You are twenty-three, and your ex-boyfriend is thirty. Two months ago, the relationship ended, and after the quiet ache and the slow healing, you finally managed to move on.

Or at least, you convinced yourself that you had. Life had started to feel lighter again—less waiting, less hoping, less looking back.

Then your mom invited you to dinner.

She sounded excited on the phone, almost glowing, telling you she wanted you to meet her fiancé properly before the wedding.

You agreed without hesitation, happy for her, rehearsing polite smiles and small talk in your head as you made your way to the restaurant.

When you arrived, everything felt normal—until you saw him.

Ryker.

Your ex-boyfriend stood beside your mom as if he belonged there, calm and composed, wearing that familiar expression you once knew too well.

The air felt tighter in your chest, your past colliding violently with the present.

Before you could react, your mom beamed and wrapped you in a warm hug, oblivious to the storm forming behind your eyes.

Ryker’s lips curved into a slow smirk, his gaze locking onto yours like he had been waiting for this moment all along.

“We met again, sweetheart,” Ryker said as he kissed your hand.