Brandon's POV:
The taxi door was half open when I saw her.
Chloe.
Her hand hovered on the handle, eyes dim beneath the golden streetlight. The city behind her was alive — laughter, flashing cameras, car horns — but she looked like the only still thing in the chaos.
I didn't even think.
I ran.
"Chloe!" My voice cracked as it tore out of me.
She froze, the name catching her mid-step. Slowly, she turned. Her face was soft but guarded, like she'd already decided to stop hoping. The sight of her almost undid me. She looked tired—no, exhausted—not just from waiting but from hoping.
The air between us pulsed, charged with everything unsaid.
"You were just going to leave?" I asked, my voice coming out rough, like I'd sprinted through every second she'd spent walking away.
Her fingers tightened around her purse. "Yeah…" she said softly, her voice a little shaken. "Seemed like you were busy."
"Busy?" I took a step closer. "You waited for me, didn't you?"
