It was Friday evening when he saw him.
He hadn't meant to linger in the lobby; he was waiting for a courier to hand over a bundle for urgent delivery. The glass doors caught the reflection first — Isabelle stepping out into the pale twilight, her coat pulled close against the chill, a faint smile touching her lips.
And then he saw the man.
He was waiting near the kerb, hands in pockets, smiling like he'd been there a while. She looked pleased to see him. They exchanged a few words, then began walking toward the corner together.
Something tightened in Robert's chest — that sharp, constricting pressure that felt half anger, half regret. He didn't know who the man was, but he knew what he was seeing. A date.
Of course she'd moved on. Why wouldn't she?
She was young, beautiful, capable — and he'd done nothing but hold her at arm's length for months. He'd told himself he was protecting her, when really, he'd just been protecting himself.
The elevator chimed behind him, startling him back to the present. He turned away before anyone noticed him standing there, watching her disappear down the street.
But the image stayed. It stayed all night.
Saturday was worse.
He tried to distract himself with reports, with emails that didn't matter, with lists of clients and deadlines that refused to hold his attention. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her again — the way she'd smiled at that man, the quiet ease in her posture, the lightness that had been missing for so long.
He told himself it was good for her. That she deserved someone uncomplicated. Someone who wasn't burdened with his kind of damage.
But that didn't stop the ache.
By Sunday morning, he couldn't stand his own flat anymore — the silence pressing in from every wall. So he walked.
Without quite meaning to, he found himself at the park where he'd once seen her with her children — the memory still vivid: her laughter, the easy affection between them, the way she'd glowed in the soft grey light.
He sat on a bench near the café, scanning the paths, the playground, the lake. Families moved through the space — children shouting, dogs chasing sticks, couples walking arm in arm.
But not her.
She wasn't there.
He waited longer than he'd ever admit, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his eyes following strangers who looked nothing like her. The city felt vast and hollow. Eventually, when the cold began to settle into his bones, he stood and walked away, the decision already forming in his mind before he'd fully acknowledged it.
By Monday morning, he knew what he had to do.
He'd spent half the previous night staring at his ceiling, thinking about every reason he'd given himself to stay away — the professional boundaries, the gossip it would spark, the risk of ruining her reputation. And then, one by one, he'd dismantled them.
He couldn't keep pretending indifference when every moment without her felt like a slow suffocation.
He couldn't work beside her and not want her.
And he couldn't live with the thought of someone else standing where he might have, if only he'd had the courage.
The solution was simple, if not easy.
It wasn't impulsive — he'd been considering it for months, even before he'd met her. He was a consultant, not a man chained to any one firm. His independence had always been his greatest advantage — and now, it would buy him the freedom to do what he'd been too afraid to risk before.
But now there was clarity, sharp and absolute.
Maybe —finally — he could approach her not as her colleague, not as the man she had to keep at a distance, but as himself.
When he arrived at the office that morning, he was freshly shaven, hair trimmed, wearing his favourite grey suit — the one that always felt like armour. His eyes still showed the remnants of too many sleepless nights, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a kind of steadiness.
A decision made was its own kind of peace.
He paused by the glass doors before entering, taking a slow breath. He wasn't angry or disappointed; he was simply… done. Ready. There was nothing left here that needed him anymore.
He smiled faintly at the thought, a rare, quiet smile that reached his eyes. Then he stepped inside.
She noticed him the moment he walked in.
It wasn't the suit, though he looked sharp again, more like the Robert she'd known before the weeks of distance. It was his posture — confident, grounded, lighter somehow.
He greeted the receptionist, exchanged a word with Richard, then turned toward her desk.
"Morning," he said, and there was warmth in it — faint, but real.
"Morning," she replied, trying not to let her surprise show.
He lingered a moment longer than usual, eyes studying her face as though he was searching for something. Then he asked, almost casually,
"How was your weekend?"
The question caught her off guard. He hadn't asked her anything personal in weeks.
She blinked, then smiled faintly, and said, "It was good, thank you. Quiet."
A lie, but an easy one.
She didn't mention Will. Didn't mention the dinner, the walk along the river, the polite goodbye that had left her feeling… unsure.
As she looked up at Robert — the tidy hair, the crisp collar, the spark of focus back in his eyes — she wondered if he'd finally found the peace she'd been trying to find for herself.
Maybe he was moving on too.
The thought brought an unexpected pang of pain, sharp and sudden. She smiled to cover it, turning back to her screen.
He hesitated, as if about to say something more, then simply nodded and walked away.
When she glanced toward his retreating figure, she couldn't help noticing that he carried himself differently — like a man who'd made up his mind about something important.
Like a man on the verge of leaving.