The second my lips brushed against his, I knew I had made a mistake.A terrible, reckless, unforgivable mistake.Because the moment it happened, Nolan took over.He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second-guess.His hand slid around the back of my neck, fingers curling into my hair as he tilted my head, deepening the kiss without an ounce of restraint. His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, trapping me in the heat of his body.I gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, pressing deeper, his tongue brushing against mine in a slow, deliberate stroke that sent a shiver all the way down to my toes.Damn him.Damn me.I knew better. I knew what he was capable of—how he twisted things, how he played these games like he always won because he did always win.And yet…I didn’t pull away.Not when I should have. Not when I had every reason to.Instead, my fingers curled into the lapels of his suit, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping me standing.I hated h
I should have walked away.After that dance, after the way he held me like he was proving a point, I should have put as much distance between us as possible.But Nolan had other plans.And unfortunately, so did Anthony Carter.***After the dance, Nolan guided me toward a private lounge tucked away from the main gala. Plush velvet seating, dim lighting, and a bar stocked with the rarest liquors.Anthony Carter was already there, lounging in one of the leather chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand.I shot Nolan a sharp look. “What is this?”“A conversation.” His smirk was infuriating. “Sit.”I didn’t. Instead, I crossed my arms. “If you think I’m going to sit through whatever twisted plan you two have—”“Demi.”The way Nolan said my name made my stomach twist. Not with fear, but with something worse.Something dangerous.Anthony chuckled, swirling his drink. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that.” His gaze flicked to Nolan. “I can see why you like her.”I clenched my fists. “Get to the
The moment Nolan hung up, I dropped my phone onto my desk and let out a slow, shaky breath.Two weeks.That was all the time he’d given me.It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.For now, I needed to focus on my father.Everything else—Nolan, the engagement, the contract—I’d deal with later.—I spent the rest of the morning at the hospital.My father was awake but still weak, his body slowly recovering from the weeks spent in a coma.Even so, his sharp mind was still intact.And it didn’t take him long to notice something was off.“You’re distracted,” he commented, watching me over the rim of his coffee cup.I forced a smile. “Just tired.”He hummed, unconvinced. “Chelsea’s worried about you.”Of course, she was.Chelsea had spent the entire night pestering me, demanding to know what Nolan had said when I called him.When I told her he’d agreed to wait, she was relieved.But she also knew it was only temporary.“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I just have a lot on my plate.”My f
I didn’t sleep that night.Instead, I sat in my office, my fingers tracing the edges of Nolan’s contract as if the ink itself could burn me.Four weeks.That was all I had.And the longer I waited, the more suffocating the inevitability became.I was running out of time.The thought made my stomach twist as I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I landed on the one name I had been avoiding for weeks.Jeff.My pulse quickened. I knew this was reckless. Stupid. But I needed answers.I needed to understand why he had resurfaced. Why he was suddenly lurking in the shadows of my life again, like a ghost refusing to be forgotten.Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed call.The line rang once. Twice.Then, he picked up.“Well, well,” Jeff’s voice dripped with amusement. “I was beginning to think you’d never call.”I swallowed hard, gripping my phone tighter. “We need to talk.”A pause. Then—“Are you sure about that, Demi?” he asked, his tone laced with something
I spent the next few days rewriting the contract, making sure every clause benefited me instead of Nolan. If he wanted me as part of his empire, he would have to do it on my terms.But I knew one thing—Nolan wasn’t stupid.He wouldn’t accept these changes without a fight.And that fight was coming.⋆⋆⋆The moment I walked into Nolan’s office, his eyes locked onto me.“Demi.” His voice was smooth, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”I tossed the contract onto his desk. “I made some changes.”Nolan arched a brow and leaned back in his chair. “Changes?”I folded my arms. “Read it.”His eyes darkened with intrigue as he picked up the papers. Silence filled the room as he skimmed the pages, his expression unreadable.Then, after a long pause, he let out a low chuckle.“You’re bolder than I expected.”I lifted my chin. “You thought I’d just roll over and accept your terms?”His smirk widened. “I hoped.”I clenched my jaw. “You wanted contr
I didn’t sleep that night.Even after I agreed to Nolan’s ridiculous demand, my mind refused to settle.Every scenario, every worst-case outcome, played on a loop in my head.I wasn’t stupid.I knew Nolan was doing this for control.He had already taken over my engagement, my future, and now—my home.And I had let him.I stared at the ceiling until the first light of dawn peeked through my windows.Then, without giving myself time to overthink, I got up and packed.Chelsea nearly exploded when I told her.“Are you insane?” she hissed, pacing my bedroom. “Living with Nolan? Do you have any idea what you’re walking into?”I rubbed my temples. “It’s temporary.”Chelsea shot me a sharp look. “That’s exactly what people say before they get stuck in a situation they can’t escape.”I sighed. “I don’t have a choice.”“You always have a choice, Demi.”I swallowed hard. Not this time.She exhaled, shaking her head. “At least tell your dad.”I flinched. “No.”“Demi—”“No,” I repeated, my voice h
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating against the nightstand.I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before grabbing it.Chelsea.I exhaled sharply, already knowing this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.“Hello?”“You didn’t call me last night,” she snapped.I sighed, sitting up. “I was tired.”“You were avoiding me,” she corrected.I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Chelsea—”“Tell me you’re okay,” she cut in.I hesitated.Because was I okay?No.Not even close.But I also wasn’t about to admit that.“I’m fine,” I said instead.Chelsea sighed. “I don’t believe you.”I forced a laugh. “Shocking.”There was a pause.Then, her voice softened. “Demi, you don’t have to do this.”A lump formed in my throat.“Yes, I do.”“Demi—”“I have to go,” I murmured. “I’ll call you later.”Before she could protest, I ended the call.Then, I buried my face in my hands.This was my life now.And I had no choice but to live it.By the time I made my way to the kitchen
Sleep didn’t come easy that night.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jeff’s face—contorted in pain, eyes filled with fear.Fear of Nolan.It should have scared me.But the only thing that truly terrified me was how much I didn’t feel afraid of Nolan.He had done something violent, something brutal.And yet, a part of me—the part I didn’t want to acknowledge—felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.Jeff had deserved it.And Nolan had delivered it without hesitation.What did that say about me?I shoved the thought away and turned over in bed, forcing myself to focus on the future.Jeff would return the money in three days.I could finally put this behind me.But something told me it wasn’t going to be that simple.Because nothing in my life ever was.The next morning, Chelsea was already waiting for me when I walked into my office.She had that look—the one she always wore when she knew I was hiding something.“So,” she said, crossing her arms. “Are you going to tell me what happened las
It was raining again.Not the soft, romantic kind of rain. The soak you through your bones, make you late to everything, gray-for-days kind.Jeff hated the rain.Which was why I was surprised when I got a text that afternoon:"Be ready in 15. Wear something you can get muddy in."I stared at the message like it had come from an alien.Then again, Jeff had been… different lately.Softer.Less guarded.Like he was trying. Really trying.So, I tugged on my oldest jeans, shoved my hair into a messy braid, and waited.Fifteen minutes later, his truck pulled up, tires hissing against the wet pavement. I ran out, ducking into the passenger seat with a yelp as a sheet of rain chased me inside.“You look like a drowned cat,” he said with a grin.“You look like someone who’s about to explain what we’re doing driving into a storm.”He just handed me a thermos of coffee and said, “Trust me.”We drove for over an hour. Through back roads and winding trails that made my stomach flip. The farther we
It had been two days since the photo.Two days since the box. Since the kiss. Since we sat in the middle of his living room floor, surrounded by scraps of his past, and decided—quietly, stubbornly—that we were worth salvaging.And for a little while, it felt like we were okay.Better than okay, even.He made coffee just the way I liked it. I left a playlist on repeat that I knew he secretly loved but pretended to hate. He kissed the side of my neck when he thought I was asleep. I pretended not to notice, because pretending was easier than admitting I still melted when he did that.But under it all, something buzzed.Something unsaid.A wordless ache living in the spaces between our sentences.That’s the thing about relationships—we talk about the fights, the makeup sex, the milestones. But no one talks about maintenance. No one talks about how hard it is to just keep showing up.And maybe we were showing up for each other now.But what if one of us stopped again?The unease really sta
The next few weeks were a dance of small things.Late night conversations. Little confessions. Fighting over what movie to watch. Laughing until my stomach hurt. Crying when the weight got too heavy and letting him hold me through it.It wasn’t perfect.Sometimes I still flinched.Sometimes he still said the wrong thing.But we were learning.Learning how to be us without pretending the past didn’t exist.Learning that love isn’t about erasing scars—it’s about tracing them with reverence.One night, months later, after too much wine and too much laughter, Jeff pulled me close and said against my hair:“I don’t want a clean slate with you, Demi. I want the messy one. The one with mistakes and lessons and a thousand second chances. I want the real thing.”I smiled, my heart aching with something fierce and beautiful.“You already have it,” I whispered back.And for the first time in what felt like forever, I knew it was true.Love wasn’t a single moment of forgiveness.It was a thousand
The evening air hit me like a slap the second I stepped out of Jeff’s condo.Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.I kept walking, barely aware of the streets, the familiar cracks in the sidewalks, the faint hum of the city coming alive for the night. I walked because standing still meant feeling everything at once, and right now, that felt unbearable.The photo burned in my mind. Stella's hand in his. Her smile. His.Closure, he had said. But how many versions of closure could one person have before it stopped being closure and started being something else entirely?I found myself at the small park three blocks away without realizing it. I collapsed onto a bench, wrapping my arms around myself, willing the tightness in my chest to ease.It didn’t.Because this wasn’t just about a photograph.It was about the small cracks in the foundation we were trying to rebuild. Tiny fractures that, left ignored, would one day split wide open and swallow us whole.And God, I was so tired of trying to be the o
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didn’t need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me try. –J"I stared at it for a long time.It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadn’t earned yet. One I wasn’t sure I could accept.But when seven o’clock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasn’t just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he was—holding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.“Hi,” he said softly.“Hi,” I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadn’t forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasn’t from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.“Who was that message from?” I asked, voice even but my heart
I didn’t go far. Just to the small park down the block from Jeff’s condo unit—the one with the crooked benches and a fountain that hadn’t worked since spring. I sat there, my coat tight around me, watching the early evening swallow the sky whole.I didn’t cry. Not really.I was too tired for tears. Too wrung out from constantly stitching together the pieces of us, only to watch them come loose again.I pulled my phone out, stared at the blank screen. No texts. No calls. And maybe that was the point. Jeff had said he wouldn’t stop trying, but he hadn’t come after me. Not this time.Maybe he was learning to give me space. Or maybe he was just as exhausted as I was.A gust of wind tore through the branches above, scattering brittle leaves across my boots.Why does love feel like this sometimes?Not soft and soothing, but raw. Like walking barefoot on broken glass, hoping every step doesn’t cut too deep. Hoping the bleeding stops before the next fight.But despite everything, I didn’t wan
Around noon, I found a note taped to my computer monitor. Simple, clean handwriting. I didn’t need to ask who it was from."Dinner. Your place. 7PM. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me try. –J"I stared at it for a long time.It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a demand.It was... a hope.A quiet one. One I hadn’t earned yet. One I wasn’t sure I could accept.But when seven o’clock rolled around, I was home. I had lit candles. Put on soft music. Worn something that wasn’t just lounge clothes.And I waited.At 7:02, there was a knock.I opened the door, and there he was—holding a bag of takeout from my favorite Thai place, rain in his hair, uncertainty in his eyes.“Hi,” he said softly.“Hi,” I replied.He stepped inside, and we moved through the motions like a dance we hadn’t forgotten. Plates. Chopsticks. Steam curling from cartons. But the real heat in the room wasn’t from the food.It was the tension.I finally broke it.“Who was that message from?” I asked, voice even but my heart
By Monday, we were back in the city.Jeff dropped me off at my place, and though we kissed goodbye with a promise to see each other soon, something lingered between us—something unspoken and tense, like a storm hovering just beyond the horizon.I tried to shake it off as I stepped into my apartment. I unpacked slowly, letting the quiet settle around me. But my thoughts refused to sit still.Why now? Why was Stella suddenly trying to reappear? And why did Jeff hesitate before telling me?It wasn’t fair—he’d done so much to regain my trust. He’d been showing up, loving me in all the right ways. But one whisper from the past, and the walls I’d slowly let fall started climbing back up.I turned on some music, something soft, just to quiet the noise inside my head. And that’s when my phone buzzed.It was a message. From an unknown number.Unknown: "You can believe him if you want. But you should know he came back to me once before. Right after the first time you left."I stared at the scre
There’s something strangely intimate about folding laundry with someone you love. Not the kind of love that’s still wrapped in red ribbons and candlelit dinners, but the kind that shows up in the quiet domesticity of Sunday afternoons—barefoot, soft music in the background, mismatched socks everywhere.Jeff held up one of my oversized sweaters, the sleeves drooping like tired arms. “This still smells like that coconut shampoo you use.”I glanced up from the pile of towels. “I haven’t used that shampoo in months.”“Must be haunted,” he smirked, then tossed it gently to my side of the bed.I laughed, but it came with a soft ache. This was good. Easy. Comfortable. Almost too comfortable.Maybe that’s why it blindsided me when the tension returned—sharp and unexpected like stepping on glass in a room you thought was safe.It happened that evening.We were cleaning out the hallway closet when Jeff’s phone buzzed on the console table. Once. Twice. Three times.He didn’t reach for it.I woul