The rain still hadn't let up when Nathan arrived at The Black Tie Society. Sheets of water blurred the streetlights, turning the world into a wash of silver and shadows. He sat still for a moment, gathering the strength to face what he'd come here to do.
Then he straightened his collar, wiped the rain from his face, and stepped inside.
The bar was dim and quiet, its warm golden lights reflecting softly off polished wood. Only one customer sat there—a familiar man with an Old Fashioned in hand—while the bartender methodically prepared another drink behind the counter.
Nathan took a breath and approached.
Ben Rosenfield turned slightly at the sound of footsteps. When he saw Nathan, his expression softened. They shook hands, but Ben pulled him in for a firm, fatherly pat on the back before gesturing to the seat beside him.
"I'm sorry for calling you so abruptly," Nathan began, voice low but respectful.
Ben waved it off with a half-laugh. "It's alright. I was heading here anyway. And I guess"—he smirked—"you just used your call-a-friend card."
Nathan managed a small smile before falling silent again. A heavy pause stretched between them—thick with everything Nathan couldn't bring himself to say.
Ben broke the stillness with gentle intuition. "If this is about my daughter…"
Nathan shook his head, but the pain in his eyes gave him away.
"I called because…" He swallowed hard. "I want to cancel the deal."
Ben's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He slowly set his drink down. "Why all of a sudden? You worked incredibly hard for this contract. Why walk away now?"
"Personal reasons," Nathan said quietly. "Celine and I… had a terrible fallout. I don't think it can be fixed. And even if it could, it will never be the same."
A deep sigh escaped him, as though the admission alone drained what remained of his strength.
"So it is about my daughter," Ben said—not accusing, not disappointed—only understanding.
"It's not only her," Nathan replied. "It's my… family. My past."
So he told him.
About his mother.
About the orphanage.
About Celine trying to help.
About the pain that tore him in half.
"And knowing Celine," Nathan continued, "she won't let up. She wants me to fix things. She wants me to heal."
His voice cracked slightly.
"I truly love her, and I know she means well. But I can't do what she's asking—not now. Maybe not ever. And as for the deal… it doesn't feel right to accept something tied to an agreement I made with her."
Ben studied the young man beside him, seeing not just a businessman—but a boy who had grown up too fast. A boy carrying wounds he never deserved.
"I understand," Ben said softly.
He extended his hand with a knowing smile—a smile that revealed he had put something very important together.
Nathan took it. "Thank you."
"You may have to sign some termination documents," Ben added, rising to leave. "If you can wait, I'll have them sent over. And Nathan—good luck. I hope… truly hope… you made the right choice."
Nathan nodded.
Ben took a few steps, then paused and turned back.
"And thank you," he said warmly, "for being there for my daughter when she needed someone."
Then he walked out.
Nathan's heart shattered completely.
He returned to his hotel suite feeling hollow. The room was silent, sterile. Too clean. Too empty. Everywhere he looked, he saw shadows of Celine—her laugh echoing, her footsteps crossing the carpet, her head resting on his chest.
On the desk, he noticed a folded handkerchief—hers.
He grabbed it instantly, pressing it to his face.
It smelled faintly of her perfume.
God, he missed her.
It hadn't even been a full day.
"What I did was the right thing," he whispered to the empty room, voice shaking. "So why do I feel so empty… like even if I leave all this behind, I'll never be myself again?"
His mind circled the same thoughts endlessly.
Did she get home safely?
Is she crying?
Who picked her up?
Is she okay?
He could've picked up any of her calls—answered any of her messages.
His phone lit up every hour with her name.
But he resisted.
He convinced himself it was better this way.
Days passed.
Each one felt like torture.
Waiting for the termination documents kept him trapped in a city filled with reminders of her. If he had the choice, he would've already left. This was the only courtesy he could offer HUB.
One afternoon, while he sat slumped on the couch, arms folded over his face, his phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
He unlocked the screen.
A single message.
"I know you don't want to talk to me, and I respect that.
But I hope you will at least let me apologize—for everything.
For every moment I wasn't there for you.
I tried…
I really tried.
But maybe it's too late.
Love, Mom."
The message was short—gentle.
But its impact shattered him.
Nathan broke.
For the first time in decades, he wept openly—shoulders shaking, breath hitching, old wounds ripping open.
⸻
Across the city, Dean drowned himself in neon lights and liquor.
He lounged in a VIP booth with his friends, celebrating.
News traveled fast.
The newest bachelor in town.
The broken engagement.
The failed contract.
The explosive end of a "short-lived romance."
Dean clinked glasses with arrogant pride.
He didn't have to lift a finger—everything was falling perfectly into place.
"She'll come back to me," he boasted, smirking. "She always does. Just like before. This is fate restoring what belongs to me."
His friends laughed, raising their drinks.
Dean stood, arms stretched wide, reveling in the moment as strobe lights flashed around him.
"Drinks on me! And the girls too—before my hall pass expires!" he called out, smug and gleeful.
He partied harder, ego swelling with every shot, every whisper of gossip.
In his mind, the ending was already written.
Tomorrow, he would begin winning her back.
He would charm her.
Promise loyalty.
Show off his "growth."
They'd be together again—
the perfect couple.
Her elegance.
His confidence.
His trophy wife, restored to his side.
He deserved this.
He believed it.
And now that Dinah delivered the best news of all—
Celine was willing to give him another chance.
Dean grinned, riding the high of pride and delusion.
Everything was going exactly how he wanted.