The 72-Hour Lover

1.

Seven years.

I gave Jackson Hayes seven whole years of my life.

2,555 days. 87,600 hours.

Countless times waking up at 3:00 AM, reaching out just to make sure he was still there.

And him?

He took one weekDjust one single weekDto climb into the bed of an NYU sophomore.

Sophia, Im tired.

That was his reason for breaking up with me. Just those three words.

At the time, I was holding his Tom Ford shirt, freshly picked up from the dry cleaner.

The black one. His favorite.

I had driven three blocks out of my way to that specific cleaner because he said they were the only ones who could press the collar arch perfectly.

"Tired?" I repeated the word, finding it almost funny.

"Yeah." He didnt even bother to look at me, his eyes glued to his phone screen.

The screen showed real-time stock data from Bloomberg. Those jumping numbers were apparently more worthy of his attention than my face.

"Breaking up and getting back together for so many years... its pointless. We both need a fresh start."

A fresh start.

What a magnificent, high-sounding excuse.

"So?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. "Does this 'fresh start' include the dinner you had with that blonde girl at The Smith a week ago?"

Jacksons finger paused on the screen. But only for a second.

"Youre stalking me?"

"I don't need to stalk you, Jackson." I laughed, a sound that felt pathetic even to my own ears.

"Your Instagram is public. The photo of you two has 137 likes and 26 comments. Five of them are from our mutual friends. 'New girlfriend? Lucky girl!' Remember that?"

He finally looked up at me.

There was no guilt in his eyes. Only impatience.

"Sophia, dont act like a bitter housewife. It doesnt suit you."

Doesn't suit me.

Right. I shouldnt act like a bitter housewife.

I should act like a fool. Like I have for the past seven years.

Ignoring his coldness, his perfunctory attitude, and his increasingly frequent "overtime" at work.

"Youre right." I threw the shirt onto the sofa. "This isnt me. The Sophia who was 'like that' is dead."

Three days later, my friend Riley sent me a photo.

Jackson was walking into Smith & WollenskyDour anniversary steakhouseDwith his arm around a blonde girl.

Every November 3rd, we used to go there.

The waiters knew us. They always saved the window seat for us.

In the photo, the girl looked twenty at most. She was wearing a purple NYU hoodie, smiling with innocent brilliance.

Just like I did seven years ago, the first time I met him.

Riley typed a line under the photo: "Sophia, Im sorry, I thought you should know. Chloe Anderson. Art school sophomore. Her dad is a partner at Anderson & Partners."

I zoomed in on the photo and stared at it for a long time.

Jacksons hand was resting on the girls waist. Low. Almost touching her hip.

It was a possessive gesture.

Seven years ago, he held me exactly the same way.

I suddenly laughed.

I laughed until tears came out.

Then I threw up.

I knelt in front of the toilet, heaving until my stomach was empty, dry heaving bile.

The three-thousand-dollar Cartier ring swirled in the toilet water.

He gave it to me on our third anniversary. It was my birthday. He knelt on one knee in Central Park and slid the ring onto my finger.

"Sophia," he had said, his eyes more sincere than ever before. "When Im ready, Ill marry you."

I waited four years.

Four years later, I watched this ring spin and sink in the current.

Three thousand dollars.

Seven years of feelings.

I flushed the toilet.

With a *gurgle*, it disappeared into the sewer.

Just like our relationshipDflushed away, never to return.

But throwing away a ring wasn't enough.

Far from enough.

I dragged a huge box out from the depths of the walk-in closet. A Vera Wang custom wedding dress.

I secretly ordered it six months ago.

I thought maybe I could propose to him. Yes, a woman proposing to a man. Its 2024, theres no shame in that.

I had planned everything.

Id book the entire second floor of his favorite Italian restaurant. Id have a jazz band play his favorite song, "The Way You Look Tonight."

The designer was an Italian lady in her fifties who looked like she had seen the world.

"Engaged, my dear?" she asked me as she measured the lace against my body.

"Soon," I said, smiling with such certainty. "I can feel it."

The look she gave me... thinking back now, it was pity.

The pity of someone who has seen too many foolish girls.

I dragged the wedding dress to the backyard.

Pure white silk. Hand-embroidered lace. Swarovski crystal embellishments.

A dream worth fifteen thousand dollars.

I doused it in lighter fluid and struck a match.

The flames instantly devoured the delicate lace.

The fabric twisted and blackened in the high heat, making a sizzling sound.

The dress that was supposed to make everyone hold their breath in a church was now a pile of burning trash.

The fire was huge, reflecting red against half the night sky.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wineDJacksons prized 2015 Chateau Margaux, two thousand dollars a bottle.

I drank straight from the bottle.

The strong alcohol burned my throat, but it couldn't compare to the fire in my heart.

"Sophia!" Linda from next door poked her head out the window, looking terrified. "Oh my god! What are you burning? Should I call the police?"

I raised the wine bottle and gave her a smile that was bright to the point of madness.

"Im great, Linda! Never been better!"

"Im burning trash! Seven years of trash!"

Linda stood there, her mouth forming an 'O' shape.

I ignored her. I sat on the backyard steps, watching the flames slowly die down.

The wedding dress finally turned into a pile of black ash, scattered by the night wind.

Just like my love for Jackson.

Burned to ash.

Nothing left.

That night at 11:00 PM, I booked a red-eye JetBlue flight to Los Angeles.

Mint class. One way. No looking back.

While packing, I realized that in this apartment, the things that truly belonged to me were pitifully few.

A few clothes. My laptop. Passport. Credit cards. A photo of my mom.

That was it.

Seven years, and this was it.

This apartment on the Upper East Side, with a monthly rent of fifteen thousand, was his.

The minimalist Nordic furniture was his.

The Basquiat replica on the wall, worth fifty thousand dollars, was his.

I owned nothing.

Or rather, everything I had was charity from him.

This realization disgusted me more than the breakup itself.

I stuck a sticky note on the fridge door:

"Apartment is yours to deal with. Dont contact me. DS"

I intended to write my full name, but in the end, I only wrote "S".

I couldn't even be bothered to give him my full name.

At 1:30 AM, I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment building.

Tom, the doorman, was still on duty. He looked stunned when he saw me.

"Miss Sophia, where are you going so late?"

"Vacation," I said, smiling. "A very, very long vacation."

"Then... what about Mr. Hayes?"

"He's not going." I paused. "He's never going."

Tom seemed like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded. "Safe travels, Miss."

The Uber driver was a chatty older man who kept talking about his daughter studying art at NYU.

I politely mumbled responses, but my mind was blank.

It wasn't until the car got onto FDR Drive and I saw the lights of Manhattan receding in the rearview mirror that I truly realizedD

I was free.

***

Meanwhile, at The Campbell, a private lounge in Lower Manhattan.

Amber whiskey swirled in crystal glasses. Cigar smoke curled under the vintage chandeliers.

"Buddy, wanna make a bet?" Marcus propped his feet on the table, swirling his glass, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Bet on what?" Tyler asked, adding ice to his third glass of Macallan 18.

"Bet on how long it takes for Sophia to break." Marcus laughed nastily.

"I say 48 hours. Two days, max. She definitely won't be able to handle it. She'll call back crying."

"I bet three days," Tyler said. "She looks really angry this time. Although I don't know why, shouldn't she be used to it by now?"

"Used to it, my ass," Chris sneered. "Women are all the same. They say no, but their bodies are honest. Sophia can't leave Jackson, just like we can't leave whiskey."

A wave of low laughter followed.

"Then I bet a week," someone said. "Give the girl some credit, she was with Jackson for seven years after all."

Everyone's gaze finally landed on the man in the center of the sofa.

Jackson Hayes.

28 years old. Hedge fund manager. Eight-figure net worth.

Handsome, cold, and always knowing exactly what he wanted.

He had a Marlboro dangling from his lips, lazily sunken into the leather sofa. The smoke blurred his face, but his eyes were full of triumphant arrogance.

He blew a perfect smoke ring and spoke slowly.

"72 hours."

The private room went silent for a second.

"I bet she won't last 72 hours," Jackson repeated, his voice cold as ice.

"On the night of the third day, she will call. Crying, saying she was wrong, saying she can't live without me, begging me to take her back."

He flicked the ash, the corner of his mouth hooking into a mocking smile.

"They are always like this."

*They.*

Not "she," but "they."

As if I were just one of the many women he grew tired of playing with, who would eventually come back.

Marcus whistled. "Jackson, you are fucking ruthless. But are you sure it's the same this time? I feel like Sophia is really..."

"Really what?" Jackson interrupted him. "Really angry? Really going to leave me?"

He sneered and took another swig of whiskey.

"Marcus, how long have you known Sophia?"

"Uh... four years?"

"I've known her for seven," Jackson said. "I know her better than you do. A woman like her, leaving me? Where can she go?"

"Back to her crappy job paying sixty grand a year? Living in a shared apartment in Queens? Don't be funny."

"She's used to the Upper East Side life. Used to Michelin restaurants. Used to my Black Card."

He paused, his smile growing colder. "Most importantly, she's used to me."

Tyler raised his glass. "Then I'll wait for the show. In three days, Jackson pays."

"Deal." Jackson clinked his glass against Tyler's.

***

**The First 72 Hours.**

Los Angeles, Santa Monica.

I was staying in the guest room at Riley's house.

I woke up in the morning, the California sun spilling through the blinds, stinging my eyes.

I picked up my phone.

No missed calls.

No texts.

On WhatsApp, Jackson's last message was stuck from three days ago: "K."

Just one letter.

I stared at that "K" for a long time, suddenly finding it funny.

Seven years of a relationship, and the final farewell was a perfunctory "K."

I turned off my phone and went downstairs to the kitchen.

Riley and her husband Ben were making breakfast.

Ben was a software engineer, a typical Silicon Valley tech guy, but he made amazing pancakes.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." Riley saw me, her smile a bit sympathetic. "Want a mimosa? I think you need one."

"Drinking at 10 AM?"

"Honey, this is LA." Riley poured me a glass of champagne mixed with orange juice. "In LA, brunch without booze is illegal."

I took the glass and downed it in one go.

The bubbles exploded in my throat, a bit choking, but also refreshing.

"Did that bastard contact you?" Riley asked.

I shook my head.

"Good." Riley bit fiercely into a piece of bacon. "He'd better never contact you. Or I'll fly to New York and castrate him myself."

Ben silently raised his spatula from the side. "I can provide the tools if needed."

I couldn't help but laugh.

It was the first time I had genuinely laughed in three days.

***

**The Second 72 Hours Passed.**

My phone was still silent.

I started taking on some freelance writing gigs.

I worked in content marketing originally, at a boutique PR firm. An eighty-thousand salary wasn't high, but it wasn't low for peers in New York.

Jackson always said my job had "no future" and I should just follow him and be his "personal life assistant."

At the time, I thought it was an affectionate nickname.

Thinking back now, that was basically him keeping a mistress.

I sent emails to three clients saying I was now based in Los Angeles and could work remotely.

Two hours later, all three replied.

One was an emerging skincare brand willing to pay double for me to write a set of social media copy about "female independence."

"Female independence."

I looked at those two words and laughed again.

How ironic.

I spent two hours writing five Instagram captions. Each one talked about how women don't need men to define their worth.

After finishing, I sent them off, then lay on the sofa staring blankly at the ceiling.

Riley came over with two iced lattes and sat next to me.

"Sophia, you look..."

"How do I look?"

"You look much better than you did in New York," she said, then looked at me seriously.

"Really. You smile more genuinely. Even though you don't smile often, every time you do, it's real."

I paused.

"Really?"

"Yes." Riley held my hand. "Sophia, you know what? For the past few years, every time you came to visit me from New York, I felt like you were fake smiling. You smiled sweetly, gently, but your eyes were empty."

I didn't speak.

Because she was right.

***

**Day Seven.**

Late night, 11:00 PM. Manhattan. Jackson's apartment.

He sat alone in the living room, a largely empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label in front of him.

The apartment was terribly quiet.

Quiet enough that he could hear his own heartbeat. Hear the hum of the refrigerator motor. Hear the footsteps of the neighbors upstairs.

He had never felt this apartment was so quiet before.

When Sophia was here, there was always noise.

The sound of her humming while cooking. The sound of her laughing on the phone. The sound of her drying her hair in the bathroom. The sound of her slippers going "pat-pat" as she walked.

Now, there was nothing.

He stared at the sticky note on the coffee tableD"Don't contact me. DS"

Seven days.

Sophia really hadn't sent a single word.

No crying complaints. No questioning. No begging.

Nothing.

It was as if she had completely evaporated from his life.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

He picked up his phone and scrolled to Sophia's number.

The contact name was still "Sophia ??".

She added that heart emoji herself on a lazy Sunday morning, curled in his arms playing with his phone, secretly changing it.

He had said at the time, "Childish."

She said, "I am childish, bite me."

And then he really bit her neck, and she screamed "Ah!" laughing and rolling around on the bed.

He stared at that heart emoji for a long time.

Then, he dialed the number.

The phone rang for a long time.

Long enough that he thought she wouldn't answer.

Then, the call connected.

"SophiaD" His voice had a rare trace of panic, like a child who had done something wrong. "Stop messing around, come back..."

But the voice that came from the other end wasn't Sophia's.

It was a man's voice.

Deep.

Lazy.

Smiling.

And with a clear hint of provocation.

"Hayes," the man said, his tone relaxed like he was chatting about the weather. "Let me give you a piece of adviceD"

Jackson's fingers instantly gripped the phone tight, his knuckles turning white.

"If you let a girl go to sleep angry," the voice continued, every word slow, as if deliberately torturing him. "She's very likely to wake up in someone else's bed."

Jackson's breathing stopped for a second.

His temples throbbed, blood rushing to his brain.

"For example," the voice paused, the smile in it deepening, "Mine."

Jackson shot up, almost roaring:

"Who the fuck are you?! Put Sophia on the phone! Now! Immediately!"

On the other end of the line, the mans low laughter could be heard.

That laughter was full of triumph, full of provocation, full of the mockery that said, "You lose."

***

Los Angeles, Four Seasons Hotel, Ocean View Suite.

I groggily opened my eyes to see Julian holding my phone, speaking into the receiver.

"Julian..." My voice was still sleepy, raspy and lazy. "Who's on the phone?"

Julian looked down and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

His lips were hot, like they were going to ignite me.

"Nobody important," he said, his voice low like he was whispering sweet nothings.

Then, he spoke into the phone, unhurriedly:

"I'm afraid not, Hayes."

"She's sleeping soundly."

He looked at me, his eyes deep as the night, looking like they wanted to swallow me whole.

"However," his voice dropped lower, carrying obvious suggestion and provocation, "I wouldn't mindD"

He paused, deliberately dragging out the end of the sentence:

"Waking her up in my own way."

From the phone came Jackson's furious roar:

"Who the fuck are you?! Sophia! Sophia can you hear me?! You listen to meD"

Julian expressionlessly hung up the phone.

He casually turned it off.

Then, he tossed the phone onto the nightstand, leaned down, and kissed me.

The kiss was deep, slow, carrying a certain declaration of sovereignty. His tongue pried open my teeth, invading recklessly, giving me no chance to breathe.

"Baby," he finally released me, whispering in my ear, his breath dusting over my skin. "Wake up..."

I hazily wrapped my arms around his neck. "What time is it?"

"3:00 AM," he said, then nipped at my earlobe. "But that's not important."

"Then what is important?"

He lifted his head, those dark gray eyes shining in the darkness.

"What's important," he said slowly, his voice husky and sexy, "is that the game has just begun."

2.

I smashed my phone against the wall.

The iPhone screen shattered into a spiderweb, but it was still lit. Sophia's name was still displayed in the call log.

Call duration: 1 minute 32 seconds.

One minute and thirty-two seconds.

I spent one minute and thirty-two seconds listening to a man tell me Sophia was in his bed.

"Fuck!" I punched the wall. The drywall cracked.

A sharp pain shot through my knuckles, but it couldn't compare to the tearing sensation in my chest.

Who was that man?

His voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it.

Deep, lazy, carrying that triumphant "I won" tone.

*"She's very likely to wake up in someone else's bed. For example, mine."*

That sentence was like a nail driven into my brain.

Sophia in someone else's bed.

Sophia being held by someone else.

Sophia being... by someone else.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

I swept all the bottles off the coffee table. Amber liquid mixed with glass shards, the air reeking of alcohol.

My breathing was rapid, my temples throbbing.

I needed to calm down.

I needed...

Fuck, I needed Sophia back.

I walked to the window and lit a cigarette.

3:00 AM in Manhattan. The city that never sleeps. Car lights flowed in the streets, neon lights flickered. Countless people chased, sank, and got lost in this city.

I used to think I was the master of this city.

28 years old. Hedge fund manager. Seven-figure annual income.

I drove a Porsche 911, lived on the Upper East Side, drank at The Campbell, ate at Per Se, and slept with the most beautiful women.

I thought I had everything.

Until this moment, I realizedD

I had absolutely fucking nothing.

My phone rang.

It was Marcus.

"Jackson, are you okay? I heard a loud noise just now..."

"I'm fine," I said, my voice hoarser than I imagined.

"Really fine? Need me to come over?"

"No." I took a deep breath. "Marcus, look someone up for me."

"Who?"

"The man who just answered Sophia's phone," I said. "Find out who he is."

"But... how do we check? You don't even know his name."

"His voice was familiar." I tried hard to recall. "Deep, a bit raspy, with a bit of a West Coast accent... Shit, I've definitely met him somewhere."

"West Coast accent?" Marcus paused. "Sophia is in Los Angeles right now, right?"

"Right."

"Could it be a friend from her college days? Didn't she graduate from UCLA?"

UCLA.

A thought suddenly flashed through my mind.

"Julian," I said, my voice low through gritted teeth. "Julian Ford."

"Who?"

"Julian Fucking Ford." I repeated, every word squeezed out from between my teeth. "Heir to the Ford family. I faced off against him on a project two years ago. That bastard almost stole my deal."

"Wait," Marcus's voice turned serious. "You mean *that* Julian Ford? One of the early investors in Tesla, currently worth... how much again?"

"Two hundred million," I said. "Dollars."

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Jackson," Marcus said cautiously. "If it's really him... how do you think Sophia knows him?"

I closed my eyes.

A scene suddenly surfaced in my mind.

Six years ago. UCLA alumni reunion.

That was the first year Sophia and I were together.

She dragged me to the UCLA reunion, saying she wanted me to meet her college friends.

I actually didn't want to go. I graduated from Columbia. UCLA, that kind of West Coast "sunshine school," wasn't on the same level.

But Sophia begged me for a long time, looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.

"Jackson, please. This is important to me."

In the end, I went.

The party was held at a beach house in Santa Monica. A group of young people were drinking, dancing, and chatting about Silicon Valley startups.

I was out of place.

Sophia kept holding my arm, introducing me to her friends.

"This is my boyfriend, Jackson Hayes," she said, her face full of pride.

Then, I saw him.

Julian Ford.

He was standing on the terrace, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, holding a beer, chatting with a few people.

But when Sophia walked into the room, his gaze immediately shifted.

Just for that instant.

I saw the light in his eyes.

It flashed by, but it was bright.

Sophia didn't notice. She walked over smiling and gave Julian a hug.

"Julian! Long time no see!"

"Sophia," he said. His voice was light, but I heard the suppressed emotion. "How have you been?"

"Great!" Sophia let go of him, pulling me forward. "Here, let me introduce you. This is Jackson, my boyfriend. Jackson, this is Julian, my... friend from college."

She paused, then added:

"Julian is really nice. He used to help me with calculus all the time in college."

Julian extended his hand. "Mr. Hayes, I've heard a lot about you."

I shook his hand, squeezing hard, like I wanted to crush his bones.

"Mr. Ford," I said, smiling professionally. "Sophia never mentioned you."

That was a lie.

Sophia mentioned him many times.

"Julian is treating everyone to coffee today."

"Professor Julian said my paper was written well."

"Julian fixed my computer, he's seriously amazing."

The "Julian" in her mouth carried a kind of intimacy and trust.

The kind of intimacy I spent a long time trying to get from her.

After that night, I told Sophia:

"Stay away from that Julian."

"Why?" She was confused. "Julian is a good person."

"The way he looks at you isn't right."

"What way?"

"The way a man looks at a woman," I said. "Sophia, don't be stupid. That man likes you."

She paused, then laughed.

"Jackson, you're overthinking it. Julian wouldn't like me; we're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yeah," she said, her tone certain. "And besides, even if he likes me, so what? The one I like is you."

She said it so naturally, so sincerely.

I believed it at the time.

Or rather, I chose to believe it.

Because I was Jackson Hayes. I had plenty of confidence.

But now, six years later.

Julian Ford answered Sophia's phone.

At 3:00 AM.

In her bed.

"Fuck." I lit another cigarette and took a harsh drag.

Marcus asked cautiously on the other end, "Jackson, what do you plan to do now?"

"I'm going to Los Angeles," I said. "First flight tomorrow."

"But..."

"No buts," I interrupted him. "Marcus, help me find out where Julian lives. Also, book me a flight and hotel."

"Okay." Marcus sighed. "Jackson, I hope you know what you're doing."

I hung up the phone.

***

**Sophia's Perspective**

The next morning, I was woken up by the sun.

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was the Pacific Ocean outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The waves surged, sunlight danced on the water, and a few seagulls circled in the sky.

I was dazed for a few seconds before remembering where I was.

Los Angeles. Four Seasons. Julian's suite.

Julian.

I turned my head sharply, but the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were still warm, but he wasn't there.

"Julian?" I called out.

No answer.

I sat up and found a glass of water and two painkillers on the nightstand, weighed down by a note:

*"Breakfast is in the living room. I'm going to a meeting, will be back at noon to pick you up. DJ"*

The handwriting was elegant, just like him.

I picked up the water, drank it down in gulps, and then lay back on the bed.

Memories of last night came flooding back like the tide.

Riley's party.

Alcohol.

Julian.

And... Jackson's phone call.

I picked up my phone. There were over a dozen missed calls on the screen.

All from: Jackson Hayes.

And countless texts:

"Sophia, we need to talk."

"Where are you?"

"Who is that man?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Answer the phone."

"Sophia!"

"I know you can see this."

The last one was sent at 4:00 AM:

"Sophia, don't push me."

I stared at that text for a long time.

"Don't push you?" I muttered to myself, then laughed. "Jackson, what right do you have to say that?"

My finger hovered over the screen, hesitating for a few seconds.

Then, I made a decision.

I blocked Jackson's number.

All contact methods. Phone, text, WhatsApp, Instagram.

Blocked everything.

After doing this, I suddenly felt refreshed.

A lavish breakfast was laid out on the dining table in the living room.

Croissants, fruit, yogurt, coffee, orange juice.

And a bouquet of flowersDwhite roses, very elegant.

I sat down and took a bite of a croissant. The aroma of butter spread in my mouth, the crispy crust carrying a hint of sweetness.

So delicious.

I couldn't remember the last time I had a proper breakfast.

For the past few years, my breakfast was usually a cup of black coffee, hurriedly drunk while standing in the kitchen before rushing to work.

Jackson never ate breakfast. He said breakfast made him sleepy and affected his work efficiency.

So I didn't eat either.

Thinking about it now, it was ridiculous.

Why did I stop eating breakfast just because he didn't?

My phone rang.

It was Riley.

"Morning, you little slut." Her voice was full of gossipy excitement. "How was spending the night with Julian Ford?"

"Riley!" I blushed.

"Hahaha, what are you shy for? We're all adults." Riley laughed wickedly. "Seriously, a man like Julian, you'd be crazy not to sleep with him. Do you know how hard he is to book? Half the socialites in LA want to climb into his bed."

"We didn't..." I wanted to explain, but didn't know how to say it.

Something did happen last night, but "that" didn't happen.

Julian kissed me, held me while we slept, but that was it.

"Didn't what?" Riley didn't believe it. "Sophia, stop pretending. I saw the way Julian looked at you. That guy wanted to devour you."

"He was... very much a gentleman," I said.

"Gentleman?" Riley scoffed. "Honey, 'gentleman' describes British people. A man like Julian Ford is a predator. A gentle predator."

I didn't speak.

Because she was right.

The way Julian looked at me really was like looking at prey.

But not that crude, possessive look.

It was that... "I will eat you slowly, bit by bit, making you unwilling to run away" kind of look.

"By the way," Riley suddenly said. "Did you block Jackson last night?"

"Yeah."

"Good!" Riley said excitedly. "I knew you would. Sophia, you know what? I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

"What do you mean?"

Riley sighed.

"Sophia, for the past few years, every time you mentioned Jackson, your voice was careful. Like... like you were afraid of saying something wrong, afraid he'd be angry, afraid he'd be unhappy."

I froze.

"Was I like that?"

"Yes," Riley said. "Very obvious. Babe, do you know what loving someone should feel like? It should be relaxing, happy, making you feel like you're becoming better. But with Jackson, you became more and more careful, less and less like yourself."

My eyes suddenly felt a bit hot.

"Riley..."

"Don't cry." Riley said. "You should celebrate. Sophia, you're free. That bastard isn't worth your tears."

"I'm not crying," I said, but my voice was already choking up.

"Okay, okay, you're not crying." Riley laughed. "Anyway, Ben and I are going to see a play tonight. Do you want to come? Or... do you have other plans?"

"What plans?"

"Like, plans with Julian?" Riley grinned.

"I... I don't know," I said. "Riley, I don't know what Julian and I are."

"Babe, what you are isn't important," Riley said. "What's important is, are you happy?"

I paused.

"I..."

I thought about how it felt when Julian held me last night.

Warm. Safe. Comfortable.

No need to be careful, no need to worry about saying the wrong thing, no need to wake up at 3:00 AM to confirm he was still there.

"I'm very happy," I said, my voice light but certain.

"That's enough then," Riley said. "Sophia, remember, you don't owe anyone anything. You just need to be good to yourself, even better."

After hanging up, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the Pacific.

The waves beat against the beach one after another, never stopping.

I suddenly remembered the scene where Jackson and I first met seven years ago.

Seven years ago, New York. An art gallery opening reception.

I had just moved to New York, working at a small PR firm, salary three thousand five hundred a month, living in a shared apartment in Brooklyn.

That day, the company took a job helping an up-and-coming artist run a gallery opening.

I was in charge of reception, wearing a black dress from Zara, stepping in high heels bought on sale at TJ Maxx.

Jackson was the last to arrive that night.

He wore a dark blue suit, the Cartier watch on his wrist flashing under the lights. When he walked in, everyone's eyes turned to him.

He had that aura.

Cold, handsome, successful.

The kind of man that makes girls fantasize "what if he chose me."

I walked over with a champagne tray. "Sir, would you like a glass of champagne?"

He looked at me.

Just one glance.

But I felt all the blood rush to my face.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Sophia," I said. "Sophia Blake."

"Sophia." He repeated my name, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. "A beautiful name."

"Thank you," I said, trying to remain professional. "And you are?"

"Jackson Hayes."

When he said that name, there was a tone of rightful pride.

As if the whole world should know who he was.

"Mr. Hayes, nice to meet you," I said. "Are you interested in tonight's exhibition?"

"No." He was direct. "I'm not interested in art. I came with a friend."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say.

He looked at me again, then said:

"But now, I'm a little interested in this party."

It took me a moment to realize what he meant.

My face burned instantly.

After that night, he added me on Instagram.

The next day, he messaged me:

"Dinner?"

I stared at that message for a long time.

I knew I should say no.

I knew he was a playboy, the type to play and leave.

But I still replied:

"Sure."

Because I was 22, new to New York, full of fantasies about this city.

Because he was Jackson Hayes, the kind of man I thought only appeared in movies.

Because I was too young, not knowing that some men look at you with love, while others look at you just wanting to play.

For our first date, he took me to Per Se.

I was wearing that most expensive Zara dress I owned, spent an hour on my makeup, nervous with sweaty palms.

"You look beautiful," he said, pulling out the chair for me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

That meal cost eight hundred dollars.

For me at the time, that was a whole week's wages.

I was very careful when ordering, always choosing the cheapest items.

He noticed, laughing as he said:

"Sophia, don't worry about the price. I'm treating tonight. Order whatever you want."

"But..."

"No buts," he said. "I like you, I want to give you the best."

I thought at the time that his "giving you the best" was sincere.

I thought he would always treat me like this.

Seven years later, today, I finally understood.

The "best" he gave me was just stuff he could give effortlessly.

A meal, a bag, a trip.

But he never gave me the most important thingsD

Respect.

Commitment.

And, real love.

The doorbell rang.

I wiped the corners of my eyes and went to open the door.

It was Julian.

He was still wearing his clothes from the morning, a light gray shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms.

"Hi," he said, handing me a bag. "Bought you something."

I opened the bag.

Inside was a set of yoga clothes from Lululemon, and a pair of running shoes, Nikes.

"I noticed you only brought a small bag last night," Julian said. "I thought you might need these. If the size is wrong, we can go exchange them."

I froze.

"You... how did you know my size?"

Julian smiled, a somewhat wicked smile.

"Guessed."

Then he leaned closer, his voice low:

"Although if you let me check, I could be more certain."

My face instantly turned red.

"Julian!"

He laughed loudly, took a step back, and raised his hands in surrender.

"Kidding, kidding. Sophia, you are too easy to tease."

I glared at him, but couldn't help smiling too.

This feeling was strange.

With Julian, I could relax, laugh, be myself.

No need to be careful, no need to worry about saying the wrong thing.

"By the way," Julian suddenly said. "Do you have plans today?"

"No."

"Then would you be willing to accompany me somewhere?"

"Where?"

Julian's eyes sparkled.

"A special place. You'll like it."

3.

Julian drove his Tesla Model S north along the Pacific Coast Highway.

I sat in the passenger seat, the sea breeze blowing in through the window, carrying the scent of salt and moisture.

"You still won't tell me where we're going?" I asked.

"Almost there," Julian said with a smile, one hand on the steering wheel, the other naturally holding mine.

His hand was large and warm, enveloping mine.

I paused for a moment but didn't pull away.

The action was so natural, so natural that I almost forgot we had reconnected less than 24 hours ago.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped at a cliff edge in Malibu.

There were no other cars here, just a small trail leading to the sea.

"This is?" I asked.

"Point Dume," Julian said. "My favorite place to come during college. Whenever I was in a bad mood, I'd drive here and sit all afternoon."

He pushed open the car door, walked around, and opened mine.

"Let's go. I'll show you something good."

We walked down the trail, rugged rocks beneath our feet, the boundless blue sky above.

After walking for about ten minutes, the view suddenly opened up.

A hidden beach, almost empty.

Waves beat against the reefs, kicking up white spray. A few seals lay lazily on the rocks sunbathing.

"Wow," I couldn't help but exclaim.

"Like it?" Julian stood behind me, his voice right at my ear.

"It's beautiful," I said. "I've been in Los Angeles for so many years and didn't know this place existed."

"Because this is a secret base only locals know," Julian said. "Most tourists just go to places like Santa Monica Pier."

He took off his shoes and walked barefoot on the sand.

"Come on, Sophia. Take them off, feel it."

I hesitated but took off my shoes.

Fine, soft sand squeezed between my toes, slightly hot. The seawater surged up, icy cold, bringing a burst of refreshment.

We walked along the coastline like this, neither of us speaking.

But this silence wasn't awkward; instead, it was comfortable.

"Sophia," Julian suddenly spoke up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"How did you and Jackson Hayes get together?"

I froze.

"Why ask that?"

"Because I want to understand you," Julian said directly. "And, I want to know what kind of man could make you willingly give seven years."

I was silent for a long time.

The waves beat against the shore one after another, as if urging me to answer.

"We met at an art exhibition," I finally said. "Seven years ago, I just moved to New York, working at a small PR firm. The company took a job that day, and I was in charge of reception."

"And then Jackson appeared?"

"Yeah." I smiled, but the smile was bitter. "He was wearing a very expensive suit. When he walked in, everyone was looking at him. I thought at the time, a man like that probably lives in a different world."

"But he noticed you."

"Right," I said. "He asked for my name, then asked me to dinner the next day. Took me to Per Se. That meal cost eight hundred dollars. For me back then, that was a week's wages."

Julian didn't speak, just listened quietly.

"I felt like, wow, this is a fairytale," I continued. "Cinderella met the prince. He bought me gifts, took me to high-end restaurants, introduced me to his friends. I felt like I had become someone else, someone better, more respectable."

"But that wasn't the real you," Julian said.

I turned to look at him.

His gaze was serious, without a trace of mockery or pity.

"No," I whispered. "It took me seven years to realize he didn't love me. He loved the 'modified version of me that fit his aesthetics'."

Julian stopped walking and turned to face me.

"Sophia, do you know what your biggest problem is?"

"What?"

"You always want to become what others expect," he said. "But you never ask yourself what kind of person *you* want to be."

His words hit my chest like a punch.

"I..."

"Shh." Julian put a finger on my lips. "You don't need to explain. Sophia, I just want to tell you one thing."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his voice low:

"In my eyes, you don't need to become anyone. You just need to be yourself."

The sea breeze messed up my hair and blew into my eyes, making them hot.

"Julian..."

"You know," he suddenly said, his tone becoming light. "Actually, I noticed you back in college."

"What?" I was stunned.

Julian smiled, that smile a bit boyish:

"Sophia Blake, UCLA Economics major. Sophomore year, you took my statistics class. You always sat in the third row by the window. You took notes so seriously every class. Once you dropped your pen, I picked it up for you, and you said thanks, blushing like an apple."

I was completely dumbfounded.

"You... you remember that?"

"I remember everything about you," Julian said, his eyes deep. "You liked reading by the window on the third floor of the library. You bit your nails when you were nervous before exams. You have a small dimple on the left side when you smile. You liked the spicy ramen at that shop in Koreatown, adding lots of kimchi every time."

With every sentence, my heartbeat skipped a beat.

"But... but why did you never say anything?"

"Because back then, your eyes only held your studies, your dreams," Julian said. "And I was still figuring out my life. I didn't want to be a burden."

"And then?"

"Then, I went to Silicon Valley," Julian said. "Startups, fundraising, working day and night. By the time I finally achieved something and was ready to come back and find you..."

He paused.

"I was already with Jackson," I finished for him.

Julian nodded.

"That alumni reunion six years ago, do you remember?"

"I remember," I said. "When you shook hands with Jackson, the atmosphere was a bit weird."

"Because I wanted to punch him," Julian said bluntly. "I saw his attitude towards youDthat matter-of-fact possessiveness, that 'you are my accessory' look. Sophia, I knew back then you wouldn't be happy."

"But you didn't say anything."

"Because you looked happy," Julian said. "At least on the surface. I didn't want to ruin that."

The waves surged up again, wetting our ankles.

"So all these years," I said slowly, "you've been waiting?"

Julian looked at me, a complex emotion in his eyes:

"I was waiting for you to wake up. Waiting for you to realize you deserve better."

"What about now?" I asked, my heart beating fast enough to jump out of my chest. "Now I'm awake. What then?"

Julian smiled slowly.

He raised his hand, wiping away a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb:

"Then, Sophia Blake, I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving to youD"

He paused, leaning close, his lips almost touching mine:

"What it means to be truly loved."

Then, he kissed me.

This kiss was light, gentle, like a feather brushing past.

But I felt my whole body trembling.

Not because of fear, but because...

This was a real kiss.

Not possession, not conquest.

It was respect, a promise, a vow of "I will love you well."

When we returned to the hotel, it was already 5:00 PM.

We stayed at the beach all afternoon, watching the sunset, chatting, eating fish tacos from a roadside stand.

Simple, but happy.

Julian walked me to the hotel room door.

"Want to have dinner together tonight?" he asked.

I thought about it and nodded. "Sure."

"Then I'll pick you up at seven," Julian said, then leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead. "Dress casually, we're going somewhere relaxed."

"Okay."

Watching him leave, I closed the door, leaned against it, and couldn't help smiling.

This feeling was amazing.

Like being seventeen, the feeling when a boy said "I like you" for the first time.

Heart racing, cheeks burning, the whole world becoming bright.

***

**Jackson's Perspective**

Los Angeles International Airport, 2:00 PM.

As soon as I got off the plane, I called Marcus.

"Found it?"

"Found it," Marcus said. "Julian Ford lives in a luxury apartment in Century City. I sent you the address. But Jackson, I suggest you calm down..."

"Calm down?" I sneered. "Marcus, my fucking girlfriend is in someone else's bed, and you're telling me to calm down?"

"Ex-girlfriend," Marcus corrected me. "Technically speaking, you guys already broke up."

"Shut up."

I hung up and called an Uber.

The car was stuck in LA traffic for forty minutes. Sitting in the back seat, every second felt like a century.

The phone call from last night kept flashing through my mind.

Julian's voice.

Sophia's silence.

*"She's very likely to wake up in someone else's bed."*

Fuck.

I lit a cigarette. The driver glared at me from the rearview mirror.

"Sir, no smoking in the car."

I glanced at him, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet, and threw it into the front seat.

"You can now."

When I arrived at Century City, it was already 3:00 PM.

I stood downstairs at Julian's building, looking up at the glass-walled skyscraper.

Forty-second floor. Penthouse.

Of course it was the penthouse.

A man like Julian Ford always had to live in the highest place, looking down on everyone.

I walked into the lobby, and the doorman immediately stopped me.

"Sir, who are you looking for?"

"Julian Ford."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I said, trying to suppress my anger. "But I must see him. Now."

The doorman sized me up, probably realizing I wasn't to be trifled with, and picked up the phone.

"Please wait, I'll contact..."

"No need to call." A voice came from behind.

I turned around.

Julian Ford stood there, wearing gray athletic gear, holding a Starbucks coffee, looking like he just returned from a morning run.

"Mr. Hayes," he said, the corner of his mouth carrying that infuriating smile. "What a coincidence."

"We need to talk," I said, every word squeezed through my teeth.

"Of course." Julian nodded. "Follow me."

In the elevator, neither of us spoke.

The atmosphere was tense enough to explode.

The elevator doors opened, and Julian led me into his apartment.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, ocean view, minimalist decor. Several abstract paintings hung on the wall, likely authentic.

"Something to drink?" Julian walked toward the open kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Or something stronger?"

"I'm not here to drink."

"I know," Julian said, pouring himself a whiskey. "But I need a drink. After all, it's my first time dealing with an ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend showing up at my door."

"She's not my ex-girlfriend," I said.

Julian raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Then what is your relationship now?"

"We were together for seven years," I said. "Seven years, do you understand? Not seven days, not seven months. Seven whole years."

"I know," Julian said calmly. "So?"

"So?" I couldn't believe it. "So what gives you the right to intrude on our relationship?"

Julian laughed.

That laugh was full of mockery.

"Intrude?" He repeated the word. "Hayes, are you sure you want to use that word?"

"What do you mean?"

"You broke up with Sophia," Julian said, enunciating every word clearly. "You brought up the breakup first. You said you were tired. You slept with that... Chloe or whatever girl a week later."

"That was..."

"That was what?" Julian interrupted me. "That was your freedom? Your choice? Fine. Then what Sophia is doing now is also her freedom, her choice."

"She's doing it out of spite," I said. "She just wants to make me angry."

Julian put down his glass and walked up to me.

He was slightly taller than me, a height that allowed him to look down on me just perfectly.

"Hayes," he said, his voice low but every word like a knife. "Don't be fucking delusional."

"What?"

"Sophia isn't doing this out of spite," Julian said. "She truly doesn't want you anymore."

"What right do you have to speak for her?"

"Because I asked her," Julian said. "Last night, this morning, just now at the beachDI asked her many times. 'Do you still love Jackson?' 'Do you want to go back?' 'Do you regret it?'"

He paused, looking into my eyes:

"Her answer every time was 'No'."

I felt like something heavy slammed into my chest.

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie?" Julian countered. "Hayes, face reality. You've already lost her."

"I haven't lost her," I said, my voice so loud it startled even me. "She just needs time to cool off. She will come back."

"She won't," Julian stated firmly.

"How do you know?"

Julian smiled, a smile containing a victor's pride.

"Because I won't give her the chance to go back."

I clenched my fists.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Julian said, taking a step forward, "starting from last night, Sophia is mine. I will treat her well, respect her, and give her the commitment you never gave."

"You motherfuD"

I threw a punch.

Julian dodged sideways, then smashed a fist into my face.

I staggered back, immediately tasting blood at the corner of my mouth.

"Enough?" Julian shook his hand, looking at me coldly. "Or do you want to continue?"

I wiped the blood from my mouth and rushed up with another punch.

This time it connected.

Julian's eyebrow split open, blood flowing down.

But he didn't retreat.

He countered with a backhand punch to my ribs.

Then the two of us were brawling.

Fists, elbows, tables knocked over, vases shattered all over the floor.

I don't know how long we fought.

Finally, both of us lay on the floor, panting heavily.

"Are you done fighting?" Julian asked, his voice still steady.

I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

"Why you?" I asked, voice hoarse. "Why would she choose you?"

Julian was silent for a moment.

"Because I love her," he said, simply and sincerely. "Not possession, not control, not treating her as my accessory. I love her, the real her."

"I love her too," I said.

"No," Julian said. "You love the her in your imagination. Hayes, you never truly saw Sophia."

I closed my eyes.

Julian was right.

I never truly saw her.

I don't remember how I left Julian's apartment.

I only remember his last sentence:

"Hayes, Sophia will be with me tonight for a proposal scene. If you have even a shred of respect for her, don't show up to ruin her happiness."

Proposal?

Julian was going to propose to Sophia?

I stood on the street, suddenly unsure where to go.

My phone rang. It was Marcus.

"Jackson, you okay?"

"Not okay," I said. "Marcus, book me the earliest flight back to New York."

"You... you're giving up just like that?"

"Not giving up," I said, voice extremely hoarse. "It's just that I finally understand, some things, once lost, are lost."

***

**Sophia's Perspective**

At 7:00 PM, Julian picked me up right on time.

He had changed his clothes into a black cashmere sweater and dark blue jeans, looking warm and safe.

"You look beautiful," he said, looking at me.

I wore the yoga outfit he bought, with an oversized cardigan over it, very casual.

"Didn't you say a casual place?"

"Yeah, so you look perfect like this." Julian smiled, taking my hand. "Let's go."

The place he took me to wasn't a restaurant.

It was his home in Santa Monica.

An ocean-view villa, three stories, with a pool and a backyard leading straight to a private beach.

"This is..." I froze.

"My home," Julian said. "Sophia, I wanted you to see where I live. If you're willing... it can be your home too."

He took me on a tour of the whole house.

Open kitchen, huge living room, cozy bedroom, and a study filled with books.

"You read so many books?" I was surprised.

"Yeah, it's my hobby," Julian said. "When work gets stressful, I like to hole up here and read."

I walked to the bookshelf and pulled one out at random.

It was Haruki Murakami's *Norwegian Wood*.

"You like Murakami?"

"Yeah, read it in college," Julian said. "Back then... actually it was because of you."

"Me?"

"Junior year, once in the library, I saw you reading this book," Julian said. "You read so seriously, writing lots of things in your notebook. I thought at the time, a book she likes must be interesting. So I went and borrowed a copy too."

My eyes got hot again.

"Julian..."

"From then on, I developed the habit of reading," Julian said. "So, Sophia, thank you. You made me a better person."

I turned around and hugged him.

"No, you made me believe I deserve to be loved like this."

Dinner was made by Julian.

Pasta, Caesar salad, and a bottle of red wine.

"You cook too?" I was surprised.

"Of course." Julian laughed. "Living alone for so many years, how would I survive without cooking?"

We sat in the backyard, facing the sea, eating dinner.

Sound of waves, starlight, and gentle sea breeze.

Everything was perfect.

"Sophia," Julian suddenly said, putting down his knife and fork.

"Hmm?"

He stood up and walked in front of me.

Then, he knelt on one knee.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Sophia Blake," he said, taking a small box out of his pocket. "From the first time I saw you in college until now, ten years have passed. In these ten years, watching you with someone else, I told myself, as long as you're happy, it's fine."

"But when I saw you unhappy, my heart broke." He opened the box. Inside was a simple silver ring. "Sophia, I don't know if I have the right to say this. But I want to try."

"Sophia Blake, will you marry me?"

Tears blurred my vision.

"Julian..."

"You don't need to answer right away," Julian said. "I can wait. I've waited ten years, I don't mind waiting more..."

"I do," I interrupted him, voice trembling. "Julian Ford, I will marry you."

Julian paused, then a huge smile bloomed on his face.

He stood up, put the ring on my finger, then hugged me and spun me around several times.

"Sophia, thank you," he said, voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

"I should be thanking you," I said, tears falling on his shoulder. "Julian, thank you for making me believe love can be like this."

We kissed.

Under the stars, amidst the sound of waves, on this beautiful night.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Who would come this late?" I was puzzled.

"I'll go check," Julian said, standing up.

I sat on the sofa, looking at the ring on my finger, feeling like I was dreaming.

Then, I heard a familiar voice.

"I want to see Sophia."

It was Jackson.

4.

I froze on the sofa, my whole body seemingly turned to ice.

Julian's voice came from the door, cold, hard, and full of warning:

"Hayes, I thought we made ourselves very clear."

"Get out of the way." Jackson's voice carried a desperation I had never heard before. "Julian, I have to see her. Please."

*Please.*

Jackson Hayes said "please."

Those were three words he had never said to me.

I stood up from the sofa and walked toward the door.

"Julian," I whispered. "Let him in."

Julian frowned. "Sophia..."

"It's okay." I held his hand. "I want to hear what he has to say."

Julian looked at me for a moment, finally nodding, but his eyes looked warningly at Jackson.

"Ten minutes."

Jackson walked into the living room.

He looked terrible.

Unshaven, eyes bloodshot, suit wrinkled. There was a bruise on his right cheek and a scab at the corner of his mouth. He looked nothing like the always exquisite and proper Jackson Hayes.

Seeing me, complex emotions flashed in his eyes.

"Sophia." His voice was hoarse. "You've lost weight."

"Say what you need to say," I said, my tone colder than I imagined. "You have ten minutes."

Jackson glanced at Julian standing beside me and gritted his teeth.

"Can we talk alone?"

"No," Julian refused directly. "Hayes, say whatever you want to say right here."

Jackson took a deep breath, then looked at me.

"Sophia, Chloe is pregnant."

The air instantly solidified.

I felt like my blood stopped flowing.

"What?" I heard my own voice, distant, as if not coming from my mouth.

"Chloe is pregnant," Jackson repeated, every word sounding like he was slitting his own throat. "Five weeks. It's my child."

Julian's arm immediately wrapped around my waist.

"Hayes, you came here just to tell Sophia this?" Julian's voice was cold as ice. "What exactly do you want?"

"I want to tell her the truth." Jackson looked at me, his eyes full of pain. "Sophia, I messed up. I completely messed up."

"So?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. "You want my blessing? Congratulations, Jackson, you're going to be a dad."

"No!" Jackson became agitated. "Sophia, I don't love her. That child... I don't even want that child."

"Then what do you want?" I asked. "Make her get rid of it? Jackson, that is a life."

"I know," Jackson said painfully. "That's why I hate myself even more. Sophia, I finally understand now what I've lost."

He stepped closer, and Julian immediately blocked him from me.

"Close enough," Julian warned.

Jackson stopped, but his gaze looked past Julian, fixed dead on me.

"Sophia, I know I have no right to say this. But I have to tell youDI love you. I fucking truly love you."

"What's the use of saying this now?" I laughed, but tears fell. "Jackson, do you know how long I waited for those words? Seven years. Seven whole years."

"I know..."

"You don't know shit!" I suddenly exploded, my voice trembling. "Jackson, do you know how pathetic I was? Every time you ignored me, I wondered if I did something wrong. Every time you went out for social events and didn't come home, I wondered if I wasn't good enough. Seven years, I turned myself into what you wanted, but you still got bored."

"Sophia..."

"Now you come tell me you love me?" I wiped away the tears, sneering. "Jackson, you don't love me. You love the feeling of 'only realizing something is precious after losing it'. You just aren't resigned to losing."

Jackson's face was pale.

"No, Sophia. I really am..."

"Enough," Julian interrupted him. "Hayes, listen clearlyDSophia won't return to your side. She has me now, has our future."

Jackson paused, then stared dead at Julian.

"Your future? Julian, you think you won?"

"I'm not in a competition," Julian said calmly. "But if this were a competition, then yes, I won."

Jackson sneered.

"Won? Then do you know..."

"Jackson," I interrupted him, my heart beating fast enough to jump out of my chest.

He wouldn't say it, would he?

He couldn't possibly know.

Jackson looked at me, his expression becoming complicated.

"Sophia, are you hiding something from me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I tried hard to maintain composure.

"Really?" Jackson took a step forward. "Then why do you look so nervous?"

"Hayes, you should go," Julian said coldly.

"I go?" Jackson suddenly laughed, a laugh carrying a kind of madness. "Julian, let me ask you a questionDif Sophia was pregnant with my child, would you still love her this much?"

Time seemed to stand still.

I felt all the blood in my body coagulate.

Julian's arm stiffened slightly.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Julian said, but there was a trace of unnaturalness in his voice.

Jackson stared at my face. Then, he smiled.

"I understand."

"You don't understand anything," I said, voice trembling.

"No, I get it," Jackson said, every word like a nail. "Sophia, you're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Get out," Julian growled low.

But Jackson didn't leave. He stared dead at me.

"Is it my child?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Answer me, Sophia." Jackson's voice was shaking. "Is it my child?"

"Hayes, I'm warning you one last time..." Julian moved forward.

"Yes," I suddenly said.

Both men looked at me simultaneously.

"It is your child." I looked at Jackson, tears falling. "Satisfied?"

On Jackson's face, all color drained away.

His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Sophia..." His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.

"But this has nothing to do with you," I continued, every word terrifyingly calm. "Jackson, I will raise this child myself. Their last name will be Ford, not Hayes."

"What?" Jackson couldn't believe his ears. "Sophia, that's my child!"

"It's *my* child," I corrected him. "You are just the person who provided half the DNA. Jackson, you don't even want Chloe's child, what right do you have to say you want my child?"

"That's different!"

"How is it different?" I countered. "They're both your children, why is it different? Because you don't love one mother, and you suddenly realized you love the other?"

Jackson couldn't speak.

"Jackson, I won't let my child live with a father who doesn't love their mother," I said. "They will have a father who loves themDJulian will love them, give them a warm home."

"I can too!" Jackson almost shouted. "Sophia, we can start over! I'll marry you, I'll be good to you, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Julian suddenly spoke, voice cold as a knife. "Treat her like you did for the last seven years? Find a younger one after getting bored? Let her continue to love you pathetically?"

He walked up to Jackson, eyes full of contempt.

"Hayes, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve to be Sophia's husband, and you certainly don't deserve to be this child's father."

"Who the fuck are you to say that?"

"Because I love her," Julian said, every word distinct and firm. "True love isn't discovering value after loss. It's putting her in the most important place in your heart every day, every moment."

He turned and held me.

"And that, you can never do."

Jackson stood there, looking at us.

I leaned into Julian's embrace, Julian gently stroking my hair.

We looked so compatible, so in love.

And him, like an outsider.

"Sophia," Jackson finally said, voice low like he was begging. "Please, don't strip my child from my life."

I looked up at him.

Those eyes I had gazed into countless times before now held only strangeness and indifference.

"Jackson, you were never truly in my life," I said. "So I won't let you be in the child's life either."

"Security will escort you out," Julian said, picking up the phone.

Jackson looked at me, watching for a long, long time.

Then, he turned and left.

The moment the door closed, I went limp.

Julian immediately held me. "Sophia..."

"I'm sorry," I cried. "I'm sorry, Julian. I shouldn't have kept it from you..."

"Shh." Julian held me tight. "Sophia, I won't go back on what I said. No matter whose child this is, I will love them."

"But..."

"No buts," Julian said. "Sophia, this child is a part of you. And I love all of you."

I buried myself in his arms, crying uncontrollably.