The gallery had thinned out. The clink of glasses and murmurs of critics faded behind glass doors, and outside, fairy lights twinkled along the ivy-lined terrace. Celeste had gone in to take a call.
Leon stepped out into the cool air, finding Damien already there, staring up at the sky like he owned it.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
"You always this quiet?" Damien asked, not turning.
Leon took a slow breath. "I watch."
Damien chuckled. "Of course you do."
There was something too casual about his tone. Like he'd already read the ending of the book and was now watching the main character try to catch up.
Leon's jaw twitched. "Have we met before?"
Damien finally looked at him. "Not formally."
"You act like you know me."
A smile ghosted over Damien's lips. "I've heard a lot."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "From who?"
"Celeste," Damien said easily. "She used to tell me things. Back before the accident."
Leon's posture shifted slightly. Not visibly—but Damien noticed. Of course he did.
"She told you about me?" Leon asked.
"Oh, plenty," Damien replied, stepping closer. "How you barely said what you felt. How you kept her at arm's length. How you gave her a gift once without a name, like that would be enough."
Leon stiffened, eyes sharp now.
Damien's tone stayed light, but there was steel beneath it. "She told me about the nights she waited for you to choose her. And the mornings she convinced herself you did."
Silence.
Leon didn't flinch, but the look in his eyes shifted—like a knife being drawn slowly from its sheath.
"She trusted you," Leon said, low.
"She still does," Damien replied. "And I haven't broken that."
"Yet."
Damien gave a slow smile. "See, that's what's interesting. You don't know me, Leon. But I know the version of you she used to cry about. The version she tried so hard to defend. And I'm just wondering…"
He leaned in just enough to drop his voice.
"…if you're still that man."
A long, heavy silence fell between them—two predators, sizing each other up, neither moving.
Then Celeste's voice broke the spell as she stepped out, phone in hand. "Hey—what's going on?"
Both men turned, masks already in place.
"Just talking," Damien said smoothly. "You know, boys being boys."
Leon didn't smile.
And Celeste, poor Celeste, had no idea she was standing in the space between two men—one who might love her quietly, and one who had already started playing with fire.