Zachary’s POV
Work becomes the architecture of my days in Violet's absence.
I throw myself into Ward Enterprises with the particular intensity of someone using productivity to avoid feeling, and the strategy works well enough during business hours.
Meetings blur together. Contracts demand attention I force myself to give. The Henderson expansion requires decisions that leave no room for anything softer.
Evenings are harder.
The silence of my apartment presses against my skin like an accusation. Every surface holds memories I'm trying not to examine—the couch where I buried myself inside her, the wall where her back arched against the paint, the sheets I finally changed because her scent was destroying me.
When Mariam texts, I don't have a good reason to refuse.
The arrangement is familiar. Dinner at a restaurant we've been to before. Conversation that stays carefully shallow—work complaints, mutual acquaintances, topics that require nothing real from either of us. She's beautiful in the dim lighting, her dark hair falling across her shoulders, her smile carrying expectation I pretend not to notice.
Tonight follows the same pattern. Her apartment. Her bed. Her body beneath mine in the darkness.
I strip her slowly because the ritual is familiar. My mouth finds her neck while my hands push her dress up her thighs. She's already wet when my fingers slip beneath her underwear, slick and ready for me.
"Zachary." She moans against my ear. "I need you inside me."
I work her with my fingers first, two digits sliding deep while my thumb circles her clit. Her hips buck against my hand, chasing friction, and I watch her face contort with pleasure I feel nothing about.
When I finally push inside her, the tight heat of her pussy gripping my cock should feel like relief. Instead, it feels like performance.
I thrust deeper, trying to lose myself in sensation. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, her ankles locking at the small of my back. She's warm and willing and everything I should want.
But my mind keeps drifting. To dark hair that's different. To eyes that challenge instead of accept. To a body that fits against mine like we were designed for collision.
"Harder." Mariam's hips roll beneath me. "Please—"
I give her what she asks for. Pound into her with force that should obliterate thought, the slap of skin against skin filling her bedroom. Her moans grow louder, her walls clenching around my cock, and I'm close—so close to something that might feel like release—
"Violet."
The name leaves my mouth like a detonation.
Everything stops. My hips freeze mid-thrust. The word hangs in the air between us, impossible to retract.
Mariam goes still beneath me. Her eyes fly open, finding mine in the darkness, and what I see there isn't surprise.
It's confirmation.
She pushes against my chest, and I pull out immediately, rolling onto my back while my heart pounds with something that feels like shame. The ceiling stares down at me. Neutral. Unforgiving.
"Get off me." Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Far more devastating than anger would be.
"Mariam—"
"Don't." She sits up, pulling the sheet around her body like armor. "Don't you dare apologize like this was an accident."
I sit up too, reaching for my clothes scattered across her floor. The silence stretches while I dress, each second heavier than the last.
"I'm done." She says it without looking at me. "This—whatever this has been—I'm done."
"Okay." The word comes out flatter than I intended.
She laughs, but the sound carries no humor. "That's it? Just okay?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say something real for once." She finally turns, and her expression carries hurt that's been building longer than this single mistake. "I've been waiting, Zachary. Hoping. Telling myself that if I was patient enough, available enough, good enough—that eventually this arrangement would become something real."
The confession lands somewhere I wasn't prepared to feel.
"I wanted you to see me." Her voice cracks slightly. "Not just as a convenient body to fill the silence. As someone worth choosing."
I run my hand through my hair, searching for words that won't make this worse.
"You deserve that." I meet her gaze directly. "You deserve someone who chooses you without hesitation."
"But that's not you."
"No." The truth tastes like glass. "That's not me."
"Because of her." Not a question. "Violet."
I don't insult her by denying it. "Yes."
Mariam's jaw tightens. She looks away, staring at the window where city lights bleed through her curtains.
"How long have you been thinking about her when you're with me?"
"I don't know." The honesty feels like the least I owe her. "Longer than I realized."
"That's not an answer."
"I know." I stand, grabbing my jacket from her chair. "And I'm sorry for letting you believe this could become something it was never going to be. That wasn't fair to you."
"Fair." She repeats the word like she's examining it for defects. "You're sorry it wasn't fair."
"I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted." I pause at her bedroom door. "I'm sorry I didn't end this sooner, when I knew."
"When did you know?"
Six months ago. The moment I understood that distance was going to change nothing about what I felt for her.
"It doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me." Mariam's anger is quieter than I expected, which makes it worse. "It matters that I spent months waiting for someone who was never available. Months convincing myself that your distance was just how you were, not evidence that you wanted someone else."
"You're right." I don't look away from her pain. "You deserved better than what I gave you."
"I did." She pulls the sheet tighter. "Get out."
"Mariam—"
"I said get out." Her voice hardens. "And don't call me again. Don't text. Don't show up at places you know I'll be. We're done in every possible way that phrase can mean."
I nod once. "Okay."
The door closes behind me with a sound that feels final.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the physical exertion to burn off something I can't name. Each flight carries me further from a mistake I should have prevented months ago.
The street outside is cold, February wind cutting through my jacket. I walk instead of hailing a cab, letting the city swallow me while I examine the wreckage of my choices.
Mariam deserved honesty I couldn't give her. She deserved someone who wanted her specifically, not someone who wanted distraction dressed up as companionship.
And Violet—
I stop walking. Close my eyes against the wind.
Violet is uptown at Columbia, building a life that doesn't include me. She made that clear. Drew boundaries I said I would respect.
But saying her name in someone else's bed proves what I've been denying since the night she left my apartment.
I'm not moving on. I'm not healing. I'm just performing functionality while something essential stays broken.
The walk home takes an hour. I don't feel the cold anymore by the time I reach my building.
Inside my apartment, silence waits like something patient. I don't turn on the lights. Just stand in darkness that matches the hollow expanding in my chest.
This is the consequence of wanting someone who chose distance.
This is what happens when you can't let go of someone who already let go of you.