Craving my Ex's Father

Sophia POV

I light the last candle on the table, watching the tiny flame flicker before settling into a soft, steady glow. The wind teases my curls as I step back and take in the rooftop setup. White linens, rose petals, and two wine glasses catching the golden spill of the city lights. It should feel perfect. Magical, even. Six years with William Hartley. Six years of shared birthdays, late-night phone calls, growing dreams, and quiet sacrifices.

But tonight, everything feels like it’s trying too hard to be beautiful.

Clara—My friend leans back in her seat, legs crossed high, a glass of wine already halfway gone. "You’re always so extra, Soph," she says with a teasing grin, swirling the red liquid like it’s gossip. Her voice is playful, but her eyes are sharp, too sharp for someone already tipsy.

"It's a special night," I say with a soft smile, forcing warmth into my tone. My voice sounds light, but something in my chest tugs.

She laughs. "Yeah, well, I hope your Prince Charming shows up before the wine runs dry."

He's late. Thirty-five minutes now. I check my phone again, trying to be discreet, but Clara catches it.

"Relax. You know how William is. Always in some meeting. Probably closing another deal to buy you a castle."

I laugh, but it sounds thin, even to me. Clara’s always known how to press into cracks without fully breaking them open. She tilts her head, studying me, like she can see the discomfort I'm trying to smooth over with mascara and lipstick.

"You look stunning though. Red really is your color," she adds, but the compliment feels laced with something else. Something too polished to be sincere.

I glance down at the dress I chose hours ago with trembling hands. William always said he liked me in red. Said it made me look powerful. Said it reminded him of the first night we kissed in that rooftop bar downtown. I wore red that night too.

My fingers tighten slightly around the chair back.

I’d told him once that I got a job offer in Paris. It would’ve been the dream. But he’d held my face in his hands and told me that long distance would be too hard. That if I really loved him, I wouldn’t go. So I stayed. And I never brought it up again.

The elevator dings behind us, and I straighten before I even turn. My heart leaps stupidly, like muscle memory can override logic. I fix my smile before William even steps out.

He's here.

And Clara suddenly lights up like someone plugged her into a socket.

"Finally!" she exclaims, standing a little too fast, adjusting her neckline. "We thought you ditched us."

Us.

William steps forward, still in his tailored navy suit, his tie loose like he's already over the day. His eyes slide past me, then drift back like a second thought.

"Traffic was a mess," he says simply, brushing a hand through his hair. He doesn't kiss me. Not on the cheek, not the forehead. Nothing. His cologne lingers in the air, sharp and expensive, but it doesn’t pull me in like it used to.

"You look tired," I say, trying to touch his sleeve. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t lean in either.

"Work never ends," he mutters, pulling out the chair beside Clara.

Not beside me.

Clara giggles, pouring him a glass without asking, her fingers brushing his too long when she hands it over.

"You poor thing. All that work without peace."

He chuckles softly, the sound warmer than anything he’s directed at me all evening.

I sit, but I feel like I’m standing alone. The air around me vibrates with something I don’t want to name. My stomach knots as I push the appetizers toward them. Clara dives in like it’s her personal buffet, humming around bites.

"Soph, you always do the most," she says between mouthfuls. "No wonder William looks so stressed. You probably guilted him into this romantic nonsense."

William smirks. Not a word in my defense.

My lips part, but nothing comes out. I take a sip of wine to drown the hurt.

The conversation drifts to business, to a new launch William is excited about. Clara knows more about it than I do. She throws in details that I never heard from him. Technical things. Strategic partnerships. Private meetings.

"Wow," I say with a soft laugh, trying to keep my tone light. "Sounds like you two are building an empire together."

Clara grins at William. "He lets me sit in sometimes. Just to hear ideas. You know how good he is with numbers."

"Yeah. I used to."

The words slip out before I can catch them. William looks at me, finally, his gaze blank.

"Don’t start," he says, and I hate how fast I fall silent.

Clara raises her brow like she wants to say something, then thinks better of it. But the smirk still lingers on her wine-glossed lips.

Silence stretches between us, and I fill it with the clinking of cutlery, pretending everything's still okay. Like the past six years weren’t slowly unraveling in front of a woman who once cried into my lap over some boy that ghosted her.

I remember William’s arms around me after my father died. He didn’t say much, but he held me tight. He stayed the night. He didn’t even check his phone once. That man, the one who knew when I needed silence more than solutions, feels like a ghost now.

Clara shifts in her seat, leans in a little too close, her breath warm and boozy near my ear. "You ever wonder if he stayed out of pity?"

My head turns slowly.

She laughs, but it's not friendly. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re gorgeous and all. But sometimes love feels more like charity, doesn’t it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Relax. It’s the wine talking. Don’t be so uptight."

She leans back like she hasn’t just cracked my heart with a whisper.

William doesn’t even react. He stares out over the city like he’s not even here anymore.

Clara stands suddenly. "We forgot the gift," she says, nudging William's arm.

He blinks like he’s waking from a nap. "Yeah. It’s in the car."

"Together?" I ask, my voice calm but trembling beneath the surface.

Clara shrugs. "He locked it in the trunk. Come on, Will."

Will.

He stands without a second glance at me. Just walks off, following Clara like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She glances over her shoulder with a little smirk, like she knows exactly what she's leaving me with.

I stare at the two untouched glasses of wine across the table, my fingers clenched tight in my lap.

I don’t follow them. It'd look somehow.

I don’t call out.

I just sit there, in my red dress, under a sky full of stars that suddenly feel like lies. My smile slips. The cold creeps in. And something deep inside me finally, finally goes quiet.

Wait! What if they're kind of ditching me here?