. Unmoving. Silent.
Zane didn't even turn to look. His eyes were fixed on the flickering monitor ahead images rotating one after another. Jean in the park. Jean sitting alone on a bench. Jean smiling at a little boy. Jean walking home.
Breathing.
Existing.
Hurting.
"She got the offer," Jared said, placing the black tablet on the table. "She's confused. Just like you wanted."
Zane finally moved, his hand curling around the tablet like it was made of glass.
"Good," he whispered. His voice was low too low for someone who hadn't smiled in years. "Anything unusual?"
"Nothing. One kid. No threats."
Zane nodded, more to himself than to Jared. "Keep it that way."
Jared left.
Zane waited.
Waited until the door clicked shut. Then slowly, like sin pressing into skin, he sat on the leather couch. Alone in the dim glow of the screen, he began flipping through the pictures again.
And again.
And again.
Until her face started to blur into the spaces behind his eyelids.
He touched the screen like it might touch him back.
"You really thought they just forgot what you looked like?" he muttered softly. "Little Bluebird…"
His thumb brushed the edge of her photo.
"I saw the way you smiled at that kid. Like you forgot, even for a second, how lonely the world can be. You don't even know it- but I've been memorizing you. Frame by frame. Smile by smile. Pain by pain."
His throat tightened.
He whispered like she was sitting right there, inches away, breathing the same air.
"Fly if you must, Bluebird," his voice was low, reverent. "But you'll always belong to the sky I breathe in. You'll always belong to me."