Mia's POV
The new apartment was smaller, quieter, and emptier than the penthouse—but it was mine.
The first morning sunlight slipped through the pale curtains, brushing against my cheek as I stood barefoot in the modest kitchen. I clutched my coffee mug, pretending its warmth filled the hollow space Ryan had left behind. The silence was deafening.
He hadn't called.
Not once.
And I hadn't texted either.
It was the silent kind of pain—the kind you wrap in smiles and carry like a purse.
But I needed this. I needed clarity.
I slid open my phone and tapped open a draft message I'd written to him days ago. "Do you even miss me?" It stared back at me. Mocking.
I deleted it.
Instead, I got ready for work at Saint Haven Medical Center, straightening my scrubs and reapplying light lipstick Paula had insisted looked "powerful."
She was right. Today, I needed power. Not love.
---
Ryan's POV
I drowned myself in meetings, back-to-back surgeries, and emotionless paperwork.
The penthouse was colder now. Quieter.
No laughter. No homemade food. No Mia.
I walked into my bedroom after work, shrugging off my jacket. The moment I stepped past the threshold, I swore I could still smell her perfume—sweet, like vanilla and orange blossom. It haunted me.
But this is what I wanted, right? Distance. Control.
Love was not a luxury I allowed myself.
And yet... I paused in front of her empty room. The door was ajar. I stared at it, then shut it gently.
Out of sight, out of mind.
I turned to leave for the hotel, where Diane waited. Again.
Maybe if I kissed her long enough, I'd forget what Mia tasted like.
---
Ezra's POV
"Are you actually nervous?" Paula teased, bumping my elbow as we stepped into the art exhibit she'd dragged me to.
"No," I said too quickly. "I just don't do well with...art."
"You don't do well with feelings either," she quipped, arms crossed with a small smirk.
I turned to her slowly, watching her in her high-waisted jeans and oversized coat, hair twisted up in a clip. She looked effortless, natural. Real.
"I'm trying," I said quietly.
And I was.
Because every time she smiled at me like that, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I wasn't as cold as my cousin Ryan.
She blinked, surprised by the softness in my tone. "Okay then," she said, her voice gentler. "Try harder. Because I think I like you."
I smiled.
Maybe Mia and Ryan were a storm.
But Paula and I?
We could be a slow-burning fire.
---
Back to Mia – Later That Night
I sat by the window in my small living room, hugging a pillow to my chest, scrolling through Ezra's story on social media—he'd posted Paula's blurry laugh with the caption: "This one."
It made me smile. Genuinely.
Then my smile faded as I scrolled past a tabloid photo—Ryan entering his hotel with Diane again.
My chest tightened.
So this was how we would pretend.
He'd distract himself.
And I would bleed quietly.
But not forever.
---