Charlotte's POV
It was a beautiful morning—sunlight poured through the tall glass windows of the hotel's restaurant, casting golden rays over crisp white linens and gleaming cutlery. The soft hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of dishes created a calm, almost soothing atmosphere.
But nothing about this morning felt calm to me.
Sitting across from Jack made my nerves feel like they were strung too tight, ready to snap at any moment. I couldn't stop fidgeting. My heart pounded relentlessly in my chest, echoing in my ears like a warning drum I couldn't silence.
And there he was.
So composed. So calm. Cutting into his breakfast like we hadn't shared something—like we weren't two people with a complicated, painful history woven between us. As if my presence was nothing more than background noise in his perfectly ordered world.
How?
How could he sit there so wholly unaffected?
Had he already moved on? Or—worse—had he never been affected at all?
