Leon hadn't stepped out in days.
His penthouse overlooked the city skyline, but everything outside looked dull. The cars moved, people lived—but his world had slowed. Kalen's words kept ringing in his head like a curse.
"She just died, Leon. It's been months and you look like she never existed."
He hated how those words made him feel.
Because it wasn't true. Ayla did exist. In a corner of his heart that still ached in silence. But that corner wasn't where he lived anymore.
Celeste… was where he breathed.
And when she came knocking at his door just days ago, fierce in her grace, asking what changed—he had no answer. Only fear. The fear of moving on completely. Of forgetting. Of hurting anyone again.
He stared at the small velvet box in his hand now. It wasn't much—just a silver chain with a delicate charm in the shape of a compass.
He didn't even know why he bought it.
Maybe because when Celeste walked away after their talk, she looked like someone who had always known her direction. Strong. Unshaken. And he admired that.
He wanted her to know that even when he pulled back, she stayed his anchor.
He called his driver.
"Deliver this to the Moreau residence. Hand it to her personally, and say nothing else."
He watched as the car disappeared into traffic.
Then, for the first time in days, he opened his laptop and replied to the email she had sent him last week—about that art exhibition she was curating in her city. He typed only one sentence:
"Save me a seat at the front."
And hit send.
Meanwhile, across the city, Celeste received the gift just before dinner. She opened the velvet box slowly, eyes softening at the sight of the compass charm.
There was no card.
No note.
But she smiled anyway.
Because sometimes love didn't arrive in grand speeches or loud declarations.
Sometimes, it came in silver silence.