Chapter 214: This Time, I Have No Regrets…

The room is dark, save for the dim, flickering light of the projector casting pale shapes across the long glass conference table. The beam catches dust motes drifting in the still air, turning them into tiny, wandering stars.

Everyone is silent—the staff sitting rigid in their chairs, their suits immaculate, their faces half-illuminated, half-lost in shadow. One of them stands at the front, droning on about metrics and timelines, her voice a distant hum beneath the weight of my thoughts.

Words that should matter. Words that usually command my focus. But tonight, they slide off me like water.

I sit at the head of the table, my posture straight, my hands resting on the polished surface beneath cool, recessed lighting. My eyes are fixed on the screen—charts and graphs, projections and targets—but my mind is somewhere else entirely. It’s been wandering all day, restless, unable to settle.

Since morning, I haven’t seen Deniz.

I don’t know where he is. He sent a single text: Something urgent came up. I’ll be late.

No explanation. No details. Just those words—flat and hurried, unlike him.

I read it once, twice, three times, searching between the lines for something more. There was nothing.

I waited.

The whole day, I waited—expecting him to walk through the door at any moment, an apology on his lips, that soft smile that makes everything feel okay.

Every time the door opened, every footstep in the hallway… I thought it was him. But he didn’t come.

I texted him—no reply. I called—straight to voicemail.

He’s never done this before. Never disappeared without a trace.

Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe it’s something important. I shouldn’t overthink.

But I do. I always do.

I glance at the empty chair beside me—the one where he always sits during meetings.

Close enough that I could breathe easier, just knowing he was there. Close enough for our shoulders to nearly touch. Close enough for our hands to meet beneath the table, hidden from everyone else.

I remember how his fingers would find mine in the middle of presentations—how he’d squeeze gently, a quiet language spoken in pressure and warmth.

I remember the way he would glance at me from the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips, before turning back to his notes as if nothing had happened.

A soft smile touches my own lips at the memory.

“President?”

I blink.

The smile fades. I push the thoughts away and look forward, forcing my attention back to the present.

The staff member standing before me sets a file on the table. Her hands are steady, her posture perfect—but there’s a flicker of nervousness in her eyes.

“We just need your approval,” she says.

I glance down at the file, then back at her. The words blur together—I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t catch a single detail of the project. Not one.

I stand abruptly, my chair sliding back against the floor.

The lights flick on, flooding the room with harsh brightness. Everyone rises at once—straightening their posture, adjusting their ties, smoothing their skirts.

I smooth my own coat, my voice calm. Final. “Send the proposals to my office. I’ll review them later.”

They nod in unison, a chorus of “Yes, President” following me as I turn.

I walk toward the door. A staff member steps forward quickly, pulling it open. I step out into the hallway. The door closes behind me with a soft, definitive click.

And just like that— the restraint snaps.

I can’t wait any longer. I need him. I’m going to find Deniz.

I push open my office door and step inside. Cool, filtered light spills across the space, catching on glass and steel. The air carries a faint note of lavender—subtle, expensive, carefully controlled.

I pull out my phone, my fingers finding his contact without thought.

The line rings once.

Twice.

“Hello?”

A soft smile spreads across my lips at the sound of his voice. Just his voice—that warm, steady cadence—is enough to make everything feel right. The tension in my shoulders eases. The knot in my chest loosens.

“Where are you?” My voice is softer than I intended.

“I’m on my way,” he says. A pause. A thread of apology slips into his tone. “I’m sorry, Zyren. I was busy—that’s why I didn’t reply to your texts.”

“Come quickly.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Okay.”

The call ends.

I set the phone on the table, my fingers lingering on the screen a moment longer than necessary.

He sounded like he was caught up in something. Something important…. Was it really that urgent?

My eyes drift to the calendar on my desk—a sleek display embedded into the surface, the dates marked in sharp red.

A reminder I can’t escape.

Three days.

My heat cycle starts in three days.

And I still don’t know what I’m going to do. I turn and walk to the glass wall, my reflection ghosting across its surface.

The city stretches beneath me—a sea of lights scattered like jewels across the dark velvet of night. Cars move in slow rivers, headlights slicing through the darkness. People go on with their lives, untouched by the weight pressing down on my chest.

Since the day I was discharged, I haven’t contacted Dr. Liea. She tried to reach me. More than once. Called me herself. But I don’t have the courage to answer.

Because I already know what she’ll say. The same words. The same advice. The same impossible choice.

I don’t want to do this.

I press my palm against the cold glass, feeling the faint vibration of the city humming through the building. A barrier between me and the world outside.

It might be better… to just let things happen. The thought comes quietly—without drama, without fear.

This time, I have no regrets.

I’ve received so much love. More than I ever thought I deserved. Angel—staying up late to eat cake with me, laughing until our stomachs hurt and tears streamed down our faces.

Moon—throwing tantrums like a petulant child, his presence filling every room, his laughter lingering long after he was gone.

Mr. David—sitting in his hospital bed, sharing sweet stories about his son’s childhood, his eyes bright with pride and memory.

And Deniz.

His love.

Every moment we spent together—every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every quiet morning waking up in his arms.

All of it made my life feel real. Precious. Worth living.

I look down at my hand—the silver ring catching the city lights.

The moment he proposed. The way his voice trembled. The way his eyes held mine, full of hope and something softer—something afraid.

I remember everything.

The weight of the ring. The warmth of his hands. The way the world seemed to stop.. and then begin again. The moment everything changed.

I’ve received enough love. These moments… they’re enough for me.

My eyes grow bright, catching the city lights. A smile touches my lips—soft, sad, fleeting. Then arms slide around my waist.

A familiar chest presses against my back. Warm. Solid. His.

I know the weight of him—the shape of his hold, the way he gathers me in like I’m something fragile. Something precious.

I don’t flinch. I’m not startled.

Because I know it’s him.

I quickly wipe the corner of my eye, brushing away the wetness before he can see. Then I lift my gaze to the glass.

His reflection meets mine—his chin resting lightly on my shoulder, his eyes soft with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

His dark hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. Shadows rest beneath his eyes—evidence of a long day.

“Did I make you wait long?” he asks quietly.

I nod. I don’t trust my voice.

“I’m sorry.” His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer. “Please forgive me.”

“No…”

His hold firms—just a little. A quiet insistence. “Please… forgive me.”

I reach down and ease his hands from my waist, turning within his arms to face him.

The city lights halo his head—golden, soft—and in the darkness of the office, he looks almost unreal. Like something out of a dream.

I lift my gaze to his eyes. “I forgive you.”

My hand rises, tracing his cheek lightly, his skin warm and soft beneath my fingertips. “If you want me to forgive you,” I say softly, “do something for me.”

He nods immediately, eager—almost too quick. “Anything. What do you want?”

I hold his gaze, letting him see the weight of what I’m about to ask. “Spend the next two days with me.”

A pause.

“No work. No distractions.”

“Just us.”

He blinks, confusion flickering across his face.

“Zyren—”

I press my finger gently to his lips.

“Shh.”

The word lingers between us. “Do you agree?”

He watches me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine—questioning, uncertain.

Then, slowly… he nods. His eyes never leave mine. A soft smile touches my lips.

Two days. Just us.

Because time is a thief… and I have so little left.

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