The elevator ride down from the rooftop felt like descending into hell. Neither of us spoke.
Damien stood beside me, shoulders rigid, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle ticking. The ring box was back in his pocket. I kept replaying the moment, him on one knee, eyes full of hope, the perfect ring catching the city lights. My heart had screamed yes. My mouth had said no.
I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t lie to him, not about this.
When the doors opened into the private lobby, Damien placed a hand on my lower back out of habit, guiding me toward the waiting car. The touch was gentle, but there was tension in his fingers. Like he was holding himself back from saying everything he wanted to scream.
We slid into the backseat. The driver didn’t ask questions. As the car pulled aw
