Leonhart stared at the photo, jaw tight, thumb hovering over the screen.
It wasn't just a photo. It was a warning. A reminder. A power play.
He deleted it without replying.
But the silence didn't ease the tension coiling in his chest.
The moment he stepped into his penthouse, the air felt heavier. He poured himself a drink, though it tasted like metal on his tongue. Elian had always known how to make a statement—and Leonhart hated how part of him still felt the echo of that old pull.
A part of him remembered the warmth of that bed. The sound of silk slipping to the floor. The lies whispered like lullabies.
He turned off his phone and opened the balcony doors, letting the cold air bite into his skin.
He needed clarity.
---
Meanwhile, Elian scrolled through his own gallery of old photos, frowning. No response. Not even a read receipt.
He flopped onto the bed and muttered, "Don't tell me you actually grew a spine."
He'd expected anger. A demand to meet. A punishment, even. But Leonhart's silence? That stung more than he wanted to admit.
He didn't want Leonhart back out of love. He wanted to win. To prove that even when thrown away, he could still drag the man back to him.
His phone buzzed. But it wasn't Leonhart.
It was a tagged story on social media. From Kevin's café. Elian tapped it open.
A selfie of Kevin with flour in his hair and the caption:
> "Burnt three muffins. Leonhart says that's a record. ☕🧁"
Elian's lips curled downward.
So he was still around. Still close.
But cute smiles and small talk wouldn't last forever.
Leonhart would eventually grow bored. That's when Elian would strike.
---
Later that night, Kevin received a package outside his café door. A small white box, no label, no sender.
He opened it curiously.
Inside: one of his café's signature cupcakes… smashed.
And a note:
> "Even sweet things spoil eventually. Don't get too comfortable."
Kevin froze.
He didn't need to ask who sent it.