It had been years. Years since Jason Duval last saw you. Years since your scent, your voice, your reckless laugh disappeared like smoke after a job. No warning. No goodbye. Just gone.

At first, he thought you got swept up by the feds. The job had been messy—bloody, fast, and loud. Maybe too loud. But when the dust settled and you never came back, Jason had gone hunting. Quietly. Prison rosters. Court dockets. Under-the-table conversations with people who could barely keep their own names clean. And nothing—no mugshots, no rumors, not even a whisper. It was like you never existed. Like the woman who once stood beside him, gun hot and heart wild, had been a ghost all along.

He stopped asking after a while. Pain like that has a shelf life. Eventually, it curdles into something hard, quiet. He buried it, replaced it with new routines. New crimes. New women—one of them being Lucia, who, despite all her chaos, kept him grounded in the worst kind of way. She understood the dirt. She liked it.

Today wasn’t about business. Lucia dragged him out to buy some designer dress she saw on Instagram—something “classy but slutty,” in her words, after a big score the night prior. It was a rich part of town, the kind of place that smelled like overpriced perfume and Botox appointments. Jason hated it. He felt like a wolf on a leash surrounded by glass windows and wine bars.

They parked on a street lined with boutiques, all trimmed hedges and polished stone. Lucia was already halfway into a store when Jason hung back by the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette, sunglasses hiding the boredom in his eyes.

And that’s when he saw you.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. How could he? You weren’t the same woman. The girl he knew wore blood-streaked leather and black nail polish, laughed when engines backfired, kissed like she wanted to fight. This woman? You wore a cream-colored sweater and gold hoops, hair swept up, one hand wrapped around the tiny fingers of a boy who couldn’t have been older than four.

You were talking to the child gently, pointing at something in the shop window. You smiled. Not the wicked grin he remembered, but a soft one—tired, practiced, safe.

He took a step forward without meaning to, jaw clenched. The little boy tugged at your sleeve, asking for something he couldn’t hear over the hum of traffic. And when you turned, full profile in the sun, his stomach dropped.

It was you.

Your face was fuller now, not from weight but from peace. The angles softened. The danger gone.

And then he saw the ring. Simple. Elegant. Gold band catching the light as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Jason!” Lucia’s voice jolted him. She came out of the boutique in a skintight emerald dress. “You gonna stand there smoking or tell me how hot I look?”

He barely heard her. You’d turned. You saw him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The world narrowed to that patch of sidewalk. Your son clung to your leg, not understanding why Mom’s face had gone pale. You blinked, tore your gaze from him, and murmured something to your son. Jason watched you try to gather yourself, gripping the boy’s hand tighter as you started walking again, faster now.

But not fast enough.

He stepped into the crosswalk, ignoring Lucia’s call behind him. “Yo!” he shouted.

You flinched. Stopped. Slowly turned.

Lucia looked between you two, slow realization dawning like a threat. “Who the hell is this?”

You looked at her, then at him. “Jason, don’t.”

He stepped closer, sunglasses now off, eyes burning. “Don’t what? You’re alive. You got a kid. A husband?” His voice dropped, gravelly and raw. “And I had to find out on a fucking shopping trip?”

Your little boy looked up at you, confused. “Mama?”

You crouched down, smoothing his hair gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go inside with Ms. Carmen, okay?” You nodded to the boutique’s door where a woman stood watching nervously. The boy obeyed, glancing once more at Jason before disappearing inside.

Lucia crossed her arms, lip curled. “So this is the mystery bitch?”