Chapter Thirteen: He Looked at Me Like I Was Nothing
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The rain didn't come gently.
It struck the glass walls of the Laurent penthouse with the same ferocity that lived in Kairo Laurent's eyes—a storm without warning, without apology.
Elián stood by the balcony doors, arms wrapped around himself as if he could hold in all the things that wanted to spill out. He hadn't meant to hear Kairo on the phone, hadn't wanted to know that his husband still called someone else love. But he had. And now the weight of it sank beneath his skin like frost.
Behind him, the clink of a glass hit the counter. Kairo's voice followed, sharp and low. "You're eavesdropping now?"
Elián didn't flinch. Not anymore.
"I was walking past," he replied evenly. "You weren't exactly quiet."
Kairo moved closer. "You don't get to comment on my life."
Elián turned, slowly. "Then stop tying your life to mine."
For a moment, they stared at each other. The silence stretched long—held together by everything they weren't saying.
Kairo was barefoot, in a black button-up he hadn't bothered to tuck in. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. There was tension in his jaw, like he hadn't slept, like something was cracking behind his polished mask.
But Elián didn't care.
Or he was trying not to.
"You could at least act like a husband in public," Kairo said tightly.
Elián tilted his head. "You want a performance? Maybe next time, give me a script."
"You're embarrassing me."
"No," Elián said quietly, stepping forward. "You embarrassed yourself when you hit me in front of him."
Kairo looked away.
It was the first time. The first time he didn't bite back, didn't throw words like daggers. And somehow, that was worse.
"You don't get to be guilty now," Elián said. His voice didn't tremble. Not anymore. "You made your choice. Now let me live with it."
Kairo didn't speak for a long time. The rain filled the space between them like static.
"I ended things with him," he said at last.
Elián's breath caught.
But he didn't let it show.
He folded his arms tighter around himself and said nothing. Because why Kairo ended it mattered more than the fact that he had. Because guilt was not love. Because Elián had cried too much to believe anything meant for him now would be real.
"I don't want pity," Elián said.
Kairo moved again, slower this time. "It wasn't pity."
"No?" Elián looked up at him. "Then what was it? Regret? Loneliness?"
Kairo's hand hovered—like he wanted to reach for him. Like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.
"Maybe it's the first time I've been afraid," Kairo said softly.
Elián blinked.
"What?"
"You walk past me now like I don't exist." His voice dropped. "Like I don't deserve to."
Elián's heart kicked in his chest.
And this—this was dangerous. Kairo Laurent did not talk like this. He didn't show cracks in his walls. He didn't admit to being scared.
But there he was. Shivering beneath something that looked a lot like shame.
"Why are you saying this?" Elián whispered.
"Because I think I've ruined something I can't fix."
Elián turned away again.
Because if he looked at him any longer, he might start to want him. And he couldn't survive that twice.
"I'm going to the guest room," he said flatly.
"Don't," Kairo said.
"I'm tired."
"Then sleep here."
Elián walked to the hallway, not looking back. "Not with a man who looked at me like I was nothing."
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That night, the bed felt too big.
And cold.
And quiet.
Elián wrapped the blanket tighter, pressing his face into the pillow to drown the sound of the rain. He could still hear Kairo's voice—echoing in his head like an unwanted lullaby.
"I think I've ruined something I can't fix."
No.
It wasn't enough.
Not after what he'd done.
Not after how small he'd made him feel.
Elián's chest ached. But he swallowed it. Again.
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Morning came in with grey light and a headache.
He made his way to the kitchen, expecting silence. But Kairo was already there, sleeves rolled up, cooking something that smelled like garlic and eggs.
Elián froze in the doorway.
Kairo glanced over, then quickly back to the stove. "You haven't eaten in two days."
"I didn't ask you to cook."
"I know."
"Then why—?"
"I wanted to."
Elián watched him. Slowly, quietly, something inside him softened—but not enough to forgive. Not yet.
He walked over and picked up a glass of water. Drank. Said nothing.
Kairo placed a plate on the counter. "Sit."
Elián looked at it. Looked at him.
Then sat.
And for once, they ate in silence. No insults. No lies. Just the sound of cutlery on porcelain and two people who didn't know how to heal.
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End of Chapter 13
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