Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Florida.

The temperature is 77 Fahrenheit. Local time is 5 p.m. We thank you for flying with us today and hope to see you again soon on one of our flights. :D

The plane landed smoothly on the private tarmac of Miami's airport, a slight tremor coursing through the aircraft as it touched the ground. She turned her head toward the window, her gaze capturing the slow dance of palm trees swaying under Florida's warm breeze. The sky was an incandescent mix of red, orange, and violet, putting on a fiery display as if the city itself was welcoming them. She should have found it soothing, but every fiber of her being was tense with a nervousness she refused to name.

One week. Exactly seven days since her fight with Harvey.

She had thought that after that conversation, there would be a second act. A follow-up. An explanation, like after their first argument. But there had been nothing. Just a cold silence. A surgically calculated distance. Harvey had reverted to being purely professional, and somehow, that was worse.

She no longer got those sidelong glances, those teasing smirks he reserved just for her. There were no more subtle moments where he provoked her just to see her roll her eyes. No more awkward closeness, no more half-spoken exchanges that suggested far more than they actually said. No, now he just did his job. He watched, he protected, and he maintained the perfect distance of a man who had nothing left to offer.

She should have been relieved. She should have been glad. That's what she wanted, right? So why did she feel this constant weight pressing on her chest?

It was as if nothing had ever happened. As if everything she had said to him—all the things she had confessed without meaning to—had meant nothing. Harvey hadn't tried to talk to her after that. He hadn't asked how she was doing, hadn't attempted to clarify anything. He had simply resumed his role, like the conversation had been just a fleeting moment, an argument like any other, a speck of dust brushed aside with the flick of a hand.

And that was what was eating her alive.

Because she hadn't forgotten. She had replayed every word in her mind over and over again, trying to understand what she could have said differently, what she could have done to make it end another way. But him? He seemed perfectly fine. He hadn't changed one bit. Still as composed, still as focused on his job. Still as… indifferent.

And what if he was? What if, deep down, he didn't care at all?

She hated herself for even considering it, but the thought clung to her like a persistent shadow. He had accepted it so easily when she told him it was over. Not a single word more. Not a wounded look. Not even an attempt to make things right. Nothing. As if it suited him. As if he had been waiting for it all along.

Had it all just been a game to him? Just a distraction he indulged in because she was there, because they were always together, because it was easy? And now that it was over, he was moving on, without so much as a backward glance.

Donna straightened her shoulders, firming her posture as she finally turned her gaze away from him. If he wanted to act like nothing had happened, then fine. Two could play that game.

She rested her head against the leather headrest, taking a deep breath to calm the simmering rage threatening to explode with every passing second spent in this enclosed space with him. The tightness in her chest didn't ease, but she ignored it. Just like she would ignore him.

Across the cabin, Harvey didn't even glance at her. He was focused on Mike, exchanging a few words with him as they waited for the plane to come to a complete stop on the tarmac. Relaxed. At ease. As if everything was normal. As if she hadn't thrown all her anger at him a week ago. As if she hadn't cried in front of him. As if their story had never existed.

Fuck.

She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Maybe that he'd at least try to talk about it. That he'd provoke her again the way he always did. That he'd show… something. Anything. But no. Nothing. Just a stone wall.

If he wanted to play the professional bodyguard, with no personal feelings in the equation, then fine. He was only here to ensure her safety, not to meddle in her life. So he was about to get a taste of what working in the entertainment industry really meant.

A slow smile crept onto her lips, sharp and almost cruel, as she discreetly grabbed her phone and sent a quick message to Louis, two seats ahead of her.

"Make sure there's a crowd in front of the hotel when we get there."

The car slowed as it approached the hotel, and Harvey immediately knew something was off. A dense crowd had gathered in front of the main entrance, dozens of excited faces, phones held high in the hope of capturing a photo or a video. Flashes from the camera's of journalists blended into the chaos. Shouts were already piercing through the tinted windows, announcing their arrival.

Harvey clenched his jaw. He had expected this. They had chosen to have Donna stay at the same hotel where the event was being held to limit travel, but that also meant everyone knew her location.

"We're going through the back," he ordered firmly, looking at Mike.

The driver nodded and was about to drive around the hotel when Donna placed a hand on Mike's arm.

"No, it's fine. We're going through the front."

Her tone was calm, controlled, but there was a spark of defiance in her eyes.

"Is that really necessary?" Harvey interjected, looking at her through the rearview mirror, his sunglasses nearly hiding his gaze.

She turned her head, her expression now completely cold, and met his reflection in the mirror.

"That's what you're paid for. We're going through the front."

He held her gaze in the mirror, trying to decipher her, but for the first time, he had no idea what game she was playing. His jaw tightened even more. He felt a surge of frustration, mixed with something he refused to name. He knew Donna. He knew she never did anything without a reason. So why was she deliberately putting herself in danger?

Mike cast a hesitant glance at him, waiting for a counter-order, but Harvey gave none. He remained silent, his gaze locked onto Donna's.

After a moment, he gave him a barely perceptible nod, granting his approval to move forward.

She looked away, as if she had just won a silent victory. He let out an irritated sigh before removing his sunglasses and slipping them into the inner pocket of his jacket. His gaze briefly swept over the crowd through the tinted window before he placed a hand on the car door handle, ready to step out.

Donna frowned, intrigued by his gesture.

"What are you doing?" she asked sharply, her gaze flickering between him and the noisy crowd waiting outside.

Harvey turned to her, finally plunging his eyes into hers. "If you think we're getting through that crowd without me punching someone, you're out of your mind."

His voice was low, controlled, but laced with a warning she couldn't ignore.

Donna raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You're telling me you don't have enough self-control not to hit someone in a crowd?"

Her tone was laced with sharp mockery, but Harvey didn't take the bait. He leaned in slightly, his voice even lower, so intimidating that everyone in the car held their breath.

"I'm telling you that if anyone touches you, I'm going to beat the shit out of them in front of all those damn cameras. And you don't need that kind of publicity."

She opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it. For a split second, something flickered in her gaze. A fraction of a second where he thought he saw something other than the icy anger she had been serving him for a week. Something that looked like…

No. Not now.

He stepped out, opened the rear door for Donna, and immediately, a wall of screams and flashing lights crashed over them. The hum of the crowd erupted into deafening chaos as dozens of voices rose at once, calling her name, asking questions—most of them trivial, yet she answered them with pleasure.

"Did you have a good trip?"

"What designer are you wearing tonight?"

"Are you enjoying your stay in our city?"

Harvey clenched his jaw, scanning the restless crowd with heightened vigilance. He was already picking up signs of agitation: overenthusiastic fans pushing against the security barriers, a man standing a little too close with his phone aimed directly at them, recording every detail, a paparazzo with no concept of personal space.

Donna, however, smiled, playing the game to perfection. She waved at fans in the back, exchanged an amused glance with a journalist pressing for details on her dress, and responded with effortless ease, as if she didn't even hear the cacophony around her.

"The trip was wonderful, thank you for asking. I love Miami!"

She moved with confidence while Harvey, on the other hand, remained on high alert, walking beside her, muscles tense.

But Donna? She wanted this. She reveled in it. And Harvey knew it wasn't just for the cameras. No. This was a message for him.

She smiled, graceful, even stopping to sign a few autographs, brushing against outstretched hands as if she thrived on their adoration. Her laughter rang out above the noise, and Harvey felt his jaw tighten further. She was enjoying this. Worse, she was playing with it.

"Donna, we need to keep moving," he muttered through clenched teeth, leaning slightly toward her.

She turned to him, a flicker of defiance gleaming in her eyes. "I'm just doing my job, Harvey."

His irritation spiked. She knew exactly where to press to get under his skin. They moved slowly toward the hotel entrance, pushing through the human tide inch by inch. But suddenly, a sharp movement to their left caught Harvey's attention. A figure broke from the crowd, rushing toward them.

He didn't have time to think.

With a swift motion, he grabbed Donna's arm and yanked her back just as a man, probably an overenthusiastic fan, reached their direction. He stepped in his path, and the man collided with him before he had a chance to stop, slamming hard into his stomach.

Harvey grunted at the impact but shoved the man back forcefully, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The screams around them doubled, but he heard nothing, saw nothing except the man on the pavement and Donna behind him. His dark gaze swept the crowd, scanning for any other potential threats.

"INSIDE. NOW!" he barked, his voice sharp, vibrating with authority.

But Donna, still in shock, didn't move right away.

He whipped around to face her, his eyes burning. "MOVE, DONNA, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

That snapped her out of it. She strode toward the entrance where security guards were already clearing a path.

Harvey lingered for a second longer, making sure the man wasn't trying to get up, ensuring no one else was about to pull something stupid.

The screams, the flashes, the pressure of the crowd—all of it boiled around him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, adrenaline still surging through his veins. When he was certain Donna was safe inside, he turned on his heels and followed her into the lobby.

.
As soon as he stepped through the doors, she rushed toward him. "Are you okay?" Her voice was urgent, tinged with concern she didn't bother to hide.

"I'm fine," he grunted.

"Don't lie to me," she shot back immediately, her eyes scanning him for any signs of pain. "He ran straight into you, Harvey."

"I said I'm fine," he repeated, this time softer, as if trying poorly to ease whatever he thought he saw in her eyes.

Donna swallowed, her fingers curling into her palms to resist the urge to touch him. She had seen the impact, seen the force of it, and yet here he was, shrugging it off like it was nothing. Like his body hadn't just taken a hit that could have hurt him far worse.

She had been scared. A cold, gripping fear that had twisted her stomach and stolen her breath. She shouldn't have felt that. Not after their fight, not after a week of convincing herself he didn't matter that much.

But it was there. Raw. Uncontrollable.

Harvey held her gaze, but this time, it wasn't a battle of egos. There was something deeper, something fragile beneath his mask of indifference. When she lifted her hand, instinct guided her—she wanted to check, to touch the spot where he had taken the hit, to make sure he was okay. But she froze inches away, her fingers trembling slightly before dropping back down.

.
He saw everything. The hesitation. The worry. The emotion threatening to consume her. And he would have preferred taking ten more punches over facing the weight of everything they weren't saying.

Donna closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. "Don't ever do that again," she murmured, her voice rougher than she intended.

Harvey gave her a faint smirk, one that held no amusement. Just resignation laced with something that almost looked like pain.

"I'm just doing my job, aren't I?" he replied, throwing her own words back at her like a slap. His tone was light, but there was nothing light in his eyes. "Just my job," he whispered, almost trying to convince himself.

And without another word, he walked away toward the hotel reception, leaving her there, with the bitter taste of an unfinished conversation lingering between them.

The hotel suite Rachel had booked was nothing short of spectacular. From the entrance, a long hallway with elegantly cream-colored wallpaper led to a living room so vast it nearly rivaled the one in her own apartment. High ceilings adorned with delicate moldings towered over polished antique parquet flooring, where sumptuous Persian rugs absorbed each step. Large windows, draped in velvet curtains, allowed golden light to filter in, bathing the space in an atmosphere that was both luxurious and intimate.

Further inside, a huge bedroom opened up, featuring a bed so extravagantly large that it could easily accommodate more than two people. The ivory silk duvet looked irresistibly soft, and the plush pillows seemed ready to engulf anyone who dared to sink into them. Every detail, from the intricately carved wooden furniture to the wall sconces casting a warm glow, exuded understated refinement.

The bathroom, meanwhile, was an oasis of marble and gold accents. A freestanding bathtub stood at the center, promising long hours of relaxation, while a glass-walled walk-in shower revealed impeccable brass fixtures. The entire space carried an air of sophistication, a controlled luxury without being ostentatious.

Rachel had arranged for the entire floor to be private, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed. The rooms weren't connected, but everyone was on the same level—as if she couldn't bear the thought of being too far from those she considered family. Most people assumed it was just another diva whim, keeping her staff within reach for any fleeting desire. But those close to her knew better. She didn't just want to be surrounded by people. She needed it. It was a visceral necessity, a way of ensuring that no matter what happened, she would never be alone. A pack never separates, no matter the circumstances.

The only one missing from this balance was Max.

But Donna was here for work. She had weighed the pros and cons before leaving. Bringing Max along had never been an option—too many people, too much movement, too many prying eyes. That wasn't a life for a child. She was far better off in New York, in the routine she knew, surrounded by familiar faces who could look after her.

But even from a distance, Donna had taken her precautions. A minimum of two calls per day. A non-negotiable rule. One in the morning, one in the evening. She refused to let her job make Max feel like she was any less important. That she came second to show business and obligations.

.
Seated in front of the vanity in the suite, Donna let the makeup artists work around her, their brushes gliding over her skin with an almost choreographed precision. The soft murmur of their conversations blended with the faint background music resonating in the room.

She was thinking about the speech she would give later that evening. The organizer was a friend she had met in college, and though they didn't see each other often—between Donna's overloaded schedule and the fact that they lived in different states—they had never lost touch.

Sofia's husband was in the army, and his return home after deployment had been… tough, to say the least. Donna still remembered their long phone conversations, the poor woman had been lost. The man who had come back was nothing like her husband. Nightmares, panic attacks, fits of rage, fear at every sudden noise. It had taken time, support, and many resources to help him regain a semblance of normalcy. And that had only been possible because of Sofia's job and the savings she had. It was a completely different story for more modest families. That's why she had created this organization, to ensure that funds could provide the necessary care and help soldiers reintegrate into civilian life more easily.

She hadn't immediately thought of it when Louis had burst into the bathroom to announce the news, too preoccupied with Harvey drowning right next to her. But then she had called Sofia, assuring her that she would be there and that it would be a pleasure to help bring more visibility to the fundraiser.

And now, it was showtime. Harvey was already waiting for her in the lobby. Standing tall, his three-piece gray suit impeccable, his jaw tight. As professional as ever.

But when she appeared, he turned toward her, and she didn't miss the subtle glance, the fraction of a second in which he took her in before swallowing slightly with difficulty. It lasted no more than half a second before he put his mask back on, but it was enough for Donna. Harvey might be emotionally guarded, but he certainly wasn't blind.

She took a step toward him, standing proudly in her emerald gown. A stunning creation that caught the light with every movement, the sequins shimmering subtly. The structured bodice highlighted her silhouette, while the flowing skirt, adorned with cascading ruffles, seemed to dance around her. A carefully designed slit revealed just enough of her leg, striking the perfect balance between elegance and sensuality without overexposure.

"How's your stomach?" she asked as she reached his side.

"Fine," he replied curtly, though his gaze was noticeably softer than it had been earlier that day.

Donna wasn't fooled—she knew he wasn't devoid of emotions or feelings. But the fact that he seemed to have erased everything they had been through so easily felt like a punch to the gut, and she couldn't help but harbor some resentment toward that impassive face.

She took a deep breath, pushing her emotions deep down where they couldn't reach her. Not tonight. She gave a small nod at his response before looking away.

"Shall we?" she asked, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside her.

Harvey looked at her one last time, as if hesitating to say something, but instead, he simply gave a slight nod. "After you."

If Harvey was grateful for one thing, it was that tonight's event was private. Thanks to Rachel, he had been able to access the guest list in advance and had carefully vetted each attendee. None of them were on the list of obsessive fans that Sam had brought in, and they were all connected, in one way or another, to the event's cause.
Yet, as Donna was about to take the stage, he couldn't help but scan the crowd. Analyzing every face, every movement. The servers, the guests, no detail escaped his sharp radar.
When she stepped up to the podium, he couldn't stop himself from stealing a glance. She was breathtaking. The color of her dress made the red of her hair and her freckles stand out. The subtle sweetheart neckline accentuated her figure without being vulgar, and the slit in the fabric offered a glimpse of her fair skin. Harvey felt his jaw clench, his fist tightening instinctively. She was something else.
He forced himself to look away as she started speaking, unable to endure what it did to him any longer. He had barely been able to look at her for days. It was too much. Too painful. Too frustrating. Because if he made the mistake of watching her for too long, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from holding her, kissing her, feeling her. He missed her deeply, and the emptiness was even more unbearable when she was right beside him. Because they had never felt so far apart.

It didn't matter how often Donna stood in front of a crowd, and she had, several times. Butterflies always fluttered in her stomach but she schooled her face into a perfectly friendly mask though. She was an actress, after all.

"I came here tonight," she began to speak, her voice steady and heightened by the microphone, "because a dear friend asked me to do the honor of presenting the donation for the Care For Our Vets Foundation. Thanks to your generosity, the Foundation will be able to help many who are…

Donna paused for a moment when her eyes landed on Harvey, who was scanning the room. He felt the silence linger a second too long and turned his head, meeting her gaze directly. She got lost in his deep brown eyes, which held a silent question, asking her if everything was alright.

...who are in need of it."

She paused again, suddenly unsure of what she should say or not say. All at once, her original speech felt dull and uninteresting. Impersonal. As her eyes remained locked with Harvey's, she continued:

"It hasn't been until recently that I've come to truly appreciate the sacrifices our veterans have made. The way they give themselves entirely to a cause they believe in. Without their courage, commitment, and dedication, we would not be able to enjoy the freedoms their service has granted us."

She didn't know why, but here and now, in this room full of strangers, it all came rushing back like a punch to the gut. There were nearly a hundred people around them, yet at this precise moment, it was just the two of them. They were alone again, their limbs tangled in the sheets, and every memory hit hard. The confessions. The scars. The story she knew. The rest he had yet to reveal and maybe never would.

He looked fine. And stil, beneath the surface, he was shattered.

It wasn't fair. Trauma was never fair. Not for anyone. No one is ever truly prepared for what awaits them, no matter how ready they think they are. At the end of the day, they're sent to hell, and you just pray they come back in one piece. Harvey was no exception to the rule.

She swallowed hard but continued speaking, never taking her eyes off him.

"This is a cause that matters. Our veterans deserve so much for a debt that can never be repaid, but through services provided by the Foundation and donations such as the ones provided tonight, we can at least ensure that there is help for those who have done so much to help us. Thank you all for your contributions and it is my honor to announce that the Foundation has not only reached, but succeeded their goal for tonight; as I will be matching 30% of tonight's donation total."

The moment ended under the thunderous applause. Donna flashed a small smile and looked away, returning to reality. "Thank you, again. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your night and the meal that is set to follow the champagne."

.
She stepped down from the stage, chin high, stride confident, acknowledging people as she passed but he wasn't fooled. He had seen the shadow flicker in her gaze. Heard the crack in her voice. He clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what she had been thinking as her eyes met his.

"Hey…" murmured Donna as she reached him, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

He looked at her, unsure how to respond.

"Hey." He studied her for a moment, trying to gauge if she was truly okay, but she could be just as unreadable as he was when she wanted to be. "Are you alright?" he finally asked.

"Fine."

The more he looked at her, the more he regretted their situation. Nothing ever seemed right. The stars were never aligned. He couldn't just quit his job and live peacefully with Donna. It wasn't for lack of wanting. But he knew he was the best person to protect her, and her safety came first. Before his wants. Before his feelings. Before his happiness. Before hers. And it was killing him, slowly, to have to sacrifice everything they could have been because of one creep.

"Listen, Donna…" he began, but the words stuck in his throat.

He dropped his eyes for a second, unable to hold her gaze. What could he say? That he was sorry? That none of this was supposed to happen? That this wasn't how things were meant to be between them?

That they weren't supposed to fall…

"Harvey? Were you going to say something?"

She was giving him an opening, offering a lifeline. And God, he wanted to take it but he knew exactly where that would lead them again. He couldn't allow it.

"Great speech," he said, his voice tight.

He saw the disappointment settle on her face immediately. He knew her too well to miss that slight quiver of her lips, the way her breath hitched for just a moment. She had expected something else. She had hoped for something else.

"Listen—" he tried, realizing he needed to fix this.

But he didn't get the chance. Sofia interrupted them. Harvey didn't know if he was relieved or irritated to be cut off, but the moment was lost, and Donna walked away with her friend, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knew he should have said something to ease things between them. This situation wasn't easy for anyone, least of all her. Donna deserved better than to be ignored. He couldn't change their reality, but he could at least make it easier if he just made the effort to take a step toward her.

He was about to move, maybe even follow her, when a voice behind him, smooth and laced with calculated amusement, called out.

"Well, well, well, I certainly didn't expect to see the great Harvey Specter at this kind of event."

The British accent slid under his skin, making him tense instantly. That tone, that sickly-sweet false nonchalance, that barely veiled contempt.

Harvey turned his head slowly, tearing his gaze away from Donna to lock eyes with the man standing before him.

"Huntley," he spat through clenched teeth. He straightened, squaring his shoulders, subtly towering over the other man. A purely animalistic reflex. He wanted to crush this detestable presence, to remind him who had always had the upper hand.

"I don't recall seeing you on the guest list."

Stephen raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, as if he were already relishing the confrontation. "It's nice to see you too, Harvey. It's been a while."

"Not nearly long enough. Now tell me what the hell you're doing here."

"Last-minute addition," he sighed, feigning boredom. He waved a hand lazily, fingers flicking as if the whole thing were inconsequential. "My client is a rich asshole who can cash in quite the tax break for his donation."

"Classy. And where's this rich asshole now?"

Amusement flickered in Stephen's eyes before he replied with a falsely casual tone, "Currently being babysat by a very, very young woman."

Harvey's stomach twisted. "Tell me she's not a minor."

The Brit shrugged, indifference painted across his face.

"Checking IDs isn't my job, Specter." He smoothed down his suit as if brushing off invisible dust before casting Harvey a condescending look. "If the man wants to fuck a kid… Not my taste, but also not my problem."

Harvey's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He slid his hands into his pockets, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

A cold shiver ran down his spine—not from fear, but from pure, unfiltered rage. He knew better than most that this world was a goddamn hunting ground for the worst kinds of scum. Huntley, with his lazy smirk and absolute disregard for anything resembling morality, might not view it as his problem, but Harvey had never been the turn-a-blind-eye type.

An image of Max's face flashed in his mind; so young, so goddamn innocent. And with it rose a simmering, dangerous anger.

Harvey had never liked Stephen Huntley, but at that moment, he hated him. He hated him for his careless dismissal and perpetuation of his employer's despicable tastes. He hated him for the fear that did now claw like bile up his throat, as the thought that a minor, a child, like his sweet Max, could mean so little to the man that he could disregard even the most basic of-

"Relax, Specter. I'm joking," Stephen's haughty voice did little to balm his agitation, "Mostly."

"I can see your priorities haven't changed much," he hissed through gritted teeth, struggling to contain the storm brewing inside him.

He smirked, a gleam of sick satisfaction in his eyes. The bastard loved pushing his buttons and he knew he had found the right one.

"I can see yours have," Stephen sneered, glancing behind Harvey. He licked his lower lip while shamelessly eyeing Donna, who had her back turned to them.

As if she had heard them talking about her, Donna turned around and approached the two men. Stephen's smile widened, and Harvey had never wanted to knock someone's teeth out more in his life.

"And who's your friend?" she asked, too cheerful for the situation.

"Not my friend," Harvey corrected instantly, his voice sharp, his icy gaze locked on the man.

"Stephen Huntley," he introduced himself with a confidence that made Harvey grit his teeth.

He watched as Donna offered a polite smile while shaking his hand. Harvey rolled his eyes, already exasperated when his rival lifted her hand and pressed a ridiculously slow kiss on it. An outdated, theatrical, arrogant gesture.

That fucking bastard.

"A pleasure to meet you," Huntley added as he released her hand.

Donna, clearly amused by the excessive chivalry, smiled, completely unaware of the monster standing in front of her.

"You've known Harvey for a long time?"

"We served together," he said briefly.

"Oh, so another Marine," she concluded naturally.

"Nope. Just a soldier," Harvey corrected, his voice slow and razor-sharp.

He immediately saw Huntley's jaw tighten. It was quick, but he caught it. The slight furrow of his brows, that flicker of irritation behind his smug façade.

Stephen could try to mask his annoyance all he wanted but Harvey knew better. He knew how much that failure still burned him. Stephen Huntley, the British golden boy, rejected by the Marines, forced to settle for the Army like some pathetic plan B. A wave of satisfaction coursed through Harvey.

Still jealous, Huntley.

"And what do you do now?" Donna asked, curious, oblivious to the poison standing before her.

"The same as Harvey," he replied smugly. "But for someone far less charming."

"You're working right now?"

"Not right now, no."

"Perfect." She turned slightly, shifting her focus to Harvey with that innocent smile that never meant anything good. "Because right now, I'm the only person who needs protection."

"I would be honored to offer you my services," he murmured, his gaze slowly drifting to Donna's lips.

"Are you always this… helpful?" she teased.

Harvey clenched his jaw so tightly he felt a sharp pain at his temple. It was unbearable. Watching Huntley bask in her attention. Watching Donna give him that attention.

She never did that. She never played this game with anyone but him. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew it would destroy him.

"I'd say I'm adaptable," Stephen replied, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Harvey felt the air leave his lungs, an invisible vise tightening around his chest. He knew what was about to happen, and it felt unstoppable.

"Donna—" he tried, his throat suddenly dry, but she didn't give him a chance to finish.

"You're dismissed for the night, Harvey," she said, overly cheerful.

His vision blurred for a fraction of a second as his heart absorbed the shock. Dismissed. For the night.

The words echoed in his mind like an irreversible sentence. Then she turned to Huntley as if it were already decided. As if Harvey never had a say. Because he didn't. At the end of the day, she was the boss.

"Shall we have a drink in private? I have a suite upstairs."

The man nodded, smug, as if Donna were nothing more than a prize. As if he had won… The jackpot.

Fuck.

The world tilted on its axis. Panic surged inside Harvey, hot, unbearable. This couldn't be happening.

Stephen was already walking away, and Donna was about to follow when he grabbed her hand.

"Donna, don't do this."

"Don't do what?" she breathed, her voice soft but tense.

"Don't go with him," he insisted, his voice rougher than he would have liked. "He's not a good man."

But he saw in her eyes that she didn't believe a word of it. That she was convinced this was all about his ego. She let out a quiet sigh, then stepped closer, lifting a delicate hand to adjust his tie.

A whisper, barely audible, slipped from her lips as she kept her gaze fixed on the fabric.

"Harvey, I meant what I said. You're officially dismissed for the night. Go play poker or find yourself a pretty girl to spend the night with."

"Donna, please," he begged, his voice almost pleading.

He hadn't heard himself sound like that in…ever. Because Harvey Specter didn't beg. He didn't reach out like a drowning man grasping for something, anything, to hold onto. But that's exactly what he was doing now. He felt like he was suffocating. Like the air wouldn't reach his lungs. Because if he let her go… he had the gut-wrenching feeling she wouldn't come back.

She smoothed the fabric of his jacket in a nervous gesture, a flicker of emotion passing through her gaze. He could still fix this. He could still…

"I'm sorry, Harvey."

Three words that hit him in the chest like a dagger.

She slowly withdrew her hand, and a chilling cold spread through him. He felt the vertigo of emptiness settling in. A void that couldn't be filled, one that stretched and consumed everything in its path.

"Donna…"

One last attempt.

She stopped again, tilting her head slightly toward him, waiting. Maybe giving him one last chance.

He opened his mouth. But no sound came out.

He should have spoken. He should have told her that he couldn't stand to see her leave with a man like Huntley. That she deserved better.

But he said nothing. Because he had screwed up for too long. Because this was the wrong moment. Because he was terrified.

And Donna understood. He saw it in the tiniest shift in her eyes, in the subtle movement of her lips. She knew. She knew he would never say what needed to be said, and that… that seemed to be enough to convince her to leave.

She let out a sigh, almost resigned. "That's what I thought."

He didn't move. He did nothing to stop her as she walked back to Huntley, as that bastard placed a hand on her back like she already belonged to him.

Everything in him screamed to pull her away. To not let her make this mistake. But he remained frozen. And that's when he realized that, this time maybe he was the mistake.

So... Did you see that coming ?