Lucas never meant for it to happen.
At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he eased his car to a stop by the sidewalk café across from Vale Tower. He'd only noticed the place recently—and only because Evelyn had shown up there twice in the last week.
She wasn't waiting for anyone.
She wasn't killing time.
She was just living.
He spotted her through the window, sitting alone in a corner, sunlight slipping through the striped awning and catching in her hair. She was focused on her tablet—composed, calm. There was a coffee cup next to her, untouched, steam curling quietly above it.
She looked... settled.
That realization twisted something sharp inside his chest.
Lucas glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Suit crisp, face unreadable—everything exactly in place. He got out, crossed the street. Every step was controlled, measured.
This wasn't about desperation.
This was logic.
That's what he kept telling himself as he pushed open the café door.
The bell gave a soft chime.
Evelyn looked up.
Their eyes met, and for a second, something flickered in her expression—not shock, not anger. Just recognition.
Then it was gone.
She turned back to her tablet.
Lucas paused a few feet from her table.
"Evelyn."
She didn't answer right away.
He noticed it then—how she seemed different. Not smaller, not worn down. Just... separate. Like there was a line between them that hadn't been there before.
"Yes?" she said finally. Polite, neutral.
That stung more than anger ever could.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said.
She barely glanced up. "That makes sense. You don't usually notice cafés."
A quick jab, but she wasn't cruel about it.
Lucas let it slide. "Mind if I sit?"
Evelyn glanced at the empty chair, then at him.
"I'm actually just about to leave."
Still, she didn't move.
He felt her refusal land—clean, not unkind.
"I won't take much of your time," he said. "I just wanted to talk."
She studied him. Not searching for emotion, just weighing him.
"Five minutes," she said. "That's all."
He sat.
For the first time since the divorce, it was just the two of them. No lawyers, no assistants, no scripts.
Silence stretched between them.
Lucas realized he had no idea where to start.
"You've been busy," he finally said. "I've heard about your projects."
Evelyn nodded. "I imagine you have."
"That foundation proposal—"
"I'm not with the Vale Foundation anymore," she interrupted, gentle but firm. "I'm working independently now."
She made her point, clear as day.
Lucas nodded back. "Right."
Another silence.
He cleared his throat. "You haven't answered my calls."
"No."
No apology, no explanation.
He shifted in his seat. "I wanted to make sure you're settling in."
"I am."
"Good."
The word sounded empty as soon as he said it.
Evelyn picked up her coffee, took a sip, set it down again. Every move slow, deliberate.
"Is there something specific you want, Lucas?" she asked. "Or is this just about reassurance?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You've always liked reassurance," she said, voice steady. "Knowing things are fine. That everything's under control."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"And? Is it?" she pressed.
Lucas opened his mouth—
Then shut it again.
For once, the automatic "yes" just felt wrong.
"I didn't realize you were so... dissatisfied," he said instead.
Evelyn gave a faint smile.
"That's exactly the problem."
She said it softly, but it hit harder than any argument.
"I waited for you to notice," she went on. "Waited for you to ask. To care enough to be curious."
She leaned back. "You never did."
Lucas stiffened. "I gave you everything you needed."
"No," Evelyn said, calm as ever. "You gave me everything you thought should be enough."
He met her eyes, irritation flaring. "And you never said it wasn't."
"I tried," she said. "But you were always busy."
The truth of it stung. He couldn't argue.
That memory hurt because it was true.
Lucas let out a slow breath. "I never thought we'd end up here."
Evelyn met his eyes. "That's because you never thought I'd actually leave."
She didn't sound angry—just honest.
Around them, the café kept going—cups clinking, people talking, life carrying on like nothing was happening.
Her words landed hard. Lucas felt it. He looked down. "I'm trying to get it," he said, voice low.
Evelyn tipped her head, studying him. "Are you really?"
"I am."
"Then listen," she said. "I didn't leave because of gossip. Or just neglect. I left because I realized I'd become invisible to the one person who swore he saw me."
Five minutes. That's all they had.
Lucas leaned in, desperate. "Evelyn, I—"
She lifted her hand, stopping him before he could finish.
"Don't," she said, gentle but firm. "Not yet."
He froze.
"I'm not mad," she went on. "But I'm not going to open up old wounds just to make you feel better about the silence."
Her eyes softened, only a little.
"If you want to talk to me again," she said, "do it when you're ready to really listen. Not when you're just trying to fix things on your terms."
She picked up her bag, standing to leave.
Lucas stood too, out of habit. "So that's it?"
"For today," Evelyn said.
She paused and looked at him. No anger. No longing. Just clear.
"I've learned how to walk away," she said. "And I'm not going to forget that for anyone."
She turned and left the café.
Lucas stared at the empty chair, feeling its quiet accusation.
The bell over the door gave a soft chime as she disappeared outside.
For the first time, the truth hit him—sharp and real.
This wasn't some misunderstanding.
This was the fallout.
And if he ever wanted a chance to win her back, words wouldn't be enough. Not anymore.