Zoe didn't touch the wine.
Ethan did. Twice.
They sat opposite each other in a quiet corner of the restaurant, the dim lighting wrapping them in shadows and secrets.
Candlelight danced gently between them, throwing warm, restless patterns across the white tablecloth. Slow, aching jazz drifted from the speakers overhead, soft and unassuming, like it didn't realize it was soundtracking something fragile and fractured.
The scent of garlic and butter curled through the air, mixing with old memories neither of them could name out loud.
She hated it.
Because once upon a time, it had been theirs.
"You look…" Ethan tried. He cleared his throat, the words snagging in it. "You look beautiful."
Zoe didn't blink. Her voice was flat. "Don't start with the compliments."
"I'm just being honest."
"Then be honest about why you let us fall apart."
It hit hard. Like air getting knocked out of the room.
Ethan placed his wine glass down carefully, like maybe that would help him tread gently through what came next. "Because I was stupid. And selfish."
She lifted an eyebrow, her expression flat and unamused. "That's really all you've got?"
"No," he said, his voice low as he leaned in closer, letting her feel the quiet intensity behind his words. "The best I've got is… I spent so much time building an empire, I forgot the most valuable thing I already had was sitting across from me every night."
Zoe's jaw tightened. "Too late for poetry."
"I know."
The silence between them felt thick and breakable, like glass about to shatter.
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs with deliberate calm. "Don't get it twisted, Ethan. This doesn't change anything." Just because I agreed to dinner doesn't mean you get a redo."
"I didn't come to win," he said. "I came to try."
Zoe let out a shaky breath, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap until it wrinkled. "You trying now doesn't erase all the nights I cried myself to sleep alone."
He flinched. She saw it.
"Or the mornings you left without saying a word. The birthdays you missed. The anniversary you forgot."
"I remember it now," he whispered.
"That's not how anniversaries work."
There was another silence. This one meaner.
Ethan leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers like this was his one last chance. "Do you remember that night we danced in the kitchen?" You had on that baggy Knicks tee and sang Beyoncé completely off-key."
Zoe blinked, thrown. "You remember that?"
"I think about it every single time I step into that kitchen."
Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. When she finally found her voice, it was just a quiet whisper. "I didn't think you noticed."
"I noticed everything," he said, voice softer now. "Just… Five years too late."
She dropped her eyes to the table. Her throat thickened.
He reached out slowly, his hand hovering across the table. Not touching, just waiting.
Zoe looked at it like it might reach out and hurt her, like touching it would be the thing that finally shattered what was left of her.
"I'm not that woman anymore," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the table instead of him. "I've changed."
"Good." Ethan didn't even hesitate. "She needed to."
That made her look up. Fast.
But what she saw wasn't arrogance. It wasn't pity.
It was admiration.
Respect.
A flicker of something that hurts worse than resentment, desire.
Her breath caught.
"You want me now that I finally walked away?" she asked, her voice thin, splintered.
"I want you now because I finally see you," he said.
Her eyes twinkled, just a little, but she blinked it away before it spilled.
"You don't get to see me now," she said quietly. "You had years."
"I know."
She stood suddenly, chair scraping back.
"I shouldn't have come."
Ethan pushed up from his seat too, urgent. "Zoe, wait.."
She turned to go, but he reached out, just enough to brush her wrist. Not pulling. Just… stopping.
She froze.
Their eyes locked again.
Everything else disappeared, the clatter of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, the way jazz still spun in the background like it didn't care how messy this was.
She could feel his breath. That same fragrance he always wore, the one she used to bury her face in when she thought he loved her right.
"Don't," she whispered.
"I'm not going to kiss you," he said. But his voice trembled just a little.
"I didn't ask."
And still, neither of them moved.
The air between them pulsed.
"I miss you," he said.
"I miss who you used to be."
His hand fell from her wrist. Just like that.
She swallowed a breath, shaky. "You don't get to chase me now like I'm something new. I've always been here. You just never looked close enough."
"I'm looking now."
Zoe stepped back. Like breaking a spell.
Her voice was firm, even if her heart wasn't. "Goodnight, Ethan."
He didn't follow.
Didn't beg.
He just watched her leave.
Watched her heels echo against the marble like thunderclaps.
The city outside was alive, chaotic, and familiar. But to Zoe, it all felt distant and blurred, like she was moving through it wearing someone else's life.
She pulled her coat tighter around her, trying to keep the chill from sinking too deep. Not against the wind. But against the ache growing behind her ribs.
Why had she come?
Why had she let him talk?
Why had her body leaned in, just a little, when he reached for her?
Her phone buzzed.
1 new message from Ethan:
"You were right. About everything. But I'm not going anywhere. Not again."
She stared at it.
Read it again.
Then deleted it. No reply. No closure.
Back in his apartment, Ethan stood at the window like he might spot her somewhere in the skyline. But the view didn't blink. The buildings didn't care.
He poured another glass of whiskey. Watched the city vibration beneath him like it always had.
But tonight it didn't soothe.
Tonight, he felt the weight of goodbye, and it pressed down hard.
The next morning, Zoe stepped into her office like nothing happened.
No heartbreak.
Just heels, lipstick, and armor.
But her assistant saw it. The flicker behind the strength.
"Rough night?"
Zoe smiled tightly. "Just dinner."
And war.
Across the city, Ethan walked into his boardroom. Late. vacant.
His partner raised a brow. "You look like hell."
"I feel worse."
"Wife problems?"
Ethan didn't correct him.
Because Zoe wasn't his wife anymore.
She was the woman he was trying to become worthy of.
The one he might never hold again.
Unless he found a way to fight for her differently.
That night, Zoe stepped into her apartment. And stopped.
There was Roses.
Hundreds of them.
Deep red. Fresh. Filling the room like they were blooming from regret.
No note.
Didn't need one.
She froze in the doorway, breath quickening, her chest lifting and falling like her body didn't know what to do next.
Her phone lit up.
ETHAN CARTER is calling…
She didn't answer.
Didn't block him either.
As she lowered herself onto the couch, the soft petals brushing against her knees, she let out a quiet whisper into the stillness around her: