She found him.
After weeks of silence. Of unanswered calls. Missed meeting points. After waking up every day wondering if he'd been forced or worse—willingly chose to walk away from her.
Sera stood at the edge of the rooftop lounge, the soft pulse of Dream Inc.'s curated ambiance humming behind her. Designer lighting. Empty glasses. Hired laughter. All background noise.
Her eyes locked on him.
Ryden Kamakura.
Standing beside another woman.
Polished. Distant. In character.
The perfect Dream Boyfriend.
His voice was calm, even charming, as he helped the new client into her seat. He glanced over her shoulder once—and saw Sera.
Something in her froze. Hope. Longing.
But his face didn't change.
No flicker. No desire.
Just a small, professional nod. Then:
"Miss, this area is reserved for private clients."
She blinked.
"You didn't show up."
He looked at her again. Politely.
"I'm sorry—I'm with a client at the moment."
Her stomach dropped.
"I waited. Three weeks in a row. You said—"
"I think this is not the right time," he said, firmer.
"Please step aside."
He tried to lead her away.
Sera stood her ground, testing him.
"I refuse to accept this," she said defiantly.
The woman beside him looked confused.
Ryden gave this stranger a reassuring glance.
The same protective way he used to do with Sera.
"One moment," he said, then turned to Sera with that calm mask.
That company mask.
Not the breathless face of the man who couldn't keep his hands off her.
It stung.
She raised her hand and hit him. Hard.
Again.
He caught her wrist the third time.
And her heart stopped at the feel of his warm hand on her skin.
It's the same man. The same mannerisms.
But he didn't react to her the way he used to—silent yet grounding.
Not like the man who held her when she broke, who caught her wrist once and whispered, "Not like this."
Now, he just blinked.
Professional. Still.
"I think it's your behavior that's unacceptable," he replied.
There's that restrained fury she remembers.
But now it's directed at her. And it is another woman he is protecting.
She could barely breathe. Her hands shook. Her chest ached.
And then she ran.
She bolted through the lobby, past the neon-blue logo that glowed like poison through her angry tears—Dream, Inc.
Back to the only man who might understand what they'd done.
Genius inventor, billionaire, investor.
Her father.