“ I'm back. Do you still want me?” The text message glowed on my screen, a ghost from another life. Staring at the words, I felt the past pull at me, a current dragging me under. A hand snatched the phone from my grasp. I looked up to see my husband, Grayson, his brow furrowed in a familiar, impatient line. “What are you doing, looking at my phone?” he demanded. “I told you, Chloe is the only one who matters to me.” I didn't say anything, which only seemed to irritate him more. “Of course,” he added, a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’m not going to divorce you.” My heart gave a sharp, painful little jump. He’d misunderstood completely. “Grayson,” I said, my voice flat. “That’s my phone you’re holding.” The confidence on his face collapsed. It was replaced by a dark, ugly suspicion. “Who is this man?” 1 I'm back. Do you still want me? That was it. No name, no context. But I didn't need any. I knew who it was from. Just seeing his name in my mind was enough to make the present fade away. I was lost in a memory so vivid I didn't even hear Grayson walk up behind me. He ripped the phone from my hands, his expression tightening. “Ava. When did you pick up the charming habit of snooping through other people’s phones?” I saw a flash of genuine disgust in his eyes. In the nearly five years we’d been married, he’d mostly treated me with a cool indifference, a polite disregard. I’d never seen such a raw emotion from him directed at me. “I’ve told you,” he said, his voice clipped. “Chloe is the one who matters.” I blinked, the words echoing strangely. Had he told me? Or had I simply overheard that hushed, frantic phone call, and he’d only "confessed" after he knew he was caught? It wasn’t a confession. It was a notification. An amendment to the terms and conditions of our marriage. When my silence stretched on, he sighed, as if granting a great concession. “And I’m not going to divorce you, obviously.” A muscle in my jaw twitched. The depth of his self-absorption was almost impressive. I couldn’t resist. “You’re holding my phone.” He swiped up, his thumb moving across the screen. There was only the one message. The sleek black case, the screen protector… it wasn't his phone. Grayson’s face soured. “Who is this man?” 2 I knew that in moments like this, any hint of evasion would only feed Grayson’s suspicion. So I gave him the truth, or at least part of it. “My ex, I think.” His hand tightened around my phone, the knuckles white. I had to gently remind him again before he returned it to me. It was an easy mistake to make. We had identical phones, the same models, the same cases. And, ironically, the message was a mirror image of our own drama. His Chloe, his great lost love, had sent him the exact same text a year ago. I'm back. Do you still want me? What a coincidence. The only difference was the date stamp, a tiny line of text easily overlooked. Grayson had been on his way out, but now he seemed to have changed his mind. He sank onto the edge of the sofa, assuming an air of casual inquiry that didn’t fool me for a second. “He’s your ex?” Even though I’d already told him, I nodded. “My ex.” My first love, actually. The boy next door. My fiancé, once upon a time, in a childhood pact that felt more real than this marriage ever had. “How long were you together?” “A little over a year.” If you only count from the first kiss, that was true. “When did you break up?” “2019.” The year before I married Grayson. Time flies. It was hard to believe Grayson and I were approaching our fifth anniversary. I saw the tension leave his shoulders. He was relaxing, deciding this ghost from the past was no real threat. “Our fifth anniversary is coming up, isn’t it? We should go…” “Does your offer to let me see other people still stand?” We both spoke at the exact same time, our words colliding in the quiet room. A stunned silence followed. Grayson stared down at the tips of his expensive Italian loafers, his thoughts a closed book. I decided to break the standoff. “What were you saying? We should go where?” “To the family estate,” he said. “Oh.” Of course. A family obligation. For a foolish second, I’d thought he meant a trip, a celebration for us. Good thing I hadn't let that thought take root. Silence fell again. I studied his profile, half-cast in the shadows from the window. No expression. No emotion. I took a breath and decided to push. “The offer you made. About us… seeing other people. Does it still stand?” 3 He’d said it two months ago, during a particularly nasty fight. He was tired of my questions, my accusations. He’d finally snapped. “Can you just stop watching my every move?” he’d spat out. “For God’s sake, Ava, go find someone else to keep you busy. We can have an arrangement.” At the time, the words had stolen the air from my lungs. I felt like I was suffocating. Now, strangely, I felt a flicker of gratitude for his cruelty. Time really is a master storyteller. It breaks you, but if you learn to bend with it, it can offer the most unexpected gifts. A dry, mirthless laugh escaped Grayson’s lips. “Yes. Of course, it stands.” He stood up and strode toward the door. His hand was on the handle when he paused. He didn’t turn around, but his voice carried back to me, clear and cold. “I meant what I said. We can have an arrangement.” A beat. “But you are still my wife. Mrs. Hawke. Just… be discreet.” “Okay,” I replied, my voice meek and agreeable. I’d use him as my benchmark. It’s not like I was planning on setting off fireworks across the city for someone, or getting into a brawl at a gala over them. He turned then, his eyes narrowing. “And you’d better make sure he understands the situation. That you’re a married woman.” “The last thing our families need is some messy scandal.” I nodded. He was right. I would tell him. I watched Grayson, but he still didn’t leave. He just stood there, watching me. “Is there anything else?” I asked. His fingers tapped an unconscious, rhythmic beat against the seam of his trousers. “What’s his name?” he asked, adding quickly, “I’m not trying to be… I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of.” I cut him off before he could finish the lie. “Leo Hayes.” “Hayes? From Hayes Innovations? Patrick Hayes’s son?” “I believe so.” I didn’t know if he was the CEO of Hayes Innovations now, but I knew his father’s name was Patrick. This time, Grayson didn’t hesitate. He opened the door and left without a backward glance. 4 I will be reframing this chapter to maintain Ava's first-person perspective, as per the project's core instructions for an immersive experience. Sitting alone in the sudden silence of the foyer, I could practically hear the gears turning in Grayson’s head as he walked to his car. A knot of irritation was probably tightening in his chest, a feeling without a clear source. But then he would think of Leo Hayes, and a sense of relief would wash over him. He knew Leo, or at least knew of him. They’d crossed paths once or twice at some benefit or another. Leo had a reputation. He came from old money but had built his own tech empire from the ground up. He had the looks, the pedigree, the ambition—a man who was, in every measurable way, Grayson’s equal. More importantly, a man like Leo Hayes had pride. Principles. He wouldn't send a message like that if he knew I was married. Men like that don't become the other man. They don’t involve themselves in sordid affairs that have no winning outcome. And besides, he would tell himself, Ava simply doesn’t have that kind of pull. She isn’t the kind of woman a man like Leo Hayes would risk his reputation for. His phone would buzz then. It would be Chloe. He’d promised to take her to that new restaurant downtown tonight, the one with the six-month waitlist. He’d let it ring three times before answering. “Something came up,” he’d say, his voice softening. “I’ll have to take you next time.” And Chloe, though disappointed, would be understanding. She would tell him to take care of his business and that she’d be waiting. See? he would think, ending the call. That’s the kind of woman I love. Someone sweet and gentle, someone who soothes and supports. Not someone sharp and demanding like Ava, who always has to pick at the seams of things until they unravel. 5 After a long time, I decided to text him back. Leo? Is that you? The reply took so long I was sure it would never come. It's me. Our breakup had been ugly. He’d seen my choice as the ultimate betrayal. He left the country immediately after and hadn’t been back since. I truly believed we would never speak again, that we would live and die as strangers. It took me a full year after he left to even begin to feel whole again. And then I married Grayson. In the beginning, I was intoxicated by him. He had a gravity, a charisma that pulled all of my attention, making me forget so many of my troubles. I thought, for a while, that I was really falling in love with him. But in the fourth year of our marriage, his great lost love returned. Her name was Chloe. It’s the oldest story in the book. Her family had been paid off by the Hawkes to disappear, to leave Grayson free for a more… suitable match. When she returned and told Grayson the whole tearful story, every rule he lived by evaporated. The day I confronted him about Chloe, he told me without a flicker of hesitation that she was the most important person in his life. That if she had never been forced to leave, I would never have had the chance to marry him in the first place. A single frightened look from her was enough to turn Grayson into a weapon aimed directly at my throat. It was as if our three years of relative happiness had never existed. But we never mentioned divorce. We couldn’t. After five years of marriage, the business dealings between the Hawke and Sterling families were a tangled web six years in the making. The real-world consequences were far more complicated than either of us wanted to deal with. An arrangement, though? That was different. In our circle, affairs were practically a currency. They didn't threaten the bottom line. Still, my fingers trembled over the screen. I had changed so much. I had no idea who Leo was anymore. I’m married. The words felt like tiny shards of glass as I typed them. The wait for his reply was agonizing. A single question mark appeared. I bit my lip, my mind racing. Finally, I just took a screenshot of the message he’d sent and sent it to him. What did you mean by this? The tension was unbearable. I started typing, my thumbs fumbling. Even though I’m married, my husband and I don’t have that kind of relationship anymore. Before I could finish, an image popped up from him. It was a screenshot of his phone. The screen was empty. There was no "I'm back. Do you still want me?" A wave of nausea washed over me. It was a misunderstanding. I scrambled to delete the humiliating sentence I’d been typing, but my eyes were suddenly blurry with tears. In my panic, my thumb hit send. I wiped my eyes and frantically held down the message, hitting "unsend." A few seconds later, a new message from him came through. We were playing Truth or Dare this afternoon. My buddy Monk probably grabbed my phone and sent that, then deleted it. I had no idea. I'm sorry if it caused any trouble for you. 6 It wasn't just disappointment. It was a deep, searing shame. How arrogant was I to think he’d come back for me? That he would want a woman who had shattered his heart and was now trapped in a sham of a marriage? Just because my own morals had been worn down to nothing didn't mean his had. What was I doing? I typed out an apology, my cheeks burning. Sorry. My mistake. Leo didn't reply. I couldn't stand being in this house, this empty museum of a life. I drove to the lounge I always went to and started ordering drinks, one after another. Through a hazy blur, I saw a familiar figure moving toward me. He walked with a purpose, his silhouette cutting through the dim light. It looked like Leo, but it couldn't be. The man I knew would never look at me with such a cold, impenetrable expression. I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, I was waking up somewhere unfamiliar. I sat up, my head throbbing, and my eyes met Leo’s. He was sitting on the balcony, bathed in the morning light. He was wearing a light gray dress shirt, two buttons undone, offering just a hint of his collarbone. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned forearms with lean, defined muscles. And a long, thin scar that hadn't been there before. Five years. His face was the same, but time had chiseled away the last of his boyish softness, replacing it with a quiet, magnetic confidence. He was the kind of man who commanded attention even when he was perfectly still. You can tell a lot about a person's life by looking at them. Leo had clearly done well for himself. He was the first to look away. I realized I’d been staring, far past the point of politeness. I slipped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. When I came out, he was standing with his back to me, looking down at the city below. “Leo, thank you for not leaving me there last night.” My memories were fuzzy, but I remembered enough to know I’d drunkenly latched onto him, refusing to let go. He’d brought me here because he had no other choice. He turned around. “Don’t mention it. I’d do the same for a stranger.” The meaning was clear: Don’t get any ideas. I managed a weak smile. “Well, I should go. I won’t bother you anymore.” I had only taken a few steps when he stopped me. “You need to settle your tab from last night.” Right. The drinks. He must have paid. I pulled out my phone, but when I tried to scan his code, I realized it was a contact request, not a payment QR. “I have a policy about not accepting money from anonymous sources,” he said, his face impassive as he accepted my friend request. Did he always have that policy? I doubted it. But five years is a long time. People change. “So, um, how much do I owe you?” “Seven thousand, five hundred and sixty dollars.” My fingers froze. That couldn't be right. As if reading my mind, he added, “That includes the cost of my suit.” The memory sharpened with a cringe. I’d thrown up on him. Our first time seeing each other in five years, and I’d ended it by vomiting on his designer suit. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I never wanted to see him again. I rounded the number up and transferred him eight thousand dollars, then practically ran for the door. 7 I was exhausted—physically and emotionally. I got home, showered again, and collapsed into bed. I was hovering in that space between sleep and waking when I heard the bedroom door open. It was Grayson. He was the only one who ever came in while I was sleeping. I heard his footsteps, the sound bringing me to full, alert consciousness. He stopped beside the bed. I could feel his eyes on me, a heavy, scrutinizing gaze. I focused on keeping my breathing slow and even. Every sound was amplified in the stillness. The soft rustle of fabric. The quiet click as he picked up my phone from the nightstand. He knew my passcode; I’d never changed it. It was pathetically easy for him to unlock it. He scrolled for a moment, then stopped. He’d found what he was looking for. I didn’t have any secrets on my phone. I had no idea what he was so desperate to see. After a moment of silence, a low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Just as I thought,” he murmured to himself. “Who does she think he is?” “She really needs a reality check.” He placed the phone back on the nightstand, the quiet thud echoing in the room. He turned and left, closing the door behind him. Only then did I dare to move, curling into a tight ball and pulling the duvet around me. I knew exactly what he’d been looking at. My conversation with Leo. She really needs a reality check. I repeated the words to myself, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I couldn't name the feeling twisting in my gut. It was like he’d found the most private, vulnerable corner of my heart and ripped it open for his own amusement. I was more proud than I realized, and his scorn hurt more than I wanted to admit. Tears soaked my pillow before I even realized I was crying. My phone buzzed a few times. I ignored it. A moment later, it started ringing. A phone call. It rang, and rang, and rang. Furious, I snatched it from the nightstand. The screen read: LEO HAYES. I wiped my tears, took a few deep breaths to compose myself, and finally answered. “What is it?” I asked. His voice was different. “What’s wrong with your voice?” I lied instinctively. “Nothing, just a bit of a cold. What’s up?” Silence stretched on the other end of the line. “You left something here,” he finally said. “You need to come get it. Tonight.” He hung up and immediately sent an address, not even giving me a chance to refuse. 8 Leo hadn’t done anything wrong. That’s what I kept telling myself. He wasn’t the same boy who had offered me unconditional love and acceptance. I was the one who needed to adjust my expectations. I pulled myself together. Before I got to the address he’d sent—a sleek, modern downtown condo—I checked my reflection in the car mirror and practiced a relaxed, easy smile. We were childhood friends, after all. We knew each other inside and out. Acting like strangers would be more suspicious than just being normal. I brought a gift with me, a peace offering. It was a set of hand-carved alabaster chess pieces. Leo didn’t have many hobbies, but chess was one of them. I knew he’d had his eye on a set just like this before he left the country. I saw the flicker of surprise and delight in his eyes before he could hide it. I knew he’d like it. “For me?” he asked. I nodded, maintaining my gentle smile. He picked up one of the pieces, the cool white stone a stark contrast to his long, tanned fingers. It suited him. “A strategic gift,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “Are you making a move, Ava?” I looked up sharply. A move? Seeing my expression, he just gave a slight, unreadable smile. I decided I was overthinking it. It was just an offhand comment. “So,” I said, changing the subject. “What did I leave here?” He pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, opened his banking app. He transferred back the extra money I’d sent him. $440 I was completely bewildered. If it was just about the money, why make me come all the way down here? He took a sip of water. “I prefer to handle transactions in person.” Four hundred and forty dollars. He could have made a hundred times that in the time it took me to drive here. Still, I nodded as if this made perfect sense. As I turned to leave, he finally got to the real point. “You have your money back. But now you owe me a favor.” I nodded again. Fair enough. “Come with me to a gala.” I froze, then cleared my throat. “Leo, everyone who matters in this city knows I’m Grayson Hawke’s wife.” He didn’t seem to think this was a problem. “And everyone who matters in this city also knows that you were my childhood sweetheart.” He had a point. If we were open about it, I guess it wouldn't look like we were hiding anything. The car ride was silent. It wasn’t until we stepped out in front of the grand hotel ballroom that he paused. He looked down at me, then at my arm. I understood. I looped my arm through his. We had barely stepped through the doors when we ran into the last person on earth I wanted to see. Grayson’s face was a thundercloud as his eyes locked onto my hand resting on Leo’s arm. But he wasn't alone. Chloe was clinging to his other arm, her victory barely concealed. He’d been parading her around at these events for the past year, passing her off as his "secretary" as the thinnest of veils. So why did he look so furious now? He looked like he was seconds away from losing his composure in front of everyone. I didn’t remove my arm. Instead, fueled by a sudden spike of defiance, I gave Leo’s bicep a little squeeze. Definitely more toned than Grayson's. He blocked our path. “Mr. Hawke,” Leo said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Is there a problem?” Grayson’s eyes were only for me. He reached out to grab my arm, but Leo shifted, blocking him. My husband took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he hissed. “Unless you want to make a scene that embarrasses both of us.” I glanced around. A few people were already starting to notice. Grayson and Chloe were a known quantity. But this… this was new. He was the man, the powerful CEO. He could get away with it. I couldn't. I sighed. “Leo and I grew up together,” I explained, my voice low. “Most of the people here know that. It’s not what you think.” Grayson let out a cold snort. “Right. ‘Childhood sweethearts.’” I ignored his sarcasm and tried to steer Leo in another direction. But Grayson moved again, blocking us. He wasn’t going to let this go. Fine. If he wanted a confrontation, he would get one. “Outside,” I said.
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