The forty-eight hours after the video had played felt like walking through a storm with no cover. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I didn't allow myself the luxury of thinking about anything other than him—Leo Thorne. The man who had shattered the delicate scaffolding of my youth and now returned to my life.
As I pace my apartment today, I recall how I built my world around precision, boundaries, and control. But now, with the promise of his corporeal return, all that discipline feels laughably fragile.
Two days earlier, I drafted a dozen emails refusing his request—no, his order. Each one began the same way: I am unavailable. I cannot. I will not. And yet, with a single stroke, I deleted them. I needed to show him what it feels like to go through what I went through.
It's Thursday today and with it comes a weight no day of the week should bear. Looking into the mirror, I admired the armor I wore. Not literal steel—though sometimes I imagined it that way. No, my armor was sharper and more precise. It was a blood red dress tailored to slice across the room with every step. My hair was pinned back in a geometric perfection, mirroring my methodical mind. Every inch of me was calculated, disciplined, ready for battle. I would face him as the Closure Cleaner. I would not bend. I would not falter.
Maya flung my door open. "He's in the Onyx Room," she whispered, her lips trembling. "He's… intense."
Forget everything I just said. I swear the room became three times hotter. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. My stomach turned. I could feel the office tilting. I could feel myself floating. I could—
"Madam, are you okay?" Maya's words snapped me out of my haze.
I didn't respond. Words were abundant. I had rehearsed every interaction in my mind for forty-eight hours, and none of them prepared me for the reality. I got up and followed Maya out of the office.
The Onyx Room was a slab of darkness, polished stone, and silence. The door felt heavier than usual as I pushed it open, and there he was—standing.
By the floor-to-ceiling window, silhouetted against the night skyline, Leo stood in the soft glow of the city. He was a monolith— tall, broad, perfect. His shoulders hovered over there like a demigod.
I froze for the briefest moment, the instinct to retreat clashing violently with the need to assert control. He turned.
Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, time fractured. Photos, videos, memories— they were inadequate. He was more than I remembered, more than I had allowed myself to imagine. His eyes were a stormy hazel, framed by dark slashing brows and fine lines of strain. His lips— a well-defined, almost cruel cupid's bow.
I could almost see his chest beneath the tan shirt he wore under a perfectly tailored charcoal-grey suit. And yet beneath it all, I caught the flicker of the boy I had loved—the one who had made me laugh, who had promised me the world without knowing how fragile we were.
"Elara," he called. Somehow, it sent goosebumps across my skin.
I straightened and inhaled deliberately. I was not going to look vulnerable. "Mr. Thorne," I said, my voice steady and precise. "Please, sit."
He moved to his seat.
"Still giving orders," he remarked
"You're in my space now," I said, clenching my jaw. "You will follow my rules."
Leo hesitated. From the moment I had stepped through the door in that red dress, I could tell he was captivated—every part of him drawn to me. His eyes lingered, his posture shifted. Slowly, he strode to the chair opposite my desk and sat down.
Once Leo was seated, I took my place opposite him.
His dossier had stated that he was to terminate his attachment to his past lover. Good Lord, he was smart enough to not include my name. It further noted his heartbreak has lasted over five years. Over five years? Mine had been longer—eight years. Eight drowning years.
I picked up my pen and opened my notebook. Looking into his eyes, I inquired "For the record, Mr. Thorne, state the definitive termination point of your attachment to… me."
"May 18th. 2:47 PM" He said, pausing. "The moment I realized you weren't coming to the hospital." His eyes, never leaving mine.
My throat tightened. I forced the words past the lump forming there "And the nature of that termination?"
"I ended it", he said simply. "By accepting that the woman I thought was my future was… a figment of my imagination. I terminated the fantasy ".
That struck me like a physical blow. "You call that closure?" I whispered, venom barely restrained. "You call eight years of silence, eight years of pain, eight years of sleepless nights and unanswered questions—a fantasy?"
Isn't that what you sell?" he countered, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "The idea that you can rewrite history? That you can cauterize a wound eight years old? It's all a beautiful, expensive fantasy, Elara. I'm buying the most exclusive version."
Wait—what? Call it what you will, but I was perplexed. Shocked. Did he think this was a joke? That he could walk in here and make a mockery of my work. Relax Elara, relax!
"Your primary emotion regarding this termination?" I demanded, my voice sharp and controlled.
"Regret," he said abruptly. "And fury. A fire in my chest. You can either decide to put it out or…." He leaned even closer. "You can pour gasoline on it. I don't care which." He leaned back, crossing his legs.
Pour gasoline on it? Oh, please— bring me the gasoline, because I've had enough of this man
"Our time is up," I snapped, standing.
Leo rose as well and came to my side of the desk. Before I could step back, he had crossed the distance between us and pinned my wrists against the wall. I could feel his hot breath against my cheek, carrying the faint scent of smoke and rain. I could feel the pulse beneath his fingers and hear the sound of my own unsteady breathing. The world narrowed to that single point of contact.
"You're more beautiful than I remember," he whispered.