Page 41 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

I stir harder, jaw tightening. Don’t do this, Bryan. Just let it go.

But he doesn’t. “You’ve been quiet.” His voice is measured, like he’s feeling out his next words. “And I know when something’s wrong.”

Something about that makes my breath hitch. Because he does know. He always did. Back then, he’d read me like an open book before I even realized I was struggling. And that part of him hasn’t changed, no matter how much I pretend he doesn’t care.

I exhale sharply, forcing a humorless chuckle. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

I will not let him see how much he’s affecting me. Bryan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, I feel the tension rolling off him in waves, as if he’s trying to pick his next move. Then, quietly, he mutters, “Alright.”

But I don’t trust the way he says it. The spoon in my hand stills, and for the first time since he walked in, I risk a glance over my shoulder. And I instantly regret it.

His eyes are steady, sharp, knowing as they are locked onto mine, studying me in a way that makes my throat go dry. There’s something there, something unreadable but intense, like he’s peeling back the layers of my guarded silence.

It makes my stomach twist. It makes me want to run.

Buddy whines suddenly, breaking whatever moment had settled between us. I blink, jerking my gaze back to the pot, inhaling sharply.

Behind me, Bryan exhales, a rough sound. Then, stepping back, he again murmurs, “Alright.”

My heart jumps, something uncertain curling in my chest. He’s not letting this go. He never could.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, willing myself to push past the stupid sting of it all. When I open them, he’s already gone, his retreating footsteps echoing down the hall.

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It scares me that he still knows me so well despite the years apart.

Chapter twelve

Bryan

I step into the shelter, the sharp scent of bleach and damp fur filling my lungs as the familiar clatter of kennels echoes through the space. Volunteers shuffle around, feeding dogs, filling out paperwork, lost in their routine. But I only see her. Emma.

She’s crouched beside a wiry little mutt, her hands gentle as she checks its paws. Her ponytail swings forward, a loose strand brushing her cheek, and for a second, I forget why I’m here.

She looks up, startled, her gaze locking onto mine. A flicker of surprise crosses her face before she schools her expression into something neutral.

“Bryan?” Her voice is wary, as if she hadn’t expected to see me here. She straightens, dusting her hands on her jeans. “What are you doing here?”

I shift the box in my arms, nodding toward the storage room. “Brought some things for the animals. Supplies for the cages.”

Her lips press together, and she nods. “That’s… nice of you.”

Nice.

I don’t miss how distant her voice is, how she keeps her hands busy, her gaze flicking everywhere but me.

Three days. That’s how long she’s been acting like I don’t exist. Three days since that night in the kitchen when I’d caught her looking like she was carrying the weight of the world, and she refused to let me in. Three days of her walking around the house like a ghost, slipping in late, leaving early, avoiding any real conversation.

And I had let it slide. Until now. I set the box down with more force than necessary. “What’s with you?”

Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead, she grabs a clipboard off the counter and busies herself with reading except I can tell she’s not reading at all.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says flatly.

I exhale, trying to keep my patience. “You’ve been acting different. Avoiding me.”

She lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head as she jots something down on the clipboard. “I’ve been busy, Bryan.”

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Emma.”

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