Chapter 4

Ryan walked up to the table and stopped.

Adam looked up, all polite. "Who are you?"

Ryan ignored him completely, eyes locked on me. "Come with me."

Three words, same vibe as his usual replies.

Just an order. No explanation.

Back then, I would've stood up right away.

I would've worried about making a scene, about him losing face, would've quickly apologized to the guy sitting across from me, and then let Ryan drag me out.

Everyone would've said, "Look, there goes Vivian, running after Ryan again."

But this time, I stayed put.

"Ryan," I said, "are you stalking me?"

"I'm taking you home," he said.

"Stop making a scene," he added.

"Stop making a scene", that was his go-to line.

Every time I tried to have a real conversation, he'd just shut me down with those words, like everything I said was just me being clingy or acting cute.

Adam stood up, stepping between us. "Sir, we're in the middle of a conversation. If you and Miss Joyce have something personal to discuss, please take it elsewhere. Don't disturb the other guests."

Ryan finally glanced at him, his eyes full of scrutiny and disdain. "She's mine."

"She's my date today," Adam said, calm and unflustered.

"Whether she's 'yours' or not, that's up to her."

Both of them turned to look at me.

I got to my feet, slow and steady.

I stepped right up to Ryan.

For the first time in all these years, I faced him this close, cool and collected.

"Ryan," I said, "in six years, you've never once claimed me as yours in front of anyone.

"When Eric said I was throwing myself at you, you kept quiet. When people called me Mrs. Lewis just to mock me, you stayed silent. The only time you ever say I'm yours is when I'm walking away."

His lips parted, but no words came out.

"You only say 'she's mine' now," I said quietly, "not because I am, but because I'm about to stop being yours."

The restaurant went dead quiet, and everyone at the nearby tables was watching.

I knew exactly what Ryan was most afraid of.

He was terrified of losing control, of being embarrassed, of anyone seeing him when he was at his lowest.

That bathroom six years ago was the lowest point of his life, and he'd buried it so deep. No one would ever find it.

But right now, he was losing control in front of a crowd of strangers.

His face went pale, sweat breaking out at his temples.

I knew that look all too well. Whenever he couldn't hold it together, his body would give out first, his face draining of color.

My heart gave a jolt; after six years, that old reflex to run to him almost kicked in again.

But I made myself let go.

"You should go home," I said to Ryan.

"Take care of yourself," I added.

Then I turned to Adam. "Sorry, let's end it here for today. Next time, dinner's on me."

Adam nodded, didn't press for anything else, and just gave Ryan a look, a look of understanding one recognized right away.

I walked out of the restaurant.

This time, Ryan didn't reach for me.

I sat at the bus stop for a long time.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. It was all him.

I didn't even bother to look at any of them.

On the third day, Eric called me.

"Vivian," he barked, his voice full of accusation. "What the hell did you do to Ryan? He hasn't slept for two days, and last night he straight-up collapsed in the middle of a meeting, had to be rushed to the hospital.

"Nice going, huh? Six years chasing after him, and the second you let go, he just crashes. Seriously, do you even care?"

I stood on the balcony, phone in hand, letting the evening breeze wash over me.

"Which hospital is he at?" I asked.

"You've got some nerve even asking!" Eric snapped.

"If you still have a shred of conscience, get over here right now. He won't listen to anyone, and he just keeps asking for you, over and over."

I hung up.

I stood out on the balcony, my hands sweaty.

That thread that had kept me tied to him for six years was pulled so tight. I could almost feel it dragging me back.