The Distance Between Us

Elias’s POV~

Three days.

Three long, silent days.

No calls.

No messages.

No sign of her.

And I told myself I didn’t care.

I buried myself in work — meetings, deals, late nights that stretched into early mornings. I told myself I was fine. That I’d done the right thing when I said those words to her.

If you’re not interested in me, don’t let me kiss you.

It sounded reasonable at the time. Now, it just echoed like something cruel.

I’d replayed that night over and over. The way her lips trembled when she said she was done. The look in her eyes — hurt, not angry.

I’d broken something I couldn’t name.

Mason knocked on my office door. “Sir, the PR team needs confirmation. The Thorne Foundation Gala is this weekend. Will Miss Clara be joining you?”

I looked up from my desk. “She hasn’t responded?”

“No, sir. Her phone’s been unreachable.”

Of course it has.

I leaned back in my chair, jaw tightening. “Resend the invitation.”

Mason hesitated. “If she refuses, should we find someone else to—”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “She’ll come.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

I stared at the city skyline outside my window, the glass reflecting a man I barely recognized — a man who said he didn’t care, yet couldn’t stop waiting for a woman who wasn’t coming back.

I was a fool.

And somehow, I didn’t mind being one — not for her.

Clara’s POV

I swore I wasn’t going.

Not once.

Not twice.

Like a hundred times in three days.

“I mean it this time, Zara,” I said, pacing back and forth in my tiny apartment. “He can go to that gala with whoever he wants. I’m done pretending.”

Zara lay sprawled across my bed, scrolling through her phone and eating chips like she owned the place. “You said the same thing yesterday, and the day before that. Are you sure this time?”

“I’m very sure!” I snapped. “I’ve already gotten twenty thousand dollars from this stupid arrangement. Let him keep the rest. I’ll use what I have to start a business and send some to my parents. At least something good will come out of this madness.”

That made Zara pause. She looked up, softer now. “Your mom called again?”

I sighed and nodded, sinking onto the chair. “Yeah. She said the market’s been slow, and things at home are tough. My siblings need school fees. She’s trying her best, but…” I shook my head. “I just want to help her, Zara. Maybe this money can be a start.”

Zara put down her phone and smiled gently. “That’s what I love about you. You always think about everyone else first.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “I’ll send some to her this weekend, and the rest I’ll save. I don’t need Elias or his drama.”

Zara clapped her hands dramatically. “Amen! Preach, my sister! Independence!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I’m serious, Zara. I’m not answering his calls, not his messages, nothing. I don’t care if he sends me a private jet — I’m not going to that gala.”

She grinned. “Good. I support you one hundred percent. Don’t go. Block him, ghost him, vanish like smoke.”

And for the next two days, that’s exactly what I did.

Every time my phone lit up with his name, I silenced it. Every time I saw an email from Mason, I deleted it. I even blocked Elias’s number once — only to unblock it ten minutes later because, well, I wanted to see if he’d call again.

He didn’t.

By the third day, I told myself I was fine. That the silence meant I was free.

Until that afternoon, when Zara suddenly shouted from the living room, “Clara! Come and see what’s trending!”

I rushed out, wiping my hands on a towel. “What?”

She held up her phone, eyes wide. “Your billionaire boss is trending for being single again. The media’s already speculating if your engagement was fake.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“Look.” She turned the screen to me — pictures of Elias at some business event, walking alone. Headlines everywhere:

“Elias Thorne Attends Charity Gala Without Fiancée — Trouble in Paradise?”

I stared at it, my throat tight. “Zara, that event was last week’s dinner. Not this gala.”

“Still,” she said, smirking. “They’re watching. And your silence? It’s feeding them.”

I groaned, covering my face. “Great. Just great.”

“Unless…” She raised an eyebrow. “You show up and remind them that you’re still the queen of his castle.”

I gave her a look. “Zara, stop. I told you I’m not going.”

“Oh, really?” She stood up, folding her arms with exaggerated sass. “You’ve been saying that for three days straight. But I know that tone, Clara. You’re already thinking about what dress to wear.”

“I am not!”

“You are!”

“I am not—!”

“You are!” she sang, laughing.

I threw a pillow at her. “Zara!”

She dodged it easily, giggling. “Hmm, Clara, something is suping o. This sudden energy, this over-swearing… are you sure it’s not love?”

“Zara, don’t even start!” I said, blushing furiously.

“Admit it! You like him.”

“I don’t!”

“You do!”

“Zara!”

We both collapsed into laughter, gasping for breath.

But when the laughter faded, I found myself staring at my phone again.

At his name on the screen.

At the unread message Mason had sent.

Mr. Thorne has confirmed your attendance at the Thorne Foundation Gala. Please respond to confirm.

Zara watched me quietly, then said softly, “You’re going, aren’t you?”

I hesitated. “It’s… just for business.”

“Business,” she echoed, smiling knowingly. “Sure.”

I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, I won’t even give him face.”

She grinned. “Uh-huh. You said that before the kiss too.”

“Zara!”

Elias’s POV

The Thorne Foundation Gala was a blur of champagne, cameras, and shallow conversations.

I didn’t care about any of it.

All I could think was whether she’d come.

Every few minutes, I found myself glancing toward the entrance — and then pretending I wasn’t.

Until I saw her.

Clara stepped in like the night itself had shaped her — in a sleek midnight-blue gown that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Her hair framed her face in soft curls, her lips painted the faintest shade of red.

And her eyes… those eyes didn’t look at me with warmth this time.

They looked through me.

My heart stumbled.

She walked straight toward me, graceful, poised, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed her. Every head in the room turned.

When she reached me, she gave a tight, polite smile. “Mr. Thorne.”

I tried to keep my composure. “You came.”

“I honor contracts,” she said, voice calm but cold. “Let’s just get through tonight.”

I swallowed whatever apology wanted to escape, offering my arm instead. “Shall we?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took it. Cameras flashed immediately.

We smiled for the photographers.

We laughed for the board members.

We danced for the eyes watching us.

But every move felt like a lie, and every second burned.

Later That Night

The ballroom began to empty out. Music softened. The laughter faded.

I found her alone on the balcony, staring out at the glittering skyline. Her dress shimmered under the moonlight, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“Clara,” I said quietly, stepping beside her.

She didn’t turn. “You don’t have to pretend now. No one’s watching.”

“I’m not pretending.”

Her voice cracked, just a little. “Then what are you doing here, Elias? Why did you kiss me, then treat me like I meant nothing?”

My throat tightened. “I told you. It was a mistake.”

She turned to me sharply. “No, you told me I made you make that mistake. You blamed me. Do you even hear how cruel that sounds?”

I looked away, guilt pressing heavy on my chest. “I was angry. You make me angry. You make me—”

“What? Feel something?” she cut in bitterly. “God forbid the great Elias Thorne feels something real for once.”

Silence fell between us.

The city buzzed far below, distant and uncaring.

I took a step closer. “You think I don’t feel? That I don’t care?”

“Then why treat me like this?” she whispered.

I stared at her, words failing. Because the truth was — I didn’t know how to want someone without trying to control it.

Finally, I said softly, “Because I don’t know how to do this. You confuse me, Clara. You make me want things I shouldn’t.”

Her eyes softened for a heartbeat — then she stepped back. “Then maybe you should stop wanting me.”

She turned to leave, her voice trembling. “This is supposed to be fake, remember? You said so yourself.”

And just like tha

t, she walked away — heels clicking against the marble, leaving me with nothing but the ache I’d tried so hard to deny.