5.WHAT'S LEFT AFTER THE FIRE

Arden

The next morning, the sky was gray and unforgiving.

I sat at the edge of my bed, robe clutched tight, coffee untouched, and a thousand thoughts clawing at my chest. The city outside my window moved on as if last night hadn't happened. As if Rhett hadn't touched me like I still belonged to him. As if I hadn't let him.

I hated that he'd walk away first. Again.

But what stung even more was that he hadn't walked away because he didn't want me.

He'd walked away becuse he still cared.

And I didn't know what to do with that.

For five years, I told myself that Rhett Maddox was a mistake. That his silence after leaving town without a goodbye was proof he didn't love me enough. I buried every memory under work, ambition, and a wall so high even I couldn't see over it.

Now he was back-richer, rougher, more self- controlled- and somehow more dangerous than ever.

Because this time, he wasn't just chasing my body. 

He wanted my trust.

But trust doesn't grow back after being scorched to ash.

I met my assistant at the Crimson lounge later that afternoon. The venue smelled of spilled champagne, roses, and fresh tension. Emilia handed me a checklist and chewed her lip the way she always did when she didn't want to ask me something.

"Just say it," I sighed, scanning the post- event report.

She hesitated. "Did soemthing... happen last night?"

My hand froze mid-checkmark.

She rushed to clarify. "I mean, with you and the guy who owns the club. Rhett, right?"

I looked up sharply. "Why do you ask ?"

She shrugged,cheeks pink. "I just-he was staring at you like he'd kill someone if they looked too long. And you... didn't seem exactly indifferent."

I handed her the clipboard. "It's none of your buisness." I said firmly

"Right. Totally. Except for the part where he might fund our next three events and invite us back for a private walkthrough of the remodel."

I blinked. "He what?"

She smirked. "He said he'd only do it if you came personally."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

Of course he did.

Later that night,  I found myself standing outside the club again, this time staring up at the glowing red sign like it held the answers I didn't want.

He was waiting inside. I knew it.

But what I didn't know- what scared me most- was what he'd say when I walked through the door. Would he try again? Would he back off? Would he tell me why he left in the first place, or keep letting me fill in the blanks?

I wasn't ready for closure.

But I wasn't ready to keep bleeding, either.

So I took a breath and walked in.

The club was quiet now. Dim, Intimate. Like it was holding its breath.

And there he was.

Leaning against the bar, sleeves rolled, tie gone. Casual. Unbothered.

But when he saw me, his expression softened like it hadn't all day.

"You came."

"I'm not here for small talk," I said, stepping forward. "And I'm defenitly not here for round two."

He nodded, serious now. "I didn't expect you to be."

We stood there for a moment in silence. The kind of silence that stretches between people who once knew everything about each other and now don't know where to start. 

"You left," I said, finally. "You didn't say goodbye."

"I know." he said softly

"Why?" I pressed.

He inhaled slowly. "Because I got scared."

I blinked. "Of what?"

"Of loving you more than I should've. Of needing you more than you needed me. Of being the guy who held you back."

My throat tightened.

"Then why are you here now?"

His eyes locked on mine.

"Because I want to be the guy who fights for you this time."