Oliver—my ex—had just walked in, pulling every eye toward him. Tall, muscular, with that careless aura that made him even more magnetic. The way he greeted everyone, easy and familiar, made it seem like he’d never left.
Jenn tugged my hand, pulling me toward him. “Hey, Oliver!” she called. “Look who’s here visiting us.”
Oliver turned, smiling with that mix of familiarity and warmth. “Daisy.”
“Oliver,” I said, as surprise and memories—both sweet and brutal—flooded back.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, hugging me, studying me with a look that lingered. “You look fantastic.” He motioned for me to sit. “Where are you working now? Where do you live?”
I smiled faintly, taking a sip of my drink. “I work at an antique shop in Cold Spring. I live close by.”
“Jenn didn’t give me your new number, and I couldn’t find you on Instagram.”
“Deleted my account.”
Oliver frowned. “Because of Alex?”
I nodded. “He kept making fake accounts. Following me. Messaging. Leaving comments under my pictures.”
Oliver’s hand brushed my cheek. That old familiarity, that warmth I’d once drowned in, stirred inside me. Oliver had never been just anyone. He’d been there when no one else was. He’d held me when I was at my lowest.
We caught up, traded stories, laughed like nothing had ever broken us. For a moment, it felt like the past had been erased. But then I looked at him and felt the tug in my chest. Not pain. Not anger. Just the reminder that familiarity doesn’t promise safety. Even the ones who catch you sometimes let go first. He had cheated. And no matter his regret now, back then, he had left.
Eventually, Oliver took my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. We moved together, bodies pressed close, falling back into the rhythm we once knew. My heart thudded, remembering how it used to be. After a while, he steered me into a darker corner ofthe club. The music here was muffled, the bass only a pulse in the walls. Light spilled gold across his face, too flattering, too forgiving. He stepped in—closer than he should—his hand sliding down to my hip.
“I missed you,” he said, voice low, blurred by alcohol. His lips found mine.
I froze.
Did I want this? Him? Maybe it was the ghost of us. Maybe the craving for something familiar. Or maybe it was just weakness.Maybe it wasn’t him I wanted at all.
Chapter 12 Damian
The stench of cheap liquor hit me the moment the bouncer let me and my guards inside. Sweat and bodies pressed into the walls. Heat glued to my skin like a second layer. Dim lights pulsed over the crowd, catching faces lost in motion. Voices folded into one restless hum.
I pulled out my phone. The red dot blinked on the map. She was here. Did she really think she could walk away? The second I read her message, I reached for the phone. No hesitation. Less than an hour later I was in the helicopter, headed straight for Woodstock. I slid the phone into my pocket.
“You two, wait at the bar.”
Karl and Rick nodded and took position where I wanted them. My gaze swept the room, slow, deliberate. Somewhere in this chaos she stood. Then my eyes found someone. The curve of her neck. The fall of her hair. The tilt of her head. His body against hers. He kissed her—unhesitating.For a second, I forgot how to move.
The world shut down. Club, bass, voices—gone. Only that moment remained. Her. Him. That kiss, tearing my chest open. I never want to see you again. It’s over, she’d written. Her words burned in my skull, louder than the music. And now she stood there, hand on his shoulder like it had always belonged there. Too easy. Too familiar. Too calm. She tilted her head as if listening, smiling, playing along. Then she pushed him back lightly, said something I didn’t hear and didn’t need to.
She looked up. As if she’d felt me. Our eyes locked. One second, maybe less. Maybe forever. I saw the instant she realized I was there. A tremor passed through her—almost nothing. Her smile froze. Her hand dropped from his shoulder like it burned. Her eyes stayed on mine, caught, wide with shock. Not dramatic. Not staged. Real. Raw. A wave crashed into her. She forced stillness, but her face betrayed her. She knew I’d seen everything. Every touch. Every goddamn second. Cold under my skin began to hum.
I thought I was ready—for anger, for pain. What rose was darker. Not emptiness—something worse. Something alive, hungry for air.
I closed the distance until inches separated us.
“You have five seconds to take your hands off her,” I said, flat.
He turned, startled, then laughed like I was a joke. “What the—?”
“Four.” My eyes locked on his. Had she really replaced me with this? This nobody touching what was mine? Every nerve burned. It took everything I had not to break his face.
“Dude, are you insane? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Three.” I wasn’t counting for him. I was counting to remind myself I still had a choice.
