Leo's POV
I sat in the car. Didn't start the engine. Just stared ahead — eyes wet, breath uneven. Regret hung in the air, quiet but impossible to miss.
I woke before her.
She was still clinging to me.
One arm across my chest.
Her leg tangled in mine.
Like she was trying — even in sleep — to hold onto something slipping.
She was searching for warmth.
And I...
I wasn't sure I knew how to give it anymore.
Her face was close.
Turned toward me in the pale light.
I saw it.
The bruise.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
The echo of my carelessness.
I hovered my hand near it.
Paused.
But didn't dare touch.
I slipped out of bed.
Moved quietly to the kitchen.
Started the kettle.
Cracked eggs into the pan.
Toast.
Simple.
But the air was thick —
Heavy, like I was cooking in fog.
Every sound — the clink of a plate, the pop of the toaster —
Felt like it echoed in a courtroom.
She didn't come out.
Just the click of the bathroom door.
No "Good morning."
No footsteps for an hour.
When she did reappear, she walked past me.
Light steps.
Careful.
Like I might break.
But it was her who looked breakable.
I waited.
Then followed her into the bedroom.
She stood in front of the mirror.
Concealer in hand.
Blending it into the mark I left.
Her hand didn't even tremble.
Like she'd done it before.
I approached.
Gently rested my chin on her shoulder — something I used to do every day.
But she flinched.
Not violently.
Just... pulled inward.
It was enough.
I offered to drive her.
She declined.
Said she'd go in late.
Told me to leave first.
I wanted to say I'm sorry.
I wanted to explain.
That it was a long night.
That I had delayed negotiations, and unread emails.
That I'd been drowning in calls from Zurich, and messages piling up faster than I could read.
That I came home with my head full of fire and pressure and noise.
That I wasn't thinking about how long she'd waited.
That I hadn't looked at her — really looked — in days.
I wanted to explain all of that.
But I didn't.
Because I knew none of that mattered now.
Not when she'd been left waiting, again.
Not when I'd come home full of stress and emptied it into her body like it owed me relief.
I kissed the bruise softly.
That was the only apology I had the courage to give.
Then I walked out.
Not because I had somewhere to be.
Not because of meetings.
Not because of business.
But because I couldn't stand there any longer —
Watching her hide what I'd done.
Not just on her face.
But in the way she moved.
The way she went quiet.
The way she pulled her sleeves down longer than usual.
Yesterday was a mistake.
A thousand little mistakes layered into one night.
She waited.
Trusted.
Hoped.
And I let her down.
Not because I stopped loving her.
But because I let everything else come first.
And in doing so —
I became exactly the man I never wanted to be.