Zane
The silence of my penthouse wasn’t peaceful—it was suffocating.
Gina had walked away from me hours ago, her voice still echoing in my head. “I have to think about you. This is a lot.”
She hadn’t slammed the door, hadn’t cursed me the way most women would’ve after hearing what I confessed. But the way she looked at me—that mixture of confusion, hurt, and disappointment—cut deeper than any knife.
We weren’t even serious yet. Hell, she still had her own place, her own life. But she mattered. Too much. More than anyone had in years.
I should’ve called her. I should’ve tried to explain better, softer, slower. But I couldn’t risk pushing her further away. Sara had warned me: Give her space or you’ll lose her completely.
So instead of hearing her voice, I sat in the empty living room,
