The study was cloaked in silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint scratching of a quill long set aside. Vladimir sat at his desk, the old leather-bound diary open before him like a portal to a time he could neither escape nor fully embrace. The wax candle beside him guttered with the occasional draft, throwing shifting shadows across his lined face, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion and sorrow.

His fingers lingered on the page, tracing the careful handwriting as though it might offer solace—or condemnation. His breath caught as he read the words he had written years ago, the confession inked with the full force of his grief.

"Selene... my Selene... You were the first light in my darkest days. I never knew peace until you came into my life. I loved you with all the fierceness my heart could hold. Even now, I feel your warmth whenever I close my eyes."

The corners of his eyes brimmed with tears, glistening like dew caught in the pale moonlight. His jaw tightened as he forced the memories to remain locked away, but the page was a cruel trigger that pulled them from the depths of his soul.

His lips trembled as he continued reading.

"That day... that wretched day. I left the file on the desk. How could I be so careless? You answered my call without hesitation, without complaint—as always. You rushed home to bring it to me. But fate... fate struck you down at the crossing. I was not there. I should have protected you. I failed you. Forgive me."

A strangled breath escaped him. His eyes blurred as the letters melted into darkness. He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm.

He saw it all with horrifying clarity—the frantic call, the red smear on the pavement, the ambulance lights dancing uselessly in the rain-soaked streets. He remembered standing at the hospital entrance, numb with disbelief, as doctors shook their heads. He remembered the coffin, the whispers of condolences, the way silence screamed louder than grief.

His lips parted in a silent sob.

"I should have been there. I should have held you. I should have... done more."

The diary trembled in his hands as his entire being reeled from the weight of his failure. His eyes lifted to the flickering candle once more, but his vision was blurred with tears.

He had promised himself to never love again, never to let another face haunt him with the same intensity. Yet the universe had other plans. It had brought another into his life—one whose eyes, whose smile, whose quiet presence stirred that same ache deep within him.

He shut his eyes, his face twisting with regret. He pressed the diary closed, fingers lingering on the embossed leather cover as though to hold back the pain.

"Selene... why couldn't you have stayed?" he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of years of sorrow.

He did not realize that behind him, in the shadowed doorway, another figure stood silently—watching, listening, bearing witness to the unraveling of a man's soul. The soft rustle of fabric went unnoticed, the shallow breath unheard. His grief enveloped the room, thick and suffocating, while the presence behind him remained unseen—waiting.