“My crush on you started the day our parents got married,” I say, and the words are so small, so raw, I don’t recognize them as mine. “You were so handsome. You showed up in a dark suit, hair slicked back, and everyone talked about how smart and rich you were going to be. They had no idea that you’d become a literal billionaire in command of a generative AI company. But even back then, you were the only person who talked to me like I was a real person. Not some kid.”
I grip the mug harder, as if it’s the only thing anchoring me to the moment.
“I was in high school, and none of the boys at school liked me. Not really. They were all scared of me, or made fun of me, or just ignored me.” My voice wobbles. “But you… you saw me. Not just the girl everyone else ignored.”
Hunter doesn’t move, but I catch the hitch in his breath.
I keep going. “I remember one time, at Thanksgiving, you made a joke about how I was going to take over the world. I laughed so hard, I cried. Not because it was funny, but because I wanted to believe it was true. I wanted to be someone worth noticing.”
The next words come out like a confession in a church. “You were the first person I ever wanted, Hunter. I thought it would go away, but it never did. Not even when I lost my memory. Not even when I was Daisy. Somehow my mind and body knew you. They could sense you, like we’re fated.”
My whole body shakes now, and I set the mug down before I drop it. The sound of ceramic on glass is sharp, final.
“But I need space,” I say, standing up. “I need time to figure out whoIam. This is—” I gesture at the skyline, at him, at the whole glimmering apartment, “—this is a lot to process.”
Hunter looks up, and for the first time since we got back, he looks truly lost.
He nods, and the motion is so small it’s almost invisible. “Do what you need to, Tara. I love you no matter what.”
I walk to the door, then stop, hands shaking so hard I can barely manage the zipper on my coat. My purse is a tangled mess, the strap caught on a chair leg, and it takes me three tries to get it loose. Every motion feels like I’m underwater, slow and thick.
When I turn back, Hunter is still on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the spot where I’d just been. His hands are pressed together, and I realize they’re trembling, too.
“I’ll stay at Sanctum,” I say. “Just for a while. I don’t know if I’ll come back. I don’t know if I can.”
He says nothing, and I turn resolutely, heading towards the door.
After all, some things can’t be finished in a single afternoon.
Some things take a lifetime.
16
CHAPTER 16 – PASSION RECLAIMED
Tara
If I don’t move, I can almost convince myself the city isn’t watching. I’m standing at the doors of Hunter’s penthouse, wearing a dress that cost me three weeks’ pay at my first job out of high school. The dress is blue—cobalt, midnight, impossible to look away from. I bought it because, once, in another lifetime, Hunter told me it would match my eyes. Back then, I thought that was a line. Now I think it was a prophecy.
I ring the bell before I can change my mind. My hand shakes, but not from cold. The old Tara would have waited for the man to open the door, pretty with a shy, receding smile. The new Tara—the one who spent the last two days at Sanctum, taking long walks, doing meditation, and writing in her journal—knows exactly what she wants and is going to get it.
I hear footsteps, measured and slow, as if he’s trying to calm his heart before facing me. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and there he is.
Hunter, in a suit—no tie, collar loose, shirt just a shade lighter than the stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks exhausted, but also like he’s about to win a Nobel or get on a GQ cover. For a long, tight second, neither of us says a word.
His eyes drop from my face to the blue silk, then back up again, and in that moment I know he remembers. He remembers every word he ever said to me, and probably a thousand more I never heard.
“Hi,” I manage. Not exactly the dramatic entrance I envisioned, but it’ll do.
His mouth quirks, a smile at the corner of his lips. “Hi yourself. You’re early.”
“Surprised?”
He shakes his head, one hand gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I hoped you’d come. I just just didn’t know what to expect—” He swallows, eyes closing for a half-second. “You look beautiful, Tara.”
I step inside before I can lose my nerve. The penthouse is different. Not just tidy and perfect, but transformed. The table in the entry is loaded with fresh lilies and tulips, so many that the air is heavy with their perfume. The lights are low, and candles—actual wax, not those fake LED ones—are scattered along every surface, their flames reflected in the marble and glass. It’s as if Hunter wanted to make the apartment special for me.
I follow him into the living room, careful not to let my heels click too loud on the floor. There’s a tray on the coffee table: a decanter of wine, two glasses, a bowl of olives, and a tiny, perfect plate of crackers and cheese. Hunter gestures to the sofa, but I stay standing. I want to see what he’ll do.