Chapter 2: Collision of Worlds

He walks toward me like he already belongs in my life.

I tell myself not to look at him again.

I look anyway.

He stops a few steps away. Close enough that I feel aware of him. Too aware. His presence presses in, calm and steady, like he isn’t worried about being noticed. Like he knows he will be.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks.

His voice is even. Polite. Almost distant. But his eyes are not polite. They study me. Quiet. Careful. Like he’s reading something written under my skin.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t feeling fine,” I replied.

“You didn’t have to.”

That annoys me.

“I’m not interested in small talk,” I say.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Good. Neither am I.”

Maddie shifts beside me. I feel her watching us. Measuring. Curious.

“I should go,” I add, though I don’t move.

“You can,” he says. “Or you can stay.”

“Why would I stay?”

“Because you’re not done being angry yet.”

That lands too close.

“I don’t let strangers tell me how I feel.”

“I’m not telling,” he says calmly. “I’m noticing.”

I cross my arms. “You notice too much.”

“Occupational habit.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re used to people wanting your attention.”

He doesn’t deny it. That silence tells me more than words.

“And you?” he asks. “You look like someone who gives too much of it.”

I laughed once. Short. Sharp.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re trying not to cry.”

The words hit hard.

Maddie clears her throat. “I’m going to get a drink,” she says, very deliberately. “I’ll be right back.”

She leaves us alone.

I straighten my shoulders. “If this is your way of flirting, it’s not working.”

His gaze softens. Just slightly. “I’m not flirting.”

“Good.”

“But,” he continues, “if I were, I’d say you have a strong face. Like someone who learned how to survive disappointment.”

My chest tightens.

“That’s not a compliment,” I say.

“It is if it’s true.”

I don’t respond. I don’t trust my voice.

He breaks the silence first. “You don’t have to talk to me.”

“And yet you keep standing here.”

“Because you didn’t ask me to leave.”

I look at him then. Really look. The confidence is real. Not loud. Not forced. It’s the kind that comes from knowing exactly who you are.

“I just got dumped,” I say suddenly.

His brow lifts. “I gathered.”

“He did it over text.”

A pause. A real one.

“That’s unforgivable,” he says.

“Ten years,” I add. “And he couldn’t even say it to my face.”

“He didn’t deserve those ten years.”

My phone vibrates in my hand.

I already know who it is.

I don’t want to look. I do anyway.

Another message from Ryan.

Stop embarrassing yourself.

My jaw tightens.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Perfect,” I lied.

He watches me read the screen. I feel exposed. Raw.

“You don’t have to protect him,” he says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists. “You’re angry at yourself instead.”

I bristle. “You’re crossing a line.”

“Then draw it,” he says. “I’ll respect it.”

I hesitate.

“Fine,” I say. “Line drawn.”

He nods. “Understood.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then my phone buzzes again.

Everyone’s watching you.

I inhale sharply.

“You look like you want to throw that phone,” he says.

“I want to throw the person attached to it.”

“That can be arranged,” he says lightly.

I snort despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Sometimes.”

I glance at him. “Why are you really here?”

His eyes darken. Just a little.

“Because I needed a distraction,” he says honestly.

“From what?”

“From people who only see the headline version of me.”

I stiffen. “So I’m a distraction?”

He studies my face. “You’re not something anyone could use without consequences.”

That sends a strange shiver through me.

Before I can reply, my phone vibrates again.

This time, the message is different.

Aren’t you supposed to be home crying?

My hands shake.

“That’s enough,” I whisper.

“What?” he asks.

I turn the screen toward him. “Read it.”

He does. His expression changes. The calm fractures. Something colder replaces it.

“He’s enjoying this,” he says.

“He always does,” I reply bitterly.

“He thinks he owns you.”

“He doesn’t,” I snapped.

“Then prove it,” he says.

I look up sharply. “What?”

He steps closer. Not touching. Not invading. Just close enough that his voice drops.

“Let him see you’re not alone.”

I laugh again. “I’m not going to use you to make my ex jealous.”

“I’m not offering to be used,” he says. “I’m offering to stand next to you.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not,” he says quietly. “Using is empty. Standing is intentional.”

My heart pounds.

“This is a bad idea,” I murmur.

“Most honest things are.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes again.

This time, it’s a picture.

Ryan.

With her.

Her hand on his chest. His smile was wide.

My chest aches.

“He moved on fast,” Alex says flatly.

“I guess it didn't matter,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “That’s not how that works.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he says firmly. “People like that don’t leave because they stop caring. They leave because they’re afraid of being seen.”

I swallow.

“Stop defending him,” I say.

“I’m not,” he replies. “I’m defending you.”

That breaks something inside me.

“I don’t need defending,” I say, though my voice trembles.

“Then let me be honest,” he says. “You’re standing here like someone who forgot her worth.”

Anger flares. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I do,” he says calmly. “Because I can see it. And because I won’t pretend I don’t.”

My phone vibrates again.

This time the message makes my blood run cold.

If you keep this up, I’ll tell them everything.

My stomach drops.

“What does he mean?” Alex asks quietly.

“Nothing,” I lied too fast.

He doesn’t push. But his gaze sharpens.

Maddie returns then, her smile forced. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I say.

Alex straightens. “I should go.”

I nod. Relief and disappointment crash together.

“Goodnight,” I say.

He takes a step back. Then stops.

“One thing,” he says.

I look up.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he says. “And he knows it.”

Before I can reply, he leans closer. His voice lowers. Intimate. Dangerous.

“You don’t know how dangerous you are to me.”

My breath catches.

And suddenly, I know.

This isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

Why does his voice sound like a warning and why does part of me want to cross the line anyway?