"Hello," she says politely, and I'm sure my eyes are the size of saucers.

Oh. My. God.

"Oh, hi!" I finally manage to stammer, my voice unnaturally high-pitched as I take in her flawless skin, perfect figure, glossy hair, and those plump, model-perfect lips. I must be staring too hard because she shifts slightly, subtly standing behind the door as if realizing her negligee might be a bit too revealing. Not that it matters—models are said to be comfortable in their own skin, right?

Do you think she'd remember me if I just ran away right now? Like Speedy Gonzalez, fastest mouse in all of Mexico? Yeah? OK then. Bye.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice smooth, pleasant.

I nod, shaking my head at the same time, a strange, broken smile on my lips as I internally scream at my own stupidity.

"Uh—yeah. Yes. Is Harry here?" I pause, suddenly second-guessing everything. "He... he doesn't know I'm coming," I add, shaking my head like an idiot. "We're friends. We... uh... he doesn't know I'm here. Maybe I should come another time? He doesn't know."

Oh, for fuck's sake, Ella.

Why am I repeating myself? Why can't I form coherent sentences? And why, out of all the words in the English language, did I have to introduce her to herself?

"You're Nadine. Nadine Leopold."

Yes, Ella, she fucking knows her own name. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

"Maybe I should just go," I mumble, my brain short-circuiting from embarrassment. "Obviously, he's preoccupied, and it's fine. Totally fine. We're just friends. He doesn't know."

I want to die. Right here, right now. Just shrink into nothingness before I embarrass myself any further.

But she smiles.

She smiles.

And—oh God—it's warm and genuine and nice. Of course she's nice. Because it's not enough for her to be drop-dead gorgeous—she has to be kind too.

"Nonsense, come in," she says, stepping aside. "He's in the shower. I'll let him know you're here."

And just like that, my stomach plummets to the floor.

He's in the shower.

I just walked in after they had sex.

Kill me. Just kill me.

My feet feel glued to the ground, but before I can decide between fleeing or fainting, she adds, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart? Sweetheart?!

She's the sun and the moon put together, and now she's calling me sweetheart?! Damn her. Damn her perfect everything.

I really hope she's terrible in bed. Like, so bad that Harry has to fake it every time. That's the only way this situation would be even remotely fair. But let's be real—with a body like that, she probably just has to exist and men would lose their minds. Hell, I'd probably lose my mind if I wasn't currently trying to hold myself together.

"Ella," I manage, my voice weak. "My name is Ella. I'm Ella, but it's OK, I'll just go—"

"No, no, come in," she insists. "Have a seat. Make yourself at home."

 I hesitate, but step inside, my eyes scanning the apartment. It's beautiful, sleek but warm. The furniture is modern, a mix of deep colors and soft lighting. There are black-and-white photos of Harry on the walls—some with Liam, ones I recognize from my research on Alessandro. A fireplace sits across from a plush white sofa, with a thick, inviting carpet in front of it. Books, magazines, and candles are neatly arranged on shelves.

This isn't just his place.

It's theirs.

"I'll be inside," Nadine says, now wrapped in an oversized cardigan. Maybe my awkwardness did make her feel uncomfortable. "Harry will be right out."

I nod, forcing a polite smile as she disappears down the hall.

The realization hits me like a brick to the chest.

She's living here.

I sit at the edge of the sofa, feeling small, insignificant. I should leave. I should leave.

And then—

"El... Ella?"

My breath catches.

His voice.

It's warm and soft and so heartbreakingly familiar. I swallow thickly, turning around slowly.

There he is.

Harry.

Standing in the hallway, damp hair curling at the ends, wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, light stubble covering his jaw. His eyes—greener than I remember—hold a thousand unspoken things.

He's gorgeous.

And he's no longer mine.

"Harry?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, smiling as he steps forward, his arms already outstretched.

"Surprise," I say weakly, feeling like an idiot as he crushes me into his embrace.

For a moment, I let myself feel it.

The warmth of his arms. The familiarity of his scent. The way he always held me like I was something precious.

"Oh my God, Ella, I missed you so much," he breathes, his grip tightening.

"I missed you too, Harry," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He finally pulls back, his hands still on my arms, his eyes drinking me in like he's trying to memorize me.

"Let me look at you," he murmurs, turning me slightly, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. "God, you look incredible, bab—"

He stops himself, correcting mid-word.

"El," he finishes, shaking his head.

I smile, unable to help it. He subtly leans in, sniffing my hair like he always used to, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

"You smell like home, El."

My heart clenches painfully.

"I missed you too, Harry. Or should I say Hazza?" I tease lightly, trying to keep things from spiraling.

He groans. "Not you too, Ella."

I watch as he drags an armchair in front of me, just like he used to. I glance toward the hallway, dreading the moment Nadine returns—because then, this illusion, this little bubble, will burst.

"What are you doing here?" he asks again, this time softer, his fingers brushing mine without hesitation.

I let him. Just for a moment.

"I came here to get an interview," I say quietly.

"An interview?" He raises a brow. "For who? Nadine?"

Stab me in the heart, why don't you?

"No, for Alessandro. I'm working for Teen Vogue this summer."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, really? That's amazing, El! Well done!"

I nod, offering a small smile. "Actually, I'm majoring in fashion journalism now."

His smile falters slightly, and a faint blush dusts his cheeks. "Yeah? Why?"

I shrug, looking down. "It's interesting, I guess."

He tilts his head, studying me. "How have you been? Want to grab a coffee?"

I hesitate. "I don't know. I mean, I did just show up uninvited. Don't you have plans?"

"What? No," he says quickly. "It's not every day someone from home shows up."

I bite my lip, forcing myself to ask, "Won't Nadine mind?"

He waves it off. "Nad? She has a shoot soon, I think."

It's so casual.

"God, you look incredible, El," he murmurs again, his gaze lingering.

And then, his eyes land on my left hand.

"Oh? What's this?" His fingers gently trace the tiny design inked on my skin. "A tattoo?"

I instinctively pull my hand back, gripping my bag tighter.

"What is it?" he presses, reaching for my wrist.

I swallow. "It's... it's a moon."

He stares at it.

Then back at me.

A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.

And just like that, I know he understands exactly what it means.

We talk like our lives depend on it, like not a single day has passed since we last saw each other.

I tell him everything—about Jimmy's ridiculous antics, the latest drama with Chrys and Ed, how their relationship ended but their friendship somehow survived. He already knows about it, of course. Ed keeps in touch with him regularly, something I wasn't aware of until now.

He asks about Gemma and Natalie, about Niall, and whether he's taking care of them. His protective side shines through even from across an ocean.

"He's more than good, Harry," I reassure him. "He's fantastic with them. I think Natalie has him wrapped around her tiny little finger."

He chuckles, nodding approvingly. "Good. That's how it should be."

Then it's his turn. He tells me about his life here, about working with Alessandro, about the whirlwind of fashion, travel, and photoshoots. And that's when I admit it—I tell him how I used his name to get the Teen Vogue gig.

He doesn't mind. Not even a little.

In fact, he seems happy about it. He leans back in his chair, grinning as he shakes his head. "So, I helped you out even without knowing it, huh?"

"You did," I smile, grateful. "And I'm really, really thankful, Harry."

"You don't have to thank me, El." His voice is soft, sincere. "If anything, I'm proud of you. You belong in this world more than you know."

I swallow hard, feeling that familiar warmth creep into my chest. He's always had this way of making me feel like I mattered. Like I could be something.

He even suggests a few contacts that might help me in my career, names I scribble down in my notes. We talk and talk, conversation flowing effortlessly, just like before. The cups on our table pile up—one coffee, then tea, then another tea.

But eventually, I know.

It's time to go.

I glance at the clock and feel the weight of reality settling back onto my shoulders. He has a life here now. And a girl waiting for him back at home.

"Nadine seems nice," I say suddenly, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

Harry studies me for a moment, like he's trying to read between the lines.

"Yeah," he says finally. "She's nice."

His voice is neutral, but his eyes stay on me, waiting—expecting—for something more. But I don't give him anything. I won't.

Instead, I force a bright tone and switch topics. "Sylvia says she misses you and that you should call her sometime."

That catches him off guard. His brows lift slightly, thrown off by the sudden shift.

"Her hair's longer now," I add. "And she dyed it light blue."

He blinks. "Noooo," he groans. "Got a picture?"

I grin, unlocking my phone and scrolling through my gallery. "Yeah, hang on... here. Look at this masterpiece."

I hand him my phone, the screen displaying a picture of Sylvia sandwiched between Chase and me. Sylvia's grinning, her electric-blue hair wild and untamed.

At first, Harry smiles. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone.

The small crinkles at the corners of his eyes disappear. His lips press together, his entire posture stiffening like he's about to address the damn parliament or something.

He hands the phone back to me without breaking eye contact.

"So..." His voice is different now. Tense.

"Since when are you dating Chase?"

The question lands like a punch to my gut.