The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
Malik leaned back in his chair, the unopened USB drive resting beside his laptop.
He let his head tilt against the chair's leather back, eyes slipping closed for a moment.
Memory—
uninvited and unwelcome—
came rushing in.
They had met at a university fundraising gala.
He remembered the glint of chandeliers overhead,
the muted hum of a jazz quartet,
the way Serena's laughter had cut clean through the noise.
Not loud.
Not forced.
Bright.
Real.
He hadn't intended to stay long that night.
Obligations bored him.
But there she was—
a spark among dimming lights.
Not the richest girl in the room.
Not the most obvious.
Just... alive.
And when she spoke to him, it was like she saw through all the pretense everyone else wore like perfume.
Serena had challenged him then,
mocked the rigidity of his tailored world,
teased the formality right out of him.
He had fallen faster than he realized.
One month later, they were inseparable.
Six months after that, he had proposed—on the steps of the old art museum where they first wandered in together, laughing about the awful modern sculptures.
Her parents hadn't loved him at first.
They were old money, careful money.
They thought Malik was too focused on business, not bloodline.
But when Malik started making waves — his company expanding, his name gaining quiet respect in the right circles —
the Calverts softened.
Conveniently.
Dolores had praised him over champagne,
her sharp eyes already calculating how his success would polish their family's fading reputation.
Serena had beamed that night, clutching his hand under the table,
whispering that they would be unstoppable together.
For a while,
Malik believed it.
Believed in them.
In building something lasting.
He had bought her the gallery she dreamed of,
cheered her every show,
stood behind her when the critics were cruel and the markets were cold.
He hadn't just given her his name.
He had given her his future.
His pride.
His heart.
But somewhere along the way,
the bright girl who had teased him into laughing
started laughing without him.
Started needing a bigger audience.
A louder applause.
Started needing...
more.
More than he could give.
More than anyone could.
Malik opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling of his dark office.
The USB sat patiently beside him,
gleaming under the low light.
He smiled faintly—
not bitterly.
Not angrily.
Just sad.
It wasn't the betrayal he mourned most.
It was the girl who used to exist before the world taught her that being loved quietly wasn't enough.
He reached for the drive.
Fitted it into the laptop's waiting port.
The screen flickered to life.
It was time.
Time to see what he already knew.
Time to bury what had already died.