Some Part Of You Wants To Know How This Ends
1971 Words
ASHLEY
I rubbed at my tired eyes and finally shut down my system, the screen fading to black with a quiet hum. The office had emptied out over an hour ago, but I'd stayed behind as usual, determined to finish everything before heading home.
I was always the last to leave.
With a sigh, I stretched, feeling the stiffness pull at my shoulders, then grabbed my handbag and made my way toward the exit. My heels clicked sharply against the polished floor, the sound echoing through the deserted hallway.
The building felt different at night. Hollow. Watching.
I pushed the exit door open and stepped outside, inhaling deeply. The cool night air hit my face, carrying the faint scent of cigarette. I wrinkled my nose, glancing around, trying to place where it was coming from—
"Finally out, huh?"
I jumped.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I spun toward the voice.
Anton leaned casually against the wall, half-hidden in shadow, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.
"Jesus." I pressed a hand to my chest. "You startled me. What are you still doing here?"
He took a slow drag, the tip of the cigarette flaring bright before he exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the air. "Waiting for you." His thumb flicked ash to the ground. "You've been ignoring me."
"f**k off." I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and started walking past him.
He pushed off the wall and stepped fully into the streetlight, the glow cutting across his face and sharpening the edge of his smirk.
"Is that how you treat your friend?" he called after me.
"Friend?" I repeated incredulously, turning fully toward him. "My friend died nine years ago."
"Well, good news." That familiar, infuriating smile spread across his face—the one he used to wear when he knew he was getting under my skin. "He’s back from the dead." He tapped his chest lightly. "Right here."
Those annoying lips parted into a grin.
"f**k you," I snapped, turning away before I did something stupid—like smile back.
"f**k you," he echoed easily.
"f**k you!" I spun around again, louder this time, my voice cutting through the quiet street. "f**k you double times, Anton."
That wiped the smirk off his face.
For a second, he just looked at me. Then he dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. When he looked up again, the playfulness was gone. Something steadier had taken its place.
"Can we talk like adults now?"
I hesitated, then folded my arms across my chest. "Why didn’t you respond to my texts?"
He huffed a short laugh and stepped closer. "How was I supposed to reply when you were threatening to kill me?" His mouth curved faintly. "'If you don’t text back, I’ll kill you. I’ll find you, and when I do, you’re dead.' What exactly was I meant to say to that?"
I snorted despite myself, scratching lightly at my brow. Maybe the messages had sounded unhinged out of context. But that was how we used to joke. That was us.
"You could’ve still replied," I muttered. "You ghosted me for years and expect me to just embrace you now that you’re back?"
"I know, right." He moved to stand beside me instead of in front of me, like he was easing into neutral ground. "So... drink?"
"I’d rather be in my bed," I shot back automatically.
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t entirely true.
"No," he said, glancing sideways at me. "You’d rather be out drinking with me."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking ahead like he already knew I’d follow.
I didn't move.
He turned after a few steps, walking backward now. "Come on."
I grumbled under my breath, rolling my eyes toward the dark sky.
Then I followed him anyway.
***
We stopped at my usual bar, the neon sign outside buzzing faintly as we stepped in. The place was dimly lit, washed in amber and low music, the kind that made confessions easier and lies smoother.
The bartender looked up and nodded at me in recognition before grabbing two glasses.
"I see you’re an alcoholic," Anton remarked casually as we took our seats.
I shot him a look. "What makes you say that?"
He tilted his head toward the bartender. "He knows you. That means you’re a regular."
"Or it means I tip well," I replied dryly.
The bartender slid our drinks across the counter—whiskey for Anton, martini for me. I wrapped my fingers around the stem of my glass, letting the coolness steady me.
"Enough about me," I said, steering us away before he dug further. "Why are you suddenly back?"
"For work." He lifted the whiskey to his lips, taking a slow sip.
I arched a brow. "We both know that’s not the main reason you're here."
Anton Miller didn’t just show up at Henderson Atelier by coincidence. He was many things, but never random.
He lowered the glass, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I came to see Selene. Is that the answer you’re hoping for?"
The name settled between us.
That was the obvious reason. The only reason that made sense.
But why now?
"After all these years," I pressed, "why show up now?"
He didn't answer immediately. His finger traced the rim of his glass slowly, thoughtfully, the ice clinking softly inside. For once, he wasn't smirking.
"So I don’t have any regrets," he said at last.
I studied him, trying to read what sat behind those words. Regrets about what? About leaving? About Selene? About the way everything had ended?
I shook my head, exhaling through my nose. "The moment you walked into that room, I knew you were trouble."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Well," I said sharply, setting my glass down harder than I meant to, "you showed up late. Selene is happily married to Sebastian."
"Is she?" Anton asked quietly.
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten. "What do you mean by that?"
He didn’t hesitate. "I know Sebastian doesn't love her."
The certainty in his voice irritated me more than the statement itself. "Wow. So you’re in Sebastian’s mind now? You just know who he loves and doesn’t?"
Anton shrugged, maddeningly calm. "I’ve seen the way he avoided talking about her whenever he was asked."
"Maybe he just likes keeping his marriage private," I countered quickly, even though the defense sounded weak the moment it left my mouth. I didn’t even know why I was defending Sebastian. Maybe because someone had to.
Anton’s jaw tightened slightly. "I heard what he said to her on their wedding day."
My brows drew together. "What?"
"That asshole doesn’t love Selene."
"Hold on, did you—"
"Yeah," he cut in. "You sent the invite to me, remember? Of course I attended."
He’d been there.
Watching.
Listening.
"Then why didn’t you—"
He shook his head before I could finish. "At the time, I had my own mess to deal with. And I didn't think Selene would be happy to see me there."
His tone wasn’t defensive. Just honest.
I looked down at my drink, watching the olive shift in the clear liquid. "What makes you think now is any different?"
Anton rested his elbow on the counter, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His gaze drifted toward nothing in particular, like he was assembling pieces in his head.
"Doesn't Sebastian look a little… different?"
I groaned and let my head fall back against the chair. "Are you becoming obsessed with Sebastian or something?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "That’s not it. I met him today. He didn’t recognize me."
I straightened slightly. "Not everyone recognizes you, Anton Miller," I muttered, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "You’re not exactly a celebrity."
He tilted his head, studying me now instead of his drink.
"You’re hiding something."
I scoffed, forcing a laugh. "What could I possibly be hiding?"
He shifted, angling his body toward me, closing the space just enough to make it feel intentional. "I read an article a while back," he said carefully. "About Sebastian being involved in an accident. It was deleted almost immediately."
My fingers tightened around my glass. I lifted it casually, letting the cool stem press into my palm.
"So?" I said lightly.
Anton didn’t blink. He was watching me too closely now—like he could see the pulse in my throat, like he could hear the slight change in my breathing.
"What if the article was actually true?" he asked.
I held his gaze, refusing to let it flicker.
"What if it wasn’t?" I shot back.
The corner of his lips curved slowly, his gaze never leaving my face.
"I know you’re lying, Ashley."
I let out a long sigh and looked away, turning my glass between my fingers. The ice clinked softly against the rim. Nine years. Nine damn years, and this i***t could still read me like an open book.
"So what?" I muttered, lifting the glass to my lips before setting it back down a little harder than necessary. I finally turned to glare at him. "You think that now that you’re here you suddenly have a chance with Selene?"
He didn’t answer. He only watched me.
I scoffed and leaned back against the chair.
"You should’ve used the chances I gave you when you still had them," I added sharply.
For a moment, he was quiet. Then he reached for his whiskey, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before taking a slow sip.
"Yeah," he said casually, setting the glass back on the counter. "That’s exactly why you’re going to keep helping me."
I gritted my teeth, glaring down at my drink as if it had personally offended me.
"And why," I asked slowly, my voice edged with irritation, "would I do that?"
Anton shifted slightly on his stool, turning toward me. "Because you already started helping me the moment you didn’t throw your drink in my face and walk out."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Which means some part of you wants to know how this ends."
I scoffed, watching how his fingers brushed absently over his jaw, his expression far too relaxed for someone who had just declared war on my patience.
Typical Anton.
"What if you’re wrong?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
His eyes drifted somewhere past me like he was weighing the possibility for the first time. The dim lights of the bar reflected faintly in the amber liquid as he turned the glass in his fingers.
"If I’m wrong..." he repeated quietly.
His gaze returned to mine.
"Then Selene is happy."
He shrugged one shoulder, like the idea didn’t cost him anything.
"And I’ll walk away."
For a brief moment, something in his expression softened—so quickly I almost thought I imagined it.
But then his voice lowered.
"But if I’m right..." he said.
His eyes held mine, steady and serious now.
"...someone needs to be on her side."
The words lingered between us, heavier than the music playing faintly in the background.
I looked down at my drink, watching the clear liquid ripple slightly as I tilted the glass in my hand. My mind raced, replaying everything I had seen in the past few weeks—Sebastian’s accident, the way things had changed.
Slowly, I exhaled.
"God," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temple.
Anton didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
Because the moment I didn’t get up and leave…
he already had his answer.
And somehow, against my better judgment—
I had just stepped into whatever mess Anton Miller was about to create.
- Writer
