Chapter one
Avery
The engagement ring burns coldly in my coat pocket as I push through the glass doors of Vance Enterprises.
Six weeks. I've carried this diamond weight for exactly forty-two days, and today I'm finally ready to let it go.
The lobby stretches before me, all marble and morning light, empty except for the security guard who nods his usual greeting. My heels click a steady rhythm across the polished floor while I mentally review my plans. Soon, I'll take the ring to that consignment shop in Pacific Heights. Then I'll reschedule my flight to Paris. The honeymoon in France that was supposed to be ours, but will now be mine alone. A reclamation. A victory.
The elevator doors slide open with their familiar chime, and I step inside, pressing the button for the executive floor. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls: professional blazer, hair pulled back in a sleek bun, makeup flawless. I look like someone who's got her life together… Someone who doesn't wake up reaching for a man that isn't there.
The doors open again, and I step out into the executive lobby.
Then I see him.
Oliver Martinez stands ten feet away, holding a bouquet of white roses, wearing that earnest expression I know too well. The one that says he believes he deserves another chance. The one that used to make me melt.
My heart slams against my ribs. My hands turn into ice. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and suddenly the lobby feels too small, the walls pressing in.
He's here. In my workplace, the sanctuary I've built for myself.
"Avery." His voice carries across the space between us, soft and hopeful, and I hate how my name still sounds like a prayer on his lips.
My chest tightens. My vision narrows to a pinpoint: just him and those damned roses that look exactly like the ones from our first date. I count silently, the way Jessica taught me during those first awful weeks.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
But the breathing technique isn't working. My lungs won't expand properly, and panic claws at my throat.
Oliver takes a step toward me. "I was trying to find you. I know I screwed up, and I don’t deserve you. But please, Avery… just tell me it’s not too late."
The words trigger something visceral. And suddenly, I'm not in the Vance Enterprises lobby anymore.I'm standing in the doorway of our bedroom, my bag dropping from numb fingers as I process the scene before me. Oliver scrambling for his boxers. A woman I don't recognize pulling our sheets—OUR sheets—up to cover herself. The engagement party invitations are still sitting on our kitchen counter, one week away from being mailed.
"Avery, let me explain—" he'd started.
"Get out." I'd whispered then, my voice barely audible.
Now he's here, holding flowers like they can erase the image burned into my memory.
Cheating is my dealbreaker, the one thing I can never forgive.
Heknewthat.
And did what he did anyway.
I turn on my heel, my body moving before my mind catches up. My heels strike the marble floor in sharp staccatos as I head straight for the executive wing. I need somewhere safe. Somewhere he won't follow. Somewhere I won't fall apart.
I don't remember grabbing the file folder from the reception desk, but it's clutched in my hands as I push through Dylan Vance's office door without knocking or glancing back at the bewildered assistant staring at me.
Dylan looks up from his desk, and those sharp gray eyes take in everything at once: my rigid posture, the white knuckles gripping the folder, the slight tremor in my hands. He rises slowly from his chair, six feet of controlled power in a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly.
"Avery?" Just my name, but the way he says it makes something loosen in my chest.
