WHEN YOU WERE THERE

The girl staring back at me from the mirror was a stranger.

Standing in the white, elegant dress, looking at my reflection, I couldn't recognize myself. The fabric felt heavy—not because of its actual weight, but because of what it represented.

A future.

His future.

Mine.

I wasn't sure anymore.

My phone on the bedside table started ringing.

I looked at the screen.

*Ethan.*

For a few seconds, I didn't answer. I simply stared at his name, wondering when it had stopped making my heart race.

Why did it feel cold now?

The ringing stopped.

A second later, my mother's anxious voice came from behind the door.

"Sasha, what are you still doing up there? Ethan has been waiting downstairs for ten minutes. You know how important tonight is for his business. Please, don't keep him waiting. His mother is already here, and you know how particular she is about appearances."

She paused.

"Come on, sweetheart. Just smile and look beautiful. That's all he needs tonight," my mother said.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

*Just smile.*

I smoothed my palms over my dress, even though there wasn't a single wrinkle.

Then I gave myself one last look in the mirror and went downstairs.

Halfway down the stairs, I saw him.

Ethan.

He stood near the entrance with his phone in one hand, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His blonde hair was slicked neatly back, his jaw sharp, his expression unreadable.

He belonged on a magazine cover.

But there was nothing warm about the picture.

His eyes lifted.

They found mine immediately.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his gaze moved slowly over me, taking in the dress, my hair, my jewelry.

He walked toward the stairs and held out his hand.

I took it, and he pulled me forward. As I stepped off the last riser, I collided with his strong arms and hard chest. He whispered against my ear.

"You look beautiful," Ethan murmured.

A shiver ran down my spine, though not entirely from warmth. I looked up at him as he smiled.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my neck.

"You don't even know what you do to me. One breath of you and I forget everything else."

His voice was low, intimate.

"I could stay like this forever. Just you, and the way you smell."

His lips grazed my earlobe.

"If anyone asks, this scent is mine. Don't share it."

Instead of feeling cherished, I felt strangely hollow.

Yet, somewhere beneath that emptiness, a stubborn part of me remembered exactly what those words used to do to me. There had been a time when Ethan could say them and make me feel like the only girl in the world—a time when I would have replayed his voice in my head for hours.

Maybe that was the cruelest part.

I hadn't stopped loving the memories.

I just didn't know how much of Ethan was still the man I had fallen for.

"Thank you," I said.

His eyes stayed locked on mine.

"Come here," Ethan said.

It wasn't a request.

I stopped right in front of him. He reached up and adjusted a loose strand of hair near my temple, his fingers barely brushing my cheek.

The gesture was intimate.

Almost tender.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because this was the Ethan I remembered. The one who noticed the little things. The one who fixed my hair before we went out because he hated seeing even a single strand out of place.

For a second, my heart responded before my mind could stop it.

Then the feeling vanished beneath the familiar numbness.

His hand dropped.

"The Parkers are here tonight," he said quietly. "I need you beside me."

"I know," I said.

"And Sasha?"

I looked at him. His expression remained entirely neutral.

"Don't disappear on me," Ethan said.

I almost laughed. He had spent weeks disappearing from me himself.

Instead, I only nodded.

"Okay," I said.

He held my gaze for another heartbeat.

"Good girl," he said.

Something about the words made my stomach tighten. Not because they were cruel, but because once, being the person he wanted had felt like winning a prize.

Now it felt like performing.

Still, hearing it brought back an old warmth I couldn't completely hate. That was the trap. Letting go would be easier if I felt nothing at all. But I still remembered loving him.

And some part of me still did.

He turned toward the door.

"Let's go," Ethan said.

And I followed.

The drive was quiet.

Not peaceful.

*Quiet.*

There was a distinct difference.

Ethan spent most of it on the phone with his business partners, speaking in that low, controlled tone that commanded absolute attention. I watched the city blur past the window.

Every few minutes, he glanced at me. Not enough to start a conversation, but just enough to confirm I was still there.

At one point, he ended a call and looked over.

"You're quiet," Ethan said.

"I'm always quiet," I replied.

"No," Ethan said.

He reached across the console and wound a strand of my hair around his finger, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You used to talk too much."

A faint, bittersweet smile touched my lips.

"You used to like that."

"I did," Ethan said.

The answer came so easily that I turned to look at him. But he was already gazing back out the window.

I waited.

Nothing.

For a moment, I remembered those late-night conversations when we could talk until sunrise, trading silly secrets and effortless laughter. I remembered the way he used to pretend to be annoyed when I rambled, even though I knew he loved listening.

That Ethan was still trapped somewhere inside my memory. Sometimes, when this man beside me looked at me just right, I could almost convince myself he was still there.

I wanted to ask when everything had changed.

Instead, I asked, "Do you still like it?"

He turned his head. For a fraction of a second, his eyes softened.

Then the expression dissolved.

"I don't know," he said.

Three words.

They hurt far more than they should have.

I turned away before he could see the impact.

When we arrived, Ethan stepped out first, walked around the car, and opened my door, offering his arm.

I took it.

The moment we stepped inside the venue, his hand settled firmly against the small of my back. Possessive. Controlled. Familiar.

To anyone watching, we looked picture-perfect.

And for a second, I almost believed it. This was the man I had once dreamed of walking beside, the man I had imagined standing with at the end of an aisle.

"Stay close tonight," he murmured.

"Why?" I asked, watching his gaze drift toward a group of high-powered executives across the room.

"Because I don't like repeating myself," Ethan said.

I looked up at him. "And what if I don't?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

"Then I'll come find you."

There was a quiet certainty in his voice that sent a shiver down my spine. Once, that assurance would have thrilled me. Now, I couldn't tell whether I wanted to lean into it or run.

That was what confused me most. I wasn't standing beside a stranger. Sometimes, I could still see the man I loved hiding behind the polished exterior. He was just becoming harder and harder to find.

"I need to go find the partners," Ethan said, his thumb brushing once over my waist before he stepped back. "Don't wander too far. I get lost when you're not in my sight."

He winked, and then he melted into the crowd.

Leaving me behind.

*Again.*

I watched him go, a foolish part of me still wishing he would turn around.

He didn't.

The grand hall glittered with chandeliers, expensive jewelry, and champagne glasses clinking amid loud laughter. The air smelled of heavy perfume and polished ambition.

I reached for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

"Sasha, darling."

I turned to see Miss Emily, Ethan's mother. A genuine smile finally broke through my defenses.

"You look breathtaking tonight," Miss Emily said.

"So do you," I replied warmly.

She chuckled, taking my hands in hers. "Don't flatter an old woman. But why are you standing all by yourself?"

"Ethan is busy."

She sighed, a flicker of genuine apology crossing her features. "He's changed so much since he took over his father's firm. A new empire consumes a person. You know how ambitious he is."

"I know," I said softly.

"You'll have to be patient with him," she urged, squeezing my fingers. "And soon, you'll officially be my daughter-in-law. I still can't quite believe it."

*Neither can I,* I thought. "How are the wedding preparations?"

"Hectic! Next month will be here before we know it," she said with a bright smile. "I am so glad you're joining our family, Sasha."

Before I could answer, her phone chimed. She glanced at the screen and groaned softly. "The caterer. I've been chasing them all week." She gave my hand one last squeeze. "Excuse me, darling. I'll be right back."

And just like that, I was alone again.

The sharp, rhythmic click of stilettos approached from behind. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"Sasha, darling."

Isabella leaned in for an icy air kiss, her platinum bob brushing my cheek. Her crimson pantsuit looked expensive enough to fund a small business.

"Isabella," I greeted evenly.

Her eyes swept over my dress. "White suits you."

"Thank you."

"I suppose it should," she said, lifting her champagne flute. "After all, you're the bride."

Something in her tone made my guard go up. She smiled innocently. "Are you nervous?"

"A little."

"Understandable." She took a slow sip. "Ethan has always been... difficult to read."

I kept my expression blank. "I'd like to think I know him."

"Of course," Isabella murmured, glancing across the room toward where Ethan was deep in conversation with several investors. "He looks wonderful tonight. He always knows how to look like the exact man everyone wants."

A cold knot formed in my chest. I followed her gaze. Ethan stood tall, exuding absolute confidence.

I remembered why I had fallen for him. Back then, I thought his unwavering confidence meant strength, his silence meant maturity, and his ambition meant a secure future.

Maybe some of those things were still true. Maybe that was why letting go felt like an impossible puzzle.

"What are you trying to say, Isabella?" I asked quietly.

Her smile widened, sweet enough to rot teeth. "Nothing at all. I'm just curious."

"About?"

"Whether you truly believe you're the only woman he wants."

I stared at her, refusing to look away first. Then I let out a calm breath. "If Ethan wanted someone else, Isabella, I think he would have told me."

Her eyes flickered for a fraction of a second. "Would he?"

She tilted her head, watching me closely. "Maybe that's the real problem, Sasha. You trust him so completely that you never stop to wonder what he's keeping from you."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving behind the exact poison she had brought: doubt.

I looked back at Ethan across the room. I wanted to dismiss her words as bitter jealousy. I wanted to believe the man I loved was buried beneath the ice.

Because if he wasn't... what on earth had I been holding onto?

I finally tracked Ethan down near the far end of the hall, where he was chuckling at a joke made by one of his associates.

"Ethan," I interrupted softly.

He raised a single finger without looking at me. "One second, Sasha."

I waited. A minute passed. Then another.

Finally, he turned his head, his expression tightening. "What is it?"

"Can we talk?"

His jaw hardened. "Not here."

"Then when?"

"Sasha," he warned, stepping closer so his voice wouldn't carry. "I have people watching me tonight. I can't afford distractions."

The word hit me like physical weight. *"Distractions."*

"Am I a distraction?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched. "That isn't what I meant."

"It sounded like it."

He stared at me for a long, tense moment before dropping his voice to a harsh rasp. "Don't do this here."

Something inside me finally fractured. Not with a dramatic explosion, but with a quiet, definitive snap.

"You're right," I said.

I stepped back. For half a second, his expression faltered—almost looking like regret, almost looking like panic.

Then it vanished behind his usual mask.

"Sasha..." he started.

But I was already walking away.

I pushed through the glass doors, escaping into the cool night air before the tears could break free.

I kept walking, ignoring the ache in my heels and the much deeper ache in my chest. I didn't know where I was going; I only knew I needed to breathe something that didn't smell like wealth and pretense.

Eventually, my legs gave out. I sank onto the low stone curb of a quiet side street, staring down at my expensive shoes—the very heels Ethan had bought me.

All of it. The ring, the dress, the status.

Why did it all feel so hollow? Was any of it real, or had I simply been clinging to a ghost out of fear?

A stray tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily. I hated that I was crying. I hated that I still cared. Worst of all, I hated that a pathetic part of me was still waiting for Ethan to chase after me.

Maybe I hadn't stopped loving him. Maybe I was just exhausted from being slowly broken by the person who was supposed to protect me.

The thought made my chest ache until a sudden weight settled over my shoulders.

A warm suit jacket.

I froze.

Someone sat down on the curb beside me, our shoulders nearly brushing. For one foolish, desperate second, my heart surged.

*Ethan.*

Maybe he'd followed me. Maybe he finally understood.

I turned my head.

And stopped breathing.

It wasn't Ethan.

It was Jack.

My childhood best friend. The boy who knew every secret I had ever kept, who had stood by me through every scraped knee and reckless adventure. He was supposed to be thousands of miles away, building his life abroad.

Not here. Not tonight. Not when I was completely falling apart.

I stared at him, half-convinced my mind had finally snapped.

He looked different. The boy with the messy hair and soft smile had grown into a man with broader shoulders, a sharper jaw, and an impeccably tailored suit.

Yet, his eyes—those familiar, dark eyes that had always managed to see right through me—hadn't changed at all.

Right now, they were filled with a quiet, aching understanding.

Jack looked at me for a long moment, a faint, gentle smile touching his lips.

"Are we good?" he asked.

I looked away, swallowing hard. "I don't know."

His lips twitched. "Should I change my question?"

I glanced back at him, bewildered. "Huh?"

He tilted his head, his gaze steady and warm. "Are you okay?"

I dropped my gaze back to my expensive shoes. "I don't know."

Jack let out a soft, low chuckle and shook his head. "So, should I change my question again?"

A sad, reluctant smile broke through my tears. "And should I give you the exact same answer?"

We looked at each other in the quiet midnight air. Then, staring right at him, I whispered,

"I don't know."

For a second, there was silence.

Then, unexpectedly, we both burst out laughing—the kind of wild, exhausted laugh that makes no sense at all at midnight, born from two people who had seen each other at their absolute worst and somehow survived.

In that single instant, the heavy tightness in my chest loosened.

He always had that effect on me. Even before he left. Even after all these years.

Jack grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"We're really terrible at this."

I gave him a soft, genuine smile.

"But we're good."