I stood in silence at the edge of the entrance, hands buried deep in my pockets, jaw tight, eyes still tracing the spot where her car had vanished around the bend. The evening air hung heavy — not cold, but sharp enough to stir memories I'd buried too deep for too long.
I didn't even hear Michael approach.
"You've got that look again," he said quietly, stepping beside me.
"The one you get when the world just shifted under your feet."
I didn't respond at first. Just breathed in. Let the weight of it settle in my chest. Then — I exhaled.
"I saw her."
Michael turned to me sharply, eyes narrowing as understanding took hold.
"Sandra?"
I nodded.
He didn't need more. Didn't ask how. Just stood there, absorbing it.
"Damn," he muttered.
"I thought Jason was exaggerating earlier — during your speech, when he kept whispering that Sandra was the woman behind Sweet Haven. I didn't know he meant that Sandra."
I gave a faint shake of my head.
"No imagination. It was her."
Michael paused. Then glanced at me sideways.
"How did she look?"
A smile crept into my voice before it reached my lips.
"Beautiful. And mature. You should've seen her."
I let the image rise again — the calm power in her stance, the quiet fire in her eyes.
"She held herself like a woman who's carved her own space in the world. Confident. Poised. Nothing like the girl we once knew."
I chuckled softly, the memory of her shy laughter and quiet eyes tugging at my chest.
"And Victoria... God. You should've seen her face. She looked like she was being challenged. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was actually scared of Sandra."
"No way…" Michael laughed, then ran a hand over his face.
"That's poetic."
He sobered.
"So… what are you going to do?"
I turned to face the driveway fully, gravel crunching beneath my shoes.
"I'm going to make it right."
"Make what right?" Michael asked, careful now.
"You two had an agreement. And a past. But that past... wasn't exactly soft."
I looked down at my hand — at the place where the ring used to sit. Just a shadow now.
"She broke the contract, yeah. But I broke her. I broke her spirit. I made her feel like she didn't belong in my world. I stood there while my mother ripped her apart — and I did nothing."
Michael said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew what silence could cost.
"I don't care if she never looks at me the way she used to," I said after a long pause.
"But I won't let her walk through this life thinking she wasn't worthy of kindness. Not from me. If closure's all I can give her now… then I'll give her that."
Michael nodded, slow and thoughtful. Then his voice shifted — deeper, certain.
"She didn't just survive what Victoria did to her, Andre. She outgrew it. She took everything that was meant to bury her and built something from it. That bakery? That name she's built? That came from sleepless nights, from rejection, from pain. She didn't just rise — she rebuilt. And damn if that doesn't take strength most people wouldn't understand."
I swallowed, his words hitting somewhere between awe and guilt. He was right. She had bloomed in spite of us — in spite of me.
"You think she'll even let you?" he asked after a moment.
I stared out at the horizon, jaw clenched.
"She walked away from me like someone who's already healed. But I saw something in her eyes. Something unfinished. Not pain. Not resentment. Just… something quiet. Unspoken."
A beat.
"I owe her peace. And if she'll allow it — even as a friend — I'll stay in her life that way."
Michael studied me. Then he nodded once.
"You've changed, Dre."
"She changed me."
The silence between us held weight. The kind of silence that says more than any words ever could.
Then something stirred in the back of my mind — sudden, sharp, electric.
"My old penthouse," I muttered.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"What about it?"
"She might still be living there."
The thought was absurd. But it wouldn't let go.
I pulled out my phone, already searching the contacts I hadn't touched in years.
Michael folded his arms, watching me carefully.
"If you knew where she was all this time… why didn't you go to her?"
I didn't answer immediately. I was too busy sifting through the shame I'd built into excuses.
I looked away, the night wrapping colder around my shoulders.
"I told myself she didn't want to see me. That after everything I did — after what I didn't do — I didn't have the right."
Michael stayed silent, but his gaze didn't waver.
I exhaled — long and bitter.
"But the truth is... I didn't go because I was a coward."
He blinked — not in judgment, but in something close to surprise. Like he hadn't expected me to say it out loud.
I stared down at the pavement, watching a leaf drift across the concrete — steady, unbothered. Like it knew exactly where it was going.
"I could stand in front of thousands. Run empires. Make brutal calls and walk away clean. But facing her?"
I shook my head.
"I didn't know how to show up and say I was sorry. I was so consumed with taking back what was mine from my uncle… I never stopped to think about who I might destroy in the process. Do you remember that version of me? Angry. Untouchable."
Michael's voice was soft.
"I remember. But I also remember the man you're becoming. And I think he's finally ready."
"No," I said truthfully.
"I'm not ready. I'm still scared. But she deserves a version of me that shows up anyway."
That was it. No bravado. No defense. Just truth — naked and raw.
Michael nodded slowly, something steady behind his words.
"Then go," he said.
"Not to fix the past. Not to ask for anything. But to finally give her what she always deserved — your voice. Your truth."
I nodded, eyes lifting to the skyline — where the penthouse stood like a relic of who I used to be.
"She carried the weight of my silence for too long," I murmured.
"It's time I lifted it off her shoulders… and gave her back the light I stole."