CHAPTER TEN

NATHAN

I stand frozen, my hand raised in the air, poised to knock on a door that has already closed.

Her words echo. You were sleeping with other women. The accusation hangs. It’s suffocating.

Confusion. Cheating?

The idea is so unthinkable that it’s flipped my reality. My mind struggles to process this sudden shift.

With a hollow sense of detachment, I turn away from the door. My feet move on autopilot, taking me into the warm Dallas night. I barely register the scent of jasmine mixing with traffic noise because my mind is consumed by the past, retracing steps I thought I knew, now clouded by doubt.

The driver holds the door for me, and I get in.

When he’s behind the wheel, he looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Where to, sir?”

My mouth opens, but no words come. Where to ? A hotel, to an empty room with a minibar full of temporary distractions? Or into the city to drown my thoughts in whiskey?

“Did Sharon tell you where I would be staying?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take me there.”

The car merges into traffic, and the city lights blur past the window, but I see none of it. Amelia’s face consumes my mind—her eyes misty with hurt and anger.

The memory of that last day with her crashes into me, overwhelming in its clarity. I had been so sure of us, so ready to take the next step, with the ring tucked in my pocket. I remember walking into her dorm, so eager. But instead of the woman I loved, I found nothing but emptiness. No Amelia. No goodbye. Just a gaping void.

Her roommate had shrugged when I asked where she’d gone, sympathy in her eyes but no answers. “She just left, man. Packed up and took off. Didn’t say where.”

I remember the sickening realization, the ground slipping out from under me. The woman I thought I’d spend my life with had vanished without a trace.

I tried everything to find her—calls to friends, family, and anyone who might know—but they all clammed up, refusing to help. Her parents, once so warm and welcoming, suddenly turned cold, hostile even, and refused to speak to me.

And now, after all these years, she accuses me of cheating? The very idea is absurd, a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

The car stops in front of the hotel, and the driver clears his throat, a nudge that pulls me out of my fog.

I hand him a folded bill as I step out. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Inside, the hotel lobby is quiet, all muted luxury and elegance. I pass through it like a ghost, my footsteps echoing faintly on the marble floors.

The elevator ride is mercifully short. As I reach my floor, the soft ding of the doors opening is the only sound that greets me. Fumbling with my key card, my hands shake as I unlock the door.

The room is dark, the curtains drawn. I don’t bother with the lights as I head straight to the bar.

The quiet clink of glass fills the silence while I pour a generous amount of scotch, the amber liquid catching the faint glow in the room.

I take a long sip and relish the burn as it slides down my throat. But even that familiar warmth can’t chase away the cold that’s settled in my chest, the icy grip of doubt.

Each repetition of her accusation cuts deeper into my mind. You were sleeping with other women.

I’ve always been faithful. Always. From the moment I met her, from that first touch, I knew she was it for me. The only one. The thought of betraying her is unimaginable.

But then, a memory surfaces—one I had thought little of at the time. Brad, grinning at me over the rim of a Solo cup at a party, eyes glossy with mischief. “Dude, I borrowed your key last night. Hope you don’t mind. Had a crazy hot chick over, and my place was a mess.”

I’d laughed it off, too distracted by thoughts of Amelia and our future to give it a second thought. But now, in the harsh light of her accusation, that moment takes on a sinister meaning.

If Brad had used my apartment to hook up with someone, could Amelia have seen it? Could she have thought it was me?

My blood boils. If Brad’s recklessness caused this—if he’s the reason for the years of silence and heartache between Amelia and me—I’ll never forgive him. I’ll make him pay for every second of pain he’s caused.

But even that won’t be enough. Not enough to undo the damage. Not enough to fix what’s been broken.

I need to talk to her. To explain. To make her understand that I’ve never betrayed her, that she was, and always will be, the only one for me.

I glance at my watch. It’s too late to see her now.

Tomorrow , I tell myself. Tomorrow, I’ll find her. I’ll make her listen.

I drain the last of the scotch and set the empty glass on the table. The alcohol hasn’t dulled the ache inside me, hasn’t filled the hollow feeling of loss.

I strip off my clothes and collapse into bed, the sheets cold and impersonal. I stare at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a suffocating shroud.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, but when it does, it’s filled with dreams of Amelia—her smile, her warmth, her love. When I wake, the dream slips away, leaving behind only the sharp reality of lost love and an unsolved mystery.

I scrub my hands over my face, shaking off the remnants of sleep, but the heaviness of last night crashes into me, threatening to pull me under. I force it back. There’s no room for that now.

I climb out of bed, driven by one thing: to explain everything to her, to make her see. Because a love like ours is worth fighting for—worth risking everything for. And I will not stop until I’ve won her back.

I won’t.