Chapter Two—Andrew
Ishouldn't have come down the hall this fast.
The words were out of my mouth before I thought better of it.
“Riley.”
The silence behind the door lands like a verdict.
I rest my hand against the doorframe, forehead hovering inches from the wood, trying to remember every version of this moment I rehearsed. None of them started like this. With her locking herself away before I even got the chance to explain.
Maybe she shifts on the other side. Maybe she's standing right there, same as me. Both of us breathing on opposite sides of the door.Liam and Ethan don’t follow me—they recognize they just walked into someone else's history. Smart men. They know better than to step into someone else's war.
I had speeches prepared. That's the part that stings the most. Months of running through every possible version: the apology first, the explanation first, the one where I let her speak and take whatever she gave me.
In one version she listened.
That was the lie I told myself most often.
She stood still while I explained—voice steady, hands open like that meant something. She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t turn away. Just watched me the way she used to when we were good.
“Why?” she asked in that version. Her voice wasn’t cold. Just tired.
I had an answer ready for that too. Always did.
Because I thought I was protecting you.
Because I thought leaving first would hurt less than watching you walk away.
Because I was too much of a coward to stay and let you see who I really was.
That version always ended the same way.
With forgiveness.
With her stepping closer instead of backing away.
Everything somehow still salvageable.
It was the cleanest version.
It was also the least realistic.
After a few minutes I walk back to the living room.
“So?” Liam questions behind me.
“It's fine.”
“I'm not sure it is.”
“We knew each other in college. It's been a while. She wasn't expecting me.”
Liam doesn't push, but I can feel him deciding how much to let slide. “Old friends,” he repeats, testing the words. I should have said something. Eighteen months since I put Connor’s last name together with Riley’s and I never brought it up.
Not to Liam, not to Ethan and definitely not to Connor.
I kept telling myself it might not matter.
That she’d moved on. That I’d find a way to handle it quietly if it came up. That backfired.
“It's handled,” I say. Even I don't believe it anymore.
Ethan watches me with those steady blue eyes. He's already made his assessment. He doesn't offer advice or questions—just picks up his bag, finds his room, and disappears down the hall. Somehow that silence feels louder than anything he could have said.
Liam claps me once on the shoulder as he passes. “We'll give her some space.”
Then I'm alone in Connor's penthouse. Connor's business. Connor's sister behind a locked door because I'm here.
I drop my bag in the last bedroom, wash my face, and grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles go white.
The man in the mirror has no good answers.
Twenty-eight years old, a real partnership on the line, and the first thing I manage to do in this city is make the woman I once loved lock herself away from me.
She looked exactly the same. Plain shirt, tight ponytail, no effort—and still so damn beautiful it knocked the air out of me.
That half-second before the armor slammed down…
I saw it. The flash of recognition, the hurt, the anger.
I still know every micro-expression she makes.
Seven years, and my body still reacts to her like no time has passed.
I owe her more than words. I know that. This isn't just about getting her back. It's about proving I'm not the man who walked away. Because if I am, then losing her wasn't the worst thing I did. Walking away from who I could have been was.
The question is whether she'll ever let me close enough to prove it. I’ve been asking some version of that question my whole life. The answer has usually been no.
I could say so many things. The explanations I've rehearsed a thousand times. How I was twenty-one and convinced I was saving her from me. How I burned it down myself because I was terrified she'd leave first. How I've regretted it every single day since.
I hope she's furious. Furious means she still feels something. She locked the door. That’s not nothing.
I hang up a few things then head back to the living room.
Liam is sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out. He glances up, reads my face, and doesn't bother pretending he wasn't waiting.
I drop onto the other end and tip my head back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling.
Liam leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I'm not gonna ask. Not my business.” He pauses. “But I'll say one thing.”
I look at him.
“Whatever happened between you two… figure it out.” His voice is calm but firm. “I'm not trying to live in a war zone for the next ten weeks.”
He stands, rolls one shoulder, and heads down the hall without another word.
I plop on the couch, eyes on the door at the end of the hallway.
Seven years since I blew up the best thing I ever had. One thing I said. One thing I couldn’t take back. I made sure she’d never come after me.
I remember the look on her face while I said it.
She went quiet. Like something inside her shut down while I was still talking.
I ghosted because I was too ashamed to watch her realize I wasn't worth staying for. I told myself it was better that way. Told myself that for seven years. Then I walked into a networking event in LA and Connor Monroe introduced himself. Eighteen months since that moment.
Eighteen months since realizing exactly who he was.
Since Seeing Monroe on his business card and knowing before I even confirmed.
Thirty seconds of seeing her face before she locked me out.
But I'm not leaving this time.
Not until she tells me to go.