The last thing I saw before the dark swallowed me was Noah on his knees beside my blood, screaming my name.

The first thing I heard when I woke was a nurse saying, "Five years, honey. You've been gone five years."

Five years earlier, a wildfire had torn through Cedar Ridge, a small town in northern Washington. Noah Harrington and I had just graduated from Westbridge University's finance program. We were broke and stubborn, and we were in love. We sponsored a sixteen-year-old fire survivor named Ava Morales.

I found her a host family. I paid her tuition. I bought her winter coats and school shoes.

"When you graduate high school," I promised her, "I'll help you apply to college. Any school you want."

Noah and I had been together seven years by then. We started out as rivals who fought over every curve in Professor Lindqvist's class. Then we became partners and built Harrington Capital out of a crummy apartment with one shared desk, cold pizza, and coffee that tasted like burnt pennies.

When he proposed, he held my hand so tight it hurt.

"One day, we'll have everything we dreamed of. Together."

On our wedding day, Ava burst through the church doors.

"Noah, please don't do this!" She grabbed his arm, sobbing. "You're the only one who cares about me. If you marry her, I'll lose you!"

I stepped down from the altar. "Ava, sweetheart, nobody's leaving you—"

She jerked away from me and stumbled into the lighting rig beside the stage. The metal frame groaned and tipped toward Noah.

I shoved him out of the way.

Then everything went black.

---

Waking up turned out to be the easy part.

Learning to talk again took weeks. Walking took months. Some memories still flickered like a bad signal. My legs shook after twenty steps.

On the day of my discharge evaluation, Dr. Okonkwo called Noah four times before he finally showed up.

He stopped dead in the doorway.

The charcoal suit fit him like it was sewn on. Gold-rimmed glasses sat on his nose. The ratty gray hoodie he used to live in was gone. So was the boy who wore it.

I pushed myself upright against the pillows and smiled.

"Noah. It's been a while."

His eyes went red. He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed my hand.

"Isa…" His voice cracked. "You're really here."

"I'm really here." I squeezed back as hard as my weak fingers allowed. "So tell me. How have you been? How's the company? Did you ever learn to cook, or—"

The door swung open.

A young woman in a cream-colored mini skirt walked in. Her makeup was flawless. Her heels were expensive. She dropped to her knees beside my bed.

"Isabella, I'm so sorry." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "What happened was my fault."

I blinked at her. It took a full second to place that face.

"Ava?"

The scared, skinny sixteen-year-old was gone. This woman was twenty-one, polished, and she glanced at Noah the way you glance at someone whose moods you know by heart.

I opened my mouth to answer her.

Noah got there first. He frowned and hauled her up by the elbow.

"Ava, get up. You're making a scene."

Then he turned to me, easy and sure, like he was reading from a script. "Isa knows you didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

My smile stiffened.

He hadn't asked me. Not once. He'd simply decided I forgave her.

Ava gazed up at him with wet eyes. Noah looked away, awkward. A beat later, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"It's cold out. Don't get sick again."

*Again.*

I watched his hands smooth the collar flat on her shoulder. They'd done that a hundred times, maybe more. I could tell.

I sat in my hospital bed feeling like a stranger who had wandered into someone else's living room.

---

Discharge paperwork took an hour. Noah spent most of it on the phone.

"No, tell Fenwick the term sheet stands." He covered the receiver and snapped at Ava. "You sent the wrong deck to Morrison. Again."

"I already fixed it." She handed him a folder without looking up. "And your three o'clock got moved to two-thirty. I put it in your calendar."

"Fine."

They moved around each other like a well-oiled machine. I signed my name with a shaky pen and nobody noticed.

In the parking garage, a black Mercedes chirped as it unlocked.

"What happened to the Honda?" I asked.

Ava slid into the passenger seat, buckled her seatbelt, and checked her lipstick in the mirror.

Noah froze, halfway to the driver's door. He looked at me standing alone on the concrete, then at Ava in the front seat.

"Oh—God, Isa, sorry." He hurried over and pulled open the back door. "The Honda died years ago. This one's better. Safer."

"Sure," I said.

I climbed in slowly. My knees protested.

A pink fuzzy charm dangled from the rearview mirror. The air smelled like vanilla and something floral. It wasn't my perfume. I'd never worn perfume in my life.

Five years ago, Noah used to throw his gym bag in the back so the front seat would always be clear for me.

"Your seat," he'd say. "Always."

I stared at the back of Ava's head the whole ride.

---

He pulled up outside the townhouse we'd bought the spring before our wedding.

"Isa, I'm so sorry." He twisted around in his seat. "We've got a major investor meeting. I have to be there. Go inside, rest, and I'll call you tonight. Okay?"

"Okay."

Ava rolled down her window and waved, sweet as a kid at a parade. "Feel better, Isabella!"

They drove off.

My key still worked.

Nothing had changed. The blue couch. The crooked curtains I never fixed. Our engagement photos lined up on the mantel. In the study, the calendar on the wall was still open to the day before our wedding. My handwriting circled the date: *Last day as Isabella Reed!*

I laughed out loud. It came out wrong, too high and too thin.

He'd kept it. All of it. He must have been too heartbroken to touch a single thing.

Then I opened the bedroom closet.

My dresses hung in a neat row. His side was empty. Not one shirt. Not one tie.

The bathroom had no razor. The fridge held a box of baking soda and nothing else. The milk carton in the door had expired four years ago.

Nobody lived here.

He hadn't saved this place as a shrine.

He'd just walked away from it.

---

At 2 a.m., the metal frame came down on me again.

I jolted awake, gasping, and reached across the bed for Noah.

Cold sheets.

My hands trembled as I dialed. I still knew the number by heart. Seven years of it.

It rang. And rang.

Finally, a click.

"Isa?" His voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

Behind him, sheets rustled. Someone shifted and sighed softly.

A woman.

I curled my fingers around the phone until my knuckles ached.

"Noah," I whispered. "Where are you?"

"Mm. I'm home."

I stared into the black, empty bedroom we had picked out together. The tears came hot and fast, and I didn't wipe them away.

"Which home, Noah?"

The line went dead quiet.

Then, in the background, a soft female voice murmured, "Noah? Who is it?"

Thirty minutes later, the front door banged open.

Noah stood in the hallway, chest heaving. His tie hung loose. His shirt collar was undone at the top.

"Isa." He dropped to his knees in front of the couch. "Isa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I didn't answer. I just looked at him.

"I didn't leave you here alone on purpose." His eyes were red at the rims. "Every time I walked into this house, I saw you on that floor. All that blood. I'd stand in the kitchen and hear the frame coming down."

"So you left."

"I moved into an apartment near the office." He pressed his palms against his eyes. "I wasn't strong enough, Isa. Five years, and I was never strong enough."

The anger in my chest wobbled. Then it cracked down the middle.

This was Noah. The boy who cried at the end of *Toy Story 3* and swore it was allergies.

"You should've told me," I said quietly.

"I know." He reached up and pulled me into his arms. "Tomorrow I'll take you back to Harrington Capital. We'll find our way back."

It was the first real hug since I'd woken up. I closed my eyes and leaned into him.

Then I breathed in.

Vanilla. And something floral.

Ava's perfume, sweet and warm, was soaked right into his collar.

I didn't pull away. I didn't say anything at all.

---

The next morning, Noah parked in front of a forty-story glass tower downtown.

HARRINGTON CAPITAL, the steel letters read. Twelve feet tall.

I stood on the sidewalk and tipped my head back.

"You remember?" Noah slid his hand into mine. "The night the power went out in our old apartment?"

"We fixed the business plan with phone flashlights." My throat went tight. "You burned your thumb on the candle."

"And I said one day we'd have our names on a building." He grinned. "Well. Here it is."

Inside, people stopped walking when they saw him.

"Morning, Mr. Harrington."

"Good morning, sir."

"Mr. Harrington, the Fenwick file is on your desk."

Noah nodded at each of them. Nobody glanced at me.

At the front desk, a young receptionist slid a clipboard across the counter.

"Visitor? Please sign in with your ID and the purpose of your visit."

I blinked. "I'm Isabella Reed. I'm a co-founder."

She gave me a polite, blank smile. "I'll still need your ID, ma'am."

"She's with me, Jenna," Noah said, and the clipboard disappeared.

My face burned all the way up to the top floor.

---

"I saved this one for you," Noah said, steering me down a long hallway. "When we moved in, I told everyone this office was off limits. Corner unit. Best view in the building."

He pushed the door open.

Two men in work gloves were carrying in a box. A pink velvet chair sat by the window.

A woman with a sleek blonde bob and a tablet looked up and froze.

"Noah?" She stared at him. "You told Ava she could move in here last week."

Behind her, Ava stood clutching a stack of folders to her chest. Her eyes filled up fast.

"Noah…" Her voice wobbled. "Did you change your mind?"

His jaw went hard.

"Kelly, this office was always Isabella's." His voice carried down the whole hallway. "Everyone, get these things out. Now."

The movers set the box down. Nobody breathed.

A tear slid down Ava's cheek.

"But you promised me…"

"Ava, stop making a scene."

She pressed her hands over her face and ran.

Kelly Brooks shot me a look so sharp it could have cut glass. Then she hurried after Ava, heels thudding down the carpet.

I turned to Noah, ready to thank him.

He had already taken one step toward the door. His whole body leaned after her.

Then he stopped. He forced his foot back down. His hand curled into a fist at his side.

I said nothing. I walked into my office.

A pink ceramic cat sat on the desk. The computer screen glowed with a login page: *Welcome back, Ava M.* The bookshelf was lined with framed certificates. *Rising Star in Investor Relations. Young Leader of the Year.* Her name on every single one.

Through the glass wall, three employees were watching me. One whispered something to another. They both looked away when I caught them.

Like I was the thief.

Noah came in a minute later, clearing his throat. He leaned over the keyboard and logged Ava out.

"There. Fresh start." He smiled, too bright. "We've got a few big acquisitions coming up. Once you get your feet back under you, I want you on them."

"Okay."

I opened the old risk model folder. An error box popped up. *File format not supported.*

I tried again. Same thing.

"We switched platforms two years ago," Noah said. "IT can walk you through it."

Everything I built was gone. Replaced.

"Noah, where are Stella and Ethan?" I asked. "I want to call them."

His face changed. Just for a second.

"Stella Collins and Ethan Hayes left three years ago. They started their own consulting firm."

"Left? Why?"

"Different visions for the company." He straightened up and fixed his cuffs. "It happens."

"Stella would never just walk away from—"

"Isa." He kissed the top of my head. "I'll set up dinner with them tonight. Okay? You can ask them yourself."

---

After lunch, I sat alone and read five years of annual reports.

Page after page, one name kept showing up.

*Ava Morales, Head of Brand and Investor Relations.*

No finance degree. No business background. Yet there she was, cutting ribbons, shaking hands at galas, standing beside Noah on stage while he held up a trophy.

A soft knock made me look up.

Ava walked in with two cups of coffee. Her makeup was fixed. Not a trace of tears left.

"Isabella." She set one cup down in front of me and smiled. "I know everything must feel so different. Noah's been through a lot. I've tried to be there for him."

I didn't touch the coffee.

"Thank you," I said. "But Noah can speak for himself."

Her smile froze at the corners.

Then she tilted her head, all big innocent eyes. "I hope you don't think I ever wanted to replace you. I'd never do that."

"I didn't say you did."

She blinked twice. Then she walked out without her own cup.

---

At six, Noah's phone buzzed. I watched him read the screen.

"It's Ava," he said. "People have been talking about her all day. Because of the office. She's falling apart."

"We have dinner with Stella and Ethan."

"Ten minutes." He was already grabbing his jacket. "I swear, Isa. Ten minutes."

The door swung shut behind him.

I went to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down.

In the plaza below, Ava ran across the stones and threw herself into his arms.

Noah went stiff. He pushed her back by the shoulders.

I let out a breath.

Then he lifted his hand and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

Ava tipped her face up and said something I would never hear.

And Noah smiled.

Not the polite CEO smile. Not the guilty smile he'd given me all day. It was soft and crooked and warm, the one he used to save for me at two in the morning over cold pizza.

I hadn't seen that smile in five years.

I turned from the glass and picked up the only thing on the desk that was mine. Our graduation photo. Me in a lopsided cap, Noah kissing my cheek, both of us laughing so hard our eyes were shut.

I hadn't just lost five years.

I'd lost the only man who had ever been completely mine.

On the desk, my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.

*Dinner's off. Noah doesn't want you talking to Stella. Ask him why.*

Dinner wasn't off.

Noah came back twenty minutes later, smoothing his tie, and said, "Ready?" I slid my phone into my pocket and didn't mention the text.

The restaurant was the old Italian place two blocks from Westbridge. Same red booths. Same garlic smell. I pushed open the door to the private room.

Stella hit me like a truck.

"Isabella Reed!" She grabbed my shoulders and sobbed into my neck. "How dare you make me wait five years!"

She punched my arm. Not hard. Then again, softer. Then she cupped my face with both hands, like I might vanish if she let go of me for even a second.

"You're warm," she choked. "You're actually warm."

I laughed. Then my face crumpled, and I cried right along with her.

Nobody had tested me. Nobody had stopped mid-sentence. She was just *glad*.

"Ethan's in Frankfurt," she said, wiping her mascara with a napkin. "He booked the first flight out. He's furious nobody called him sooner."

"Nobody called *you* sooner?"

Her eyes flicked to Noah, who was hanging up his coat. She leaned in close.

"Isa. Do you know about Noah and Ava?"

My mouth opened.

The door swung open behind us.

Ava stepped in holding a white gift bag with tissue paper sticking out. Her shoulders were hunched small.

"Hi." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "I just wanted to apologize to Isabella. In person."

Stella's face turned to stone. She whipped around.

"Noah. Why is she here?"

He frowned. "Ava's carried guilt about that day for five years. I thought we could clear the air."

"Clear the air?" Stella laughed, short and ugly. "She put Isabella in a hospital bed for five years. And her way of making amends was moving into your apartment and taking over her office?"

Ava's eyes went pink. "That's not—I never meant—"

Noah stepped in front of her. Just one step. His body did it before his brain caught up.

"Stella, enough. Stop pushing her."

Stella slapped her palm on the table. The water glasses jumped.

"You keep talking about Ava's guilt." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "What about Isabella's pain?"

The color drained from Noah's face.

He still didn't move. "Ava's suffered too."

I sat between them with my hands folded in my lap. Stella was shaking. Noah was guarding the door. Ava was crying behind his shoulder.

And somehow, all of them were waiting to see what I would say about Ava's tears.

A laugh slipped out of me. Small. Dry.

Everyone stared.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm just tired."

Nobody ordered food.

---

Out on the sidewalk, Stella hugged me so hard my ribs ached.

"Isa," she breathed into my hair. "If you want to leave him, I'll help you."

I didn't answer. I squeezed her hand until my weak fingers trembled.

---

Noah talked the whole drive home.

"She was sixteen, Isa. She lost everything in that fire. Then she watched you go down. She stopped eating for weeks. I found her on the bathroom floor once—"

The streetlights slid over the windshield, one after another.

"She's not who Stella thinks she is. She's fragile."

"Noah."

"I'm just saying, if you'd seen her back then—"

"Noah, have you ever wondered how I feel?"

He blinked. His grip shifted on the wheel. He drew a breath to answer.

His phone rang through the car speakers.

*Ava.*

He hit accept before the second ring.

Her sobs filled the car. Wet and broken.

"I shouldn't have survived. I shouldn't be in your lives at all." She hiccuped. "Noah, if I had died that day instead… would you remember me?"

Noah slammed the brakes. The seatbelt bit into my collarbone.

"Ava. Where are you? Ava!"

The line went dead.

He turned to me slowly. His face had gone gray.

"Isa." His voice dropped low. "She might hurt herself."

I studied him.

Five years ago, the night he proposed, he'd said, *Whatever happens, you come first. I'll always protect you first.*

I'd been awake for four weeks. My knees still buckled on stairs.

I made my mouth curve up.

"Go. She needs you."

His shoulders sagged. Relief. Plain as day.

"I'll call you. I swear." He was already unlocking my door. "Get a cab. Text me when you're home."

I stepped out onto the curb. The Mercedes peeled away before the door had fully closed.

I stood there in the cold, watching the taillights shrink to two red dots. Then nothing.

Only when the wind stung my cheeks did I realize they were soaked.

---

I didn't go back to the townhouse.

"Pinecrest Memorial," I told the cab driver.

He checked the mirror. "Cemetery? Lady, it's almost eleven."

"I know."

---

Ten years ago, another fire had swept down these same hills.

My father and Noah's mother ran back in for two kids trapped in a barn. The kids made it out. They didn't.

Sixteen-year-old Noah had stood right here, holding me so tight I couldn't breathe.

*"Isa, we'll always have each other."*

I knelt in front of the gray stone. Dad's photo smiled back at me, gentle as ever. The crinkles by his eyes. The crooked front tooth.

"Hi, Dad."

My voice cracked down the middle.

"I think I lost my home."

The first raindrop hit the back of my hand. Then another. Then the sky opened.

I didn't move. I tucked my face against my knees, the way I used to when I was little, and cried without making a sound.

Then the rain stopped falling on me.

I could still hear it. It drummed on something above my head.

"Then let me help you find it."

A low voice. Rough at the edges. Familiar in a way that made my chest seize.

I twisted around.

A tall man stood over me, holding a dark umbrella so it covered me and left him half in the rain. His black coat snapped in the wind. Water ran off his sharp jaw.

And his eyes.

Gold. Real gold, like sunlight through honey. I'd only ever seen eyes like that on one person.

His face was harder now. Older. But the way he tilted his head, watching me like I was the only thing worth watching, was exactly the same.

I forgot how to stand up.

"Lucas?"

He took one step closer. His throat moved.

"I'm back, Isabella."

Lucas Blackwood. The boy who used to climb through my window with stolen cookies. The boy who held my hand at my father's funeral, and then disappeared the next week when a black car came to take him to a family I'd never heard of.

Ten years. Not one letter.

And now he was the Alpha of the Blackwood family. The man who ran Blackwood Defense. A name people whispered on the news.

He crouched in front of me and held out his hand.

His palm was warm. Burning warm, in the freezing rain.

"How did you know where to find me?" I whispered.

His gold eyes didn't blink.

"Isabella. I never stopped knowing where you were."