Belonia liked silence but not this kind the kind that followed after Elina left his office.
The kind that stayed long after the door had closed, lingering in the air like something unfinished.
Clara was still there.
Close enough for him to notice the faint trace of her perfume, the soft brush of her presence as she leaned slightly against his desk.
"You're thinking too much," she said lightly.
"I don't think," he replied.
Clara smiled faintly. "That's not true."
But he didn't answer.
Because for the first time in a long time—
He was.
Later that evening, the city stretched endlessly beneath him, glowing with life that felt distant and irrelevant.
Belonia stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, a glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand.
Untouched.
His reflection stared back at him.
Sharp features. Cold eyes. Control.
Everything he had built himself into.
Everything that had once been different.
He closed his eyes briefly.
And just like that—
The past slipped in.
A smaller room.
Not nearly as grand.
Not nearly as quiet.
A boy sat at the edge of a bed, his fingers gripping the sheets too tightly.
He couldn't have been more than ten.
"Mom?"
No answer.
The door had closed hours ago.
She had said she'd be back.
She always said that.
But this time
She didn't come back.
The memory shifted.
Years later.
Same emptiness.
Different ache.
He was older now. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen.
And this time, he had believed in something.
In someone.
Her laughter had been soft. Familiar.
Her touch had felt real.
"You're different, Belonia," she had told him once, her fingers tracing his hand.
"I know," he had replied quietly.
And for a while—
He let himself believe it mattered.
Until the night it didn't.
The door wasn't supposed to be open.
But it was.
And inside—
She wasn't alone.
The sound of her laughter hadn't changed.
But everything else had.
Belonia's jaw tightened as the memory snapped into clarity.
The way she had looked at him.
Not guilty.
Not even sorry.
Just… indifferent.
"You don't really think I'd stay with you forever, do you?" she had said.
That had been the moment.
Not when he saw her.
Not when it ended.
But when he realized—
He had been the only one who thought it meant something.
Back in the present, Belonia exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly around the glass.
That was the last time he had allowed anything close enough to matter.
After that—
Everything was simple.
No attachment.
No expectations.
No staying.
Women came and went.
Names forgotten.
Faces blurred.
One night.
No repeats.
No complications.
Control.
That was how he survived it.
And then—
Elina.
His jaw tightened again.
She wasn't supposed to feel different.
She wasn't supposed to stay in his head.
She wasn't supposed to look at him the way she did—
Or worse—
Stop looking at him entirely.
The glass in his hand finally met the table with a quiet thud.
"This is nothing," he muttered under his breath.
It had to be.
The next day, the office felt colder.
Not because of the air.
But because of him.
Belonia moved through the space with his usual precision, but something about him had sharpened.
More distant.
More controlled.
Elina noticed.
But she didn't react.
She stayed at her desk, focused, calm, her attention fixed on her work like nothing else existed.
No lingering glances.
No quiet pauses.
Nothing.
It should have made things easier.
It didn't.
"Belonia."
Clara's voice broke through his thoughts as she stepped into his office later that afternoon.
Effortless.
Confident.
"I was thinking," she said, taking a seat without waiting to be asked, "we should finalize the partnership over dinner tonight."
He looked at her.
Really looked this time.
She was everything that made sense.
Beautiful. Poised. From a world that matched his.
No complications.
No confusion.
"Alright," he said simply.
Clara's lips curved slightly. "Good."
Outside, Elina watched as Clara walked out of his office, her expression unreadable but her steps certain.
A quiet feeling settled in her chest.
Not sharp.
Not overwhelming.
Just… something she chose not to hold onto.
So she didn't.
That evening, the city lights reflected softly against the glass of the restaurant windows.
Clara sat across from Belonia, elegant as ever, her presence steady, intentional.
"You seem more like yourself tonight," she said.
"I am."
"Good," she replied, lifting her glass slightly.
And for the first time—
He didn't think about anything else.
Or at least—
He tried not to.
Because somewhere, in a quiet part of the city—
Elina sat alone, her thoughts softer now, her heart steadier, choosing distance even when it didn't come easily.
And somewhere deeper—
Belonia was already making a decision he didn't fully understand.
To move forward.
Without looking back.
Even if it meant leaving something unfinished behind.