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TWENTY-SEVEN

Ismiled for the cameras. Laughed at the right moments. Clinked my glass against others, nodding through compliments that fell like petals—soft and fleeting.

“Congratulations, Sienna.”

“You’reback back.”

“This rollout isflawless.”

“Vocalslike yours? They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

It should’ve felt like a coronation. But it didn’t. Not entirely.

The rooftop was beautiful. Warm string lights casting a golden haze over exposed brick and soft music. The DJ played a slow instrumental version of the lead single, letting the bass roll like waves under conversation.

All eyes were on me. But the only one I was looking for hadn’t shown up. Not yet at least.

I told myself I wasn’t watching the door. I told myself this was my moment, and if Raj wanted to sulk in silence over social media commentary, that was on him.

But the truth was I wanted him here. Ineededhim here.

Because no matter how good the numbers looked, no matter how glowing the articles or how glossy the pictures,hewas the one who made me feel like I had something left to say. And now that the noise was getting louder, now that the spotlight was mine alone again, I wasn’t sure how to carry all of itwithoutthat anchor.

It had been days.

Since the shoot, our texts had been sparse. Thoughtful, but short. I’d seen the posts too. The reels. The think pieces making it sound like he was a chapter I’d already closed.

I never said that. But I hadn’tcorrectedit either. Public Relations wasn’t my strong suit, and I let Brielle take the reins on pushing the appropriate soundbites into the atmosphere through a rep. But I hated the effect that had on him because my silence was the opposite of golden. It was a judgment.

And now the silence between us was stretching—thin, sharp, dangerous.

“You alright?” Brielle appeared beside me, handing me a glass of champagne.

I took it, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Liar,” she said gently. “You’ve been eyeing that entrance like you expect Jesus to walk through it.”

“Worse,” I said under my breath. “I’m hoping for Raj.”

She said. “He’ll come.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t. But I know you didn’t come this far to carry regret too.”

I looked down at my glass.

“He’s proud of you,” she added. “Even if he’s mad. Even if he’s scared. And somewhere in him, he knows you didn’t leave him behind. You just stepped forward.”

The words hit me somewhere deep. Because that was exactly what I’d done. I hadn’t pushed him out.

I just… kept walking, and somehow I thought he’d be walking with me, because why did it matter if the cameras focused on me more…that was the game.

A month from now, it might be on him. But I had to remember, he was newer to the game, even if he had false starts and experience under his belt. It was still new, and that meant he didn’t understand the tide, and how to ride the waves when they came.

I needed him; that was what was important. As if I sensed him, I looked up—He was there.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, in a black jacket and boots, hair pulled back in a puff that only he could pull off, chain catching the lights just enough to remind me who the hell he was.