Chapter 1

Eight years ago, Aaron got into Harttwell University. He was a small-town guy from an average family. Dylan Weinstein came from money in Valdora City.

On paper, they had nothing in common. In person, they just clicked. Classes, meals, basketball—they did it all together.

Dylan brought Aaron into his circle and introduced him to his family. Somewhere along the way, Aaron fell for Dylan's older sister, Gracie Weinstein.

He never told a soul.

After graduation, Dylan went abroad to study.

Aaron stayed in Valdora City and landed a job as Gracie's secretary. All so he could see her every day.

Then one night, someone drugged her.

He was about to call the hospital when she grabbed him and started kissing him, out of control.

They spent the night together. When he woke, she was sitting by the window, her pretty face half in shadow. She looked quiet and lonely.

She heard him stir and turned. "Do you have feelings for me?"

Aaron almost denied it.

But she kept going, her face calm. "You blush every time you see me. You remember everything I like and everything I avoid. You took this job right out of college...

"Don't tell me that's a coincidence."

His face burned hotter with every word. Embarrassment or shame? He couldn't tell.

In the silence, she held out a bank card.

"Last night was a mistake. I love someone else. I don't feel the same way about you, and you don't owe me anything.

"Dylan said your family doesn't have much. There's enough in this account to set you up for life.

"Just forget this happened."

Aaron froze. Then he remembered the name she'd kept saying in bed.

Julian. Julian Vale.

Dylan had told him about Julian, the first love Gracie never got over.

He'd dumped her and moved abroad. There were constant rumors about him dating other women. She was still waiting.

Dylan had once ranted, "My whole family's so cold. How'd Gracie end up this hung up on a guy? She's waited years. Says anyone else would be settling, and she won't settle."

Aaron knew the feeling. Dylan's words gave him the nerve to stop Gracie before she left.

"I don't want money. Just a chance. Ms. Weinstein, give us a shot. If he comes back and you still love him, I'll walk away."

Gracie paused when she saw the love in his eyes.

"Suit yourself."

Then she left.

From then on, Aaron was her secretary by day, her secret lover by night.

Her office, her Maybach, the mansion's floor-to-ceiling windows—they'd hooked up more times than he could count.

Four years. Nobody knew, and he was fine with that.

Then, a few days ago, he went all out for her birthday.

He waited past midnight. She never came.

Instead, she posted for the first time:

[The best birthday gift? Getting back what you lost.]

In the photo, she was kissing Julian under a sky full of fireworks.

Aaron went pale. His chest tightened.

He called her, still holding on to a little hope.

Julian answered. After a few unanswered hellos, he called to Gracie.

"Gracie, who's Aaron? He called, but he's not saying anything."

Her voice came through, clear and calm.

"No one important. Ignore him. Let's sleep a little longer."

Aaron knew it was time to walk away.

He packed up and was heading out when he ran into Gracie at the door.

He'd moved in because they slept together every night. Now he couldn't stay.

She glanced at his box. "Found a place?"

She didn't ask him to stay.

"Yeah. My old place. I talked to the landlord. I'm renting it for a month."

Gracie frowned. "A month? Why?"

Aaron started to explain, but she'd already lost interest.

"I'll drive you."

He tried to say no.

"It's late, and the snow's bad," Gracie insisted. "Dylan would be upset if anything happened to you."

Aaron got in.

They'd hooked up in this car more times than he could count. Now it barely felt familiar.

Model sports cars were everywhere. A fluffy blanket lay in the back seat, and colorful light strips lined the interior.

Gracie was all business. Cold. Reserved. This wasn't her style.

She caught him looking. "Julian likes this stuff."

That explained it.

After a long silence, Aaron said quietly, "You finally got him back. I'm happy for you."

Gracie hadn't expected that. Her eyes darkened. She said nothing.

Halfway there, Julian called. He wanted to build a snowman with her.

She pulled over, ready to head straight to him, then glanced at Aaron and hesitated.

He got it. He opened the door. "Ms. Weinstein, I'll grab a cab."

Gracie murmured, "Okay," and got out to help.

The box slipped from his hands. She bent to help, then froze at what spilled across the pavement.

Letters to her he'd never sent. Photos she hadn't known he'd taken. Things she'd thrown out that he'd kept.

Aaron's heart lurched. He scrambled to scoop it all up. "Sorry."

Gracie said nothing. She got back in and sped off.

Aaron waited in the snow. No cab came.

He gave up and started walking with the box. Then an electric scooter knocked him down.

A gash over eight inches long tore across his lower leg. Blood pooled in the snow.

The rider sped off. Aaron lay there, gasping in pain, unable to get up.

When the pain eased, he limped home through the snow. It took four hours.

He cleaned and bandaged the cut, then checked his phone. Gracie had texted after she left.

[Don't go all in on someone like this again. There are plenty of women out there. Don't waste your life waiting for me.]

Aaron stared at the message for a long time.

After sunrise, he went downstairs and burned everything in the box.

Eight years of love went up in smoke.

'You got it, Gracie Weinstein.'