We were so broke I couldn't even book a guest role, so my girlfriend, Ava, and I were crammed into a shoebox apartment in the city's grimiest borough. Every evening, we’d go to the market to pick through the leftover vegetables the vendors were throwing out. To save on electricity, we used old candles for light. One night, a fierce storm rolled through, flooding our tiny apartment. Ava, soaked to the bone, huddled in my arms for warmth. I swore to myself then that one day, I would get her out of there, into a big house, and give her the life she deserved. But before I could make good on that promise, she was gone, killed in a fire that consumed everything. For a long time after, I was a ghost. Then, by a stroke of luck, a young director saw something in my haunted eyes and cast me as the lead in a web series. It was a hit. I skyrocketed to fame. Three years later, I became the youngest actor to win the industry's highest award. The world admired my success. No one knew that every ounce of effort, every sleepless night, was just my way of paying a debt to Ava. Now, I had finally done it. I could finally let go and join her. But on the very night I decided to end my life, my girlfriend, dead for three years, appeared before me, alive and breathing. … Tonight was the wrap party, a thank-you dinner organized by my agent for the film’s producers. It was also the night I planned to announce my retirement from acting. The wind whipping off the river was bone-chilling, but the woman sitting in the seat of honor across from me froze the very blood in my veins. She wore a gown of flowing satin, her long hair swept up to reveal a swan-like neck. She was the picture of elegance, a vision of aristocratic grace. But her face… it was identical to the face of my girlfriend, the one who had died three years ago. Even the tiny mole just below the corner of her eye was in the exact same spot. The director was beside her, pouring her a glass of Lafite. "You're too kind," she said, her voice a clipped, aristocratic murmur. Those two simple words were enough to make the wine glass tremble in my hand. That voice had echoed in my dreams for a thousand nights. I would hear a similar cadence in a crowd and whip my head around, searching. I never thought I’d hear it again in this lifetime. My agent nudged me under the table. "Liam. The director is toasting you." I snapped back to reality, meeting the director's teasing gaze. "What's this, Mr. Shaw? You see our film's main investor and you can't look away? Don't tell me you and our Miss Thorne are old acquaintances?" Miss Thorne. I rolled the name around in my mind. The director turned to the woman, clearly expecting an answer. Miss Thorne merely leaned back in her chair, her tone distant and cool. "I don't know him." She glanced at me for a fraction of a second, her eyes as cold and indifferent as if she were looking at a complete stranger, before looking away. But I couldn't tear my gaze from her. The eyes, the voice, even the surname was the same. How could I believe she wasn't my Ava? "Liam, stop staring. You're making Miss Thorne uncomfortable," my agent whispered urgently in my ear. I lowered my eyes, forcing the words out. "I'm sorry. I mistook her for someone else." Someone at the table chuckled. "Come on, Liam. Miss Thorne is the princess of this city. You can't just compare her to anyone." "If you said something like that in public, the Thorne family would have your head. We couldn't protect you," another added. The woman acted as if she hadn't heard a word, sipping her wine. It wasn't until her phone buzzed that she rose from her seat. "Enjoy yourselves. I have to take this call." My seat was near the door. The hem of her gown brushed against me as she passed, leaving an icy chill in its wake. I rubbed my frozen arm, taking a moment before I could speak to my agent. "Miss Thorne..." "Liam, she's not her." My agent cut me off immediately. He'd been with me for three years; he knew my entire past. "Miss Thorne is the sole heir to one of the richest families on the East Coast. She's the CEO of Celestial Entertainment, the biggest player in the industry. This restaurant we're in? She owns it. In fact, her family's name is on the deed for nearly every building from the west side of the river to the next district over." His face was deadly serious. "Liam Shaw, don't be a fool," he warned again. "If you anger the Thornes, there won't be a place for us in this industry, or even this city." The words I wanted to say died in my throat. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, I could see her standing outside, poised and regal. She was a world away from the Ava I had known. She wasn't my love. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. But when the door opened again and she stepped back inside, my body moved on its own. I reached out and grabbed her arm. "Miss Thorne, you look so much like... an old friend of mine." She pulled her arm free, her eyes dropping to mine, filled with a chilling condescension. "Mr. Shaw, that pickup line was outdated ten years ago." A wave of laughter rippled through the room, mocking my clumsy attempt, my utter foolishness. My agent quickly stepped in front of me, bowing to her. "I'm so sorry, Miss Thorne. My client has had a bit too much to drink tonight." He raised his glass. "I hope we still have the opportunity to work together in the future." He drained the glass in one go. Others at the table started making excuses for me, trying to smooth things over. Miss Thorne didn't deign to reply. She simply walked back to her seat, picked up her handbag, and headed for the door. "My mother is expecting me home. Goodnight." I watched her back until she disappeared from view, then finally closed the door. The party broke up soon after. I walked out of the restaurant and looked at the glittering skyline. I remembered when I was just a broke kid, walking this same riverfront with Ava in my arms. "When I make it big," I'd told her, "I'm going to propose to you right here." The memory was so vivid it hurt. "Liam, should I take you back to the apartment?" I tore my eyes from the view and nodded to my agent. Half an hour later, I was back in the shoebox. No one would ever believe that the reigning king of the silver screen lived in a space smaller than a hundred square feet. But this place held every memory I had of Ava. I couldn't bear to lose this last connection to her. I had bought the entire floor, renovating every apartment except this one, leaving it exactly as it had been. The photo of Ava and me on the wall was faded and yellowing. I walked over and gently smoothed down a corner that had begun to curl. "Ava, I'm home." I still remembered how she'd made me promise to greet her every time I came back. For a second, I could almost hear her excited reply. "Look who's home, our future superstar!" A smile touched my lips. I leaned in to kiss her image on the photo, but my hand accidentally hit the light switch beside it. The room flooded with harsh, sudden light. And just like that, my Ava vanished. The glare was so bright it made my eyes water. "Ava," I whispered to the photograph, a painful tightness gripping my chest. "I saw someone today who looked just like you. So much like you, I almost ran up and held her." But I hadn't. Because I knew my Ava was never coming back. The fire three years ago had burned her life, and my heart, to ashes. From the street below, I could hear the happy sounds of a family. I watched them, a perfect picture of the life Ava and I should have had. It was like waking from a dream. How could I be so foolish as to give up everything to join her? I had the power now. I could give her a better life, even in death. I would take her ashes and travel the world. I'd walk the equator and see the northern lights. I would visit every temple, every sacred place, and pray for her, accumulating merit for her next life. My phone buzzed repeatedly. My agent was sending me script after script. I tapped out a single reply. I'm retiring. My phone exploded with frantic calls and texts. I blocked his number and began to pack. I carefully placed the last photo of Ava in my bag. I switched off the light in the shoebox apartment and dragged my suitcase to the door. But just as I was about to open it, there was a frantic knocking from the other side. I opened the door, and a familiar figure stumbled into my arms. It was Miss Thorne. She reeked of alcohol, her face flushed an unnatural red. I had no idea why she was like this, or how she had found me here. The heavy slam of the door behind her snapped me back to reality. I tried to push her away, but she threw me back onto the sofa with surprising strength. "Miss Thorne!" The rest of my words were swallowed as her lips crashed down on mine. What happened next was a blur, with Miss Thorne in complete control. Her mouth was on mine as she tore at my clothes. In the pale moonlight filtering through the window, her face merged completely with Ava's. I couldn't fight it anymore. I flipped her over, pressing her into the cushions. "Liam... Liam..." she gasped, her voice thick with pleasure. The sound sent a shockwave through me. In the final, desperate moments, I gritted my teeth and cried out the name that had haunted my soul. "Ava!" Her eyes were wide and unfocused as she stared up at me. We moved together, again and again, as if we could never get enough. Finally, exhausted, we collapsed into sleep. The next morning, I woke up on the sofa. I was alone. I shot upright. My clothes were neatly folded on a chair, and the shoebox apartment was clean and tidy. It was as if the whole thing had been a fever dream. No. It couldn't have been a dream. The searing heat of her skin, the raw passion of our encounter, the familiar curves of her body. It wasn't a dream. She was Ava. At that thought, my long-dormant heart began to hammer against my ribs. My hands shook as I unblocked my agent, intending to ask for Miss Thorne's number. Instead, I saw a string of pathetic, pleading emojis from him. "Boss, I know you've just been holding on by a thread these past few years." "I promise, just shoot this one reality show, and I'll get you a long vacation." Attached was a presentation for the show. A competitive acting program. They wanted me as a judge. There were four other judges listed. One of them was Miss Thorne. Ava Thorne. Seeing her name in print, I almost laughed out loud. I dialed my agent's number. Before he could speak, I cut him off. "I'll do it. I'll do the show." On the other end of the line, he sounded like he was about to weep with joy. "Boss, you just saved my life!" It turned out the company had already signed the contract. I mumbled a few placating words and hung up. The details from her bio in the presentation flashed in my mind. Why had she lied to me? Why did she pretend not to know me now? Was there any chance for us? The questions swirled in my head. On the first day of filming, I was determined to get answers. But when I arrived, I saw her standing beside a handsome, distinguished-looking man. They were close, sitting together for their pre-show interview. "Commissioner Vance, are you participating in this show just to be with Miss Thorne?" the interviewer asked. The man, Marcus Vance, turned to her, his smile radiating pure adoration. "Of course." A chorus of "oohs" and "aahs" went through the crew. "I can't believe the city's Deputy Police Commissioner would lower himself to be a reality show judge, even for the woman he loves." "It's no surprise! Commissioner Vance goes wherever Miss Thorne goes. They're definitely a couple!" "The righteous commissioner and the ice queen CEO? I am so shipping this!" I stood to the side, watching them, feeling my heart plummet into a dark abyss. Just two days ago, she had been in my arms. Now, she was at another man's side. I numbly went through my own interview and retreated to my hotel room. I tossed and turned for hours before finally giving in to the overwhelming need to see her. I walked to her door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked. "Ava, it's me." I heard a rustling inside and quickly straightened my collar. The door opened. I kept my head down, the words I'd been rehearsing tumbling out. "Ava, I don't know why you lied to me, or why you're pretending not to know me now. But I need you to know, I've missed you every single day for the past three years. I never forgot you for a second. Can we please… can we try again?" I waited. The silence stretched. It wasn't the answer I was expecting. Instead, a strange man's voice replied. "You are... Liam Shaw?" I snapped my head up and saw Marcus Vance standing in the doorway. My heartfelt confession had been delivered to the wrong audience. My lips moved, but no sound came out. I could only stand there, mortified, clutching the chain around my neck. It was the necklace Ava and I had shared, our pledge to each other. I'd worn it every day since she died. Just then, Ava emerged from the balcony. A flash of surprise crossed her face when she saw me, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. "Mr. Shaw, I believe I made myself clear the other day," she said, her voice like ice. "Why are you still harassing me?" Harassing. So that's what this was to her. A wave of grief and anger washed over me. "Ava, this isn't harassment," I said through gritted teeth. "Have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how happy we were three years ago?" "Just two nights ago, you came to my apartment, we..." "Enough!" she snapped. "Mr. Shaw, I've only met you once. I don't know what past you're talking about. If you don't leave now, I'm calling the police." She pulled out her phone and started dialing, right in front of me. Marcus Vance stepped forward. "Mr. Shaw," he said, his tone a calm warning. "I don't know what's between you and Ava. But I'm sure you don't want tomorrow's headlines to be about you." I stood frozen in the doorway, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain was a distant echo of the agony in my heart. The phone began to ring. I forced myself to take a step back, clearing the doorway. Ava immediately hung up. "See? Was that so hard? You always force me to be cruel." She took Marcus's arm and slammed the door in my face. Her every word, every action, screamed that she was not the Ava I knew. The closed door was a blade, slicing the past from the present. I stood there for a long time, until my hands and feet were numb, then slowly, mechanically, walked back to my room. The next day, the producers organized a "get-to-know-you" hot pot dinner. I arrived on time with the others. We waited half an hour for Ava and Marcus. They walked in arm-in-arm, looking for all the world like a couple in love. I gripped my chopsticks, mechanically dropping vegetables into the bubbling pot. "Miss Thorne, Commissioner Vance, you two are inseparable," one of the producers teased. "Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?" They didn't answer, just started serving themselves. The dinner was a cheerful affair for everyone else. Marcus repeatedly filled Ava's plate. Ava, in turn, acted like any doting girlfriend, wiping his brow and rinsing his food in a bowl of water to cool it down. "Marcus can't handle spicy food," she told the table. "Make sure to leave some things for the plain broth." Her solicitous words were like needles in my heart. That tender care had once been reserved for me. I hated cilantro, and she would painstakingly pick every last speck of it out of my noodle soup. Now, all her gentleness was for another man. The beef in my bowl tasted like ash. I lowered my head and forced myself to eat. Ssss! A searing pain shot up my arm. I looked down. My entire forearm was covered in angry red blisters. "I'm so sorry, so sorry!" a young waiter babbled, dabbing at my arm with a wet cloth. The crew rushed over. "That's a bad burn! We need to get you to a hospital!" They helped me up and led me out. Through it all, Ava never once glanced in my direction. It was as if the injured man was a complete stranger to her. A profound sense of powerlessness crushed me. I started to wonder if I had been wrong all along. Maybe this Ava wasn't my Ava. Maybe they just shared a name and a face. Or maybe she had grown tired of me and faked her death to escape. But how could I give up on the hope I had waited three years for? I took off the necklace from around my neck, rubbing the familiar pendant between my fingers. One last time, I told myself. I have to try one last time. After my arm was treated, I returned to the hotel. With the desperation of a moth drawn to a flame, I clutched the necklace and knocked on her door again. It opened quickly. When she saw it was me, a look of utter disgust crossed her face. She started to close the door. I blocked it with my foot, holding out the necklace like a holy relic. "Ava, look. Our pledge. I still have it." I expected a flicker of emotion, of recognition. Instead, she gave a cold, dismissive laugh and slapped my hand away. The necklace flew from my grasp and shattered on the hard floor. In that moment, I heard my own heart shatter along with it. I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather the broken pieces. I tried desperately to fit them back together, but it was impossible. "Mr. Shaw. How much was it? I'll pay you for it." So that's all it was to her. Just an object. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, slowly collecting every last fragment into my pocket. When I had them all, I shakily got to my feet and met her indifferent gaze. "It wasn't worth much, Miss Thorne. You don't have to pay." I heard my own voice, trembling but defiant. "I won't bother you again." I didn't wait to see her reaction. I turned and walked away. I heard the door click shut behind me. A bitter laugh escaped me. She was probably celebrating with Marcus right now, finally free of the pathetic dog who kept chasing her. The truth didn't matter anymore. Whether we could be together didn't matter. In that moment, I knew with absolute clarity: my Ava was well and truly gone. My eyes burned, and my heart pounded against my ribs as if it would burst. I broke into a run, storming into the production studio. "I'm quitting the show," I announced to the stunned directors. "Mr. Shaw, we were negligent about what happened yesterday, but surely it's not enough to quit over!" "Yes, your injury was our fault! We'll pay you double the compensation, as per your contract." I looked at each of them, my voice firm. "I'm quitting." Seeing they couldn't persuade me, the director tried a different tactic. "If you break contract before the halfway point, the penalty is three times the fee." I nodded. "I know. My agent will handle the payment. I won't default." With that, I turned and left. Back at the hotel, I packed my bags. At three in the morning, I called my agent. "I've spoken to the directors. I'm leaving the show, effective today. Settle the penalty with them, let me know the final amount, and I'll wire it to you." He groaned on the other end of the line. "Liam, my dear, sweet, superstar client! You promised you'd do the show! Why are you quitting now? Did someone upset you? Tell me, I'll handle it." I was silent for a long moment. "Before I agreed to this," I asked quietly, "did you already know Ava Thorne was going to be on it?" He let out a long, weary sigh. "I knew it." He mumbled something, then cleared his throat. "Liam, we've worked together for three years. I know you can't let your ex-girlfriend go. But her death certificate is black and white. She's been gone for three years. It's time to move on!" But I couldn't. She was still in my dreams every night.
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