Emma was waiting by the valet stand, their coats folded over her arm.

Noah stopped a few feet away. Forced his breathing to slow.

"There you are!" She turned. Her smile faded. "Noah? You okay?"

"Headache. Too many people."

The valet brought the car.

Emma drove. The city blurred past in streaks of gold and red. She was talking. Something about the party, the apartment, did he see so-and-so from Princeton.

Noah pressed his forehead against the window. Cool glass against overheated skin. In the reflection, his green eyes looked wild. Frightened. Hungry.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Her voice had gone soft. "If something was bothering you?"

"Just tired." The lie scraped his throat. "Long week."

She pulled up outside his building. The Hudson glinted beyond the glass towers, black water reflecting fractured light.

"Get some rest." She studied his face—those pretty features she loved to show off. "You look pale, baby."

"I love you," she said.

Those words used to mean something. Used to feel like safety.

"Love you too."

He kissed her. Quick. Lips barely making contact before he pulled back.

Her taillights disappeared down River Terrace.

Noah's apartment was dark. He didn't turn on the lights.

The door clicked shut behind him. He stood there, keys cutting into his palm from how hard he gripped them.

Silence pressed against his ears.

He made it three steps before his legs gave out.

Slid down the wall. The hardwood floor was cold through his trousers.

His reflection stared back from the dark windows—pale face, honey-colored curls sticking up where he'd run his hands through them. Green eyes too wide, too bright.

Atlas Sterlins—

The thought wouldn't complete. Kept stopping halfway, like hitting a wall his mind had built.

Atlas Sterlins is—

No.

He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

But the image was burned there. Atlas's back, muscles shifting in the half-light. That mouth working against skin. Those black eyes finding his through the gap and—

Noah's stomach clenched.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbled to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on his face. Once. Twice. Three times.

The mirror showed him the truth anyway. Flushed cheeks. Pupils still dilated. Lower lip swollen from biting it.

He looked—

Wrecked.

No. He looked tired. Just tired. It had been a long night. Too many people. Too much champagne.

That's all.

His phone buzzed.

Emma: You sleeping? Love you so much 💕

The words swam on the screen.

Three years. Safe. Normal. Everything exactly as it should be.

His thumb moved without thinking: Love you too

There. See? Normal.

He went to the bedroom. Lay on top of the covers fully dressed. Stared at the ceiling.

High school memories kept surfacing, uninvited:

Atlas in the locker room. Water running down his spine. Noah's eyes tracking the droplets before he'd force himself to look away. Just admiring his form. Athletes did that. Normal.

Atlas's hand on his shoulder after Noah's father had humiliated him at dinner. The weight of it. The warmth that had lingered for hours. Just comfort. Friends did that. Normal.

The way Noah always knew where Atlas was in a room. Like his body was a compass that only pointed one direction—

Stop.

He rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow.

Tomorrow there would be a meeting. Conference Room B. Two o'clock.

Both families. All the executives. Professional. Controlled.

Atlas would be there in his perfect suit with his perfect composure and nobody would mention—

Nobody would know that Noah had—

That he'd seen—

Nothing. You saw nothing.

His hands were shaking again. He pressed them flat against the mattress.

It was just shock. That's all. Surprise at seeing Atlas with—at seeing him—

At seeing something Noah hadn't expected.

That's all this was. Shock.

Not the other thing. Not the heat that had pooled low in his stomach. Not the way his body had responded, wanted to—

No.

He sat up. Grabbed his phone.

Calendar notification: "Wellin Enterprises - Sterlins Holdings Partnership Meeting. Tomorrow 2:00 PM. Conference Room B."

He stared at it until the words lost meaning.

Tomorrow Atlas would shake his hand again. Those black eyes would be professional, distant. They'd talk about quarterly projections and market strategies.

Nobody would mention tonight.

Nobody would mention that moment when Atlas had looked at him and mouthed that word—

Run.

A shiver went through him. Not fear. Something else. Something that made his skin feel too tight, made him hyperaware of every nerve ending.

He stood. Paced to the window.

The city sprawled below, all those lights, all those lives. Everyone out there knowing exactly who they were, what they wanted.

While Noah—

Noah had Emma. Noah had his job. Noah had Sunday dinners with his parents and a future mapped out in careful, safe lines.

Noah had everything he was supposed to want.

So why did his chest feel hollow? Why did his hands keep shaking? Why could he still smell cedar and leather even though Atlas hadn't touched him?

You're tired. You're confused. You saw something unexpected and you're processing it.

That's what this was. Processing.

By tomorrow it would fade. By next week it would be forgotten.

Atlas would go back to being Atlas Sterlins, business partner, son of his father's associate. Someone from school. Someone from before.

Not the Atlas from tonight.

Not the Atlas who'd taken what he wanted without apology, without hesitation.

Not the Atlas whose black eyes had promised things Noah didn't have words for.

Didn't want words for.

His reflection in the window looked ghostlike. Translucent. Like he might disappear if he stopped trying so hard to be solid.

Maybe that's what Atlas had meant with that look. That Noah was barely there. A sketch of a person. All careful lines and no color.

While Atlas—

Atlas was real in a way that made everything else look like pretense.

Stop thinking about him.

But his mind wouldn't listen. Kept circling back to that moment. Atlas's eyes finding his. Knowing he was there. Knowing he was watching.

Choosing to let him see.

Why?

The question lodged in his throat like glass.

Why had Atlas looked at him like that? What did it mean? What did he want?

Nothing. It meant nothing. He wants nothing from you.

Noah crawled into bed, still fully dressed. Pulled the covers up to his chin like armor.

Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he'd wake up and this strange, twisted feeling in his chest would be gone. Tomorrow he'd kiss Emma goodbye and go to work and sit across from Atlas in Conference Room B and everything would be exactly as it had always been.

Normal.

Safe.

Empty.

No. Not empty. Full. Your life is full.

But sleep wouldn't come.

Every time he closed his eyes, Atlas was there. Those black eyes burning into his. That mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile.

That word.

Run.

Like a command.

Like a promise.

Like Atlas already knew something about Noah that Noah didn't know about himself.

Couldn't know.

Wouldn't let himself know.

The clock on his nightstand glowed: 3:47 AM.

In ten hours, he'd be sitting across from Atlas in a conference room.

Professional. Composed. Normal.

Nobody would know that Noah had stood in that doorway. Nobody would know what he'd seen. What he'd felt.

What he'd wanted—

No.

He pressed his face harder into the pillow.

You didn't want anything.

You don't want anything.

You're Noah Wellin. You have Emma. You have your life exactly as it should be.

And Atlas Sterlins—

Atlas Sterlins is nobody to you.

The lie tasted like copper on his tongue.

But he swallowed it anyway.

Kept swallowing it, over and over, until the sun came up and painted his walls the color of blood and all the things he couldn't let himself name.