Chapter 1The Last Letter of My Heart

Hayden Cole and I were a match made in hell, famous in our circles for it.

After a decade of mutual torment, we’d finally called a truce.

But on the very first day of his return to the country, he trashed my bar, all to win a smile from some new girl.

So I split his lip.

“Tch. Smashing up your place felt good,” he’d sneered, dabbing at the blood. “Name your price for the damages. Anything you want.”

What does a dying woman have to ask for?

It wasn't until my final check-up that I knew my time was officially up. In the hospital corridor, a mother and daughter who’d recovered from the same ward looked at me with pity.

“That poor thing. So young, and in the end, there won’t even be anyone to collect her body.”

Sitting on that cold bench, I finally dialed the number I’d kept saved for ten years.

“If you really want to compensate me,” I said, my voice flat, “then you can be the one to collect my body.”

…

Rain lashed against the windows of the bar that night, driving away most of the customers. The TV on the wall was broadcasting a news segment about Hayden’s triumphant return.

I was just about to lock up when a young girl burst in. She shook out her umbrella, her eyes bright with excitement as she pointed at the top-shelf liquor behind the counter. “I want all of those.”

Following her was Mason, Hayden’s closest friend. He froze when he saw me.

“Uh,” he stammered, “maybe we should try another place?”

“No, this is it,” the girl insisted, her voice light and cheerful. “I bought Hayden a bottle from here once. He absolutely loved their signature blend.” She turned her sparkling eyes to me. “Ma’am, I’m booking the whole place for tonight. Get those bottles ready for us, will you?”

I managed a nod, my head bowed to hide the tremor in my hands as I scooped ice into a shaker. It wasn’t nerves, and it certainly wasn’t anticipation. It was the illness, a relentless disease for which there was no cure.

“Mason, can you help me light these candles?” the girl chirped. “Hayden will be so happy when he sees this, don't you think?”

Mason didn’t answer. He knew as well as I did that the sight of me was the last thing that would make Hayden Cole happy.

On the television, Hayden smirked into the camera. “I’m sure she’s watching. And believe me, I’m looking forward to our reunion, too.”

The camera angle highlighted a faint, silvery scar above his brow.

I put it there with a kitchen knife.

There was no grand reason. I was in a bad mood, so I swung. Just as the jagged scar on the back of my own hand was a souvenir from him—a wound he’d torn open with his bare hands and let fester until it scarred over.

The reporter on screen was breathless. “So, where are you headed now? I see you have roses. Are you on your way to see your girlfriend?”

He paused, his smirk softening just a fraction. “My fiancée.”

The young girl, who was meticulously arranging the candles, glanced up at the screen. “Mason,” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity, “did you ever meet her? The first love he spent ten years with?”

I kept my head down, the rhythmic rattle of the cocktail shaker filling the silence, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mason’s gaze flicker towards me.

“Hayden!” the girl suddenly cried out. She darted outside, forgetting her umbrella in her haste.

“Lily,” Hayden’s voice, deep and familiar, drifted in. He angled his large black umbrella to shield her from the downpour.

She stood on her toes, her face alight with pure, unadulterated joy, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

For a split second, Hayden flinched back.

And in that fleeting moment, through the rain-streaked glass, our eyes met.

Lily tried to follow his gaze, but he caught her chin, tilting her face up to his and deepening the kiss, turning it into a passionate, public display.

I looked away, dropping a sprig of mint into a glass.

Mason was already at the bar. He hesitated, then finally spoke, his voice low.

“Please, Avery. Don’t make things harder for him.” He paused, then added, as if to twist the knife, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Reminds me of you, when you were younger. She’s only nineteen.”

I nodded, feeling a strange sense of detachment. “Yes. She’s very beautiful.”

The couple stepped inside, Hayden collapsing his wet umbrella by the door. “Are you two… complimenting my fiancée?” he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Then, his gaze, heavy with a decade of history, landed squarely on me.