Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~11 min read
HANNAH
Thursday night, I was two glasses of cheap wine into forgetting Oliver King existed when someone knocked on my door.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Elise had yoga. My landlord had already collected rent—miraculously, I’d been able to pay this month, thanks to my first King Industries paycheck. The rest of the world could stay exactly where it was: outside my apartment, away from me, leaving me alone to wallow.
The knock came again. Louder.
I sighed, set down my wine, and checked the peephole.
Then immediately regretted it.
Connor.
My ex. The parasite who’d cheated on me six months ago and somehow thought showing up at my door was acceptable behavior.
I considered pretending I wasn’t home. But my lights were on, music was playing, and Connor was nothing if not persistent.
“I know you’re in there, Han. I can hear Adele.”
Of course he could. Because my life was a cliché.
I opened the door but left the chain on. “What do you want?”
He looked exactly the same. Shaggy hair that he thought made him look artistic but really just looked unwashed. That smile he thought was charming. Jeans with strategic rips that he’d paid too much money for.
Once, I’d thought he was attractive. Now I just saw the guy who’d emptied my bank account and broken my heart.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No.”
“Come on, babe. Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t call me babe. What do you want, Connor?”
He leaned against the doorframe, all casual confidence. “I heard you got a job. King Industries. That’s impressive.”
My blood ran cold. “How did you know that?”
“I have my sources.”
“You mean you stalked my LinkedIn.”
He shrugged. “Same thing. Point is, you’re doing well. Working for Oliver King himself. That’s a big deal.”
I didn’t like where this was going. “If you came here to congratulate me, consider it done. Goodbye.”
I started to close the door. His hand shot out, stopping it.
“Wait. I wanted to talk. About us.”
“There is no us.”
“There could be.” He pushed slightly against the door. Not hard, but enough to make me nervous. “You’re doing well now. Making good money. We could give it another shot.”
Was he serious?
“You cheated on me,” I said slowly. “With my coworker. In my bed.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Sleeping with her? Or getting caught?”
“Both.” He flashed that smile again. The one that used to work. “Come on, Han. We were good together. You know we were.”
“We were terrible together. I paid all your bills. You contributed nothing. Then you slept with someone else and blamed me for it.”
“I was going through stuff—”
“Everyone’s going through stuff, Connor. That’s called being an adult.” I pushed against the door. “Leave. Now.”
“Just hear me out—”
“No.”
I shoved the door hard. He shoved back harder. The chain caught but didn’t hold.
“Connor—”
He was in my apartment now, filling the small space with his presence. “You’re being dramatic. I just want to talk.”
Fear spiked through me. “Get out or I’m calling the police.”
“And tell them what? Your ex-boyfriend came to visit?” He stepped closer. “Come on, Hannah. Be reasonable. You’re making good money now. We could be good together. I’ll even get a job this time.”
“This time?” I laughed, but it sounded scared even to me. “You mean you’ll finally contribute instead of leeching off me? Wow, what an offer.”
His expression darkened. “Don’t be a bitch.”
“Get. Out.”
“Make me.”
We stared at each other. Him, six feet of entitled man-child who thought showing up was the same as effort. Me, five-foot-five of done with this shit.
I grabbed my phone. “I’m calling the police.”
“No, you’re not.” He reached for the phone. I jerked it away.
“Touch me and I scream.”
“Jesus, Hannah, you’re being—”
The door slammed open behind him.
Oliver stood in the doorway, still in his work clothes, tie loosened, looking like avenging fury wrapped in an expensive suit.
“Who the hell are you?” Connor demanded.
Oliver’s eyes found mine. “Are you okay?”
How was he here? How did he—
“I’m fine,” I managed.
“She’s fine,” Connor echoed. “This is a private conversation—”
Oliver moved faster than I thought possible. One second he was in the doorway. The next, he had Connor by the collar, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle picture frames.
“Who are you?” Oliver’s voice was ice. Controlled. Deadly.
Connor’s cockiness evaporated. “Jesus, man, we’re just talking—”
“Doesn’t look like talking. Looks like you forced your way into her apartment.” Oliver’s grip tightened. “Now. I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you?”
“Connor. I’m her ex. We were just—”
“Leaving.” Oliver finished. “You were just leaving.”
“The hell I was—”
Oliver leaned in close. Whatever he whispered made Connor go pale.
Then Oliver physically walked him to the door, still gripping his collar, and shoved him into the hallway.
“Come near her again,” Oliver said, loud enough for neighbors to hear, “and you’ll regret it. Do we understand each other?”
Connor stumbled. Caught himself. Looked between Oliver and me with something ugly in his expression.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“Yes,” Oliver said quietly. “It is.”
He closed the door. Locked it. Engaged the chain. Then turned to me.
And I realized I was shaking.
OLIVER
She was shaking.
Hannah stood in the middle of her tiny apartment, arms wrapped around herself, trembling like a leaf. Her eyes were too wide. Scared.
I’d scared her. Or Connor had. Probably both.
“Are you hurt?” I moved toward her slowly. Carefully. “Did he touch you?”
“No. I’m fine. I just—” She looked at me like I was a ghost. “What are you doing here?”
Good question. One I didn’t have a great answer for.
“I was driving by—”
“You don’t drive by here.” She laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical. “This neighborhood is nowhere near yours. Try again.”
Fine. The truth then.
“I had your address from HR. I was worried.” I ran a hand through my hair. “You left work early. Again. You’ve been different since Vivian’s visit. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“So you showed up at my apartment?”
“Yes.”
“That’s stalking, Oliver.”
“I know.” I did know. Knew it was wrong, inappropriate, a hundred other things. But I’d driven past her building three times in the last week. Fighting the urge to stop. To check on her. To see if she was okay.
Tonight, I’d lost the fight.
“You can’t do that,” Hannah said. Her voice was steady now. Controlled. “You can’t just show up. You’re my boss. And you’re engaged.”
“You told me to stay away outside of work. I tried.”
“For four days?”
“It was a very long four days.”
She stared at me. Then, impossibly, she laughed. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
“Definitely.” But she wasn’t shaking anymore. “Thank you. For… Connor. He’s usually not violent, just pathetic. But tonight he was…”
“Threatening you.” Anger spiked through me again. “Why is he showing up?”
“He heard about my new job. Thought I’d magically want him back now that I have money.” She moved to the kitchen, poured herself more wine. Didn’t offer me any. “He’s a leech. Always has been.”
I watched her drink. Watched the way her hands still trembled slightly around the glass.
“Did you date him long?”
“Two years. Two years of paying his rent, buying his groceries, listening to him talk about his ‘art’ while he contributed nothing.” She took another sip. “I was stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid. You were kind.”
“Same thing, apparently.”
“No.” I moved closer. Not too close. “Kindness isn’t weakness, Hannah.”
She looked at me over the rim of her glass. “Says the man who’s marrying someone he doesn’t love for a company.”
Direct hit.
“That’s different.”
“Is it? Seems like we’re both sacrificing what we want for what we need.”
She was right. Painfully right.
“What do you want?” I asked quietly.
Wrong question. I saw it the second the words left my mouth. Saw her expression shift from guarded to vulnerable to angry.
“I want you to leave,” she said.
“Hannah—”
“You’re engaged!” The words exploded out of her. “You’re engaged and you show up at my apartment and defend me like you have the right and I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend I don’t care!” She set the wine down hard. “You show up and you look at me like I matter and it’s killing me because you made your choice. You chose her. You chose the company. You chose everything except me.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Life isn’t fair, Oliver! You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to fall for my boss who’s engaged to someone perfect and rich and everything I’m not?” She was crying now, angry tears streaming down her face. “I signed your NDA. I come to work every day and smile and pretend I don’t remember what it felt like when you touched me. And then you show up here and—”
“And what?”
“And you make me hope,” she whispered. “You make me hope for something I can’t have.”
The words broke me.
I closed the distance between us. Caught her face in my hands. Made her look at me.
“I think about you every second of every day,” I said. “I think about that night. About the way you laughed. The way you looked at me like I was just Oliver, not Oliver King, CEO, heir to an empire. You saw me. The real me. And I can’t forget that.”
“So what?” She pulled away. “So what, Oliver? What difference does it make? You’re still marrying her.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. You’re choosing to.”
“If I don’t marry by my birthday, I lose the company. Everything my father built. I can’t—”
“Can’t what? Can’t let him down? He’s dead, Oliver. He’s dead and you’re alive and you’re throwing away your life for a dead man’s dream.”
The truth of it hit me like a freight train.
“I don’t know how to walk away,” I admitted. “The company is all I have.”
“No, it’s not.” She stepped into my space now. Furious. Beautiful. “You have a choice. You always have a choice. You’re just too scared to make it.”
“And what would you have me do? Walk away from everything? Risk it all on—on what? On us? We had one night, Hannah. One night.”
“One night that changed everything,” she shot back. “Don’t pretend it didn’t. Don’t stand here and tell me it meant nothing.”
“It meant everything.” The admission ripped out of me. “It meant everything and that’s the problem.”
Silence fell between us. Heavy. Loaded. Everything unsaid suddenly filling the air like smoke.
“Then what are we doing?” Hannah asked finally. Quiet. Broken.
“I don’t know.”
“You need to figure it out. Because I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep pretending I don’t want you. Can’t keep watching you plan a wedding with someone else.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You need to leave.”
“Hannah—”
“Please.” Her voice cracked. “Please just go.”
I should’ve argued. Should’ve fought for her. For us. For whatever this was between us that wouldn’t die no matter how hard we tried to kill it.
Instead, I walked to the door.
Stopped with my hand on the handle.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, not looking back, “if I could choose, I’d choose you. Every time.”
I walked out.
Left her standing in her apartment, crying.
Left her like I’d left her before.
Because I was a coward. And cowards didn’t get the girl.
HANNAH
The door clicked shut.
And I stood in my empty apartment, listening to his footsteps fade down the hall, and wondered how many times I could let him walk away before it finally killed me.
My phone buzzed.
Connor: Who was that guy?
I blocked his number. Deleted the message. Added another lock to my door.
Then I poured more wine and pretended I wasn’t crying over a man I couldn’t have.
Tomorrow, I’d go back to work. I’d be professional. I’d keep my distance.
Tonight, I let myself break.
Just a little.
Just enough to survive.
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