When My Debt Was Paid

Prologue I was Aaron's assistant, and I was his secret lover. Everyone mocked me, whispering that I was desperately clinging to him just to become Mrs. Hayes. But only I knew the truth: I owed his family a life. Years ago, Aaron’s younger brother, Luke, died saving mine. Ever since, I stayed by Aaron’s side, enduring every humiliation he threw at me, just to repay a debt that could never truly be settled. Until the day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors gave me only a few months to live. When the day finally comes that I disappear for good, Aaron... will you ever regret what you did to me? Serena’s POV I had been with Aaron for years. I was his personal assistant by day and his woman by night. Over the years, I drank for him at dinners, took his hits, and stood as a shield between him and other women, asking only that he treat me like a human being in front of others. Instead, he made me drop to my knees and gather his scattered prayer beads, humiliating me in front of a whole table of high-profile clients. I never left because Luke had given his life for mine. The Hayes family blamed me for his death. I accepted that, and I spent every day trying to make amends. Until this morning, when I found out my illness was terminal. I had only months left. I refused treatment. I still intended to stay by Aaron’s side, using whatever time I had left to settle my debt. When his call came, I folded up the lab report, put it away, and rushed to the private club to drink in his place. Four empty glasses later, the burning alcohol made cold sweat bead on my forehead. Then, Aaron spoke. "Pick them up." The string of wooden beads in Aaron’s hand snapped, scattering across the floor. The room was full of his business associates, people who just a minute ago were praising his incredible luck. I crouched down. "Wipe every single bead clean," Aaron said, swirling his glass without even looking at me. "Then string them back together." Someone in the corner gasped quietly. "Mr. Hayes..." "It’s about rules," Aaron said smoothly. "Sometimes you have to put on a show." I sank down onto the marble floor, the icy stone cutting straight into my kneecaps. The beads had rolled everywhere. Some were trapped under the sofa legs; others lay right beside expensive leather shoes. One by one, I gathered them into my palm, using my own sleeve to buff away every speck of dust. Then, I carefully fastened the restrung bracelet back around his wrist. Everyone was stiff at first, but then someone let out a nervous chuckle, followed by a wave of laughter. A few men slapped the table, and someone took out their phone to take a video, only to be quickly pulled down by a friend. "Mr. Hayes really knows how to train them." "Ms. Lewis certainly has an incredible temper." People in high society whispered that I was holding out to become the next Mrs. Hayes—that the longer I endured, the bigger my greed grew. When we first got together, he used to trap me against the door just like that, eyes full of laughter, murmuring, "Serena, why are you always so good?" But he had changed. All the drinks I downed for him, all the verbal abuse I took in his place—to him, it was only worth being called "a show for others." Picking up the last bead, I stood up. My knees were completely numb. As the gathering grew rowdy, someone took advantage of the noise to lean in close, lowering his voice: "Ms. Lewis, my company could use someone like you. Any position you want, and I'll triple your current salary. You can start tomorrow." I shook my head. "Why?" the man pressed, clearly baffled. "He humiliates you like this in public, and you're still staying?" "I owe him," I said quietly. "I'll stay until the debt is paid. Then I'll leave." He opened his mouth to urge me further, but Aaron’s cold gaze swept over us, and the man shrank back into his seat. He didn't know what kind of debt I owed. Nor did he know where I had been this morning. This morning, I was sitting in an oncologist's office, staring at the final line of the report: Late-stage. The doctor had turned the scan toward me, pointing at the shadowy mass on my stomach wall, explaining the metastasis and the narrowing surgical window. "There's still a chance," the doctor said gently. "If you fight it aggressively, don't give up on yourself. You're still young." "I know," I said softly. "But I'm not doing treatment." "What?" The doctor paused, his pen freezing. "You need to start aggressive therapy immediately." I folded the paper, tucked it back into my bag, and simply asked how much time I had left. The doctor tapped his pen twice on the desk, silent. "Doctor," I prompted him. "At this rate... a few months," he said, looking away. "With proper treatment, it could be longer." I thanked him and pushed open the door. At the self-service kiosk at the end of the hall, I printed out the billing breakdown, slipped it into my bag, and didn't even look at the numbers under the treatment column. Leaning against the wall, I stood there for a long time, quietly sorting through what little I had left to do in this life. I had originally planned to repay the debt until the day my body simply gave out. The moment I stepped out of the hospital entrance, my phone buzzed in my bag, displaying Aaron's name. "Get to the club right now," he said against a wall of loud background noise. "I need you here." I glanced at the folded lab reports in my hand, gave a quiet agreement, and hailed a cab. I didn't say a single word about my illness. I never planned to. The gathering finally ended late in the night. Aaron’s car pulled up to the club entrance, and he offered to drive me back. Half of the lights in my apartment stairwell were broken. I stamped my feet twice, but only the fixture overhead flickered to life. Suddenly, he pinned me against the apartment door, one hand propped beside my ear, leaning in dangerously close. His breath smelled of alcohol mixed with expensive perfume—the signature scent Samantha always wore. "Serena," he said, staring down at me, "I treat you like garbage. Why haven't you left?" I tilted my face up, offering no reply. I had heard this question countless times. Every single time, he asked when I was going to leave. If he had ever been willing to listen, I would have told him long ago. "I asked you a question," he said, gripping my chin. "Why haven't you walked away?" "Leave?" I croaked, my voice so raspy it hardly sounded like me. "Where would I go?" "Haven't you always wanted to leave?" He sneered. "Or do you still think I'm beneath you?" I let out a faint, hollow laugh, offering no defense. The version of Serena in his head wasn't someone I recognized, and I had no power to change his mind. A surge of blood welled up from my chest, hitting the back of my throat. I forced it down, the metallic burn scraping my throat raw. Right then, the phone in his pocket buzzed. The screen lit up with a single name: Samantha. Instantly, he let go, stepped back, and answered it. His tone softened into a warmth I had never once heard during all my years beside him. "Yeah, I'm heading up right now." He hung up, turned on his heel, and left without another look. The steady click of his leather shoes echoed down the stairwell, out the glass doors, and into his car, before fading into complete silence. With my back against the cold door, I slowly slid down to the floor. So he was still capable of speaking like that. Once upon a time, I thought that warmth belonged to me. The mouthful of blood I had forced down could no longer be contained. I vomited it onto the linoleum—hot, thick, and dark. My vision went pitch-black, and I collapsed. In the darkness of unconsciousness, memories from those years surfaced one by one.Serena’s POV The first thing that surfaced was the face of a younger Aaron, his eyes crinkling with unguarded warmth. Then, an even clearer night took over. It was a night just like this when Luke shoved me violently toward the sidewalk as a reckless truck ran a red light. Luke was crushed beneath the wheels. His last glance back at me was to scream, "Run!" And I ran. That became a debt I could never repay. I owed a human life, and all I had left to pay with was a few fleeting months. I was dying. And Aaron didn't know a thing. I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window. I was lying on the hard mattress in my rented apartment, wrapped in a heavy quilt, the bedside lamp glowing softly. Dr. Jordan Cole was sitting beside the bed, holding the folded lab report I had tucked into my bag. I had no idea how or when he had found me in that stairwell. "Late-stage," Jordan said, his voice raw. "Serena, why didn't you tell me sooner?" I turned my head away, remaining silent. "You're checking into the hospital right now," Jordan said, slamming the report onto the nightstand. "I'll arrange a room for you this second. Stop following him around! Do you hear me?" "I'm not leaving." "Serena!" He swallowed his rage. "What are you throwing your life away for?" "Jordan," I whispered, staring at the ceiling. "I can't just forget Luke." Jordan stared at me for a long time, unable to say another word. Luke's name was an immovable stone, one even Jordan couldn't dislodge. A few days later was the annual industry gala. I shadowed Aaron as usual under the title of his assistant, handing out business cards and greeting guests. The event was held at a luxury suburban resort, the crystal chandeliers blindingly bright. Samantha arrived on the arm of Aaron's mother, Eleanor Hayes. Sipping her wine, Samantha deliberately brushed past me, her shoulder slamming into mine. Half a glass of red wine splashed across the back of my hand. "Oh my," Samantha raised her voice, drawing immediate attention. "Ms. Lewis, can't you even stand on your own two feet?" Several people turned to look. I pulled out a tissue to wipe my skin, saying nothing. Aaron stood two steps away. He saw it happen, then looked away just as quickly. "Come here," he commanded, gesturing with his chin. I walked over. "Apologize to Samantha," he said, not loud, but clear enough for everyone nearby to hear. "You bumped into her and turned her wrist red." The chatter around us died down. A few people who had been laughing went dead quiet. I lifted my eyes and glanced at Samantha’s pristine wrist. Not a drop of wine had touched her. "I didn't touch her." "Are you going to apologize or not?" Aaron arched an eyebrow. "Ms. Lewis, do my words mean nothing to you now?" Samantha gently linked her arm through his, flashing a smug smile while lightly running her manicured nails over his cuff. I lowered my head. "I'm sorry." The words weren't loud, but they were clear enough for the dozen people surrounding us. All I had hoped for was that he would acknowledge I hadn't touched her—that he would let me stand there quietly. Instead, he hauled me forward, demanding I take the blame for something I never did in front of a crowd. I took it. Because the debt was mine. Aaron didn't fire me. I stayed in the hall, taking drinks for him, jotting down names, forcing myself to endure until the party finally wound down. As we walked toward the exit, Samantha suddenly let out a theatrical gasp, deliberately dropping her clutch and a set of car keys onto the asphalt. "You pushed me again!" She spun around, pointing an accusing finger at me. "I didn't." "Everyone's watching! If it wasn't you, who else could it be?" Samantha’s eyes welled with tears as she turned to Aaron. "Look at her!" Aaron's expression darkened. He walked up, snatched my phone straight out of my pocket, ripped my crossbody bag from my shoulder, and handed both to Samantha. "You're not riding in my car tonight," he said coldly. "Walk yourself back." "Aaron," I said, looking up at him. "We're miles outside the city." "I heard you," he said, tugging at his collar. "Samantha was wronged. You need to learn your lesson." He turned and climbed into the car, and Samantha slid in right beside him. The headlights washed over me as the luxury sedan pulled out, its taillights shrinking into two red specks before turning onto the highway and vanishing. The guests had all cleared out. The biting winter wind tore through my thin suit jacket, chilling me to the bone. There wasn't a single car in sight, just a distant line of highway lights. I stood by the edge of the parking lot with no bag, no money, and only a cheap backup phone in my pocket. I hadn't uttered a single word in my defense. In the past, these cruelties happened behind closed doors, hidden behind drawn blinds where only I would ever know. Tonight, it played out under the crystal chandeliers for everyone to witness. I had thought that by standing in front of him, taking every bullet, he would at least shield me from public humiliation. Tonight, I finally saw clearly: he was the one pulling the trigger, stripping away my dignity for the world to see. The wind glued the damp fabric of my blazer to my skin, and violent shivers racked my body. Only then did Jordan's call come through. His voice shook with fury over the receiver, begging me not to move, promising he was in his car and would reach me in twenty minutes. I hung up. I didn't want him to see me like this tonight. Slowly, I crouched down, burying my face into my knees. And still, I refused to walk away. No matter how Jordan pleaded, it was useless.Serena’s POV I actually walked the whole way back. The suburban roads had no sidewalks, only a narrow white painted line along the shoulder. The wind sliced through my trousers, stabbing straight into my marrow. I was only wearing that flimsy gala suit. I had lost my heels miles back, walking barefoot on the frozen asphalt. At first, I could manage a slight jog, but eventually, I was reduced to dragging one foot after the other. The soles of my feet were raw and bleeding, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through me, but I didn't care. Headlights flashed past me one after another, but not a single car slowed down. I counted the passing vehicles. By the thirty-fifth car, the eastern horizon was beginning to show a faint, pale gray. By the time the dingy silhouette of my apartment building came into view, my legs were entirely numb. I dragged myself up the stairs, my hand trembling so violently it took three attempts to fit the key into the lock. The second I hit the mattress, violent chills racked my frame, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. A fever took hold, leaving me delirious for three straight days. Jordan pounded on my door, but I couldn't get up to answer. I later found out he had tracked down the landlord to unlock it. When he stepped inside, I was rambling incoherently, my cheeks flushed crimson while my lips were stark white. "The... the bag..." I mumbled, clutching Jordan's sleeve, too weak to open my eyes. "Samantha's... she said I knocked it over..." Jordan pressed a cold hand against my burning forehead, his expression furious. "Serena, you went through hell for nothing, don't you get it? You walked miles barefoot in freezing weather, tearing your feet to shreds, all for a mistake that never happened!" I closed my eyes, a single tear slipping past my lashes and into my hairline. Not a single item had been missing. What had I suffered that night to prove? Once the fever broke, I didn't utter a single complaint to Jordan. I dragged myself downstairs to buy medicine, then sealed every drafty crack I could find in that tiny apartment. Barely back on my feet, I received a call from Aaron, ordering me to accompany him to a dinner. The private dining table was lavishly set, overflowing with seafood platters, iced beers, and cold brews—every single item a direct assault on my failing stomach. Aaron sat right next to Samantha, constantly heaping food onto her plate. "Samantha loves this," he said, peeling a massive prawn and placing it on her dish. "Eat up. You've lost weight lately." I sat at the far end of the table, not touching a single bite. There was a time when he was the one who remembered I couldn't eat shellfish or touch anything cold, making sure to instruct the kitchen beforehand. I used to believe that tenderness belonged to me. Tonight, he was doting on Samantha, while the dishes laid out before me were enough to put me in the ER. I picked up my cup of warm water, taking tiny sips. No one bothered to ask if I wanted anything to eat. Come the weekend, Aaron summoned me again. "Samantha is craving tiramisu from that bakery downtown," he said. "Go get it." I grabbed my coat and headed straight out. A light drizzle was falling. I waited in line for half an hour and brought it back. Samantha took one bite, wrinkled her nose, and pushed the plate aside. "This isn't the one," she said. "I remember it was from another shop down an alley, the one with wind chimes by the door. Go get that one." I headed out again. Following her vague directions, I wandered through the old district all afternoon, asking several strangers before finally locating the shop. Samantha took another bite and shook her head. "Still not right. Go back and ask the baker if they changed the recipe. I want the original flavor." I went out for a third time. By then, dusk had settled, and the wind was howling, stinging my eyes. Black spots danced across my vision. I leaned against a roadside tree, gasping for breath. I knew very well who the tiramisu was really for. And I knew just as well who was behind sending me on these three humiliating errands. Once the debt is paid, I will leave, I told myself. Just as I pushed myself forward, a car running a red light barreled toward me, its high beams blinding. The impact sent me flying through the air before I slammed heavily onto the pavement. The box of tiramisu rolled into the gutter, coated in dirt. Lying on the freezing asphalt, a surge of blood spilled from my mouth, covering half my face. Screeching brakes and horrified screams filled my ears, followed by hurried, fading footsteps. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Jordan was standing beside my bed in his white coat. "Serena?!" Another doctor pulled him aside, speaking in hushed, urgent tones: my injuries were severe, they needed a family member's signature immediately, and time was running out. I watched Jordan step into the corridor and pull out his phone. The screen flickered, and I knew he was dialing Aaron’s number. It rang for a long time before it finally connected. Jordan rattled off my condition, his voice cracking with panic: "She's slipping, Aaron! Get over here right now if you want to see her one last time!"Serena’s POV The line went silent for two beats. "Jordan," Aaron's voice came through, dripping with bored condescension, background chatter buzzing behind him. "Are you two really pulling this pathetic act again? What, she just wants me to come running? She's been using this exact same trick since we were kids." "She is literally dying!" Jordan hissed, barely keeping his voice down. "Are you coming or not? Get here right now, or you'll never see her again in this lifetime!" "Not interested," Aaron said. "If she loves drama, let her perform." "Aaron," Jordan’s voice shook. "I'm in the emergency room. She just came out of surgery with critical injuries. If you don't come..." "If I don't come, she dies?" Aaron cut him off with a dry chuckle. "Dr. Cole, how many years have you been delivering that exact same line for her?" He was about to end the call. With the last shred of my strength, I reached out, grabbed Jordan's wrist, and weakly shook my head. "Don't... don't make him come," I whispered. "I don't want to see him." Jordan froze. "What? Do you even know what you're saying?" "Hang... hang up." I didn't want him near me. I owed his family a life; all he saw was a cheap performance. If he stood beside my bed and sneered that I was faking it again, I would carry that insult straight into the grave. Gritting his teeth, Jordan yelled into the phone, "You'll regret this!" before violently hanging up. He slammed the phone onto the nightstand, turning to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. The moment the call ended, the vitals that had been steadily plummeting miraculously began to stabilize. The flatlining monitor line curved back into a steady rhythm. A few days later, Jordan pushed open the door to my room again. "Serena, looking at your scans, you have to stay admitted for systematic treatment," he said, spreading the reports out. "If you delay any longer, there really won't be time left." "I'm not staying." "I've already secured the bed," Jordan urged, pushing the files closer. "A private room, right by the window. You don't have to worry about the cost. All you have to do is say yes." I shook my head. "Then give me a number," Jordan snapped, his voice tight. "How many more years are you going to spend paying this debt? When does it finally end?" "Jordan," I murmured, staring at him. "Someone like me should have died a long time ago. I should have stayed under those wheels back then." "Luke took that hit for you!" Jordan's voice trembled with anger. "He traded his life so you could live! And this is how you throw it away? Serena, the person you're failing isn't Aaron—it's Luke!" I turned my face away, falling completely silent. Tears soaked into my hairline, but I didn't wipe them away. Everything Jordan said, I already knew better than anyone. Every single day I drew breath was stolen from Luke. The only purpose I could find for those stolen days was to settle the score with Luke's brother. I shut my eyes, sealing away every thought left unsaid. In the end, I refused to stay admitted. The moment my superficial wounds began to close, I slipped out of the hospital. By the time the nurses noticed, I was already in the back of a cab. There were only two days left until Luke’s memorial. I bought a bouquet of white lilies and climbed the cemetery hill alone. The memorial park was deathly quiet, pine needles carpeting the ground. I knelt before Luke’s headstone, carefully set the flowers down, and used my sleeve to wipe the dust off his photograph. The boy in the picture was forever young, smiling warmly back at me. "I came to see you," I whispered. "Luke, why did you push me out of the way that night? You could have saved yourself." A gust of wind swept through the pines, dropping dry needles onto my shoulders. No one answered. I stayed crouched there for a long time, until my legs were completely numb, before steadying myself against the stone to stand.Serena’s POV I hadn't walked far before I ran right into them. Eleanor was walking up the path with Aaron, carrying the bakery cake Luke used to love and a massive bouquet of lilies, followed by two family drivers. Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks. The moment she recognized me, all the color drained from her face. "How dare you show your face here?" I took half a step back. "Mrs. Hayes, I just..." "Don't you dare call me that!" Eleanor cut me off, her voice shrill. "My son's resting place isn't somewhere trash like you belongs! How young was he? When he died, he wasn't even as old as you are now!" "I know," I choked out, my throat tight. "I just wanted to see him." "See him?" Eleanor sneered. "Or did you come to check if he was really dead? If it weren't for you, he'd be finishing his degree abroad! He wouldn't be rotting in the dirt!" My mouth opened, but not a single sound came out. Eleanor lunged forward, ripped the lilies from my hands, and hurled them violently onto the stone pathway. The pristine petals scattered across the mud, caught by the cold mountain wind and carried away. "Get out!" Eleanor pointed furiously down the hill. "Get out of here right now! Don't you dare defile my son's grave!" "Mrs. Hayes..." She shoved me hard. Already weak, the force sent me stumbling backward, my lower back slamming violently against the sharp edge of a stone marker behind me. Agony ripped through me, turning my vision black, leaving me gasping for air. "Mom." Aaron finally called out from behind, briefly reaching out a hand to steady his mother before dropping it back to his side. He stood there, staring coldly at me, making no move to help me up. I saw the gesture clearly. That hand was extended only for his mother. "Aaron," I whimpered, clutching my throbbing waist as I looked up at him. "Just one look. Let me take one look and I'll go." "You don't deserve to look at him," Aaron said, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "Haven't you done enough to destroy our family over the years?" "I never..." "Drag her out," Aaron commanded the men behind him. Two security guards seized my arms, roughly hauling me down the path toward the cemetery gates. One of my shoes slipped off, my bare foot scraping against the freezing stone steps, but nobody cared. "You don't belong here," Aaron's voice drifted down after me. "Every tombstone here is sickened by your presence. If I ever catch you here again, you know what will happen." They dumped me at the bottom of the grand stone staircase outside the gates. All I had wanted today was so simple: leave some flowers, look at his picture, and walk away. Even that was too much to ask. I walked back along the lonely highway alone. The sun beat down overhead, yet I felt freezing cold. The memories I had buried deep inside bubbled up again—things Luke had told me when he was still alive. He used to say, Serena, Aaron just sounds harsh, but he isn't cruel at heart. He used to say, Once this busy season passes, let's take your mom on a trip to the beach. And on that final night, Luke had shoved me violently to the curb, turning back with that desperate scream: Run! So I ran. And that run became an eternal goodbye. Unable to hold it in any longer, I collapsed onto the dusty gravel, buried my face in my knees, and wept uncontrollably. For so long, I hadn't dared to cry out loud. In the Hayes household, in front of Aaron, I hadn't even dared to frown. Now, with not a soul around, I finally let out the terror of my diagnosis, the crushing weight of this endless debt, pouring it all into the dirt. I knew why that family hated me so much. Luke was such a bright, wonderful boy, dying young beneath the wheels of a truck in my place, while I got to go on living. It was my debt. So I stayed, enduring his cruelty, letting him grind my dignity into the mud. I was paying it back. Repaying a life I could never truly afford. Luke told me Aaron had a good heart, and I had foolishly believed him. Only today, hearing that cold You don't deserve it before the grave, did I finally understand: he had never intended to let me clear this debt, nor did he care to ask me a single question. All I could do was the one thing left: keep paying until my very last breath. When my tears finally ran dry, I pulled myself up by a tree trunk, patting the dust from my clothes. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my battered jacket and began the long walk back toward the city, one agonizing step at a time.Serena’s POV I knew my time was running out. After returning from the cemetery, I didn't go back to my rental. Instead, I took a bus out to an old suburban church. Snow flurries drifted down from the grey sky, sharp icy flakes stinging my cheeks. The sanctuary was empty, save for an elderly priest kneeling in silent prayer. I knelt outside the church doors on the cold stone. I knelt there until noon. My knees went numb first, then ached with a deep, throbbing pain, until eventually, I lost all sensation in my legs. The snow thickened, dusting my shoulders and hair, but I remained motionless, head bowed. The priest finally came out, urging me gently, "Child, the Lord forgives all burdens. Please, stand up." I shook my head. The repentance in my heart was crystal clear: I didn't dare ask for Luke's forgiveness, but whatever months I had left, I would give to Aaron, praying that he would find lasting happiness. It was the final thing I could do for the two of them. Before I left, the priest gifted me two simple wooden cross pendants. I fastened one around my neck, holding it close until it warmed against my skin. During the lunch break when the office was deserted, I quietly slipped into Aaron's corner office and set the other cross right in the center of his mahogany desk. Then, I backed out and clicked the door shut. That afternoon, Aaron arrived and noticed the pendant immediately. I was standing by his side as his assistant. He picked it up, inspected it briefly, and didn't even bother asking who left it. Just then, Samantha walked in carrying his coffee. "What's this?" Samantha leaned in, curious. "Serena left it," Aaron said, tossing the cross casually into Samantha’s open hand. "Take it if you want. It'd look cute hanging on your purse." "Really? For me?" Samantha beamed, clutching it happily. "Yeah. Take it." A few days later, I brought him another cross. When he returned, he picked it up, frowned in annoyance, and tossed it straight into the wastebasket by the corner of his desk. The token I had knelt all morning in the freezing snow to pray for—one was handed off like a cheap trinket, the other thrown out with the trash. The last fragile hope I wanted to leave behind was utterly crushed. My fingers brushed against the bare skin of my throat. From this day forward, I would never leave anything for him again. I walked out of the corporate tower into the swirling snow, the cold flakes melting against my feverish skin. That evening, Aaron took me to another high-stakes dinner. The room was packed with corporate partners who knew I was Aaron's obedient, do-everything assistant. One by one, they came over to raise a glass to me. "Ms. Lewis, surely you won't turn down a drink from me?" Aaron sat at the head of the table, lazily swirling his glass. He didn't intervene. In fact, he casually added, "She handles her liquor well. Don't hold back on her account." After the fourth glass burned its way down, I reached for the glass of warm water in front of me. Just as it touched my lips, a hand reached over and slid it away. "Why drink water?" the executive laughed, sliding a freshly filled tumbler of liquor into my hand. "Mr. Hayes already gave the green light." I downed glass after glass. The fire in my stomach flared violently, breaking me out in a cold, drenching sweat. By the seventh drink, my vision began to blur. I excused myself to touch up my makeup and slipped out of the room. "Hey, where's Ms. Lewis going?" someone called out. "Let her catch her breath," Aaron said languidly. The table erupted into chuckles. I ducked into a deserted storage closet at the end of the hall, locked the door, and fumbled in my purse for my prescription, dry-swallowing two pain pills. In the dark, the burn of the alcohol clashed with the medicine, twisting my gut into knots until I couldn't even stand upright. Once the violent nausea subsided slightly, I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, forced a practiced smile back onto my face, and pushed open the door. The hallway glass mirrored a face so ghastly pale it looked like a corpse. I glanced at it once, then looked away. The second I sat down, another full glass was pushed into my hands. By the time the dinner ended, I could barely stand. The cold night air hit me, amplifying the dizziness until my footing slipped, and I stumbled blindly toward the street. A car sped toward me, its blinding high beams piercing my eyes, the horn blaring deafeningly. "Serena!" A hand caught the back of my coat collar, yanking me violently backward onto the curb. The car whipped past, missing my face by inches. The driver leaned out the window, hurled a curse, and sped off. It was Aaron. He pulled me against his chest, holding me so tightly our noses nearly brushed. His grip on my arms tightened, and his breathing hitched for a split second. I stared up at him through a drunken haze. Many years ago, before everything fell apart, he had pulled me back from the wind just like this. "What are you doing?!" Samantha’s sharp voice suddenly cracked through the air. She had arrived to pick him up, catching the exact scene under the streetlights, her face pale with fury. Aaron immediately released his grip, taking a distinct step back. "She had too much to drink," he told Samantha smoothly. "I caught her before she walked into traffic." "Looked like a lot more than just catching her," Samantha sneered, stepping forward to wrap her arm tightly around his, her nails practically digging into his sleeve. "Aaron, let's go. We don't need to waste our time on someone like her." "If she dies on the pavement outside my event," Aaron muttered, "whose name do you think ends up in the morning papers?" "Then tell me to my face," Samantha demanded, glaring at him. "Say you don't even know her." Aaron stayed silent. Standing in the cold wind, I heard every word. I didn't move. Samantha dragged him toward his car. Just before getting in, he glanced back at me. Whatever was in that look, I couldn't decipher it—and I didn't want to anymore. I stood by the curb alone as the icy breeze cleared the fog from my head. I looked down at my hands. They were still trembling. The pressure where his hands had gripped my arms still lingered on my skin. For a fleeting second, I had foolishly wondered if any piece of the past could ever return. He hadn't denied knowing me, but he hadn't claimed me, either. I clenched my fists, letting the biting cold chase away the last trace of his warmth. A few days later, my phone vibrated. A college friend had started a group chat, organizing a year-end reunion since we hadn't seen each other in years. I clicked open the member list. Aaron’s name and mine were listed right beside each other, separated only by a couple of mutual classmates. I stared at it for a moment, turned the phone face down on the table, and tucked the blister pack of medication deeper into my bag.