Elian stood in front of Leonhart's office tower, a gust of wind tugging at the edges of his coat. It was the same building he had once walked through like he owned it—back when he was the man on Leonhart's arm, the name on his private schedule, the one who knew the passcode to the penthouse.
Now he was just cold, broke, and calculating.
He tilted his head, gazing up at the glass tower that had once been his playground. Would Leonhart even see him again? Would he laugh? Pity him?
Elian had no intention of asking for pity. He came with a smile and a script.
When he walked in, the receptionist blinked in surprise. "Elian?"
He gave her the same charming smile he'd worn during the contract. "It's been a while, darling. Can you let Leonhart know I'm here to see him?"
She hesitated. "He doesn't take walk-ins anymore."
"Elian." A deep voice sliced through the room. Leonhart stood at the hallway entrance, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp and unreadable.
For a moment, the air felt heavy.
Elian stepped forward, smoothing down his coat. "Leonhart. You look good. Still terrifying, I see."
"What do you want?" Leonhart didn't blink. Didn't smile.
Elian gave him a rehearsed pout. "That's not how you greet an old flame."
Leonhart's jaw tensed. "You left. You got paid. Wasn't that the deal?"
"It was." Elian leaned in just slightly. "But I missed you."
A lie. But it tasted sweet on his tongue.
Leonhart turned to the side. "Come upstairs."
He followed him into the private elevator, the silence loud between them. Elian expected tension, maybe even desire. What he didn't expect was distance.
In the penthouse, Elian let the door click shut and leaned against it. "I've been thinking. About us. About how I left. Maybe I was… hasty."
Leonhart poured a drink, his back to Elian. "You used me."
Elian tilted his head. "And you used me. Let's not pretend we were Romeo and Juliet."
Leonhart turned. "So what do you want now? Money?"
Elian paused, giving the slightest shrug. "Companionship."
Leonhart stared at him for a long, cold moment. Then he set his drink down and walked past Elian to the door.
"Get out."
Elian's heart skipped. "What?"
Leonhart opened the door. "You were a transaction. One I don't regret ending. Whatever game you're playing—play it somewhere else."
For the first time in weeks, Elian was speechless.
He walked out, humiliated, his act crumbling.
Downstairs, he barely noticed the world around him. Until he saw a flash of color across the street—a familiar mop of light brown hair.
Kevin, coming out of a small bakery with a paper bag of pastries. Smiling.
Elian's lips curled.
Oh. So that's what changed.
And now, he had a new target.
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