Chapter 4 - His move

By the time my driver dropped me off that night, I already felt drained. The party, the lights, the cameras, it was all noise I’d mastered pretending to enjoy. But what I hadn’t prepared for was him.

And of course, the universe wasn’t done punishing me yet.

Because as soon as we pulled up outside my building, I saw it. A black car parked across the street. Not the kind that usually sat around here, either. This one was sleek, polished, expensive car belonging to someone who didn’t wait for things, but for people.

And I knew instantly who it was.

My driver turned to me, concern in his eyes. “Do you want me to check?”

I shook my head. My lips felt heavy when I answered, “No. I know who it is.”

I stepped out of the car, heels tapping against the pavement. My gown dragged slightly, the kind of outfit that looked perfect under flashing lights but ridiculous in the quiet night air. My eyes didn’t move from the car across the street.

The door opened.

And there he was.

He stepped out like he was the main act of the night. Dark suit, tie undone, looking effortlessly in control. His presence filled the space, like it always did.... loud without making a sound.

“Cariño,” he said, his voice low, smooth. He said it like he owned the word, like it was meant for no one else but me.

I crossed my arms, leaning against my car door. “What do you want?” and "why are you here?"

He smirked. That lazy, infuriating smirk that used to melt me once upon a time. “Straight to business. I like that.”

“I’m not here to play games,” I told him, my voice sharper than I felt. “So unless you came to apologize”

“Apologize?” He almost laughed, shaking his head. “Cariño, I gave you the spotlight tonight. You should be thanking me.”

My laugh was short and bitter. “Thanking you? For stealing my words? For using me as some dramatic stunt just to get people talking? Congratulations. You did it. They’re all talking about you again. Same old story.”

But he wasn’t bothered. Not even a little. His smirk deepened. “They’re not just talking about me.” His eyes traveled over me, slow, deliberate, heavy enough to make my skin prickle. “They’re talking about us.”

My chest tightened. I hated the way he said “us.” Like we were still a brand. Like the years I spent rebuilding myself meant nothing.

“There is no us,” I said, steady but low.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle only he could solve. Then, softly, “Maybe not in your head. But out there?” He nodded toward the city lights. “They want it. And what they want, cariño… we'll give them.”

That word again. Cariño. Sweetness on his tongue, poison in mine.

“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You want to drag me back into your circus just so you can shine again? That’s your big plan?”

“No.” He stepped closer, and I could smell his cologne, dark and familiar. His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want to shine again. I want to burn. And I want you beside me when I do.”

The audacity nearly stole my breath.

I stared at him, trying to find the right words. “You don’t get to want me. Not after what you did.”

He leaned in, close enough that I felt the weight of his stare. “Oh, cariño, I’ve always wanted you. That hasn’t changed. The only thing that’s changed is you. You’re stronger now. Fiercer. And that only makes me want you more.”

I forced a laugh, though it cracked. “You think that’s a compliment? You think I’m flattered?”

His lips curved, deliberate. “No. I think you’re scared.”

And there it was. The dagger. Because deep down, he wasn’t wrong. I was scared. Scared of him, of myself, of the memories he dragged back with just one look. Scared that a part of me still remembered how good it felt to be wanted by him, before everything shattered.

But I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“You don’t scare me,” I said firmly. “Not anymore.”

He watched me quietly, his smirk softening into something darker. “Good. Because I don’t want you scared. I want you on stage.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a showcase next month,” he said smoothly. “The biggest of the year. Labels, producers, press, everyone will be there. I want you beside me. Just like old times.”

I almost laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. His smirk returned, slower this time. “But you and I both know what would happen if we performed together again. The world wouldn’t just watc, they’d lose their minds. You and me? We’d be unstoppable.”

“Unstoppable?” I repeated, shaking my head. “Or trapped? Because you don’t share the spotlight. You swallow it.”

For the first time, his smirk slipped. His eyes hardened, his voice steady but sharp.

“You’re wrong. I don’t want to steal your light. I want to own it.”

The words landed like a punch. My throat tightened, rage and disbelief boiling together.

I turned away, yanking the car door open. “Go to hell.”

Behind me, his voice followed, low and calm, like a warning. “I’ll see you on that stage, cariño. Whether you’re ready or not.”

The door slammed, cutting him off. My driver pulled us away, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking back through the mirror.

He stood there in the street, hands in his pockets, watching me leave like he already knew I’d come back.

And that was what scared me most.

Because I wasn’t sure if I hated him more for saying it, or myself for feeling that dangerous pull again.