His Eyes Wouldn’t Look at Me ( Sydney's POV)
1110 Words
I should have known something was wrong the moment Marcus didn’t reach for my hand.
Seven years with this man, and he had never—not once—failed to intertwine our fingers the moment we stood side by side. Even during our worst fights. Even when he was tired from work. Even when we were both running late.
So when my left hand dangled awkwardly beside me like a forgotten umbrella, an ache bloomed in my chest.
“Are you cold?” I murmured softly as we walked through the VIP wing, the scent of pine garlands and white candles filling the corridor.
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Just… stressed.”
Stress.
His new favorite excuse.
We passed clusters of staff carrying trays, adjusting lights, rolling out velvet carpets for the gala. But all I could see was the stiff line of Marcus’s jaw. The way he kept his eyes forward. The way he didn’t even glance at my gown—the one he once said made me look like a “snow queen who could melt anyone’s heart.”
Now? Nothing.
“Marcus,” I said gently, “talk to me. You’re acting like I kicked your dog.”
He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Sydney, not now.”
Not now.
Not now.
Not now.
He’d been saying that for months, and suddenly it felt like those two words were prying my ribs apart.
I forced a smile. “Okay… maybe after the event?”
“We’ll see.”
My heart pinched.
We’ll see?
That wasn’t him. Marcus was predictable. Steady. In seven years, I always knew where I stood with him. He wasn’t a man of “we’ll see”s. He was a man of “I’ll make time.”
Before I could respond, someone called his name.
“Supervisor Thompson”
Marcus stiffened—again. His shoulders rose, drawn tight, before he schooled his face into something close to pleasant professionalism.
Tyra Baynes approached us, clipboard in hand, sleek bun, lips painted red enough to resemble a warning sign.
My gut twisted.
I ignored it.
Because that’s what I did best.
“Marcus, I need your approval on the lighting reposition near the stage,” Tyra said, voice clipped like she was trying very hard to sound respectful in my presence. “There’s a slight delay with the snow machine as well.”
Marcus’s smile felt rehearsed. “I’ll check it.”
Tyra’s eyes flicked to me—a quick scan that felt like she was measuring something. Or deciding if I was a threat.
“Miss Walters,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lovely to see you again.”
"You seem too busy, Tyra,” I replied, matching her tone but gentler. “ Need help?.”
Tyra blinked as if she didn’t expect kindness. “uh, no, Thank you.. Just make yourself comfortable,we got this.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Tyra, I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded and stepped away, but not before giving Marcus a look.
A look I didn’t like.
A look I didn’t understand.
The moment she was out of earshot, I turned to Marcus.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That.” I motioned vaguely toward Tyra. “The tension? The… weirdness?”
“Sydney, please.” His voice dropped to a whisper, brittle. “Not tonight.”
Not tonight.
There it was again.
The phrase wrapping around my heart like frost.
I swallowed hard. “You’re shutting me out.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Sydney—”
“Marcus. Look at me.”
He didn’t.
He looked at the garland. The ceiling. The floor. Literally anywhere except directly at me.
That’s when fear curled low in my stomach.
Not because he was angry.
But because… he was afraid.
Of something.
Of someone.
Of me?
“Marcus,” I whispered, “what’s going on?”
He didn’t answer.
A moment later, one of the event designers rushed toward him. “Marcus, we need you near the main stage. There’s an issue with the audio line.”
“Coming,” he said with relief—relief—before nodding at me stiffly. “I’ll be back.”
And then he walked away without a backward glance.
I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, the faint chime of Christmas carols drifting from the ballroom. The scent of cinnamon pine hit me like a weight.
Seven years.
Seven Christmases shared.
Seven winters where his arms were my safest place.
And now?
He couldn’t even look me in the eye.
It’s okay, I told myself.
Maybe he’s really stressed.
Maybe the event is overwhelming.
Maybe…
Maybe I was making a big deal out of nothing.
I forced my feet to move, stepping through the huge double doors into the nearly finished ballroom.
And that’s when I heard it.
Two event staff speaking in hushed tones near the stage.
“I swear, they’ve been close. Supervisor Thompson and the manager? Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Marcus and Tyra?” the other whispered. “No way. He has Sydney.”
“Yeah but have you seen them together lately?”
My heart stuttered.
No.
No, no, no.
Gossip is gossip.
People talk.
People twist things.
And Marcus… Marcus loved me. He did.
I pressed a hand to my chest and inhaled deeply.
The ballroom helped.
White fairy lights cascaded like frozen rain.
Crystal icicles hung from the rafters.
The Christmas tree—towering, majestic—was frosted with artificial snow that glimmered under soft spotlights.
It was like stepping into a dream, a winter kingdom carved out of pure hope.
The beauty of it poured over me like warmth.
This is why you’re here, I reminded myself.
For the donors.
For the kids.
For the magic of tonight.
And for Marcus.
Still… those whispers clung to me like cold fingers around my spine.
I tried shaking it off.
I really did.
Because love means choosing trust over fear.
So I stood straighter, breathed in the lavender and pine, and told myself:
It’s just stress.
It’s just pressure.
He still loves me.
He still wants me.
But there was one thing I didn’t realize yet—
while I was defending him in my mind…
He had already disappeared again.
And this time, I wouldn’t find him anywhere near people or paperwork.
He was gone into the one place I should never have followed—
the place where my world would shatter behind velvet curtains.
- Writer
