Selene's / Atasha's POV;
I stood behind the curtain, frozen.
His voice wasn't loud—but it carried weight. That kind of weight you feel in your chest when something unexpected hits the softest part of you. I hadn't planned to eavesdrop. I was just coming back to grab a forgotten design file. But what I heard…
It was like hearing my name whispered in a language only the heart understands.
He spoke of regret, of fear, of silence. All the things I used to scream about in my pillow at night. And when he said he would choose me if given another chance… I felt the old ache melt into something warmer. Not forgiveness—not yet. But something softer than rage.
My fingers tightened around the tablet I was holding. I didn't step out. I wasn't ready for him to know I'd heard it all. Not yet. I needed to process the truth—that maybe he was never heartless… just human.
But one thing was clear:
He still loved me.
And despite everything—I still wanted to believe him.
I walked away without a sound—every step weighted with the echoes of his words. They had been raw, vulnerable, and painfully sincere. The kind of words no person rehearses, the kind that fall out when the burden becomes too much to bear in silence.
Back in my room, I sat by the window, watching the dim city lights blink in rhythm with my racing thoughts. A storm was brewing inside me—conflict between what I'd endured and what I'd just heard. His voice kept playing in my mind, like a broken record etched into memory. That wasn't the voice of a manipulator. That was a man grieving his own choices.
Still, love—real love—isn't resurrected by guilt alone. Trust once fractured doesn't snap back into place because the heart still beats for the same person. It requires rebuilding, brick by emotional brick, and I wasn't sure I was ready to hand him the tools just yet.
I thought about the girl I used to be—Selene. Naïve, forgiving, caught up in the illusion that love was enough to fix everything. And then I thought about Atasha—the woman I'd become. Hardened by pain, shaped by independence, and cautious about reopening wounds that had barely healed.
And yet… there was still a sliver of longing in me. Not just for him—but for the part of myself that believed in second chances.
The next morning, I stood in front of the event hall mirror, brushing invisible dust off my blazer, as if polishing my reflection would steady the nerves swirling in my chest.
I wasn't here as someone's love interest—I reminded myself—I was here as a professional. A designer. A woman who'd earned every thread of her life back. But my heart didn't care for titles. It only knew that Antonio would be here… and that something between us remained unfinished.
I walked in just as the final rehearsal for the presentation was ending. He stood near the entrance, talking to one of the event organizers. He looked… different. Not just in the tailored suit or the sharpness of his jawline. But in his posture. Calmer. Worn, maybe, but steadier.
Our eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world dulled. All the sound, all the people faded into a silence only the two of us seemed to hear. His lips parted—like he wasn't sure whether to speak or breathe.
I didn't wait.
"We need to talk," I said, my voice firm, betraying none of the storm inside me.
He nodded. "Yeah. We do."
We stepped out into the corridor, the hallway humming faintly with distant chatter.
"I overheard you," I said. "Yesterday."
His brows rose, eyes flickering with panic, then resignation.
"I didn't mean for you to hear it like that," he said quietly. "But maybe it's better you did."
I didn't reply right away. I just stared at him—long enough for the memories to rise like waves. Then I asked, "Was any of it ever real?"
He took a deep breath. "All of it was. I just… messed it up. I chose wrong. I didn't know I'd lose you completely."
I folded my arms. "You didn't lose me because you chose someone else. You lost me because you weren't honest about your confusion. You let me fall while you were still unsure if you'd catch me."
His face crumbled at the edges of guilt.
"I know. And I've regretted it every day."
There was silence between us. But it wasn't empty—it was heavy, swollen with things unsaid. Things that might heal, or shatter, depending on what came next.