The Biker's Regret: The Enemy I Became.

(Reese) I almost didn't go. It was a Tuesday, which felt wrong for something that was supposed to be ordinary. Noah had texted that morning asking me to come by after school and I'd said yes without thinking because yes was always my answer when it came to him. That was what seventeen felt like. One person becoming the automatic answer to everything. I walked to his place the way I always did, cutting through the side street behind the church, hands in my jacket pockets, already thinking about what I was going to say when I saw him. We'd had plans for the weekend. A drive somewhere, nowhere specific, just out of the city and away from everything that felt too close. I'd been looking forward to it all week. He was standing on the front step when I got there. That should've told me something. Noah never waited outside. He'd either be in the garage with the bike or inside, and he'd hear me coming before I knocked. But he was standing on the step with his jacket on and his hands in his pockets and he was looking at the ground when I came around the corner. He looked up when he heard my footsteps. Something in his face stopped me on the pavement. "Hey," I said. "Hey." I waited. He didn't move toward me the way he usually did. He stayed where he was on the step, and the distance between us felt different from every other distance we'd ever had. Like it had already decided something. "What's wrong?" I said. He looked at me for a long moment. The expression on his face was one I didn't have a name for then. I'd find one eventually. It was the look of someone who had already made a decision and was waiting for the right second to say it out loud. "I don't love you anymore," he said. Five words. Said quietly, almost carefully, like he'd thought about the delivery. Like he'd practiced it somewhere I wasn't. I stood there on the pavement and waited for the rest of it. The explanation, the buildup, the part where it made sense. There had to be more. People didn't end things in five words after two years. There was supposed to be a reason, an argument, something I could push back against. He didn't say anything else. "Noah," I said. "I'm sorry," he said. That was all. I stood there for another moment looking at him on that step, looking at the jacket I'd watched him put on a hundred times, looking at the face I'd memorised without meaning to, and I understood that there wasn't going to be more. The five words were the whole thing. He'd made up his mind somewhere I'd never been invited and he'd come to the door and said it and now we were standing here on a Tuesday with the rest of it just gone. I didn't cry. Not in front of him. I turned around and walked back the way I'd come, through the side street behind the church, hands in my jacket pockets, and I didn't look back. I waited for him to call after me. He didn't. That was the part that stayed with me longest. Not the five words. The silence that came after them. (*Five years later*) Moving day was supposed to be simple. I'd hired movers, packed light, and chosen the new apartment for one reason only. It was twelve minutes from my office, and I needed those twelve minutes back in my life. No more sitting in the back of a car watching traffic crawl while a meeting started without me. No more arriving already irritated. I wanted efficiency, nothing else. The building gave me exactly that. Clean lobby, bright lighting, and a doorman who nodded without asking questions. The elevator was fast and quiet, and the fourth floor hallway felt calm the moment I stepped out. The movers had already brought up the first set of boxes and stacked them beside 4B. I rolled my suitcase forward, set it down, and reached into my pocket for the key. The hallway stayed silent except for the faint sound of the elevator closing behind me. Then the door across the hall opened. I looked up without thinking, just reacting to movement. The second I saw him, everything in me went still. My hand stayed wrapped around the key, but I forgot what I was doing. Noah Prescott stepped into the hallway. Five years disappeared in one instant. He looked older, broader, more solid than I remembered, and none of that helped. His dark hair was slightly longer, and he wore a plain black shirt and dark jeans. The familiar scent of leather reached me, and my body reacted before my mind could stop it. He saw me at the same time. Neither of us spoke. The space between us felt smaller than it should have. His eyes moved over my face slowly, like he was confirming I was real, like he hadn't expected this any more than I had. My chest tightened and I forced myself to breathe normally. I hadn't seen him since he walked away, and my body remembered him in a way I didn't appreciate. The way he looked at me had always felt too focused, too certain, like he saw more than I wanted him to. He was doing it again. I don't love you anymore. The words came back without warning. He'd said them quietly, almost carefully, and they'd shattered everything anyway. No argument, no buildup, no explanation. Just a decision delivered like it had already been made long before he told me. I'd waited for him to call after me. I remembered that clearly. I remembered walking away down that side street, hands in my pockets, not looking back, waiting for his voice to come after me. It never did. I pushed the memory down and held onto the present. I wasn't that girl anymore. Five years had changed everything. I'd built a company, built a reputation, built a life that didn't depend on anyone. Standing across from him, I needed to remember that. "Hi," I said. The word sounded normal. Controlled. Exactly what I wanted. He blinked once, like he hadn't expected me to speak first. "Reese." My name in his voice felt familiar in a way I didn't want to examine. I ignored it and kept my expression neutral. The hallway felt too small with him standing there. "Are you moving in?" he asked, nodding toward my suitcase. "I am. 4B." His gaze shifted to the door behind me, then back to my face. He took a step forward without thinking, then stopped himself. The movement was small, but I noticed. "I'm in 4A," he said. Of course he was. I nodded once and turned back to my door. I slid the key into the lock, focusing on the motion, keeping everything controlled. I could still feel his attention on me, steady and quiet. The elevator opened behind me. "Reese, you left this downstairs." I turned. Ethan Cross walked toward me with my handbag in his hand. He looked polished as always, calm and put together. He reached me and handed me the bag with a small smile. "Thanks," I said. He brushed a strand of hair away from my face, a familiar gesture that came naturally between us. His fingers lingered for half a second before dropping. The movement was simple, but I felt Noah's attention sharpen immediately. I looked at him. His expression hadn't changed, but his eyes had. His hands had curled slightly at his sides. The reaction was small, controlled, and unmistakable. Good. The thought came quickly. If he was going to stand there and look at me like nothing had changed, then he could see exactly what had. I turned slightly toward Ethan and touched his arm. "Noah, this is Ethan. My fiancé." The word landed hard. Ethan didn't hesitate. He extended his hand toward Noah with an easy smile. "Good to meet you." Noah looked at the hand, then shook it. "You too." His voice stayed even. His eyes moved to me for a brief second. Something passed through them, quiet and intense, and I felt it before I could stop myself. I unlocked my door and stepped inside. Ethan followed, and I closed the door behind us. The apartment was bright and mostly empty. Boxes lined the walls, and the furniture had already been placed. Ethan turned to me. "Fiancé?" "I'll explain later," I said. He studied me briefly, then nodded. "Alright." We started opening boxes. The normal movement helped. We worked in silence for a few minutes, placing things in cabinets and stacking what didn't matter yet. After an hour, he checked his watch. "I should go." "Thanks for the help." "Anytime." I walked him to the door. He stepped into the hallway and headed for the elevator. I watched until he disappeared, then looked across the hall. The door to 4A was closed. I went back inside and sat on the couch. The city moved outside the window, loud and constant. My new apartment looked clean and organised, exactly what I wanted. I'd chosen this place for convenience. Twelve minutes from the office. Efficient. Practical. Controlled. Also Noah Prescott's building. I rested my hands in my lap and stared ahead. I'd built a life that didn't include him. I'd rebuilt everything he broke. I wasn't letting a coincidence undo any of it. I wasn't seventeen anymore. I was Reese Calloway. And I wasn't going to fall apart over a man who once told me he didn't love me anymore.