Manon

I thought New York would be a clean slate. Turns out, it’s a cruel joke, more tangled with my past than I ever imagined.

My eyes stayed locked on him, searching for some proof I was wrong. A flaw, a detail out of place. Anything that could tell me this wasn’t the face I’d carried in memory like a scar.

“Did you finally find a place to park?” Elysia’s voice cut through my thoughts, bright and casual, as if the ground hadn’t just shifted under me.

“Yeah,” he replied, gaze fixed on her. “Almost every spot was taken. What’s going on?”

Look at me, Harrington Matthew. Just look at me.

“Today’s the start for the new interns, remember?” she explained.

“Ah.” He nodded, the sound too normal, too easy for the storm that was building inside me.

And then, at last, he turned.

Those ice-blue eyes met mine, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. The scar along his jaw—undeniable. My chest tightened so sharply I thought I’d fold.

“Who’s this? A friend of yours?” he asked, his tone flat, polite, as if I were no more than a passing face.

My throat went dry.

“This is Manon Dezerai,” Elysia said cheerfully, looping an arm through mine. “One of the new interns. And yes, my newest friend.”

“You’re always quick to make friends,” he teased lightly.

“And you always remind me of it,” she shot back with a grin. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Manon, meet my fiancé. Harrington Matthew. Harry for short.”

The word hit like a punch.

Fiancé.

The air left my lungs all at once. My hands trembled at my sides, tears pricking the corners of my eyes before I could stop them.

I forced a smile that tasted like ash. “Nice to meet you,” I whispered, already backing away. “But I… I need to go.”

And before either of them could react, I turned and made for the elevator, vision blurring as I stabbed the button with shaking fingers.

Harry is engaged. Harry is engaged. Harry is fucking engaged.

The words looped in my skull as the elevator carried me up, each ding another punch in the gut. By the time I stumbled into what I thought was the women’s restroom, I barely noticed the sign on the door. I just found the sink, gripped the edge, and let the tears come.

The flush of a toilet didn’t even register, until a voice cut through the air, sharp and incredulous.

“What the hell are you doing in here? This is the men’s bathroom.”

I froze, mascara-streaked and pathetic, and turned. Of course. Of course it was him. Kyren Zale, poster boy for arrogance, glaring at me like I’d invaded his kingdom.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t—” My words tangled in a mess, but he cut me off.

“Are you stalking me? Because I’ll report this to HR. Harassment isn’t tolerated here.” His tone was icy as he turned to wash his hands.

My chest hitched, and I couldn’t answer. The silence must’ve caught him, because I saw it—the flicker. His expression softened, almost human, before the walls slammed back into place.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, the question slipping out like he regretted it instantly.

My lips parted, but nothing came. “I…”

He lifted a hand, stopping me. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. Not my business. And I can’t help you anyway.” He dried his hands briskly, his voice clipped again.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Right. Have a nice day.”

He left, and I let the sobs crash back, ugly and unrestrained. At least he was gone. At least no one else—

The door banged open.

I spun around, ready to bolt, only to collide with him again. Kyren stopped just short, his cologne curling through the air between us—rich, expensive, maddeningly distracting. Of course my broken brain noticed that.

For a beat, we just stood there, eyes locked. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded blue handkerchief.

“I can’t fix whatever’s wrong with you,” he said, voice low, “but crying on your first day? Bad omen. If this is about the phone, I’ll handle it. Stop fussing.” He held the cloth out.

I stared, then took it, fingers brushing his.

“And for the record,” he added, deadpan, “you sob like a whale giving birth. Hard to ignore from the stall.”

A laugh escaped me. Broken, but real.

“I’m serious,” he said, though there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Thank you,” I murmured, clutching the handkerchief.

“Don’t thank me. Just don’t play gold digger later because I broke your phone.”

My jaw dropped. The audacity. He wasn’t being kind, he was preemptively defending himself.

“Now get out of the men’s room before I actually report you,” he said, already turning for the door.

Five minutes after Kyren left, I had washed my face, dabbed on concealer from my emergency kit, and stuffed his handkerchief deep into my bag like a secret I wasn’t ready to unpack. My reflection looked passable. Human, at least.

I stepped out, praying the universe would give me a break.

It didn’t.

Harry was there, leaning against the wall like he owned the hallway. Like he hadn’t just shattered three years of my life.

I stiffened, shoulders back, heels clicking with forced confidence. But the moment he noticed me, he pushed off the wall and moved into my path.

“Move,” I said flatly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was sharp, defensive, as if I was the intruder.

I laughed. A sharp, bitter sound. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You were supposed to be dead, Harry. Missing. Gone.”

He rubbed his temples like I was giving him a headache. “Okay, fine. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. But that was years ago, Manon. You need to move on.”

“Move on?” The words left my mouth like a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, too casually. “I’m engaged now.”

Something inside me snapped. My mouth opened, then closed, but the silence didn’t hold. I forced air into my lungs, forced calm into my voice, but my hands were trembling.

“Three years,” I said slowly, every word cutting. “Three years I thought you were missing. I remember that night like it was yesterday, because the scars never left me. We fought, you said you’d call tomorrow, but you didn’t. I went to your apartment—it looked normal, except you weren’t there. I thought you had gone somewhere and would return, but hours turned into days. I checked your work, your friends. No one knew. I filed a police report, Harry. Do you know what they told me? ‘He’s an adult. He probably ran off.’”

My voice cracked, but I kept going, even as the tears slid hot down my cheeks.

“I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t. I should have. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. I plastered your face on missing posters, begged strangers for leads. I couldn't concentrate on work. My body gave up on me. I lost weight, I lost hair… and I lost…”

The word lodged in my throat, but I forced it out.

“…our baby.”

The hallway went silent. My own ragged breathing was the only sound.

Harry’s face drained of color, his mouth working soundlessly. For once, he didn’t have a comeback.