CHAPTER 9: The Re-negotiation

They remained like that for what felt like an eternity.

Avalon holds her close, Selene’s tears soaking into his shirt. His hand traced slow, gentle circles on her back—a touch so familiar it stirred a deep ache in her chest. How many times had he been her comfort in those college days?

He still remembered every moment.

“Tell me,” he said at last, his voice raw. “Tell me about your sister.”

And so she did. Nestled against him, she shared it all—the diagnosis, the treatments that had failed, the experimental trials in Switzerland, the money spent, the money still needed.

“Three hundred thousand dollars,” she whispered. “On top of what you already gave me. I know I have no right to ask.”

“Stop.” His arms drew her tighter.

She looked up into his eyes—green and fierce.

“Do you really think I’d let your sister die because of money?” he asked, voice low.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Then think this: I might hate what you did to me. I might never understand why you left, but I am not a monster, Selene. No matter what happened between us, Maya is innocent.”

Her tears fell freely, warming his shirt. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“Don’t.” He let her go and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t thank me. This isn’t charity.”

“Everything between us feels so tangled.”

“Yes,” he admitted, moving toward the window. “But we have to simplify, Marcus is watching. The board is watching.”

“I know,” she said.

“Do you?” He turned sharply to her. 

The weight of it all pressed down on her. She had been so caught up in her own sorrow that she’d forgotten the stakes reached far beyond them.

“What do you need from me?” she asked quietly.

“Convincing performances. No more breaking down at events. No more looking at me like I’m your captor.” He hesitated, then added, “And you have to let me help you.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how this works. You play your role, I play mine. And we both get what we need.” His face hardened. “Someday, you’ll tell me the truth. Then I’ll decide if I can forgive you.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then at least Maya will have a chance.” He headed for the door. “Get dressed—we have that brunch in an hour—and we need to show a united front.”

“Avalon, wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice trembling. “For everything.”

His shoulders stiffened. For a moment, she thought he might say something—something to close the distance between them. But instead, he walked away, leaving her alone with her guilt and gratitude, the faint warmth of his embrace lingering on her skin.

-----

The brunch with the Chens turned out better than she hoped.

Margaret and David welcomed them like old friends, their Pacific Heights home alive with art, laughter, and a comforting warmth. Selene observed them moving effortlessly together—Margaret refilling David’s coffee without a word, David instinctively handing her reading glasses—and felt a sharp twist deep inside her.

This was the life she and Avalon might have shared. Maybe another time, in a world where she’d made different choices.

“You’re quiet,” Margaret said gently over eggs Benedict and mimosas. “Is everything okay?”

“Just tired,” Selene replied with a forced smile. “The wedding was beautiful but draining. Still, it's worth it tho.”

“I can imagine. City Hall weddings are supposed to be simple, but knowing Avalon, he probably turned it into a full production.” Margaret’s eyes sparkled. “He always gives one hundred and ten per cent.”

Avalon’s hand found hers beneath the table, squeezing softly—a silent reminder for her to stay in character.

“He does,” Selene said, glancing at him. “It’s one of the things I love about him—his intensity, his focus. When he commits, he gives everything.”

She meant it as part of the act. But something in Avalon’s face softened—a small crack in his protective armour—and suddenly those words felt more real than any performance.

“How did you know?” David asked. “That she was the one?”

Avalon was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing circles on Selene’s palm. The same maddening gesture from the dance, but this time it felt different. Softer. 

“She saw me,” he said finally. “Not the company or the success or what I might become. Just her and I made me want to be better than I was.” He paused. “I don’t think I ever stopped wanting that. Even when she was gone.”

The admission hung in the air. Selene’s throat tightened.

Margaret smiled, satisfied. “That’s how you know it’s real, when someone changes you fundamentally. When you can’t go back to who you were before them.”

The conversation moved on to safer topics—Margaret’s work at Nexus, David’s architectural firm, travel plans, and book recommendations. Selene played her part perfectly. Laughed at the right moments. Touched Avalon’s arm with practised affection. Let him refill her coffee without being asked.

It should have felt like acting.

Instead, it felt like remembering.

In the car ride home, they sat in comfortable silence. The fog had burned off, revealing the city bright and sharp against the Bay. Selene watched the Victorian houses slide past and thought about Margaret’s words.

*When you can’t go back to who you were before them ever.*

She’d never gone back. Not really, truly. Ten years later, and she was still the girl who’d loved Avalon Pierce with everything. Still, the girl who’d walked away because loving him truly meant destroying him.

“You were good today,” Avalon said quietly. “Natural. Like we really were…”

He never brought his words to a close, as if the weight of the unspoken hung heavily between them, trembling in the air. 

“Do you mean... like we were truly married?” she whispered, her voice fragile yet hopeful, reaching out for a truth she longed to believe.

He met her gaze, eyes searching, caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “More than that—it was like we were really ourselves,” he murmured. “Not like at the gala, where everything felt staged and forced, like actors playing parts. This was different, somehow real.”

Her breath hitched slightly, a flicker of a smile playing on her lips. “Maybe it’s because we’re getting better at the charade, at pretending to be something we’re not.”

“Or maybe...” he paused, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his face, “maybe it’s not pretending anymore.”

In that charged silence, an unspoken truth settled between them, undeniable and raw. And deep down, she knew—neither of them was pretending any longer.