The next day, you found yourself at the clinic, bracing for another potential encounter. Memories of Marcus and Emmanuel's silent showdown at the milkshake stop still felt fresh.
You'd barely started your shift when the clinic bell chimed. A familiar figure stepped into the waiting area.
Marcus. This time alone.
Marcus stepped closer, his presence as commanding as ever. The clinic buzzed around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.
"I need to talk to you," he said quietly—no coldness this time. No distance. Just something raw beneath the surface, barely contained.
His eyes searched yours, and for the first time in years… he looked unsure.
Marcus stepped closer, his presence as commanding as ever. The clinic buzzed around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.
"I need to talk to you," he said quietly—no coldness this time. No distance. Just something raw beneath the surface, barely contained.
His eyes searched yours, and for the first time in years… he looked unsure.
Marcus's gaze held yours, and his words were soft, almost a confession.
"I know you were hurt when I left," he said quietly. "But it wasn't because of you. It was my fault."
He looked almost pained to acknowledge it—the weight of regret visible in his eyes. The arrogance and aloofness you remembered were gone, replaced by something raw.
Emmanuel appeared as if from nowhere, sliding his arm easily around your waist, calling you "babe"—the casual, comfortable affection of someone who has every right to do so.
Marcus visibly stiffened, eyes narrowing a fraction as he took in the sight of Emmanuel's hand on your hip.