Chapter 1: The Cake That Never Got Eaten

Lily's POV

The cake slips from my hands.

Chocolate mousse explodes across Owen's hardwood floor, dark brown cream splattering onto the white rug. It looks like blood.

"Lily?" Owen jumps off the couch, pushing away the blonde. Her lipstick is smeared all over his neck, bright red and obscene. "What are you doing back so early?"

Early. Like that's the problem here.

"I wanted to surprise you." My voice comes out calm. Too calm. Even I'm surprised. "Guess the surprise is on me."

The blonde is fixing her half-open shirt, lace bra peeking through. She grins at me with this winner's smile. "You're Lily? Owen said you were boring."

I should be angry. Should be crying, screaming, throwing things.

But I'm just standing here, staring at the cake on the floor.

His favorite chocolate mousse. I drove across town to that French bakery, waited forty minutes in line.

Now it's just sitting there, ruined. Like us. Like these two years.

Owen walks over, and there's no guilt on his face. None. "Look, Lily. We need to talk."

"What's left to say?"

"You made me do this!" He explodes. "Two years. Two whole fucking years, and you won't even let me touch you. I'm a man, I have needs! You think I'm some kind of monk?"

I did keep refusing him. Every time he kissed me, every time his hands moved down my body, someone else appeared in my head.

A pair of deep blue eyes.

A low voice in my ear saying no.

A name I shouldn't be thinking about.

"Whatever." Owen waves his hand. "Let's just end this. Honestly, I've been done for a while. Dating you is like dating an iceberg."

The blonde giggles from the couch.

I turn and walk out, stepping through the cake. Cream sticks to my shoes, leaving sweet sticky footprints all the way to the door.

---

Seven PM. Hartley Gallery.

I'm arranging new pieces on autopilot—a series of abstract oils, all grays and blacks. Fits my mood perfectly.

The bell chimes.

"We're closed." I don't look up.

"I know."

That voice.

My hands freeze mid-air. The frame almost slips.

Four years.

Four years since I've heard that voice.

But my body remembers. Every cell remembers.

I turn around slowly.

Gabriel Sterling is standing in the doorway, California sunset burning behind him, turning his silhouette gold. He's wearing a dark coat, tailored perfectly to his frame. He looks more mature than I remember, his features sharper, more defined, something deeper in his eyes now.

But they're still the same eyes.

Deep blue. Like the ocean. Like the place where I drowned.

We stare at each other.

The air gets thick. Hard to breathe.

His gaze travels from my face down to my neck, pauses at my collarbone, then jerks away.

But that one second is enough.

Enough to make my skin burn.

"Heard you were working here." He speaks, his voice lower than four years ago. "Was passing by."

Passing by. From Europe to California. Sure.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Sterling?" I use the most distant title I can think of.

His jaw tightens. "Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you're doing okay." A pause. "Heard you have a boyfriend."

"I do." The lie comes out smooth. "It's good."

I don't want him knowing I just got dumped. Don't want him knowing I've spent two years dating his shadow.

Gabe moves through the gallery, his steps measured. He stops in front of one painting—one I did when I was twenty-one. A man's back, standing at a window looking out at city lights.

A naked back.

Defined muscles.

Him, from memory.

"You painted this?" He's staring at it, his throat working.

"Yeah."

He doesn't say anything, but I watch his fists clench.

After what feels like forever, he turns toward the door.

At the threshold, he stops. His back to me.

"Take care of yourself, Lily."

Then the door closes.

My legs give out. I'm on the floor, knees hitting hard.

Four years of missing him hits me like a tidal wave. I'm crying so hard I'm shaking, nails digging into my palms.

He came back.

He actually came back.

And I'm still living in the shadow of that night four years ago.

That night. My twenty-first birthday.

After everyone left, it was just me and Gabe.

"You're drunk." He was helping me upstairs.

"I'm not." I turned to face him, standing one step below so we were eye to eye. "I'm completely sober."

Then I kissed him.

This time he didn't push me away.

This time his arms wrapped around my waist, pressed me against the wall, kissed me until I couldn't breathe.

"Lily... we can't..." His voice was rough.

"Why not?" I was unbuttoning his shirt. "I love you. I want you."

"This is wrong..."

"Then let's be wrong together."

That night I gave myself to him.

Completely.

The next morning I woke up to cold sheets.

He was gone.

Just a note on the pillow: "I'm sorry. I can't ruin you. —G"

Four years. One thousand four hundred and sixty days.

Every single day, I've been waiting for him to come back.

My phone buzzes.

Owen's text: "Your stuff is outside your apartment. Don't contact me again."

I stare at the screen.

Then I laugh.

Gabe's back.

Owen dumped me.

Which means I'm free.

Four years ago I was a scared girl who gave up after he rejected me.

But I'm twenty-five now.

I know what I want.

I want him.

This time, I'm not letting him run.