Caleb
“What’s gotten into you?” Greg asked in a raised voice as we sat inside the car. His lips were pressed together, and his eyes squinted at me. “You said you’d be civil.”
“I was civil, considering the circumstances,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest.
I couldn’t help myself. I knew I had been rude. I knew I had been harsh, even cruel, yet the restraint I had promised Greg slipped through my fingers the moment I saw Nyah… Jiya… again. Damn it!
I had told him I would remain calm and reasonable, that I would behave like a man in control of his emotions, but everything inside me had rebelled the second I stepped into her home.
Her face, her smile, and those eyes of hers—every detail ignited something volatile inside me. My blood surged through my veins, consuming every ounce of patience I had tried to hold on to.
Memories came crashing back without mercy.
There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to make her pay. Yet, even as that resolve hardened, confusion tangled around it.
She was now a mother to two children. She owned businesses. She appeared innocent, as if nothing had ever happened. As if she had never broken me. I had watched her closely, searching for cracks in the facade, but I could not read her. Not like I could read her before.
Greg shook his head slowly. “I thought you were going to talk to her and straighten things out. Now we’re staying for a couple more days to do what—spy on her?”
“I can’t just barge into her house and demand answers,” I said, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt.
I was furious with myself for losing control, and furious with her for still having the power to make me lose it.
Without thinking, I slammed my palms against the steering wheel.
What had gotten into me?
All I wanted were answers—simple, honest answers to questions that had haunted me for years.
I wanted to expose her lies, to tear down the carefully built image she had created for herself in front of her new family.
I wanted them to see what I had seen, to understand the deception that had nearly destroyed me.
Was it really about money? Had I been nothing but a planned scheme? Had she used me the same way she might have used others, collecting opportunities and walking away once she had what she wanted?
And what about the surgery?
The thought struck me like lightning splitting open a dark sky.
I had been there through all of it. I had sat in the waiting room, spoken to her doctors, and watched her recover afterward.
It had been real.
Hadn't it?
I rubbed a hand across my face.
For years I had convinced myself that everything between us had been a lie, but some memories refused to fit that narrative.
I turned my head toward the window and looked back at her house. It stood there quietly, framed by trees and morning light, giving no hint of the turmoil it had stirred inside me.
Jiya had named her daughter Emma—the same name I had once suggested for our own child, back when we used to sit together and dream about a future that had felt certain and within reach.
I closed my eyes, and her house flashed behind my eyelids—the familiar colours, the comfort of the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon pancakes drifting through the air and wrapping around the room.
The place felt strikingly similar to her old apartment in Vancouver, as if pieces of her past had been gathered and rebuilt here, brick by brick, to create a life that carried shards of everything we once shared.
I opened my eyes, and the photographs on the fireplace mantle appeared before me again—wedding pictures, family portraits, candid moments frozen in time, each one telling a story I had not been part of.
Jiya stood in a white dress beside Cole, her hand resting comfortably in his.
Beside them were pictures of Lucas and Emma, their faces glowing with happiness.
They looked like a complete family, the kind of family I had once imagined building with her, the kind of life I had believed would one day be mine.
I cursed under my breath.
Finding out that her husband had passed away hit me straight in the gut. My stomach dropped, and heat rushed to my ears. I had come here ready to wound her, ready to tear open old scars and remind her of everything she had done to me, but not like this. Not with death standing between us.
Regret flickered through me, but it vanished just as quickly as anger surged forward to take its place.
I would not let her vulnerability weaken me again.
For a woman who owned businesses and had married a wealthy man who was now gone, her supposed hunger for money did not add up. The pieces refused to fit together, no matter how hard I tried to make sense of them.
And the letter she had left me…
Nothing about it made sense.
My knuckles turned white with how hard I gripped the steering wheel.
Greg looked at me with his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb, the tires rolling forward along the road and carrying us toward the hotel while Greg sat silently beside me.
But my thoughts remained behind… still circling her house.
That evening, Greg dragged me to the strip club that Jiya had suggested.
When we stepped inside, bright pink and purple lights flashed across the room, hitting my eyes.
I slid into the seat with a drink in my hand, trying to focus on my next steps.
Around me, women moved gracefully beside polished poles, their glittering outfits catching the light with every turn and enticing the men seated nearby.
The music pulsed loudly through the speakers, vibrating through the floor and into my chest, while customers laughed, cheered, and lost themselves in the spectacle.
Yet none of it held my attention.
My thoughts kept circling back to her.
Greg, determined to keep the mood alive, bought me a lap dance with one of the performers.
The woman approached with a playful grin, her movements fluid and practiced. She sat down in front of me and began to dance, twirling slowly, stretching her legs with dramatic flair, leaning closer with a teasing smile meant to spark desire.
But all I saw was Jiya, as her face appeared in my mind.
The contrast between the woman dancing in front of me and the woman I could not stop thinking about felt almost malicious.
She had changed everything about her life… her name… her location… her identity.
She was married… then widowed.
A mother of two children.
She had built an entire life from the ground up.
A restaurant.
Two cafés.
A place in Liam's company.
None of it fit the image I had spent years carrying in my head.
Yet the money was still gone.
The letter was still real.
And I still didn't have answers.
The thought burned through me like acid.
I could feel the vein on the side of my neck twitch as heat flushed through my body.
By the time the dancer finished her routine, I could barely sit still. I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet, pressed it into her hand without meeting her eyes, and stood up abruptly.
“I need some air,” I muttered, pushing my way through the crowd.
Outside, the night air hit my face, and I inhaled deeply, letting fresh air fill my lungs.
Greg followed me out a second later.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you not like the dance?”
“It was fine,” I replied, taking another sip from my drink. “I just needed some air.”
I stared out into the darkness.
“Look, we’re leaving after the weekend. Enjoy it while you can, and you’ll be back to your routine in no time.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, nodding slowly. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You weren’t joking when you said this trip would change my life.”
Greg scoffed under his breath. “Tell me about it.”
I stood there quietly, listening to the muffled music spilling out from the building behind us.
The irony of the situation dwelled on me.
Just days ago, my life had been predictable, structured, carefully mapped out.
Now everything felt uncertain.
I still didn’t understand how my world had turned upside down so quickly.
Life was unpredictable, and changes were indeed inevitable.