Chapter 1

The party was for our three-year anniversary. Wesley—godfather of the Costa family—had brought his first love, Jessica.

Halfway through the evening, someone suggested a round of "Never Have I Ever."

Jessica's cheeks were flushed pink from drinking. She looked right at me, a challenge in her eyes.

"I've been pregnant with Wesley's child."

The friends around us went suddenly quiet.

My hand froze on my glass.

She added, slow and deliberate:

"More than once. And he was the one who took me to every procedure."

I looked at Wesley.

His face went white. His lips moved, but he didn't say a single word to deny it.

I stared at the text box on my phone—the proposal I'd been about to send.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time.

In the end, I calmly deleted it.

I excused myself to the restroom and booked the next flight to Paris.

Wesley didn't notice a thing. He even texted me: "Jessica's drunk. Come help her up. Stop being difficult."

I didn't reply.

At dawn, the plane took off.

This time, I only bought a one-way ticket.

...

When the plane landed, it had just rained in Paris.

I turned my phone back on, and Wesley's messages popped up one after another.

"Fannie, where are you?"

"Jessica's not feeling well. How could you just leave her alone in the restroom?"

"It's just an anniversary. You can always celebrate again. Don't make a scene over this."

The last message was from three in the morning.

"Where the hell did you go?"

I stood in the airport terminal, dragging my suitcase, staring at those words for a few seconds. Then I typed back one line.

"None of your business."

The moment the message sent, my phone rang.

I didn't answer.

He called again.

On the third try, I picked up.

Wesley's voice was heavy, ragged from a sleepless night.

"Fannie, where are you?"

"Paris."

Two seconds of silence on his end.

"Jessica says a few drunk things and you fly to Paris overnight?"

I tucked my passport into my bag. My voice was flat.

"She wasn't drunk when she said it, was she."

His breath hitched.

I heard a lighter click, then quickly snap shut.

"That was all in the past."

"Does being in the past make it nothing?"

He seemed to lose patience, his tone turning cold.

"Fannie, I'm under no obligation to account for every single thing that happened before I met you."

I let out a quiet hm.

"Then I'm under no obligation to stay."

Wesley was silent for a moment, as though he'd finally wrestled his temper under control.

"Stop saying things you don't mean. Send me your address. I'll have a driver take you to a hotel. Get some rest. I'll fly out tomorrow."

"No need."

"Fannie."

He bit down on my name, like a warning not to push him.

"Three years. You should know my limits by now. I don't tolerate people using disappearance as a threat."

I looked through the airport glass at the wet sky outside and suddenly remembered the scene in the party hall last night.

When Jessica said those words, everyone was watching me.

And Wesley hadn't denied it.

He'd only been silent.

Sometimes silence is harder to accept than an admission.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle.

"Wesley, I'm not threatening you."

Jessica's voice drifted through from his end, hazy and soft.

"Wesley, my head hurts."

Wesley immediately murmured back to her.

"Drink some water."

When he spoke to me again, there was impatience in his tone.

"You heard her. She drank too much last night and she's still feeling sick. Can you please not cause problems right now?"

I laughed a little.

"So me leaving counts as causing problems."

"Fannie, you know that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He faltered.

I didn't wait for his answer.

"Take care of her. I need to check in."

"Fannie, don't you dare hang up on me."

I hung up.

My phone buzzed a few more times. I put it on silent.

My professor's assistant was standing at the exit holding a sign. When she spotted me, she called my name.

I walked over, and she smiled as she took my luggage.

"Ms. Fannie, welcome back. The gallery is all set up. Professor says if you're willing to stay this time, the lead designer position at the studio has always been yours."

I gripped the ring box in my bag.

Before last night, I'd been planning to propose to Wesley on our anniversary.

That ring—I'd designed it myself.

On the inside of the band, in very small letters, it read:

Only you.

Now it sat at the bottom of my bag, pressing hard against my palm.

I looked up at the grey-blue sky.

"I'll stay."

The assistant smiled.

"That's wonderful."

My phone screen lit up again.

Wesley.

"When you're done throwing your tantrum, come back. Jessica has a follow-up appointment tomorrow. I don't have time to comfort you."

I stared at those words for a long time, until the screen dimmed and lit up again on its own.

The sentence was like a needle, precise, slipping into the corner of me I'd thought was solid, spreading a fine, sharp pain.

So there were things he couldn't even be bothered to explain to me. Parts of his past he'd never intended to let me see.

This time, I wasn't going back.