Chapter 1
Love songs sound different when you've spent five years convincing yourself you no longer believe in them.
The violin echoed beneath crystal chandeliers as guests applauded the bride and groom's first dance.
I stood alone beside the ballroom balcony at The Langford Hotel, a glass of eighteen-year-old whiskey in my hand, staring at the Manhattan skyline instead of the celebration behind me.
From up there, New York looked invincible.
Millions of lights.
Millions of stories.
Millions of people pretending they weren't lonely.
I knew the feeling.
"You're hiding."
I didn't have to turn around.
Only one person spoke to me that casually.
Ethan Walker.
The groom.
My best friend since freshman year at Columbia.
He stepped beside me, adjusting the sleeve of his black tuxedo before taking a champagne flute from a passing waiter.
"You've been out here for fifteen minutes."
"I timed you."
"I know."
I answered.
"You always time everything."
He smiled.
"I married Claire."
"I stopped pretending to be spontaneous years ago."
Despite myself, I laughed.
That was Ethan.
Reliable.
Patient.
The kind of man everyone trusted.
Exactly the kind of man who deserved tonight.
He leaned against the marble railing beside me.
"So..."
He looked toward the ballroom.
"Is this about Samara?"
My smile disappeared.
Five years.
Five years, and somehow he still knew exactly where every conversation would end.
"I thought we'd agreed not to say her name tonight."
"We did."
He admitted.
"But you've looked miserable ever since the ceremony started."
He paused.
"You only look like that when you're thinking about her."
I took another sip of whiskey.
"I don't think about her."
He raised one eyebrow.
"Gray."
"I own three technology companies."
"I negotiate billion-dollar acquisitions."
"I can usually tell when someone's lying."
I sighed.
"Fine."
"I think about her."
"Happy now?"
"Not even close."
He looked at me carefully.
"Why didn't you ever go after her?"
That question had haunted me for years.
Because I had loved Samara Brooks exactly once.
Completely.
Irreversibly.
And then...
I let her walk away.
Not because I stopped loving her.
Because I believed she deserved better than the man I had become.
Five years earlier, Holt Dynamics had nearly collapsed.
A corporate espionage lawsuit.
Hostile investors.
Federal investigations.
Every newspaper in America predicted my company would fail.
I worked twenty-hour days.
Slept in my office.
Forgot birthdays.
Ignored phone calls.
Missed anniversaries.
One night Samara came to my penthouse carrying homemade lasagna.
She found me asleep over financial reports.
When I woke up...
She was crying.
"I don't miss you because you're busy."
She whispered.
"I miss you because even when you're here..."
"...you're gone."
She wasn't wrong.
But instead of fixing it...
I pushed her away.
"I can't do this anymore."
Those words still echoed in my head.
She stared at me for almost a full minute.
Then quietly removed the pearl hair clip I had given her on our first anniversary.
She placed it on my desk.
"If you ever remember who you are..."
"...you know where to find me."
She walked out.
I never stopped her.
It remains the greatest mistake of my life.
The lawsuit ended eight months later.
I won.
The company survived.
I became a billionaire before thirty.
Forbes called me one of the youngest self-made CEOs in America.
Every magazine wanted interviews.
Investors called me a genius.
None of them knew I had traded the only person who ever loved me for a balance sheet.
"You still love her."
Ethan said quietly.
"I never stopped."
I admitted.
"But it doesn't matter anymore."
"She's probably married."
"Maybe."
"Maybe she has children."
The words hurt more than I expected.
I finished the last of my whiskey.
"I hope she's happy."
And I meant it.
Because real love isn't wishing someone comes back.
It's hoping they found the life you failed to give them.
Ethan clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"You know..."
"Claire invited almost everyone from college."
"I noticed."
"There were a few people whose RSVP surprised us."
Before I could ask what he meant...
A ripple of whispers spread across the ballroom.
Then another.
The string quartet stopped playing mid-song.
Every head slowly turned toward the entrance.
"What..."
Ethan frowned.
"...is happening?"
I followed everyone's gaze.
Standing beneath the grand doorway was a woman in a navy-blue evening dress.
Long dark curls.
A pearl hair clip holding back one side of her hair.
My heart stopped.
Samara.
For a moment, the world narrowed to a single face I had imagined a thousand times but never expected to see again.
Then I realized...
She wasn't alone.
She carried a baby on each hip.
A little boy in a tiny navy suit.
A little girl in a cream satin dress.
The ballroom fell completely silent.
Neither child cried.
Neither child moved.
Samara's eyes searched the room.
Then found mine.
Five years disappeared in a single heartbeat.
I noticed she looked older.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like someone who had carried too much by herself.
The little boy shifted in her arms.
Slowly...
He turned his head.
The crystal chandeliers caught his face.
Gray eyes.
The exact shade as mine.
My whiskey glass slipped from my hand.
It struck the carpet without breaking.
I barely heard it.
Beside me, Ethan whispered,
"Gray..."
His voice shook.
"...are those..."
I couldn't answer.
Because I was staring at the little boy's face.
The shape of his jaw.
The curve of his eyebrows.
The tiny scar above his right eyebrow...
The same place I'd gotten one climbing a tree at age six.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
Then the little girl looked up.
She had Samara's smile.
My eyes.
And the same stubborn expression my mother used to tease me about.
My breathing became uneven.
The music had stopped.
The conversations had stopped.
Everything had stopped.
Only one thought remained.
May you like
I wasn't looking at strangers.
I was looking at my children.
