The evening air hung heavy with the scent of rain as Jason Asher leaned against the balcony of his family's sprawling penthouse, the city skyline glittering below like a taunt. His hazel eyes, usually bright with calculated charm, were shadowed, his jaw tight as he clutched his phone, still reeling from Eliana's words. "You don't know anything about me anymore. Don't call me again, Jason. I'm done with you." Her voice, sharp and unyielding, echoed in his mind, slicing through the haze of his self-assured arrogance. Eliana—his Eliana, the girl who once gazed at him like he hung the stars—had hung up on him. Hung up. On him. The audacity of it stung like a slap, and yet, beneath the sting, a flicker of something else stirred: desperation.