I remember walking through the front door just as the late afternoon light slanted across the floor, painting the house in that warm, quiet orange that makes everything feel softer than it should.

Aline was crouched by the couch, a feather toy in hand, playing with Duchess. The cat who hated everyone except Val, was batting lazily at the toy, her tail flicking in half-interest.

Still, the sight never failed to surprise me. Duchess — who'd spent years acting like royalty and treating everyone else like peasants — now actually let Aline play with her. What used to be unthinkable had somehow become routine, though watching it still felt a little unreal.

Aline looked up the moment she heard the door. "Welcome back, Mr. Tanaka," she said with a small smile. "Rough day?"

I toed my shoes off, my jacket hanging loosely over one shoulder. "Something like that."

She hesitated, still holding the toy. "Would you like something? Tea, maybe? Or something to eat?"

I shook my head lightly. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

She stood, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought you'd be at the Business Monarch Gala with Mrs. Tanaka tonight."

I froze.

Everyone seemed to know about this thing. Everyone but me.

"Val told you about it too, huh?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Aline nodded. "She mentioned it briefly yesterday morning. Said it was an important client event."

"Right. A big client event," I murmured, almost to myself.

She smiled politely, then went back to Duchess, who had decided she was done being social and hopped onto the sofa's armrest instead.

I headed upstairs without another word.

The bedroom was dim — Val's side of the closet door half open, the faintest trace of her perfume still hanging in the air. The bed looked untouched, the way it usually did when she had an early start.

I sat down on my side, the silence pressing in heavier than it used to.

Then I reached for my phone.

Her face was the first thing that appeared in my gallery, because of course it was. Most of it was her. Some candid, some posed, some taken when she didn't even notice. Little pieces of her that I refused to delete.

I scrolled slowly, not really looking for anything, just letting myself drift through memories. Her smile on the beach. Her asleep on my shoulder. Her holding up a burned pancake with mock pride.

And then, I almost swiped past it — a picture that didn't belong.

A glossy banner. Golden light. A venue hall decked in deep blue and ivory.

The Business Monarch Gala.

I blinked, swiped back. The image filled the screen, crisp and perfect.

I frowned. "What the…"

It wasn't something I took. So I tapped the detail icon.

The message icon popped up beside it. Messenger.

From: The Love of My Life ❤️❤️ Celestia Valentina Moreau

Yesterday. 7:12 p.m.

Hey. There's a big client event tomorrow afternoon. Think you could come along?

Just that. Simple. Direct.

She'd sent it while I was out with Trent. Probably when I was too far gone to realize I'd even opened it. The read mark was there, which meant I'd seen it.

Or at least my almost drunk self had.

And to her, it must've looked like I just ignored it. I sank back into the bed, staring at the screen until it dimmed.

"So that's what she meant," I muttered.

That client event.

I sat up slowly, scratching the back of my neck, the thought sinking in.

Why didn't she send it sooner?

There hadn't exactly been room for conversations between us lately, not the easy kind, at least. Every word had started to feel measured, cautious, like we were both afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Even if there had been, she probably would've done the same anyway — brought it up last minute, right after breakfast, flashing that mock-pleading look, the one that always said you'll say yes anyway.

She always got away with it, too.

And before I realized it, I was smiling. The kind of smile that ached halfway through. I stopped when I caught myself.

The clock on the bedside table blinked 6:14 p.m.

She'd left around eleven. The picture showed the gala starting at two, but the caption mentioned guest arrivals from noon.

I ran a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. "What kind of arrangement is this…"

But that wasn't the point.

The point was — she'd asked.

Even if I hadn't answered.

I stood, went to the closet. My eyes trailed over the suits — a row of quiet black, navy, gray. I picked the one that looked least wrinkled, least accusing. Pressed a palm over the fabric, then pulled it off the hanger.

Half an hour later, I was in the car.

The city lights blurred past the windshield, the sky melting from gold to indigo. Somewhere between the turns, the noise, the shifting glow of traffic lights, I stopped thinking about the why.

And just kept driving.

---

Now, here I was, standing beside her, her hand still looped neatly through my arm as Chad said something low to Avery that made her laugh. It was the kind of laugh meant for attention — light, a little too polished — and though her body was angled toward her fiancé, her eyes kept drifting back to me, trying to read my face. Trying to find something that was never there in the first place.

Val noticed it too. She didn't say anything, didn't need to. Her hand tightened just slightly against my arm before easing again, her posture still perfect. From the outside, we probably looked composed — elegant, in sync.

She hadn't expected me to come.

I hadn't expected me to come either.

Val turned to me briefly, just for a second, like she was searching for something herself — maybe an answer, maybe reassurance. I met her eyes, steady this time, and the corners of her mouth lifted faintly. Not a smile, not quite. But enough.

Her hand was still around my arm, and her fingers had loosened a little — no longer stiff, no longer uncertain.

And as the conversation drifted, I let myself breathe. Just a little. Maybe showing up — even late — still counted for something.

Because some moments aren't planned.

Some, you just have to show up for.

---

To be continued...

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