Chapter 5

Back then, after we broke up, I returned the pink microcar he’d given me. 

I was so certain Simon Rainer and I would never cross paths again. 

Funny how life works.

Now, he was back—and he was the person I found the most infuriating in the world.

He wore the smug, detached mask of a corporate shark.

The second he arrived at the office that morning, he summoned our entire department for a meeting.

I was exhausted, fighting the urge to drift off, but every few seconds, I could feel his gaze cutting across the room.

It was intense enough that Mr. Grafton kept glancing back and forth between us, convinced he was missing some juicy office scandal.

As soon as the meeting wrapped, I bolted from my chair, desperate to escape.

I wasn't fast enough.

"Mr. Rainer, thank you for your time. Please, let me get you a fresh coffee, I brewed it myself... Oh!"

Celeste McKinney’s feet suddenly lost their rhythm.

She tipped forward, stumbling straight into Simon’s chest.

The coffee cup tilted, splashing dark liquid all over his pristine designer shirt.

Sharon caught my eye and leaned in, whispering, "Classic. She really needs to update her repertoire. That move is so last decade."

I just gave a shrug. 

Tricks don't have to be new to be effective—they just have to work.

"I am so, so sorry, Simon! I wasn't watching where I was going. Please, tell me how much the dry cleaning is—I’ll pay for everything!"

She tilted her head back, batting her lashes with that practiced, wide-eyed innocence.

She looked like a wounded deer. 

Mr. Grafton, who had clearly realized long ago that he’d been played by the same script, looked miserable, yet he felt obligated to back her up.

"My apologies, Mr. Rainer. I’m sure it was just an accident."

Simon didn't look at her. His eyes locked onto mine. "Is that so? Paula, what do you think?"

The room went silent.

Celeste blinked, looking from him to me, her face twisting in confusion.

Simon was watching me with such intensity that I felt like he was reading the history written behind my eyes.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze—a ghost of an expectation.

"I suppose..." I kept my voice flat, indifferent. "She probably didn't mean to. She just lost her balance."

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. 

Simon didn't say another word.

He simply grabbed a handful of napkins, dabbed at the stain on his chest, and walked out of the conference room without a backward glance. 

The rest of the team shuffled out, but Celeste lingered long enough to shoot me a look of pure, venomous hatred before stalking off.

I buried myself in files for the rest of the day, trying to drown out the tension.

I buried myself in spreadsheets for the rest of the day, my screen blurring as I desperately tried to drown out the memory of Simon's icy, wounded glare.

Five-thirty finally hit. I packed my bag in a rush, keeping my head down, desperate to slip out before anyone noticed.

My phone buzzed against the mahogany desk.

A text message. From an unsaved number—yet I would recognize those ten digits in my sleep. Simon.

Parking garage. Level B2. Pillar 14.

My chest tightened. My thumb hovered over the screen, ready to block him right then and there.

Before I could hit the button, a second message lit up the screen.

You acted like we were strangers. Fine.

But don't you want to know what actually happened after we broke up three years ago?

The air in my lungs suddenly felt entirely too thin.

His final text chimed, cold and uncompromising:

I'm waiting in the car. You have five minutes. Come find out the truth, or keep running.

I stood frozen by my desk. My pulse pounded violently in my ears.

If I walked down to that garage, every defense I had spent three years building would shatter. But if I ran... I would never know what he meant...