Chapter 1The Years I Lost Without You

The day Silas Peyton and I had planned to move to the same city, I couldn’t make it.

He might never understand how, after just a quick trip back home to pack, I vanished without a trace.

A few days later, I called him. The moment he picked up, his voice was sharp and accusing: “Evie Langston, were you planning a cliff-edge breakup?”

I glanced around at the cold, unyielding concrete walls and forced myself to say what I didn’t mean.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Europe soon to live a better life.”

“Let’s not contact each other again.”

Content

Five years later, I was making ends meet by running a stall at the Blue Ridge Night Bazaar in Asheville.

By night, I painted nails for tourists and sold handmade trinkets on the side.

That evening, a drizzle started. The woman running the neighboring stall began packing up and called out to me, “Evie, it’s raining. Why aren’t you heading home?”

I gave her a bitter smile and shook my head.

I hadn’t made a single sale all day. Going home empty-handed didn’t sit right.

She tried to console me. “Girl, this isn’t how you earn a living. You’ve barely eaten today—you can’t keep treating yourself like this.”

Before she could finish, two people stopped in front of my stall—a couple who looked like they’d stepped straight out of a magazine.

“Hey, how much for a manicure?” The girl’s voice was sugary sweet as she idly flipped through the nail designs.

I instinctively lowered my head, wiped off the chair for her, and introduced myself eagerly, “Basic designs are $50, more intricate ones are $100. And if you like, I can give you a free plush toy—handmade by me.”

She barely glanced at me, pointing at a trendy seasonal design. “This one. Forget the plush toy—I don’t trust unlicensed crafts.”

The man beside her raised the umbrella higher over her head, his voice teasing and indulgent. “Only you would think of getting your nails done in the rain.”

My hand, reaching for tools, froze.

That voice—I hadn’t heard it in years, but I’d never forget it.

Silas Peyton.

I stole a glance at him and saw how he’d changed. He was leaner, sharper, and even more handsome.

My heart twisted like fallen leaves caught in a fierce wind. I pressed down on the girl’s hand and forced myself to focus, mechanically tracing the design she wanted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Silas pull out a chair and sit down, still holding the umbrella over her.

My mind drifted back to our college days. Whenever it rained, he’d wait for me outside the dorms, tilting the umbrella to shield me more than himself.

But that devotion no longer belonged to me. Now, he stood beside another woman, shielding her from the elements and giving her his undivided attention.

“Wait—wipe it off,” the girl suddenly said, pulling her hand back to inspect her nails.

“Miss, is… something wrong?” I asked nervously.

She frowned, shaking her head. “Your hands—they’re rough. It feels like they’re full of thorns.”

“How are you supposed to do manicures with hands like that? Don’t you know anything about marketing?”

For the first time, I noticed my cracked, calloused fingers, worn from years of stitching and mending.

My face burned, and my chest tightened with shame.

Silas chuckled lightly, tousling her hair, and pulled out his wallet. “Could you clean it off for her? Keep the money.”

Then, his gaze finally fell on me.

That one look made him freeze, his hand gripping the cash mid-motion.

I watched as his expression hardened, his facial muscles twitching. Those once gentle, mesmerizing eyes were now filled with bitterness.

The girl, oblivious, began wiping her fingers with disinfectant wipes. She turned to him and asked, “What’s wrong? Do you know her?”

He suddenly laughed, pulling out a few more bills and tossing them at me.

“No. Just felt sorry for her.”

“Think of it as charity for a beggar. Let’s go.”

Those words felt like claws digging into my chest.

He’d recognized me—at my lowest.