I pushed the chair back, letting the legs scrape against the floor, and forced myself to move. I grabbed the scattered decorations and tossed them into boxes. My body screamed for rest, but I couldn’t stand the clutter.
Once the last box was shoved into the dump, I made my way to the bathroom. The door creaked as I opened it, and the cold tiles bit at my feet when I stepped inside. I stripped off my clothes and got under the shower.
The water hissed to life as I turned it on, steam filling the small room. I stepped under the stream, letting the heat wash over me, soaking into my muscles, but it didn’t do much to numb the ache in my bones. I rested my head against the tile, water dripping down my face, and closed my eyes.
All I saw was her.
Every time I closed my eyes, it was Ainsley—smiling, frowning, pissed off, confused—it didn’t matter. She was always there, haunting me, driving me to do things I never thought I’d do. Like spend hours decorating her damn house just for a glimpse of her reaction.
I didn’t care about Halloween. I didn’t give a shit about pumpkins, lights, or fog machines. But for her? I’d move heaven and earth if it meant I could see her face light up like that again.
My hands pressed against the cool tile, the water running down my back. It was more than just a want at this point. It was a need, a compulsion. Getting her back wasn’t a choice. Nothing would be enough until she was back where she belonged—in my arms.
I stayed under the shower longer than I should have as I washed the day away until there was nothing to scrub.
With a deep breath, I shut off the water, stepping out into the cold air. Droplets slid down my skin as I grabbed a towel and rubbed it over my face. My reflection stared back at me from the fogged-up mirror, my eyes instinctively tracing the scar on my chest.
The scar I got from my mother right before she died. By my hands. She was my first, and I had no regrets. If I hadn’t ended her life that afternoon, she’d have ended mine. A prostitute and an alcoholic who couldn’t raise a child. She was traumatised, and it had rubbed off on me in the worst way.
Snapping out of the memory, I stepped out of the bathroom, letting the steam dissipate. A few minutes to nine, and I was already back in front of my computer, staring at the mound of work I’d piled up over the weeks.
I worked for different organisations under an untraceable ID. If they needed me, all it took was a code—a string of digits buried in places only I could reach. It didn’t matter what they wanted: hacking into government databases, syphoning off funds from offshore accounts, wiping incriminating evidence clean, or planting it on someone else. I made problems disappear.
I needed the money, and they needed someone who could get their hands dirty. Conscience? That was irrelevant. Right and wrong were luxuries I didn’t care to afford.
After a while, a hard, persistent knocking on my door jolted me. Who the hell could that be? I didn’t fuck with neighbours. That, if I had any. There were barely any houses around me—one would have to walk a mile just to find a family home.
I stood up as the knock turned into weak, unsteady bangs. Soft, almost hesitant. One that could only belong to...
Adrenaline filled my veins. I rushed to the door, heart thudding, unlocking it and yanking it open. A sobbing Ainsley stood there, her hand frozen mid-air, her fist raised like she’d been about to knock again.
Air seized in my lungs.
Confusion and panic rippled across my face as I took her in. Her shoulders shook with each sob, her hair plastered against her tear-streaked face. She was wearing an oversized sleep shirt and knit trousers, her face flushed pink.
“What the hell happened—”
Before I could finish, she stepped inside and crashed into my chest. The sudden force made me stagger back, my throat tightening painfully.
A wave of emotion slammed into me. Her body was pressed against mine, and a deep, long-buried ache unravelled inside me.
I wrapped my arms around her, slowly at first, then I squeezed, pulling her closer as if I could never let her go again. The sensation of her in my arms after so long was dizzying, overwhelming. Like I had just surfaced from drowning.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I whispered, burying my face in her hair. Her scent, her warmth—every inch of her brought me back to life.
I hugged her tighter, our bodies locked together, and the world outside ceased to exist. She was here. She was real. How could something so simple feel so monumental?
After what felt like forever, she slowly pulled back and wiped her face, her eyes red and puffy from crying. I reached out and brushed her tears away.
Before I could ask what had happened, she chuckled softly through her tears, her voice breaking.
“Marketing Director? Really?” She smiled faintly, shaking her head as more tears spilled, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “You’re insane, you know that.”
“For you? Always,” I replied, my heart racing as I wiped her tears away. Her words, her smile—it was everything I had been craving. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming. She chuckled again, and I pulled her back into my arms, holding her like she was the air I needed to breathe. She was.
I was feeling everything—joy, relief, even fear that she might slip away again. She was the one thing in my life that made sense, the one person who could make me feel alive. How could one girl fill your entire world with light?
“Am I forgiven?” I asked quietly after a while, shutting the door behind her, still holding her tight.
