The Sour Reunion

(Jane’s POV)

Moments earlier, I’d left the club in a haze. The music still pulsed faintly in my ears, but it was Andrew’s proposition that refused to let go. It looped in my head like a drunken lullaby—uninvited, inescapable.

A contract.

A public strike. A calculated blow to Nathan’s pride. Not just emotional revenge, but surgical. Wounding. And the worst part? It tempted me. Andrew had walked me back to the suite, his presence hovering like a ghost behind me, silent but thick with unspoken words.

I could barely recall the elevator ride. My thoughts were already unraveling.

At the door, he paused.

“I’ll leave you to think about it, Jane.” His voice was soft, a thread of understanding beneath the edge.

 “You know where to find me.”

I nodded—or maybe I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure. Once inside, I shut the door and sagged against it, as if the room itself might collapse under the weight I carried. My heels hit the floor with a sharp thud. I didn’t bother turning on the lamps.

The room’s overhead light blinked on automatically, sterile and too bright, washing over me like an interrogation. I reached for the bottle of wine on the nightstand. Half gone.

With clumsy fingers, I poured another glass, barely catching the spill as it sloshed over the rim. I took a deep gulp, then another. My lips were already stained, my tongue too loose in my mouth. Everything was warm. Fuzzy.

The wine didn’t dull the ache in my chest. It only made the questions louder.

What the hell was I doing?

I collapsed onto the bed, face pressed to the pillow. Maybe I cried. Maybe I just laid there breathing hard. The alcohol made it hard to tell.

My body felt like it was floating, but my mind was drowning—dragged under by everything I didn’t want to face.

Nathan. The lies. The end of us.

And Andrew’s offer, whispered like sin in a dark booth, now echoing like a dare.

I turned my head and stared blankly at the desk across the room. My vision blurred, cleared, blurred again. Something glinted there. Caught my eye.

The bracelet.

God. That damned bracelet.

It was half-hidden beneath a notepad, but I saw it. I felt it. A small, twisted reminder of a woman I still hadn’t identified.

The woman who ran. The woman Nathan had touched like he used to touch me.

I sat up—too fast. The room tilted, spinning sideways in a lazy spiral. I laughed under my breath, low and bitter.

Of course I was drunk.

But not drunk enough to forget that—the way he touched her—the way he used to touch me.

I thought Nathan’s breakup text would be the end. The end of the pain. The questions. The search.

But I was wrong. So very wrong.

I stumbled toward the desk, one hand brushing the wall for balance. When I picked the bracelet up, it was ice against my fingertips. Delicate. Ornate. Too familiar.

I held it up. Squinted. My head buzzed as I turned it over in my palm. The pattern. The clasp. It tugged at Something about the bracelet tugged at me—buried deep in memory, like déjà vu wearing someone else’s face.

Then the weight of it hit me, full-force, like a bad aroma curling around my spine.

Had I seen it before?

No… Had I worn it before?

The question snaked through my foggy mind, refusing to let go. And then my phone buzzed again.

I jumped.

It lit up on the nightstand beside the half-empty wine glass, the vibration slicing through the silence.

Julia.

Again.

I blinked at the screen, disoriented. For a second, it felt like I was dreaming again—like the alcohol had conjured her from the depths of my guilt, my questions, my rage.

I had tried to pick up earlier, back at the club. But the line cut. When I called back, it rang once, then nothing. Dead air. Unreachable.

Now, her name was blinking at me again.

My thumb hovered above the screen. My heart stuttered. We hadn’t spoken in four years.

I called her back.

"Jane?" Her voice was tentative, breathy, like a child testing water with her toes.

"Julia..." I whispered. "Are you okay?" A long silence stretched between us. "I think we should talk. Face to face."

**

And now, I stood at the open-air atrium of the Victoria Galleria, watching shoppers pass with the kind of ease I hadn’t known in weeks. Café Brago sat nestled in the corner, with jasmine hanging from the trellis and soft acoustic music floating from the speakers. It was the kind of place Julia would choose.

Pretentious, but private. She was already there. White blouse. Pale denim. Sunglasses perched atop a chestnut-colored bob she hadn’t worn when we were twenty-five.

Her posture was almost… fragile. And when she saw me, she stood quickly—too quickly—and her smile wavered like it didn’t quite belong on her face. “Jane,” she breathed. I didn’t speak at first. I just stared. Four years without a single word. Not a birthday call. Not even a postcard. And yet… her arms opened. I stepped in.

Not because forgiveness came easily. But because part of me needed this too—needed to remember that I had family. That something once broken might not be shattered. When we sat, it was stiff. Awkward. We ordered coffees just to have something to stir.

“You look…” she trailed off.

“Tired?” I offered. She smiled faintly. “Stronger.” “You still live in the city?”

“Coming from you, that sounds like a strange question.”

“I didn’t even know you were back,” I said. “I thought you were in Spain.”

“I was. Madrid. Then Barcelona. But I came home six months ago.”

Six months. I blinked. “You didn’t think to call?”

Her face flinched. “I did. A thousand times. I just… didn’t.”

I didn’t press it. I stirred my coffee. “I’m sorry about your marriage,” she said after a beat. “I heard... something happened?”

My eyes flicked up to hers. “Yeah. Something.”

“I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “But yeah. I came home early from a trip and caught Nathan in bed with someone.”

Julia went still. The straw in her drink stopped moving.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, softer now. “God. Jane…”

“Don’t be. It’s done.” “Do you know who it was?” I shook my head. “She ran. All I got was a glimpse and this bracelet.”

“Bracelet?” Her voice cracked the tiniest bit. I reached into my bag and pulled it out.

Silver. Feminine. Still cold somehow, like betrayal had left its fingerprints on it.

She stared. I watched her face for any sign. Any reaction.

But all I got was a long blink and a nod.

“Pretty,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Delicate.”

“Makes me sick to look at it,” I muttered, slipping it back into my bag.

We talked for a while longer. About Mom. About growing up. About how things fell apart between us after Dad’s funeral. It was strange. Surreal. Like patching up cracks in a wall that was still on fire.

Then she checked her watch.

“I should go,” she said. “I have—”

“Julia,” I cut in. She looked up. “I’m glad you called.”

Her eyes glistened. “I almost didn’t. But I couldn’t carry it anymore.”

“Carry what?”

Her lips parted.

She hesitated.

And then—

“The bracelet is mine”

“I was the one,” she whispered. “In the house. That night. With Nathan.”