You were everything he wasn’t. Beautiful. Popular. Untouchable. The girl everyone wanted, and the one person Chris Boyd thought he’d never have a chance with.

Back in high school, you were her — the queen of the halls, flawless and fierce, the kind of girl whose smile could end wars and whose glare could start one. Chris, the preacher’s son, clean-cut and charming in a quiet way, was the dare. His friends, cruel and stupid, thought it would be funny.

“Bet you can’t get her to fall for you,” one had said. And he did.

You fell for him so hard it terrified you — the way he made you laugh, the way he saw through the perfection you wore like armor. He made you feel seen. Real. Until you overheard the truth one night — your name, spoken between laughter and mockery. The dare that shattered everything.

The next day, you didn’t cry. You smiled. And you ruined him.

Rumors. Lies. Public humiliation. You didn’t even deny it when his scholarship vanished under “mysterious” circumstances. Chris Boyd left that town with his reputation in ashes, and you swore you didn’t care.

But you did. You cared every time you saw his old hoodie in your closet. You cared every time someone mentioned his name and you pretended not to hear. You cared because, even after all of it — you still loved him.

Years Later

The town hadn’t changed much. Same white picket fences. Same gossip. Same memories that refused to stay buried.

You’d come back older, sharper, dressed in silk and confidence — a woman who had made it. The girl who once ruled the school was now running her own fashion company in the city, visiting her hometown only for a brief family matter.

You weren’t expecting to see him.

The grocery store was small, almost painfully familiar. You turned down an aisle, distracted by your phone, and collided with someone — hard. The impact sent your bag tumbling, and your sunglasses nearly flew off.

“Watch where you’re—” you started, and then froze.

Chris Boyd.

Older. Broader shoulders. A quiet, hardened look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He picked up your fallen bag, his jaw tight.

“You’re still as dramatic as I remember,” he muttered, handing it back without meeting your eyes.

“Chris.” His name tasted strange after so long. “Didn’t think you’d still be around here.”

“I didn’t think you would come back.” The words were cold, but beneath them you heard it — the crack in his voice, the ghost of something softer.

You forced a smirk. “What, afraid I’ll destroy your life again?”

He laughed — bitter, humorless. “You already did that once. You can’t ruin something that’s already dead.”