The silence between them thickened, the air around them charged with an intensity neither could ignore. Christ felt the weight of her words settle in his chest, tightening like a fist around his heart. Sofia had acknowledged it, finally. The connection they both had spent so long denying was now exposed, laid bare between them, no longer something they could ignore or sweep under the rug of ambition and duty. His pulse quickened, though he maintained a calm exterior. This was the moment he had both feared and craved, and now that it was here, the next move felt perilous.

Sofia, for her part, had never been one to let emotion dictate her actions. She had spent years perfecting the art of control—of keeping her feelings locked away in the depths of her being, hidden behind a mask of indifference and strength. But something about Christ had always been different. He had a way of pulling her out of her carefully constructed armor, of igniting emotions in her that she didn't want to face. And now, sitting across from him, she felt the full force of that pull. The tension between them was a living, breathing thing, impossible to ignore.

She placed her glass down gently on the table, the soft clink of it breaking the silence between them. Her gaze remained steady on Christ's, but inside, she was a tempest of conflicting emotions. She had built an empire, carved a path for herself in a world that demanded strength and ruthlessness. And Christ, with his charm and calculated power, was both a mirror and a threat to everything she had worked for. Allowing herself to feel anything for him was dangerous. It meant opening herself up to vulnerability, to weakness. Yet here they were, staring down the edge of that very possibility.

"I should go," she said, her voice low but firm, though she made no move to leave.

Christ's jaw tightened. "You don't have to run every time things get real," he said, his words sharper than he intended. He regretted the harshness the moment they left his lips, but the truth was, he didn't want her to walk away. Not again. Not after everything they had been through.

Sofia flinched inwardly, though she kept her face impassive. She hated that he could get under her skin like this, hated that he knew exactly which buttons to push. But more than that, she hated the truth in his words. She *was* running. She had always been running—from him, from herself, from whatever it was that simmered between them and threatened to derail everything she had built. But running was what kept her safe, kept her from falling into the trap of emotions that could destroy everything.

"I'm not running," she replied, but even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow.

Christ leaned forward again, his voice soft but insistent. "Then stay. Let's stop pretending there's nothing here."

Sofia's breath hitched, and for a moment, she was tempted. Tempted to drop the walls she had spent so long building, to let herself feel, to acknowledge the truth that had been haunting both of them for months. But the fear of what that meant, of what it could cost, was too great.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Christ felt something inside him break at her words. He had expected this, of course. Sofia was nothing if not fiercely protective of her independence, of her control. But he had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that this time might be different—that she might let herself trust him, let herself feel something other than the cold detachment she clung to.

But she wasn't ready. And maybe she never would be.

He let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. "I understand," he said quietly, though his heart screamed otherwise. He *did* understand. He understood better than anyone the need for control, the fear of vulnerability. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

Sofia closed her eyes for a brief second, steeling herself. This was what she had to do. She couldn't afford to lose herself in him, not when there was so much at stake. She couldn't allow herself to be weak, to feel, to *want*. She opened her eyes and stood up, forcing herself to meet his gaze one last time.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice steady now. "I have to go." After giving an apologetic smile to Julie and feng hue sofia left leaving Julie flustered by not knowing the current situation.

Christ nodded, though his chest felt heavy with the weight of everything unsaid between them. "Take care, Sofia," he said, his voice low but sincere. It was the only thing he could say without breaking.

Without another word, Sofia turned and walked away, her footsteps soft but deliberate as she moved toward the exit. Each step felt like a victory and a defeat all at once—victory over the part of her that wanted to stay, defeat over the part of her that was breaking inside. She didn't look back.

As the door closed behind her, Christ sat in the silence, staring at the empty seat where she had been. He had always known this was a possibility—that she might never let him in, never allow herself to feel what he knew was there. But knowing didn't make it any easier. He had tried to play the long game, to give her space, to let her come to him in her own time. But maybe that time would never come.

The restaurant around him buzzed with life, but Christ felt strangely detached, as though he were watching it all from a distance. His mind raced, his thoughts a tangle of frustration, regret, and something else he couldn't quite name. The part of him that had spent years mastering control urged him to let it go, to bury it like he had buried so many other things before. But another part of him—the part that had been awakened by Sofia—refused to let it die so easily.

He didn't know what came next. He didn't know if there *would* be a next. But one thing was certain: Sofia had left a mark on him, one that couldn't easily be erased. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't just walk away from that.

Christ rose from his seat, gave a nod to feng hue before heading for the exit. The night air was cool against his skin as he stepped outside, but it did little to calm the fire raging inside him. He glanced down the street, wondering if she had already disappeared into the night, into the world she controlled so well.

He took a deep breath, the weight of the evening pressing down on him. He had played his hand, and now it was out of his control. All he could do was wait, to see if Sofia would ever stop running long enough to let herself feel what they both knew was there.

And maybe, just maybe, someday she would.