The Wounded CEO

The Ring He Never Takes Off (Part 2)

POV: Julian Wolfe

“I added Eva Maren to your gala escort list,” Irene said, handing me the itinerary.

I didn’t look up. “Why?”

“She’s listed as your strategic co-lead. The Marlowe donors want face time.”

I turned the page. “Adrienne approved?”

“She wasn’t asked.”

I paused. Not because of Adrienne. Because I could already see how the room would react when Eva walked in.

When they saw someone I hadn’t chosen... but hadn’t pushed away.

“Wardrobe code?”

“Black tie. Seven sharp. Car is scheduled.”

I nodded once.

Irene tilted her head. “Should I inform her directly?”

“No.”

I flipped the file shut. “Let her decide what she wants to wear.”

Not that it mattered.

She’d already started choosing her own place in the room.

I just hadn’t stopped her.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

POV Shift: Eva Maren

“You don’t owe this room anything,” I whispered to the mirror.

I pulled the navy dress off the hanger. It wasn’t new. But it felt... intentional. The color was deep, midnight, like something meant to be remembered by people who never looked twice.

Dani’s voice echoed from earlier: “They don’t soften, Eva. Don’t fall for the silence.”

But I wasn’t dressing for Julian Wolfe.

I was dressing for the girl who’d once watched events like this through glass doors and whispered, I’ll be in the room someday.

Now I was.

I fastened the earrings. Pinned my hair back. Then paused, fingers brushing the dip above my collarbone. Where no necklace sat. No armor.

I exhaled. Just once.

And walked away from the mirror.

Whatever tonight was going to be, I had already decided not to shrink inside it.

POV Shift: Julian Wolfe

The ballroom blurred into tailored suits, shallow smiles, and champagne refracting gold light.

Then I saw her.

She stood near the stair landing. Alone. Composed.

She didn’t scan the room like she needed approval. She didn’t cling to anyone’s elbow. She walked in like the room had been waiting for her.

My chest pulled tight.

Navy.

Of course.

There was something ruthless about how quiet her presence was. How it didn’t ask for permission. How it made me remember a version of softness I had buried a long time ago.

“Is that your new strategist?” someone murmured near me.

I didn’t answer.

Because I hadn’t blinked.

Not once since she walked in.

And I wasn’t going to now.

POV Shift: Eva Maren

He was across the floor.

Black suit. No bow tie. Clean lines. That same silver ring catching just enough light to remind me it never left his hand.

He didn’t wave.

Didn’t nod.

Just watched.

I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or warning in his stare.

But I walked toward him anyway.

Slowly. Not to draw attention. Just to move like I belonged.

As I crossed the floor, I saw him adjust his cuff. A flicker. Half a second. Like the anticipation had finally reached his hands.

But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t shift his gaze.

And when I finally reached him... he said nothing.

Which, with Julian Wolfe, meant everything.

POV: Julian Wolfe

“Ezra would’ve laughed at that risk report. Or burned it,” the CFO muttered with a chuckle, swirling his drink.

The others joined in, too loud, too eager.

I didn’t.

I just stared at the bottom of my glass.

The champagne had gone warm.

My grip tightened.

“He had a flair for chaos,” another added, slapping my shoulder like we shared a memory.

We didn’t.

Ezra wasn’t a memory.

He was a fracture no one else could see.

I didn’t speak. Didn’t correct them.

I just smiled, the kind that said we’re still in public, and moved on.

Because if I opened my mouth right then…

I wouldn’t stop.

And if I didn’t stop…

I wouldn’t be Julian Wolfe anymore.

Just the brother who buried him.

The rooftop air bit colder than expected.

I stood at the edge, watching the skyline blur behind breath and memory.

The gala noise thinned to a hum. No music. No laughter. Just the pulse in my own ears.

The city was always alive at this hour. But tonight, I didn’t feel part of it.

Footsteps behind me.

Light. Familiar.

I didn’t turn.

I already knew it was her.

She didn’t speak.

Just walked toward the bench and sat, far enough to respect silence, close enough to be felt.

I didn’t tell her to leave.

And maybe that was the loudest thing I’d said all night.

POV: Eva Maren

There were two glasses on the table. His and one untouched.

I reached without looking (just thirsty, just instinct) and my fingers grazed his.

He flinched.

Not a jerk. Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Enough to freeze the air between us.

I pulled my hand back slowly, careful not to break whatever held this moment still.

“I wasn’t trying to…” I started.

He didn’t look at me.

But he said, low and distant, “You don’t need to explain everything.”

The pause that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Of all the things neither of us could afford to name.

I could’ve apologized again.

Filled the silence with something easy. Something safe.

But I didn’t.

I just stood beside him.

Let the rooftop wind slip between us.

Let the cold remind me this wasn’t a dream. That I was here. That he was, too.

The city pulsed below. But up here, it felt like the world had stopped waiting for him to speak.

And maybe he never would.

But somehow… that didn’t make me walk away.

Because silence wasn’t absence.

Not tonight.

Tonight, silence was the thing he gave me instead of trust.

And I took it.

Not as permission.

As promise.

The elevator was colder than the rooftop.

He didn’t say a word when I stepped in behind him. Just shifted slightly to make space.

Not an invitation. Not avoidance either.

I stood next to him.

Close enough to feel the heat off his sleeve.

Far enough to know better.

The panel lights blinked as we descended.

He didn’t check his phone. Didn’t clear his throat. Didn’t move.

He was still.

Like the tension had rooted itself into his bones.

I didn’t fill the silence.

Because I realized then, his silence was never absence.

It was choice.

And he had chosen not to pull away.

I turned my head slightly.

Not enough to be obvious.

Just to see.

His jaw was tight. Not clenched, controlled. Like he was trying to hold in something he didn’t trust with air.

He noticed.

I could tell by the twitch at the edge of his mouth. Barely there. But it was the kind of shift you feel in the spine.

He didn’t look at me.

But he knew.

We both stood like statues in an unspoken agreement.

Don’t push.

Don’t break it.

Just stand here, together, and pretend the closeness didn’t feel like a thread pulled too tight.

POV: Julian Wolfe

The bell sounded.

Floor thirty-one.

Home base.

I could’ve stepped out first.

I always do.

But something made me pause. Half a second. Maybe less.

I didn’t glance at her.

But I could feel her breath catch.

She hadn’t expected me to wait.

And I hadn’t planned to.

We stepped into the hallway side by side. No one spoke.

I didn’t walk faster. Didn’t check behind me.

I just... let her be there.

With me.

That hallway never felt long until tonight.

I closed the door behind me.

No click. No slam. Just a soft seal.

The city still glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I dropped the file onto my desk but didn’t sit down.

My reflection stared back at me. The skyline behind me looked brighter in the glass than it did outside.

I lifted my hand.

The ring gleamed faintly under the downlight.

I didn’t touch it.

Just stared at the man who hadn’t flinched when she stood beside him.

The man who had paused, for her.

My reflection didn’t smile.

But it didn’t look away either.

The room was dim, but the city outside never slept.

I stood at the edge of the glass wall, the skyline stretching wide like it had all the answers I refused to ask.

My hand dropped to my side. The silver was cool against my skin.

I slid the ring off.

For the first time in years, it didn’t resist.

It sat in my palm like something foreign. Something small and heavy and still warm from memory.

The lights of Manhattan flickered behind it, like stars on life support.

I clenched my fist.

Not to crush it.

Just to feel it.

To prove it wasn’t part of me anymore.

I don’t remember deciding to speak.

The words came out quiet. Barely audible. Not for anyone else. Not even for me.

Maybe for Ezra.

Maybe for the ghost that still pressed on my chest every time I walked into that boardroom.

Maybe for the girl on the rooftop who didn’t ask me to explain.

I said her name.

Not out loud.

Just… enough.

Then I whispered something else.

Three words I hadn’t allowed myself since the funeral.

Not love.

Not regret.

Just the truth.

And then my breath caught.

Like my body knew I’d said too much.

Even if no one heard.

I opened the drawer with one hand.

The ring was still in the other.

I stared at the felt lining. At the empty corner I once used to keep cufflinks I never wore anymore.

Then I set it down.

Not like I was letting go.

More like I was leaving it in time-out.

The weight left my palm and the drawer swallowed the sound.

But my hand hovered.

Suspended in a silence that wasn’t quite relief.

Just... exposure.

Like a wound that hadn’t bled in years was suddenly breathing again.

I didn’t close the drawer.

Not yet.

The lights dimmed slightly.

Automatic timers.

The world didn’t notice what I’d just done.

But I did.

And for a moment, I let the drawer stay open. Let the ring sit there like it had lost its name.

I stepped back.

One breath.

Then another.

Then (too fast, too soft) I reached in and picked it back up.

It was warm again.

Almost like it had waited for me to change my mind.

I stood there, staring at it in my hand.

And I knew exactly what this meant.

Not that I couldn’t let go.

Just that I didn’t know how to hold anything else yet.

The ring sat in my hand like a dare.

I rolled it between my fingers. Once. Twice. It caught the light, cold, familiar.

For a second, I saw my reflection in the desk glass.

Not as I was.

As I used to be.

Before the vow. Before Ezra’s last words. Before love became a liability.

Then, without thinking, I slipped it back on.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like a habit I hadn’t earned the right to break.

It didn’t fight me.

It slid back into place like it had been waiting.

Like I had never taken it off at all.

I leaned back in the chair and exhaled.

Not from fatigue.

From something heavier.

The kind of exhaustion that comes from holding the door closed on every version of yourself that might feel something too loudly.

The city was still lit behind me.

Meetings still filled my calendar. Reports still waited on the corner of my desk.

But inside (under the suit, behind the silence) everything had shifted.

And still...

I said nothing.

I sat in the dark, in the quiet, ring on my finger, and stared at the one place I refused to go.

The past.

Eva didn’t mean to look.

She was on her way to return a portfolio to Irene’s desk.

The lights in Julian’s office were dimmed, but the glass was too clean to hide anything.

She saw him.

Leaning back. Hand pressed to his face. Shoulders lowered, not in defeat, but in surrender.

The drawer was still half-open.

She saw the glint of the ring.

She saw the hesitation still clinging to his fingertips, even as it rested on his hand again.

She stopped walking.

Not because she was curious.

But because she knew what it looked like when someone tried to put something down,

and couldn’t.

She stood at the threshold of his silence.

One hand hovered near the glass. Not raised to knock. Just… there.

As if waiting for him to feel her presence.

Julian didn’t turn.

Didn’t glance up.

But his posture changed, barely. A flicker in the angle of his chin. A shift in the line of his spine.

He didn’t see her.

But he felt something.

And Eva knew.

If she knocked now, it would break whatever spell held this stillness together.

So she didn’t.

She stood there in the dark corridor.

Watching the man who hadn’t let go.

And for once, she didn’t try to fix it.

She just stayed.

Quiet.

Waiting.

POV: Julian Wolfe

The office was dark now.

Not by accident.

I hadn’t turned the lights back on after the drawer opened, after the ring came off, after it slid back on like gravity had never released it.

The only illumination came from the skyline behind me.

And the faint glint from the ring.

I turned my palm upward.

There it was. Silver. Clean. Still loyal to a version of me I no longer believed in.

Still there, like it belonged more to the silence than to my skin.

I didn’t move.

Because moving would mean deciding.

And I wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

The air shifted.

No door opened. No sound broke through.

But I felt it.

Her.

Not a breath. Not a shadow.

Just... something.

I didn’t turn.

Didn’t ask.

But my hand clenched, reflexive, against the weight of the ring.

The kind of gesture you do when someone’s close enough to touch, if you only turned.

But I didn’t.

Because if I saw her, I might say something I couldn’t control.

And if she saw me…

Really saw me…

I wasn’t sure what she’d do with it.

So I stayed still.

And let her presence press against the glass without a sound.

Somewhere below, in the marbled hush of the Vega lobby, the violinist began to play.

Same song.

Same slow, almost hesitant melody from the day Eva arrived.

Only this time, the notes weren’t background noise.

They were memory.

A circle quietly closing.

Julian didn’t hear it directly, but something inside him did.

Eva did.

She closed her eyes as the melody floated upward through the air vents, through the glass floors, through the seams of a building designed to keep emotion out.

And for one suspended moment…

They were both listening to the same sound.

From different rooms.

Without ever saying a word.