Darian's POV
I stand in front of Serenya’s door, knuckles still resting on the wood after the last knock.
I wait, listening for any kind of sound: a footstep, the creak of floorboards, the faint click of the lock. Nothing. The silence on the other side stretches too long, too still.
A short breath escapes me, almost a laugh but not quite. It carries the weight of what I already know. “Maybe she really doesn’t want to see me.” The words come out flat, low, meant more for the empty hallway than anyone else.
I glance down at what I’m holding — a bouquet, petals already bent from being gripped too tightly, and a small box of chocolates tucked under my arm. The flowers looked better when I bought them. Now they just feel like props in a bad apology. I sigh, crouching to set them down besid
