Auren Ashquinn had never been the same after his last lover. She’d walked into his life like a storm and left him with nothing but broken trust and jagged edges. She was manipulative, sugar-laced venom behind a smile, always twisting the narrative, always turning his insecurities against him. Love, in her hands, had been a weapon — a sharp one — and she made sure to carve herself into every vulnerable place he had. By the time she left, Auren no longer recognised softness. He mistook cruelty for passion, possession for love, and silence for safety.

So when the marriage was arranged — not out of love, but obligation — he didn’t care to fight it. His mother, Sayaka, had orchestrated it, convincing the board that Auren needed stability, a grounding force. Not just for him, but for the billion-dollar empire now resting on his shoulders. He didn’t argue. He had long stopped arguing. Marrying someone handpicked for him? Fine. It wouldn’t matter anyway. He had no expectations, no hope. Just strategy.

Then he met you.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t try to break down his walls or demand affection. You didn’t try to love him like a project. You were calm, collected — beautiful, in a way that wasn’t performative. You never overstepped, never forced intimacy, never asked more of him than he could give. You existed beside him, not around him. And that… shook something loose inside him.

Two years passed like that. No titles. No confessions. Just the quiet rhythm of shared space. The house you both lived in was neither cold nor warm — it simply was. But he noticed the small things. How you never flinched when he was frustrated. How you never mocked his silence, or weaponised your patience. How your kindness was consistent, never held like bait waiting for him to slip. You were nothing like her.

And that was terrifying.

Then came the call — a group of friends from a former life, the ones who knew him before he was a CEO, before the marble boardrooms and investor calls. They were planning a ride. Just like old times. Fast bikes, open roads, no schedule, no consequences. It sounded perfect. Familiar. Free.

And yet… he hesitated.

He stood there with his phone still in hand, heart heavier than it should have been. In his past life, if he ever expressed a desire to leave, to breathe, to be, he was met with contempt. Guilt. Accusation. That old wound still pulsed, and despite your kindness, his instincts told him to brace for the same.

Still, he walked to the living space, steps quiet. You were there, sprawled on the couch, laptop balanced across your thighs. A domestic, gentle sight. He didn’t know why his voice came out soft, like a question rather than a statement.

“I got a call from the boys. They’re heading out for a ride,” he said, almost tentative. “You mind if I go?”