I thought the most humiliating moment of my life was the creaky bedframe.

Julian and I spent the entire afternoon testing the limits of my cheap apartment’s soundproofing. Every groan, every thump against the drywall echoed through the tiny space.

I pulled my oversized sweater down over my thighs and pushed the bedroom door open. I was still laughing at something Julian whispered in my ear.

The laughter died in my throat.

Adrian sat on my faded living room sofa.

My ex-boyfriend. The guy I had not seen in three years.

He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, his long legs stretched out under the coffee table. He didn’t even blink. His dark eyes flicked from my messy hair to the fresh hickey on my collarbone.

"So," Adrian said, his voice completely flat. "You're into that type now?"

My face burned so hot it hurt. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I moved in early." He pointed to a duffel bag on the floor. "The landlord gave me the keys at noon."

"At noon?" I choked on the words. "You've been sitting out here since noon?"

"I didn't want to interrupt. Sounded like you were busy."

He heard everything. Every single sound for the last three hours.

Julian stepped out of the bedroom behind me. He was still buttoning his crisp dress shirt. He noticed the tension immediately. He didn't ask questions. He simply wrapped a heavy arm around my waist and pulled my back flush against his chest.

"I'm her boyfriend," Julian said, his tone daring the guy on the couch to challenge him.

Adrian tilted his head. "Congratulations."

"Who are you?" Julian demanded.

"The new roommate." Adrian stood up. He was an inch taller than Julian, and the shift in the room's atmosphere was instant. "And the ex."

Julian laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Right. Well, grab your bags. You're not staying here. I'll write you a check right now. Double whatever you paid for the deposit. Get out."

Adrian shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't need your money."

"Everyone needs money. Name your price."

I shoved out of Julian's grip. "Stop it, both of you. I'm breaking the lease. I'll pack my things right now."

"Don't stress about it," Julian murmured. He stepped into my space again and smoothed a hand down my arm. "Just come stay with me. The Manhattan penthouse is completely empty anyway. You won't have to worry about rent or roommates."

Adrian picked up a racing magazine from the coffee table.

"When did you start relying on men to solve your rent problems?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My spine stiffened.

"Excuse me?"

Adrian flipped a glossy page. "You heard me. You used to work night shifts just to pay your half. Now you just pack a bag and move into a penthouse?"

"My financial situation is none of your business," I snapped.

"Clearly."

I glared at him. Three years ago, I prided myself on never asking him for a dime, even when he was winning championships.

"I'm not moving," I said.

"Elena, babe, come on," Julian started, his tone coaxing. "Don't let him get to you."

"I said I'm staying."

Julian stared at me. His eyes darted to Adrian, then back to my face. His jaw tightened. The easy confidence he carried all afternoon vanished. He finally realized the stranger in the room knew exactly which buttons to push to make me stay.

"Fine," Julian said. He grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He didn't look at Adrian as he walked out.

The front door clicked shut, leaving the apartment dead silent.

I hid in my bedroom for an hour before the thirst became unbearable. I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water and froze in the doorway.

Adrian leaned against the counter in the dark. Three crushed beer cans sat by his hip. He held a thick highball glass in his right hand, staring out the window at the streetlights.

"You don't drink," I said. "Not during racing season."

"Things change."

"You shouldn't be here."

"I signed a contract."

"If you're mad about this afternoon, get over it." I marched to the fridge and yanked it open. "So what if you heard? We've been broken up for three years. I am allowed to move on."

Adrian stared at the amber liquid in his glass. "Yeah. I know."

Crack.

The thick glass shattered in his grip. Shards rained onto the linoleum floor. Blood dripped from his palm, pooling on the white counter.

"Are you crazy?" I dropped my water bottle. I grabbed a dish towel from the oven rack.

I closed the distance between us, yanking his wrist toward the sink. I turned on the faucet and ran cold water over the deep cuts. My thumbs pressed into his skin, searching for glass splinters.

"Drop it," he muttered, trying to pull his hand back.

"Shut up and hold still."

He didn't pull away again. He stepped closer. His chest brushed my shoulder. The scent of pine and stale beer clouded my head. Old habits flared up—the way I automatically knew how to hold his hand, the way he tilted his wrist to make it easier for me to wrap the towel

The smell of roasted coffee beans filled the kitchen. I walked in, grabbing my bag from the chair. A ceramic plate slid across the island counter, stopping right in front of me.

Egg whites. No yolks. Next to it sat a mug of dark roast with exactly one splash of milk.

I shoved the plate back toward the center of the island.

"Don't do this," I told him.

"Do what?" Adrian didn't look up from the sink.

"Make me breakfast."

"You live here. I live here. I cooked."

"It's not just food. You made it exactly how I like it."

"I'm not going to ruin good eggs with yolks just to prove a point."

"Stop acting like things are the same between us."

He picked up his own mug. "I'm not acting. I just remember."

My jaw locked. The casual confidence in his voice infuriated me. He didn't sound arrogant; he sounded certain.

"Well, forget it," I snapped.

"Hard to do."

I grabbed my purse and walked out without touching the food.

By five o'clock, my skull throbbed. I stood in the middle of the open-plan office, clutching a red-penned folder.

"This proposal is garbage, Elena." Mr. Gable tossed a stack of spreadsheets onto a nearby desk. The papers scattered. "Did you even run the Q3 projections? Because a middle schooler could map a better financial model. I don't pay you to guess."

Co-workers stared at their keyboards. I kept my chin up.

"The marketing budget shifted yesterday," I explained. "I had to adjust the baseline."

"I don't want excuses. I want numbers on my desk." Gable pointed a thick finger at my face. "You'll revise them now, and you won't leave until it's perfect."

"Is there a problem here?"

Julian stepped into the fluorescent light of the bullpen. He wore a tailored navy suit, commanding the space instantly. He stepped right up to my manager, blocking me from Gable's view.

"Who are you?" Gable demanded.

"The guy who's going to buy this floor just to fire you," Julian said smoothly. "Now lower your voice when you speak to her."

"Excuse me?" Gable sputtered.

Julian reached out to grab Gable's elbow. "Let's take a walk."

I grabbed Julian's wrist. I dug my nails into his cuff.

"Stop," I ordered.

Julian glanced back at me, his smile faltering. "He's disrespecting you."

"This is my job," I said, keeping my voice low but firm. "Not your boardroom."

Julian stared at my fingers on his sleeve. He raised his hands in surrender, flashing a flawless, empty smile. "Of course, babe. Whatever you want."

We left the building in silence. The moment the heavy glass doors sealed behind us, the warmth vanished from his face.

"Were you this mad when Adrian stood up for you?" Julian asked.

I stopped on the sidewalk. "What?"

"When your ex played the hero. Did you embarrass him in public, too?"

"This has nothing to do with him."

"Doesn't it?" Julian stepped closer. "You let him live in your apartment. You let him drink in your kitchen. But you won't let me handle a middle-manager."

"I handle my own career. I don't need a savior."

"Everyone needs a savior, Elena. You just prefer his brand."

Julian laughed, a dry, hollow sound. He opened the passenger door of his town car.

"I have a dinner meeting. I'll see you later."

I needed my passport. The corporate retreat required international travel, and I had ten minutes to find it before the HR deadline.

I tore through the hall closet. My hands hit a heavy cardboard box shoved in the darkest corner. Adrian's old stuff. He never took it when he moved out three years ago.

I dragged it into the living room and ripped off the packing tape.

No racing trophies. No expensive sneakers.

A faded pink hair tie sat right on top. The one I lost at the carnival when we were seventeen. Beneath it lay two crumpled movie tickets from a Tuesday matinee. A birthday note written on a napkin. A pair of scuffed, cracked knee pads from the first time I tried ice skating and nearly broke my leg. He had laughed at me that day, but he kept the pads.

My chest tightened. I dug deeper.

At the very bottom rested a cracked smartphone. The screen was spider-webbed with shattered glass.

I plugged it into the wall charger. The screen flickered to life. No passcode. The messaging app sat open.

Dozens of drafts filled the screen. None of them ever sent.

*Miss you today.*

*Seeing you talk to Noah made me unhappy.*

*You say I don't love you, but I don't know how to make you believe me.*

My fingers shook. I stared at the glowing text. Three years ago, I begged him to give me a single reason to stay. He gave me silence. Now, holding the exact words I would have killed to hear, anger boiled in my stomach.

The front door unlocked. Adrian walked in, dropping his keys on the entry table.

He stopped dead when he saw the open box. His eyes snapped to the phone in my hand.

The calm mask shattered. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the device from my palm.

"Who told you to go through my things?" His voice cracked like a whip.

I stood up. I didn't back away. "I was looking for my passport."

"In a taped box?"

"You kept all of this. You wrote all of that. Why?"

Adrian shoved the phone into his pocket. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me!" I shoved his chest. He barely moved. "You let me walk out that door! You let me pack my bags and leave! If you cared so much, why didn't you say a single word?"

"You wouldn't have listened."

"You didn't even try! You just watched me go!"

A bitter laugh escaped his throat. He glared down at me, his jaw clenched tight. "Because you liked Noah first."

The anger drained right out of my veins. The room spun.

"What?"

"My teammate." Adrian's tone turned vicious. "You went to his games. You wore his jersey. You laughed at his stupid jokes. You only dated me because he transferred away."

I stared at him. The sheer absurdity of it paralyzed my tongue.

"Noah?" I whispered.

"Don't play dumb, Elena. You settled for me."

"You thought I loved Noah?"

"I knew you did."

Tears spilled over my eyelashes. They burned my cheeks. "I've liked you since I was sixteen! I used Noah to trick you into noticing me! Are you an idiot?"

Adrian froze. The hostility vanished from his features, leaving behind absolute shock. He took a half-step forward.

"You used him?" he asked, his voice barely a rasp.

"Yes!" I screamed. "I did everything to get your attention! I faked an entire crush just so you would look at me, and you punished me for it for seven years!"

He reached out, his bandaged hand hovering inches from my face. His fingers trembled.

"So, I'm the one who came later?"

Julian stood in the open doorway. He held two paper bags from a high-end Italian restaurant. He didn't look angry. He looked entirely too calm.

He stepped inside and kicked the door shut. The click echoed through the silent apartment.

"I brought dinner," Julian announced. He set the bags on the kitchen island. He walked straight past me and stopped directly in front of Adrian.

Julian tilted his head, a terrifying smile spreading across his face.

"She liked you since she was sixteen," Julian said. "How did you still manage to lose her?"

Adrian didn't flinch. He met Julian's gaze, his posture rigid.

"At least I didn't find out by investigating her," Adrian replied.

My stomach dropped. The air left my lungs.

I whipped my head around to stare at Julian.

"What investigation?" I demanded.

Julian didn't look at Adrian. He kept his eyes locked on my face. The warm, coaxing boyfriend from this afternoon was completely gone.

"Two months into our relationship," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly even. "We went to that rooftop party. You drank four margaritas."

My stomach turned to ice. "I don't remember that night."

"I do." Julian took a step closer, leaving the takeout bags on the island. "I carried you to bed. You wrapped your arms around my neck, pulled me down, and whispered his name."

The blood drained from my face.

"You called me Adrian," Julian clarified, letting the syllables hang in the quiet apartment.

I swayed on my feet. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"I hired a private investigator the next morning," Julian continued. "I needed to know exactly who I was competing with."

"You kept that from me for a year?" I asked.

"You kept him in your head for a year." Julian grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the front door. "We're leaving."

I didn't fight him. I couldn't look at Adrian.

The ride in Julian's town car was suffocating. Neon streetlights flashed across the leather interior, illuminating the hard line of Julian’s jaw. He stared straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. He had dismissed his driver.

We hit a red light. The car jerked to a halt.

Julian finally turned his head. "That first time we slept together. Were you thinking of him?"

The question felt like a slap.

"Pull over," I ordered.

"Answer the question, Elena."

"I said pull the damn car over!"

He swerved toward the curb and slammed on the brakes. I shoved the passenger door open and stumbled onto the damp sidewalk. The night air hit my hot cheeks.

Julian was out of the car a second later. He slammed his door so hard the glass rattled.

"Don't walk away from me!" he shouted.

I spun around. "You want to humiliate me in the middle of the street?"

Julian closed the distance between us. He ripped away the last shred of his gentle facade. "I can accept that you have a past. I can accept that you loved someone else before me. But I cannot accept holding you in my arms while you have another man in your heart."

"I don't have him in my heart!" I screamed.

"You let him move in!"

"I didn't know!" I shoved his chest. "And what about you? You dug through my past like it was a corporate merger. You investigated my ex. How does that make you any better than him?"

"It makes me the guy who stayed," Julian fired back. "He left you."

"You don't own me, Julian."

"I protect what's mine."

"I am not a piece of property." I stepped back, wrapping my arms around my waist. "Go to your penthouse. I'm going for a walk."

He didn't follow me. The engine roared to life, and the town car sped away, leaving me alone on the dark pavement.

Two hours later, my phone buzzed with a news alert.

*Pro-Racer Adrian Miller involved in severe crash at qualifier.*

I told myself it wasn't my problem. I told myself to keep walking toward my favorite diner. Instead, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to the nearest trauma center.

I sprinted through the sliding glass doors of the ER. The fluorescent lights blinded me. I pushed past a group of nurses, scanning the chaotic room until I found curtain number four.

I yanked the fabric back.

Adrian sat on the edge of the examination bed. A white bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs. A nasty cut ran along his left cheekbone, and his racing suit hung off his waist.

He looked up. A slow, knowing smile spread across his bruised face.

"You still came," he said.

His voice stripped away every excuse I had prepared. I crossed my arms, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

"I saw the news," I muttered. "I wanted to make sure I didn't need to find a new roommate."

"Right." Adrian leaned back against the pillows, wincing slightly. "Always practical."

"Don't flatter yourself. I would have done the same for anyone."

"You ran a red light to get here, didn't you?"

"I took a cab." I glared at him. "Are you dying or not?"

"Just a fractured rib." His dark eyes locked onto mine. The amusement faded, replaced by that heavy intensity I hated. "Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Breaking up."

"No," I lied instantly.

"Then why did all the color leave your face when you walked through that curtain?"

"Because you scared me!" I snapped, my voice echoing in the small cubicle. "You crashed a car at a hundred and forty miles an hour. I panicked because you're like a brother to me."

Adrian's jaw tightened. He pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the pain. He stepped right into my space.

"We slept together," Adrian said, his tone dropping to a dangerous rasp. "Don't go claiming family ties."

My phone rang. The shrill ringtone shattered the tension.

Julian's name flashed on the screen.

I answered it, turning my back to Adrian. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" Julian asked. His voice was clipped, still carrying the anger from our fight on the street.

I glanced over my shoulder. Adrian watched me, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm at a friend's house," I said smoothly. "I needed some space."

"Fine. Come home when you're done pouting." Julian hung up.

I lowered the phone. When I turned around, the atmosphere in the room had turned toxic.

"A friend's house," Adrian repeated.

"It's none of your business."

Adrian stepped closer, trapping me against the metal tray table. "When you were with me, you never lied for another man."

"I wasn't lying for you. I was avoiding a fight."

"You're hiding me."

"I'm leaving." I grabbed my purse from the plastic chair.

Before I could take a step, Adrian's hand shot out. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm, grounding me to the spot.

"I bought a ring," he said.

The words froze the air in my lungs. I stared at his hand gripping my wrist, then slowly looked up at his face.

"What?" I whispered.

"Three years ago." Adrian didn't blink. "I bought a ring. I just didn't know how to ask."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Stop lying. You couldn't even tell me you liked me, but you bought a ring?"

"Cartier," he said, his voice dead serious. "Platinum band. Oval cut. Size six. I bought it the week before you packed your bags."

My heart pounded against my ribs. Size six. My exact size.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "You're crazy."

I turned and ran out of the emergency room, ignoring him calling my name.

I didn't go back to my apartment. I couldn't face the empty rooms or the shattered glass still sitting in the kitchen sink. I went straight to Julian's penthouse.

The massive apartment was completely dark. Julian was likely asleep in the master bedroom.

I kicked off my shoes and walked quietly down the hallway. A thin strip of light spilled from beneath the study door. I pushed it open, intending to turn off the lamp.

The room was empty. The mahogany desk was covered in neat stacks of paper.

I reached for the lamp switch. My fingers brushed against a thick manila folder sitting dead center on the leather blotter.

The cover was stamped with a red confidential seal.

I flipped it open.

My own face stared back at me. It was my college graduation photo.

Beneath the picture, bold black letters spelled out a title.

*Elena Moretti. Background Check.*

I flipped to the second page. Bank statements. Medical records. A list of every address I had ever lived at. Transcripts from my university.

Julian didn't just investigate Adrian.

He investigated my entire life.