Elena POV
I bad retreated to a diner across town, seeking the anonymity of a corner booth.
I was nursing a burger.
Alone.
My phone rang, shattering the grease-scented quiet.
Dante.
I let it ring.
It rang again. And again. A persistent, demanding trill that refused to be ignored.
A male colleague, Mark from accounting, happened to be walking past my table on his way out.
"Is that your phone?" he asked, pausing with an amused smirk.
I nodded, staring at the screen.
"It's annoying," he laughed, clearly mistaking our work proximity for friendship.
Before I could react, he reached over and snatched it off the table.
"Hello?" Mark said cheerfully, answering for me like it was a joke.
The silence on the other end was heavy, instantly suffocating the air between us.
"Who is this?" Dante's voice was absolute ice.
"Uh, Mark. From accounting," Mark stammered, his smile faltering. "Who is this?"
"Put Elena on the phone. Now. Or I will cut your tongue out."
Mark drained of all color.
He handed me the phone like it was a live grenade, his fingers trembling.
"It's... for you."
I pressed the phone to my ear.
"Where are you?" Dante demanded.
"Eating."
"With a man?"
"He's just a colleague, Dante."
"Send me your location. I'm coming to get you."
"I'm fine, Dante. I don't need—"
"Send it. Now."
The command brooked no argument. I sent the pin.
And then, I waited.
I finished my burger, every bite tasting like ash.
I finished my fries, watching the clock on the wall tick forward.
The diner closed at 11:30. The staff began stacking chairs around me.
He never came.
With a sinking feeling in my gut, I checked Instagram.
Sofia had posted a story just minutes ago.
It was a photo of a hospital wristband.
The caption read: My hero never leaves my side.
The realization hit me harder than the silence.
He wasn't coming.
He was never coming.
I stood up, leaving the empty plate behind, and went home.
