Only Angel 2 [h.s] AU

Burning in the background

Harry's POV
Seattle.

Glass, steel, and rain. That's all I see from the head of the table—gray sheets smearing the Seattle skyline while the CFO drones about London projections. I nod when they expect me to, flip through the folder my assistant just slid under my hand, pretend the numbers aren't already memorized.

My phone vibrates against the polished wood.
Nes. Not now. I turn it facedown.

It buzzes again.

And again—longer. A photo.

I shouldn't look. But habit wins. Thumb, swipe, open.

Beau.

The breath leaves me in one tight twist. She's on some SoHo rooftop, string lights and evening haze softening the edges. Head tossed back, laughing—really laughing, the way she never did with me because I wasn't all that funny.

And there's a man. Tall, tanned, curls, beard, stupidly at ease. One hand cupping a drink, the other settled on her bare arm like he owns the right. She lets him. She leans in.

Something inside me goes very still, then hot.

"Mr. Fox?" The CFO's voice cuts through. Heads swivel toward me.

I lift my eyes, mask sliding on. "Proceed."

I don't hear another syllable.

⸻

Chrome doors reflect a cool, blank version of me. I see the photo every time I blink—the guy's hand, her smile.

She's not mine. Hasn't been for years. I told her as much, shoved her away with enough force to keep us both scarred. She's allowed to move on.

Good for her.

So why does it feel like a blade under my ribs?

Fuck, Nes. How dare she send me that. She lives for it. My thumb hovers over the trash icon, but I lock the screen instead. Coward.

"Delancey. Back entrance," I tell the driver, sliding into the back seat. Home would be quiet—too much room for that photo to breathe. Delancey will drown it in noise and liquor.

Rain tattoos the windows while the city blurs past. I open Contacts.

Beau. Still pinned near the top. Haven't touched it in—what? Eighteen months? Two years? My thumb trembles once. I press Call before I can think.

Ring.

What would I even say? Saw you. Hate him. Hate that you're happy.

Ring.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, eyes burning.

Ring—

I hang up. Three is enough. She'll see the missed call, maybe wonder, maybe laugh about it with him. I deserve that, I guess.

Phone drops to my lap. I stare at the rain, let the jealousy rot quietly behind my ribs.

⸻

Black door, gold symbol—Delancey's discreet promise of oblivion. The car idles, waiting for me to move.

I grip the phone once more, picture of Beau and the stranger still waiting behind the lock screen. I pocket it, step into the wet chill, and head for the door.

I don't look back. I don't let myself feel a damn thing. Not yet.

I light a cigarette I don't need, just to give my hands something to do.

Smoke curls into the rain, drifting lazy over the mouth of the alley. I stay outside Delancey for another minute. Two. I don't want the noise yet. I want quiet. I want her out of my head.