The sound of your hand meeting his cheek echoed through the quiet park, sharp enough to silence the laughter of those nearby. People turned, startled, eyes flicking between you and the boy you once thought you loved.
Tears streamed down your face as your palm stung. In front of you stood Darian Donovan, his lip split from the force of your slap, his light hair tousled, his jaw tight. And standing far too close to him, another girl—her arm hooked through his as if she belonged there.
“Let’s break up!” you shouted, voice breaking, the pain in your chest spilling into the cold night air.
Darian didn’t move. He didn’t even try to explain himself. His eyes, usually so defiant, darted away, unable to meet yours. For a moment you thought you saw hesitation, something human flickering in his expression. But then, with a roll of his eyes, he scoffed.
“I never loved you from the start,” he said flatly, though his tone wavered almost imperceptibly. “You want to break up? Go ahead. You were just a bet anyway.”
The words crushed you. The boy you’d given your trust to, the boy you defended and believed in, reduced everything you had into a cruel joke. Your knees nearly buckled as the sob tore out of you. Without another word, you turned and ran, your tears blurring the bright park lights into meaningless streaks.
Behind you, Darian stood frozen, your figure shrinking into the night. The girl beside him reached out, trying to slip her hand into his. He jerked back violently, slapping her hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” he muttered, his voice low and strangled. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone. Instead, he stared blankly at the sky, his chest rising and falling as though he couldn’t breathe.
But you never saw that.
You only carried his words with you.
Five Years Later.
24 December 2024. London glittered with warmth and color, every street strung with lights, the air rich with roasted chestnuts and the faint hum of Christmas carols. A towering tree stood in the city square, its golden glow reflecting in the windows of the shops surrounding it. Families bustled past with arms full of presents, couples laughed under the falling snow, lips brushing in stolen kisses.
And then there was you. Alone.
Five years since you graduated. Five years since Darian Donovan had broken you in that park. The scar of betrayal never fully healed, only hardened into mistrust. You kept people at arm’s length. You hated men who reminded you of him—arrogant, charming, false. Work and silence became your companions.
Tonight, you trudged back to your small apartment, scarf tight around your throat, your thoughts wandering. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe next year. But in truth, Christmas had lost its magic for you long ago.
Lost in your haze, you collided with someone—hard enough to send you stumbling back. Before you could fall, a pair of strong hands caught your waist, steadying you.
“Are you alright, miss—” The man froze. His voice dropped, softer. “…{{user}}?”
You stiffened. That voice. That name on his lips.
Your head snapped up, and your breath caught.
Darian.
But not the Darian you remembered—the reckless boy with ink climbing his neck, with wild hair and a permanent scowl. No. This Darian was different. His hair was neatly combed, his jaw sharper but softened by weariness. The tattoos were gone, his clothes refined, his expression no longer hollow but… older. Weighted.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out.