

Till The HeartAches End

 

Chapter Fifteen: Losing Ground

(Ariadne Asselina Ildelfonso's POV)

I should have known better.

Agreeing to one drink was a mistake.

A calculated risk that I thought I could control.

But with Gavyn Del Herrera, control had always been an illusion.

The bar was dimly lit, tucked away in a quieter part of the city. It wasn’t the kind of place our colleagues would frequent, which was exactly why I agreed to it. The last thing I needed was Bella, Ahsirt, or Alexa watching us like we were the main event in a slow-burn romance they were waiting to explode.

No.

This wasn’t a date.

It wasn’t anything.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

But as I sat across from Gavyn, watching the way the warm light highlighted the sharp edges of his face, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the hint of veins on his forearms, the way his lips curled slightly as he studied me—

I realized I was already losing.

"Vodka tonic?" Gavyn guessed, signaling the bartender before I could order.

I narrowed my eyes. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Order for me like you still know my preferences."

His smirk deepened. "Do they still happen to be the same?"

I didn’t answer.

Because, of course, they were.

He knew me too well.

He always had.

And that was the problem.

The bartender placed the drink in front of me, and I took a slow sip, letting the cool liquid burn its way down my throat.

"You look like you want to say something," Gavyn mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

I exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I do."

I set my glass down with a deliberate clink and met his gaze.

"I don’t know what game you’re playing, Gavyn," I said quietly, "but I’m not going to fall into it."

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look surprised.

If anything, his expression softened—just a little.

"Ari, I’m not playing a game."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You always are."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"I used to be," he admitted. "But not with you. Not anymore."

Something in my chest tightened.

I looked away, staring at the rim of my glass. "That’s convenient."

His voice was calm, steady. "It’s the truth."

I hated the way my pulse reacted.

Hated the way I wanted to believe him.

But I couldn’t afford to.

I lifted my gaze again, forcing steel into my expression. "You had your chance, Gavyn. You chose to walk away. You don’t get to come back just because it’s convenient for you now."

His jaw tensed.

I could tell he wanted to argue.

That the old Gavyn—the one who never liked hearing ‘no’—was fighting to come out.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"I know," he murmured.

I blinked.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, gaze locked onto mine.

"I know I screwed up, Ariadne," he said, voice lower now. "I know I hurt you. I know I lost the right to ask for anything from you."

I swallowed hard, gripping my glass tightly.

"But I’m still going to," he continued. "Because the worst thing I ever did was let you go. And I’m not making that mistake again."

The air between us felt too thick.

Too charged.

Too dangerous.

I forced myself to scoff, to inject some kind of distance between us. "That’s a great speech, Gavyn. Very convincing. But you and I both know you don’t do real commitment."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "People change."

"Not you."

"Even me," he countered, a quiet certainty in his voice.

I shook my head, willing the tightness in my chest to ease. "This is pointless."

His eyes softened slightly. "Then why are you still here?"

I stilled.

Because he was right.

If I was really over him—if I really had no intention of letting him back in—I wouldn’t be sitting here.

I wouldn’t be drinking the vodka tonic he ordered for me.

I wouldn’t be leaning in just slightly, caught in the pull of his voice, his presence, him.

I was losing ground.

And I hated it.