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The rain fell in unrelenting sheets, turning the cobblestones of London’s East End into glistening rivers as Elias Voss stood outside the dimly lit pub, his gloved hand hovering over the door handle. For three years, he had avoided this place—avoided him—but the letter clutched in his coat pocket burned like a brand, its words searing through his resolve. “I need to see you. One last time.”

Inside, the air reeked of whiskey and smoke, the low hum of conversation punctuated by the clink of glasses. Elias’s gaze swept the room, and there he was: Silas Hale, sitting alone in their old corner booth, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight no one else could see. Time had softened the sharp edges of his jaw, streaked a few silver threads through his dark hair, but his eyes—those storm-gray eyes that had once held Elias’s entire world—were still as piercing as ever. They locked onto Elias’s immediately, and for a heartbeat, neither moved. The noise of the pub faded to a distant murmur, leaving only the thud of Elias’s heart in his ears.

Silas gestured for him to sit, his voice rough with disuse when he spoke. “You came.”

Elias slid into the booth, the leather seat cold beneath him. He set the letter on the table between them, the paper crumpled from being gripped too tight. “I had to. You never ask for anything.”

Silas’s fingers brushed the edge of the letter, but he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he stared into his half-empty glass, the amber liquid swirling as he traced the rim with his thumb. “Three years. You just… left.”

“I had no choice.” Elias’s voice was tight. He’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times, but now that he was face-to-face with Silas, all the carefully crafted explanations felt hollow. “You know what my family is like. They would have ruined you. Ruined us.”

“Ruined us?” Silas laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Elias, we were already ruined the moment we fell in love. The only difference is you ran from it. I stayed. I waited.”

Elias flinched as if struck. He’d known Silas would be angry, but the raw pain in his voice cut deeper than any insult. “Waited for what? For me to come back and pretend nothing happened? For your father to forgive us for daring to exist?” Silas’s father, a powerful industrialist with a vicious streak, had never hidden his hatred for Elias—for the “undesirable” artist who’d stolen his son’s heart. When he’d threatened to have Elias blacklisted from every gallery in Europe, to destroy his career before it even began, Elias had fled. He’d thought he was protecting Silas. Now, looking at him, he wondered if he’d only destroyed them both.

Silas leaned forward, his eyes glinting with rain and something darker. “I waited for you to fight. But you never did. You just… vanished. Left me with nothing but memories and a father who reminds me every day that I’m a disappointment.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you ever think about me? In those three years?”

Elias’s throat tightened. He thought about Silas every night—about the way he’d laugh when Elias painted him, about the warmth of his body against his on cold winter nights, about the promise they’d made to run away to Paris, to start a life where no one could judge them. “Every day,” he admitted, the words tearing free. “I never stopped. But I couldn’t come back. Not when your father’s threats still hung over us.”

Silas shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “You were always so busy protecting me that you forgot to ask what I wanted. I would have left with you. I would have given up everything. But you didn’t let me. You made the choice for both of us.”

The rain beat harder against the windows, as if mirroring the storm brewing between them. Elias reached across the table, wanting to touch Silas’s face, to wipe away the pain in his eyes, but Silas pulled back, his hand curling into a fist. “It’s too late, Elias. I’m engaged. To Clara Bennett. My father arranged it.”

Elias felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Clara Bennett—daughter of another wealthy industrialist, a woman Silas had once described as “pleasant enough, but not you.” “You can’t marry her,” he said, his voice urgent. “You don’t love her.”

Silas’s gaze hardened. “Love doesn’t matter anymore. Not after what you did. This is my life now. Safe. Respectable. No more secrets. No more… you.”

Elias stared at him, the weight of his mistake crashing down on him. He’d thought he was saving Silas, but he’d only pushed him into a life of quiet despair. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

Silas stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I do. Goodbye, Elias. Don’t contact me again.”

He walked away, his shoulders straight, not looking back. Elias sat there, frozen, as the pub’s noise swelled around him. He picked up his glass—whiskey he hadn’t touched—and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered, spraying amber liquid across the floor, but no o