Chapter 1The Day I Stopped Being Mad

The day after the divorce was finalized, Seraphina Wynn married the junior mentee who’d just graduated college.

I didn’t chase them. Not this time.

Everyone in Boston’s finance circles was privately speculating on what my angle was. They couldn’t believe I—the man who had, until recently, been driven to madness over her—would simply walk away.

Five years ago, when I first discovered Sera’s affair, I had spiraled, desperate to hold on to her. I’d ended up arrested, sacrificing my stellar career as one of the Street’s youngest rising stars.

She had remained unmoved. Cold.

Now, I was running a gourmet sliders stand near the main campus, a fixture on the college-town nightlife strip.

A customer stood by the stand for a long time, silent as a statue.

I took off my gloves, exposing the network of faint burn scars on the back of my hand, and nodded a small greeting.

Long time, no see, Ms. Wynn.

“Care for some artisan grilled cheese sliders?”

* * *

Sera finally spoke, her voice low and carrying a hint of barely suppressed gravel.

“I thought you would pretend you hadn’t seen me.”

I pulled my lips into a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

“No need for pretense.”

“Why are you selling street food here?”

“To live.” I answered with blunt clarity. “A man has to find a way to survive.”

I’d done everything to survive these past five years. Even after she used her influence to blacklist me from nearly every firm in the financial district, I managed to scrape by on odd jobs and freelance consulting. I’d made it through.

She drew a quiet breath, her gaze lingering on my working hands. “You used to burn water trying to boil pasta. Now you’re running a food stand…”

Just then, evening classes let out, and a wave of students poured into the street.

A young man in a hoodie ran up, calling out a familiar greeting. “Cole! The usual, extra caramelized onions and that spicy aioli, please!”

I acknowledged him, skillfully layering the ingredients. The hot sauce sizzled, and the aroma, rich with sharp cheese and beef, filled the air.

Sera watched my practiced, fluid movements, a look of unfamiliar confusion in her eyes.

The students were chattering amongst themselves, close and comfortable around the stand.

“Cole, helping out Mrs. Rodriguez again tonight?”

I nodded.

I met Mrs. Rodriguez during a community service project; her husband passed away years ago, and she relied on this little stand to put her daughter through college.

I’ve helped many people like her over the years. I hadn't made much money, but I had definitely learned the harsh edges of real life.

The customers began to queue up. In the surge of people, Sera was nudged toward the periphery.

When it was time to pack up, I assumed she was long gone. I walked, as I usually did, into the familiar, old-school diner around the corner and ordered my go-to: the classic patty melt with a side of clam chowder.

A low, familiar male voice, tight with suppressed emotion, sounded behind me.

“Boss, I’ll have the same.”

Sera sat down across from me.

Out of habit, she took my silverware, ran it under the hot water from the thermos, and poured me a glass of hot tea. Only then did she hesitate before speaking. “How have you… been, these five years?”

“Fine. Still breathing.”

My tone was flat, revealing nothing.

The diner was mostly filled with local students and residents. Many recognized Sera.

“Ms. Wynn!”

“Seraphina!”

The greetings were constant. It was clear she was still riding high—powerful, successful, intimidating. In comparison, my apron-clad appearance certainly looked down-on-my-luck.

“When did you get back to Boston?”

“Last month.”

She paused. “The day you took the photo for us.”

I didn’t deny it. I hadn't realized the world was so small.

I’d only just returned when I ran into her, her new husband, and their daughter outside a kid’s park. I certainly hadn't expected that the casual snapshot I took for them would be shared by her husband in their family group chat.

That one picture was enough to send my former friends and associates into a frenzy, with some even taking bets on how long it would take for me to ‘break’ again.

“Rhys didn’t mean to post that picture.”

She said, “The gossip in the group—don’t let it get to you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have time for it.”

She was silent for a moment, then lowered her voice. “If you’re having trouble, I can—”

I cut her off. “Don’t bother. I’m fine.”

It was the truth. Yet, Sera seemed convinced I was faking strength.

Her brow furrowed, and her voice involuntarily rose. “Five years, Adrian! Why are you still so stubborn?”

“Are you doing this to punish yourself, just to make me feel guilty?”

Through the diner's steamy air, I looked at the face before me—still beautiful, but now etched with the maturity of hard-won success.

I could barely recall the cold, ruthless expression she wore five years ago when she slapped the divorce papers on the table.

I shifted my gaze to the flashing neon outside the window. “I let go a long time ago.”

“You…”

The food arrived, interrupting Sera’s unfinished sentence.

The owner, a kind man, chuckled as he looked at us. “Well, look at you two! Haven’t seen you in here together in ages, have I?”

Sera’s body stiffened slightly.

My expression was calm. “You must have the wrong people, sir.”

“No way! You two were so sweet back then, I remember it—sickeningly sweet, every time you came in…” The owner scratched his head and muttered as he walked away.

Sera pressed me. “Why deny it? This is exactly where we used to come.”

I looked down, stirring the clam chowder.

“Was it? It’s been too long. I don’t recall.”

She abruptly stood up and walked to a display wall covered in old Polaroids and sticky notes.

After searching for a moment, she cautiously pulled out a faded photo.

“See? It’s still…”

Her voice cut off, and she desperately tried to hide the picture.

But I’d already seen it.

In the photo, Sera was sitting on my left, affectionately draped over my shoulder. On my right, holding my arm tightly, smiling sweetly and leaning into me, was a clean-cut young man.

Rhys Bennett. Her now-husband.

A corner of the photo—slightly blurred, but the date was clear: six years ago today.