Chapter 1

Thalia Winters froze outside a high-end Manhattan restaurant's private room, overhearing voices discussing her boyfriend, Drake Ashcroft. She'd arrived to collect him from his regular Thursday night drinks.

“Drake, now that Sienna’s back from Paris, what’s your plan with Thalia?”

Drake’s voice held its practiced Wall Street neutrality. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, man. You and Thalia have been together for three years. Sienna’s transfer back to the New York office changes things, doesn’t it?”

Through a crack in the door, Thalia saw Drake take a slow drag from his vape. In the dim light, he exhaled before quietly saying, “I honestly don’t know. The last thing I want is to hurt Thalia, but Sienna… that’s complicated.”

His friend whistled. “Sienna was your college sweetheart. That relationship was epic—everyone at Yale still talks about it. No one’s judging you for not being over her.”

“Look,” another voice interjected, “Thalia’s been incredibly supportive for three years, and she’s gorgeous. You’re telling me you’re still hung up on Sienna?”

Drake rubbed his temples, his voice weary from long nights at the office. “Yes, Thalia’s stunning. But when I first asked her out… it was because she reminded me of Sienna. These past years, I’ve been chasing Sienna’s ghost.”

“So Thalia’s been your placeholder?” A heavy pause. “That’s messed up, bro.”

“When are you planning to end it?” someone asked.

Drake tapped his vape, watching the light pulse. “Not sure. Thalia… she gets me. She understands the crazy hours, never complains. Letting that go isn’t easy.”

One friend gripped Drake’s shoulder. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, man. Time to man up and make a decision.”

“Or just keep both,” someone laughed. “If you feel bad, buy her something nice. Girls love that stuff.”

Drake scoffed. “Not all of us can juggle multiple dating apps like you, jackass.”

Outside, Thalia’s lips curved into a bitter smile as she turned and walked away, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

She walked along the High Line, New York’s lights twinkling around her as she reflected on her three years with Drake. She’d believed their relationship was real. Now she knew—she’d merely been playing the part of his perfect ex.

Standing at an observation deck overlooking the city, Thalia faced a choice: continue down this path or finally comply with her family’s wishes. A tear slid down her cheek as the autumn wind whipped her hair.

She made her decision.

Taking out her phone, she FaceTimed a number she’d been avoiding.

“Papa? About the arrangement with the Blackwood family in London… I’ll do it.”

The city lights illuminated the never-sleeping skyline. Beneath them, Thalia stared into the Manhattan night, her voice steady. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just done with the dating scene. Time to be practical.”

“You were right all along. I shouldn’t have fought you on this and run off to New York. I get it now.”

“I’ll head back to London once I’ve tied up loose ends here.”

When Thalia returned to their penthouse, it was past ten. Rosa, their housekeeper, greeted her with a concerned look and a covered dish.

“Miss Winters, welcome back. I kept the bone broth warm for Mr. Ashcroft. His stomach’s been acting up again. I was about to take it up, but since you’re here…”

Thalia took the pot silently and headed to the master suite. The room was empty, though Drake’s laptop glowed on his desk. The shower ran behind the closed bathroom door.

Showering this early?

She set down the broth.

A stream of WhatsApp notifications illuminated his laptop screen. She glanced over, catching Sienna’s name.

[Drake, landed at JFK! Having dinner with the Paris team, but free after 11:30. Drinks at our old spot??] Sent ten minutes ago.

So that’s why he was rushing to shower—probably heading to their old college hangout.

[These years in Paris… I’ve missed you every day. Focusing on my career was the biggest mistake. Should’ve never let you go.] [We were both so stubborn back then. But you still think about us too, right?] [Tried dating other guys in Paris, but something was always off. Finally admitted to myself it’s because they weren’t you.] [Been putting off this transfer to NYC for ages. Scared you’d hate me, wouldn’t want to see me, maybe had someone serious… scared you’d moved on.] [I messed up back then, Drake. Any chance you can forgive me??]

Thalia stood motionless, her chest tightening.

She was about to close the chat when Drake’s reply appeared.

[Just need to know one thing, Si: do you still feel it?]

Connected on his laptop but still texting from the shower. Classic Drake.

Thalia’s heart clenched.

Drake was perpetually “in meetings” when she texted. She’d learned to stop trying, to be the “cool girlfriend” who didn’t demand constant communication.

But for Sienna, he’d reply mid-shower.

The difference between love and convenience couldn't be clearer.

Sienna’s response was instant.

[Always have, always will. Only you] [See you soon?]

Just like that, three years became a placeholder.

Thalia closed WhatsApp, reset the mouse, erased her presence.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a bowl of the broth she’d perfected for Drake’s stress-induced gastritis.

Premium bones simmered for eight hours with fresh vegetables and herbs, finished with gut-healing ingredients. It had taken months to perfect the recipe after consulting with his doctor.

It was time-consuming and expensive, but he’d once mentioned it helped, so she’d made it religiously for two years.

As she finished her bowl, Drake came downstairs.

Fresh from the shower, hair styled, wearing a dark blazer she’d given him for Christmas.

“Where were you earlier? Didn’t see you when I got back.”

“Just needed some air,” Thalia replied softly.

Drake grabbed his keys. “Got to handle something at the office. Don’t wait up.”

Thalia stared into her empty bowl. “Will you be back tonight?”

Drake paused at the elevator, silent for a moment before answering, “Might crash at the office if this deal runs late.”

“Got it.” The girl who never made waves.

Upstairs, Thalia opened the master suite door. The broth sat untouched beside his laptop.

Her phone lit up with a message from Asher Blackwood, her arranged match in London.

Asher: [When should we expect you back in London, Lia?]

To Thalia, Asher was more like a protective older brother. His nickname for her felt familial, not romantic.

[Once I’ve handled things here.] Asher: [Need any help sorting it out?] [Thanks, Ash. I’ve got this.] Asher: [Take care of yourself. Get some sleep.]

That night, Drake’s side of the bed remained empty.

The next morning, Thalia’s phone jolted her awake.

“Hello?”

“Thalia! You’re coming to my birthday thing tomorrow night, right? The reservation is at eight!”

Thalia squinted at her screen through sleepy eyes.

Celine Rothschild, a friend from Drake’s investment banking days who’d always been genuinely kind to her.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Text me the details?”

After hanging up, Thalia headed downtown to find Celine’s gift. A delicate necklace—exactly Celine’s style.

The next evening, Thalia arrived at the restaurant early.

“Happy birthday, C,” she said, presenting her gift.

Celine thanked her warmly.

Mid-conversation, Drake strolled in fashionably late, an unfamiliar woman on his arm. Their eyes met, and Drake stiffened. “Thalia? What are you doing here?”