Everything had been going surprisingly well.
Airam moved through the event hall as she belonged there, shaking hands, smiling politely, gathering tiny pieces of information with the grace of someone who had done this all her life.
Her voice was steady. Her steps are confident. Her mind is sharp.
Harry watched her every chance he got, silently impressed with how easily she charmed the room.
Then the bidding began.
Harry was ruthless, calm, but intimidating.
Each time a competitor raised the price, Harry raised it higher without blinking, without flinching.
Some bidders backed off immediately, unwilling to challenge the young CEO whose reputation preceded him.
But then, Airam saw him. A man in his sixties wearing a sharp suit with colder eyes.
And beside him… a younger man. Early twenties. Hard jaw. Expensive watch. Same posture. Same stare. The resemblance struck like a slap. Her heart stopped.
Her lungs forgot their job. Her vision blurred.
"I… need some air." The words stumbled out of her before she could think.
Chairs scraped. Heads turned. Even the older man paused mid-bidding and looked straight at her, recognition flickering across his face.
Harry noticed instantly.
He didn't even look at the board anymore, he simply lifted the final bid with absolute confidence.
The auctioneer slammed the gavel.
"Sold!" But Harry wasn't listening. He was already moving.
Airam pushed through the crowd, every heartbeat like a hammer against her ribs.
She needed space. She needed walls. She needed something that wasn't eyes and voices and memories she had buried years ago.
She reached the elevator and frantically pressed the button. Come on. Come on. Open!
Her breath grew sharp and shaky too fast, too tight. The hallway felt smaller.
The air felt thinner. When the elevator finally pinged open, she darted inside, pressing the close button repeatedly like it was a lifeline.
A hand stopped the doors. Harry.
He stepped in quickly before she could escape, his eyes full of worry and something she refused to name.
"Are you okay?"
"DON'T—"
Airam's scream ripped out of her chest before she could stop it raw, loud, desperate.
Her vision spun. Her legs gave out. Harry caught her immediately. Not tightly. Not possessively.
But with the terrified gentleness of someone afraid she would break.
"Airam," he whispered, steadying her. "Breathe." She wasn't hearing him. All she heard was her pulse.
All she saw was the man in the room, the face she thought she'd never see again. The life she swore she'd never go back to. Her breaths were too fast.
Too sharp. Her chest hurt. Harry held her, grounding her without saying another word. She didn't even realize she was leaning into him. Didn't realize her hands were gripping his shirt.
Didn't realize her forehead rested against his chest as she gasped for air. She just needed space. She just needed time.
She just needed her mind to understand that ghosts from the past don't get to choke her anymore.
"People that don't exist… don't exist," she whispered to herself, over and over.
"He didn't see me. He didn't. He doesn't care… so why should I…" Her voice trembled, cracking mid-sentence. Harry didn't ask questions. He just stayed. Silent. Still. Present, just there for whatever she may need.
Like he was holding more than a body, he was holding a storm.