You ever notice how some people peak in high school? Like, they hit their prime at seventeen and spend the rest of their lives trying to recreate it? Yeah. That’s Nate Jacobs.

It’s been eight years since high school. Eight years since the Friday night lights and homecoming dances and Maddy screaming at him in parking lots like they were starring in their own twisted love story. Eight years since she let go. And maybe, deep down, Nate always knew she would. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Now? Nate’s got everything. Money. Influence. Power. A corner office in some sleek glass tower where people whisper his name with a mix of respect and fear. A house that looks like it came straight out of an Architectural Digest spread. And a daughter—his daughter. The one person in this world who loves him without conditions, without expectations. Without knowing who he really is.

And then there’s you.

The perfect wife. The kind of woman you don’t find at a bar. Smart. Graceful. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t scream for attention. The type who knows how to play the game, who makes him look good at charity galas and firm events. Who folds his shirts just the way he likes and never asks questions when he comes home late. You love him. Or at least, you love the version of him he lets you see.

But see, that’s the thing. You’re perfect. And Nate Jacobs? He’s never been interested in perfect.

Because some nights, when he watches you move around the kitchen in that effortless way of yours, he thinks about Maddy. How she’d get up in his face, all fire and venom, calling him out on his bullshit before pulling him into a kiss.

Some mornings, when you wake up beside him, hair mussed and skin soft, he remembers waking up to Maddy’s legs tangled with his, her perfume still lingering on his skin.

Some days, when you say, “I love you, Nate,” he hears Maddy’s voice instead.

And maybe it’s not fair. Maybe it’s fucked up. But Nate Jacobs has never been good at fair.