The loft is quiet.

The kind of quiet that fills the spaces between thoughts, thick and suffocating, as though the world has taken a breath and never exhaled.

I sit in the dark, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching the windows. The lights in the apartment flicker occasionally, casting shadows that dance like ghosts on the walls. But it's nothing compared to the silence inside my head.

I've been waiting for her.

It's been days. Weeks. Time has blurred into something unrecognizable, like the stale air in a room that's been shut for too long. I don't remember when the silence started, when it first became unbearable, but I can feel it now.

I glance at my phone. Nothing.

She hasn't replied to any of my messages. No calls. No visits. No signs of life.

She's gone.

But why?

Did I push her too far? No. I don't believe that. She knew what I was doing. She knew what it meant. She knew how much I could offer. How much I was offering. She must have felt it too. She must have known, deep down, that we were destined for this.

She was mine. She always was.

I let out a slow breath, the tension in my chest easing ever so slightly. It's not over. I know it's not.

I can feel her presence. It's there, like an echo in the air. Even though she's not here, I know she's close. I can feel her. I've always been able to feel her.

Her resistance was never truly resistance. It was a test. A game. And I knew the rules better than anyone. I just needed time. Time for her to realize it. Time for her to understand what we had.

I think of her face, her eyes, the way she looked at me with that subtle mix of defiance and longing. She knew it. She knew all along.

She knew.

I stand up, walking across the room slowly, deliberately, as though I'm walking in a trance. I reach for the glass of whiskey on the table, the amber liquid swirling inside as I lift it to my lips. The burn slides down my throat, and for a brief moment, I feel the rush of heat spread through me. But it fades quickly.

The silence is still there.

I sit back down, taking another slow sip. There's a finality to it, a stillness that feels like the end of something, but also the beginning of something else. Something that I've been preparing for all along.

I smile. It's a small, almost imperceptible curve of my lips, but it's there. It's the kind of smile that only someone who has everything figured out can wear. I've been here before. I've been in the quiet. I've been in the dark. And I've always come out on top.

She knew it always.

She knew who I was, what I could do. She knew how this would play out.

She's out there somewhere. I know that. And one day, when the time is right, she'll come back.

She will. I've made sure of it.

For now, though, it's just silence. The kind that settles in your bones, thick and suffocating, like it's made of something much darker than air.

But I don't mind it. Not really.

I don't mind the silence. Because in the end, it's always been mine to control.