She shoved him away, gasping.
The kiss broke. Air rushed in—too much, not enough. Her lungs burned. Her lips burned. Everything burned.
"Get out." Her voice shook. "Get out. Now."
Liam stepped back, breathing ragged. His hair was messed where her hands had grabbed it. His lips were swollen. His eyes dark with want and something else.
Triumph.
He knew. Knew she'd kissed him back. Knew she'd melted. Knew every wall she'd built had crumbled the moment his mouth touched hers.
"Elara—"
"I said get out."
He should argue. Should push. Should capitalize on the crack in her armor.
Instead, he smiled. Slow. Certain. Devastating.
"Okay."
The easy agreement was worse than resistance.
He moved toward the door. Stopped with his hand on the handle. Looked back.
"For the record?" His voice was rough. Raw. "That wasn't a mistake. That was the truth. Everything else is the lie you're telling yourself."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence crashed in.
Elara stood against the wall, hand pressed to her mouth, tasting him. Cedar and desperation and five years of want.
Her legs gave out. She slid down the wall, sitting on the gallery floor in the dark, trying to catch her breath.
What had she done?
She'd kissed Liam Vance. Kissed him back. Let him crowd her against the wall and claim her mouth like he had every right.
And for one perfect, terrible moment, it had felt like coming home.
The back door opened.
"El?" Xander's voice. "Sophie said you were still down here. I brought dinner—"
He stopped.
She looked up. He stood in the doorway between the gallery and the back office, takeout bag in one hand, keys in the other.
Taking her in. Flushed face. Swollen lips. Messed hair. The evidence of what had just happened written across her like a brand.
His face did something complicated. Pain. Understanding. Resignation.
"Xander—" She scrambled to her feet.
"Don't." He set down the takeout. Carefully. His movements too controlled. "Just... don't."
"It's not—"
"What it looks like?" His laugh was bitter. Broken. "El, I know what it looks like when someone's been kissed. Thoroughly."
Shame flooded her. Hot. Suffocating.
"I didn't plan—"
"I know. That's the problem, isn't it?" He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly exhausted. "You didn't plan it. It just happened. Because when he's near you, plans don't matter. Logic doesn't matter. The fact that I'm here, that Leo's upstairs, that you spent five years rebuilding yourself—none of it matters. Just him."
"That's not fair."
"No. What's not fair is that contract you made him sign. The non-interference clause. The one that said he couldn't interfere with your personal life or relationships." His voice stayed calm. Even. Devastatingly sad. "Seems that clause only works one way."
The words landed like stones.
"He came here," she said weakly. "I didn't ask him to—"
"But you let him in."
"I—"
"You let him in. You let him get close. You let him kiss you." Xander's eyes met hers. "Did you kiss him back?"
The question hung between them.
She could lie. Should lie. Protect him from the truth that would destroy whatever they had left.
But she'd already lied to herself enough today.
"Yes."
The word was barely a whisper.
Xander closed his eyes. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I needed to hear you say it. Needed to know if I was imagining the way you've been looking at him. The way you've been pulling away from me." He opened his eyes. "I'm not imagining it."
"Xander, I don't—I didn't mean for this to happen—"
"I know. But it did." He moved into the gallery, maintaining careful distance. "Can I ask you something? And will you be honest?"
"Always."
"Do you love him?"
The question she'd been avoiding. The truth she'd been denying.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
"No. The answer is yes, and you're too afraid to admit it." His voice was gentle. Kind. It would be easier if he was angry. "You love him. You've always loved him. You just convinced yourself you didn't because it was safer than admitting you loved someone who destroyed you."
"I loved the man I thought he was. Not the man he became."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know what he is. He's trying. He's changing. But I don't know if it's real or performance. I don't know if I can trust it."
"But you want to."
God. Yes. She wanted to.
"I'm terrified," she admitted.
"Of what? That he'll hurt you again?"
"That he won't. That this is real. That he's actually becoming someone I could—" She stopped.
"Love? You can say it, El. You could love him. Again. Or still. I'm not sure you ever stopped."
Tears burned. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Be honest." He moved closer. Not touching. Just present. "I've known this was coming since he walked back into your life. I just hoped—" His voice cracked. "I hoped I'd be enough. That five years of showing up would outweigh whatever you felt for him."
"You are enough—"
"For someone. Just not for you." He reached out, touched her face gently. "And that's okay. You can't force love. Believe me, I've tried."
"Xander—"
"I love you, El. I have for three years. And I will always care about you and Leo. But I can't—" He pulled his hand back. "I can't watch you fall back in love with him while pretending I have a chance. It's killing me."
"You do have a chance—"
"Do I? Be honest. If Liam and I were both standing here right now, if you had to choose—who would you choose?"
The question was a knife.
She wanted to say Xander. Wanted to choose the safe man, the good man, the one who'd been there.
But the answer stuck in her throat.
And in her silence, Xander found his truth.
"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing. You can't help who you love." He picked up his keys. "I'm going to go. Give you space to figure out what you want."
"Don't leave. Please. I need—"
"What? A friend? Support? Someone to help you process your feelings for another man?" His smile was sad. "I can't be that person anymore, El. It hurts too much."
"Xander—"
"I'll still be here for Leo. Still be his Uncle Xan. Still help with the gallery. But us?" He gestured between them. "We need distance. For both our sakes."
He moved toward the back door.
"I love you," Elara said desperately. "I do. Just not—"
"Not the way I need you to. I know." He stopped in the doorway. "For what it's worth? I hope he's worth it. I hope whatever you're feeling is real. I hope he's actually changed and not just performing." His voice roughened. "Because if he hurts you again, if he breaks you like he did before, I won't be there to pick up the pieces. I can't do that again."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because choosing him means risking everything. Your peace. Your stability. Leo's security. All of it. For a man who might be genuine or might be playing the long game."
"I know."
"And you're going to choose him anyway."
It wasn't a question.
She couldn't answer.
Xander nodded. Once. Final.
"Goodbye, Elara."
He left through the back door.
Leaving her alone in the gallery, tasting Liam on her lips and losing Xander in the same breath.
Upstairs, Sophie was putting Leo to bed when Elara finally climbed the stairs.
"Where's Uncle Xan?" Leo asked sleepily. "He said he was bringing dinner."
"He had to go, baby."
"Is he mad?"
"No. Just... sad."
"Why?"
Because his heart was breaking. Because the woman he loved chose someone else. Because sometimes love wasn't enough.
"Adult stuff," Elara said, kissing his forehead. "Sleep now."
She retreated to the living room. Sophie was waiting, two glasses of wine already poured.
"Tell me," Sophie said.
Elara told her everything. The kiss. Xander walking in. The resignation in his eyes. The choice she couldn't make but had already made.
"So you're choosing Liam," Sophie said when she finished.
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to. You kissed him back. You let Xander walk away. The choice is made, El. You just haven't admitted it yet."
"What if I'm wrong? What if he hurts me again?"
"Then you survive. Like you did before. But at least you'll know you tried."
"And if I'm right? If he has changed?"
Sophie smiled. Sad. Knowing. "Then you get your second chance. And maybe, this time, you both deserve it."
Elara sipped her wine. Stared at nothing.
Her phone buzzed.
Text from Liam: I meant what I said. That wasn't a mistake. Think about it. —L
Text from Xander: Take care of yourself. And Leo. Always. —X
Two men. Two messages. Two futures.
One choice.
She set down the phone.
Touched her lips.
And knew, with terrible certainty, which one she'd already made.
Across town, Liam sat in his penthouse, staring at the city.
She'd kissed him back.
The memory played on repeat. Her hands in his hair. Her body pressed against his. The small sound she'd made when he'd deepened the kiss.
She'd kissed him back.
Then pushed him away. Called it a mistake. Retreated behind logic and fear.
But the kiss had happened. The truth had been spoken without words.
She still wanted him.
His phone rang. David.
"Sir. Reed just left her gallery. Looked... defeated."
"Did he."
"Whatever happened in there, I don't think he's coming back."
Good. One obstacle removed.
"And Ms. Hart?"
"Still inside. Alone."
Liam closed his eyes. Imagined her standing in that gallery, touching her lips, trying to convince herself the kiss meant nothing.
Failing.
"Sir? Your orders?"
"Give her space. For now. Let her process. Let her realize what she already knows."
"Which is?"
"That she's mine. She's always been mine. She just needed to remember."
He ended the call.
Leaned back in his chair.
The game had changed. The kiss had shifted everything. Now it was just a matter of time.
Time for her to stop running.
Time for her to admit the truth.
Time for her to come back to him.
He could be patient.
He'd waited five years.
He could wait a little longer.
But not much.