In high school, Rowan and I were partners in the film club.

I still remembered how he was the one who first nurtured my artistic talent.

He told me my eyes saw a beauty others missed.

Rowan's eyes met mine as he declared his dream of making movies.

I remained silent.

Back then, I was too insecure to admit I had any dreams at all.

Later, Rowan submitted a set of my concept designs to a youth art competition without telling me.

He spread the award certificate on the desk in front of me, pointing to the name "Cora Hayes" printed on it.

"Don't be afraid, Cora. I told you, you're incredibly talented."

Back then, when the sun streamed through the classroom windows, he always liked to rest his head on his arms, facing me, as he napped.

One day, as I was sketching a storyboard, he murmured with half-closed eyes,

"One day, you'll be the art director, and I'll direct our first film. We'll never be apart."

We were so young, so full of guileless hope.

For a while, I even believed that would be our future.

On graduation day, a light rain was falling.

When I walked out of the auditorium, Rowan was already waiting with an umbrella.

He handed me a vintage camera, a celebratory gift for our acceptance letters from USC.

He moved closer, the umbrella tilting almost completely over my head.

"This is just the beginning."

My cheeks burned. Watching the other students mill about, I felt a pang of sadness.

"Rowan, after graduation, we won't see each other every day."

He gazed into the misty rain and chuckled softly.

"We're graduating, Cora, not breaking up."

The rain was so loud I thought I might have misheard him. I had to be sure.

"What did you say?"

"If you didn't hear it, then forget it."

Rowan lifted his chin proudly.

He never repeated that sentence before we went our separate ways.

Griffin poured me a glass of whiskey and gestured with his chin.

"Old friends reunited. Go on, toast to your reunion."

At his words, a shadow flickered across Rowan's normally cool and composed face.

He reached out to block my glass.

"That's not necessary. She can't hold her liquor."

I blinked hard, fighting the sting in my eyes, and raised my glass.

"It's fine. I can drink now."

He paused. Then, taking a glass from a passing waiter, he let out a low, soft laugh.

"Well," he murmured. "Look at you, all grown up."

Griffin's hand tightened at my waist. He looked down at me, his gaze possessive and mocking.

"Mr. Sinclair."

He smiled and leaned in, pressing a proprietary kiss to my cheek.

"Cora and I have some private matters to attend to, so if you'll excuse us."

Griffin's words were laced with insinuation.

The color drained from my face.

Rowan's hand shot out and grabbed Griffin's arm.

The veins on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief, a clear sign of his fury.

But when he turned to me, his tone softened considerably.

"Cora, do you want to go with him?"

Griffin smiled nonchalantly, leaving the choice to me.

"Darling, he's asking you. Do you want to go with me?"

My whole body trembled, my nails biting into my palms.

Rowan’s voice cut through the haze, pulling me back to reality.

I could barely meet his gaze, my voice a near-inaudible whisper.

"Rowan, we're leaving."

The words were barely out of my mouth before I took Griffin's arm and walked away, not daring to look back.