Alton Cairn was the embodiment of success. At thirty-one, he had everything: a multinational empire under his command, a noble family name, a wife handpicked by prestigious bloodlines—gentle, composed, flawless. Even a handsome heir had been born from that union, the rightful bearer of the Cairn legacy.

To the public eye, he was perfect. Behind the scenes, his life was a symphony of order—elegant, cold, and untouchable.

But what people didn't know—or had simply forgotten—was that Alton had once loved like a man. Not like a CEO. Not like a legacy. But like a boy with too many dreams and not enough hands to hold them.

He used to be ordinary. A man who could laugh freely, fall asleep in his office chair with a girl curled up in his arms, dreaming of a small, quiet life with someone who never asked for too much. That someone was the woman who still haunted his sleepless nights.

Seven years younger. Clingy, loud, and annoyingly adorable in all the wrong moments. But her laugh was music. Her chatter was protection against every failure that loomed. When Alton was still clawing his way out of dust and debt, she was there. She saw it all—the rise, the fall, the silent prayers. She was the warmth when his world was too cold to survive.

Three years they spent together. Three chaotic, beautiful years. Three years where her presence was the reason he kept getting back up after each blow.

But time changed. Ambition devoured everything—especially them.

And one day, without a warning, she left. Not with tears. But with words sharp and final:

"I need to focus on my future. We're not on the same path anymore."

That message broke him in silence. He didn't chase. He didn't beg. He simply let himself harden. Whatever softness remained inside him... it withered. He refused to build another life that could be shattered by a clingy girl with big eyes.

Two years passed.

Now, Alton lived in a glass palace. Everything was polished, organized, flawless. His wife never argued. His child never cried too long. Dinners were warm. The bed was always made.

But Alton never laughed again.

Until the storm arrived in the form of a whispered headline.

She had returned from abroad. No longer a messy-haired girl, but a polished woman with a degree, heels, and a voice sharpened by boardrooms. Yet some things hadn't changed. Her smile. That mischievous gleam in her eyes. The way she walked—still too light for someone her age.

And as if fate wanted to play its cruelest card, they met again.

At a formal family event. Under chandeliers that rained down golden light, with the scent of luxury perfume in the air and the clink of champagne glasses echoing like music.

Across the grand ballroom, Alton's eyes locked onto hers.

She stood there, speaking politely to distant relatives. Her dress was graceful. Her lips painted in soft hues. But to Alton, time collapsed. He didn't see the adult. He saw his girl. The one who tied her hair lazily. Who used to curl up in his lap while he typed late into the night.

She was back. But not to return to his arms.

She was simply passing by—a ghost of the past forced to attend a sacred family gathering.

Alton stood still. On one side of the room, his wife laughed gently while holding their baby. On the other, she smiled, praised for her career, her education, her composure. As if nothing had happened between them. As if she wasn't the girl who used to cry in his hoodie, whispering fears about the future on his chest.

And when their eyes met...

There was no smile. No wave. Just silence. A silence that held a thousand words neither dared to say.

"Why did you come back... now, when I was finally learning how to breathe without you?" Alton whispered, breath caught in his throat.