POV: Elena Moretti

The building feels quieter after the security scare. Too quiet.

Everyone else has returned to work, but Elena sits alone in an empty conference room, hugging her elbows, staring at the glowing city outside.

She isn’t afraid of the breach.

She’s afraid of how easily Luca’s voice still gets inside her.

You’re safe with me. Always.

The nerve of him — saying the same words he whispered five years ago.

The words that ruined her then.

Her mind pulls her back in time whether she wants it or not.

FLASHBACK — FIVE YEARS AGO — MILAN

She was twenty.

Law student.

Optimistic. Soft. Brave.

Luca had shown up to every competition she’d ever participated in.

Stood at the back of the room. Arms crossed. Pretended he didn’t care.

But he always walked her home afterward.

It took months before she realized he was in love with her.

It took one heartbeat to admit she was in love with him too.

She remembers the night she said it — trembling but smiling, eyes full of certainty:

“I love you, Luca.”

He froze — like she’d shot him.

No anger. No disgust. Just fear.

“You can’t love me.” “I already do.” “Then you’ll die.”

She laughed then — thought he was being dramatic. A week later someone tried to kidnap her outside the university. Someone who was after him.

That was the night Luca made his choice.

Not her. Never her. Safety over love. Distance over happiness.

He disappeared from her life without a word except one message:

You’re safer without me.

She waited months. Then years.

She learned to hate him more than she loved him — or so she thought.

PRESENT — NEW YORK

The conference room door opens.

But it isn’t a memory. It’s Luca.

He doesn’t step in.

He stands in the doorway like he’s afraid to get too close and afraid to leave her alone.

Luca: “You’re crying.”

Elena touches her face — she hadn’t even noticed the tears.

Elena: “Memories. Not you.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself.

He just takes the chair next to her slowly, as if proximity itself might hurt her.

Luca: “I never wanted to be the reason you were in danger.”

Elena laughs — sharp, hollow.

Elena: “You didn’t want to be the reason I was happy either.”

That hits him like a bullet.

He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t excuse it. He just looks… wrecked.

Luca: “I loved you. That was the problem.”

Elena’s breath catches. She wasn’t prepared to hear that sentence — not now, not after everything.

Elena: “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

Luca: “I’ve meant it since the first time I looked at you.”

She shakes her head, fighting tears again.

Elena: “Then why didn’t you choose me?”

His answer is soft. Terrifyingly honest.

Luca: “Because loving me would have gotten you killed.”

There’s no victory in hearing the truth. Only pain.

She whispers, broken:

Elena: “You didn’t even give me the chance to decide if you were worth the risk.”

He flinches — the first time she’s ever seen Luca Volkov flinch.

For a moment, neither moves. Neither speaks. Neither breathes.

It is a graveyard of everything they could’ve been.

Then Luca stands — too quickly — like if he stays he will say something he can’t take back.

He heads for the door, hand on the handle, mask returning, armor snapping into place.

But before he leaves, he says — so quietly it almost doesn’t exist:

“If I could go back… I would choose you. Even if it killed us both.”

Then he’s gone.

And Elena realizes something devastating:

She never got over him.

She just learned how to live with the wound.