4

Before anyone comes at me with judgment, advice, or those tired moral lectures—save it.

Being a woman already feels like carrying a universe on your back while everyone else watches you stumble like it’s entertainment.

Every morning, when I pass my neighbors, I see it clearly in their faces—the silent judgment, the tight-lipped disapproval, the kind of disgust people pretend is righteousness.

As if they don’t dream of chaos themselves.

As if they don’t crave things they would never admit out loud.

I exhaled sharply.

Last night… was a mistake.

Or maybe not.

I had promised myself I was done revisiting certain memories. Locked doors stay locked. That’s what I believed.

But the body remembers what the mind tries to erase.

Desire.

Heat.

That dangerous, humiliating kind of pleasure you bury so deep it becomes part of your shadow.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself back into the present.

The trash bin clicked shut as I tossed the bag inside. A delivery package sat waiting outside my door—clean, neat, untouched.

I picked it up and walked into the building.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Twelfth floor.

I stepped in, pressed the button, and let the doors close.

That’s when it hit me.

A scent.

Faint, familiar… infuriatingly unforgettable.

My grip tightened around the package.

No.

It couldn’t be—

But memory doesn’t ask permission.

It drags you back whether you’re ready or not.

---

Last Night

My phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

The sound cut through my sleep like an alarm meant to ruin peace on purpose.

I grabbed it blindly.

Mom.

Of course.

The woman who gave me life and treated silence like affection.

I stared at the screen for a moment before answering.

Whatever she wanted, it was never simple.

And I was right.

She didn’t call for concern.

She called to rearrange my life again.

When the call ended, I couldn’t stay in the apartment anymore.

I needed noise.

Movement.

Anything to drown out the suffocating weight in my chest.

So I went out.

A club. Somewhere I didn’t usually go unless I wanted to forget myself for a while.

Music pulsed through the air. Lights moved like they had a mind of their own.

And then I saw him.

A man sitting alone in the corner.

Watching me like he already knew how this would end.

I shouldn’t have gone near him.

But I did.

One conversation became another.

One drink became too many.

And somewhere between laughter I didn’t mean and glances I shouldn’t have returned… the night shifted.

When I left, I told myself it meant nothing.

Just a mistake.

Just one of those things people pretend never happened.

I was wrong.

---

Present Day

My car purred softly as I drove through the city.

A black Mercedes-Maybach, polished and expensive enough to remind everyone I was never really “ordinary,” no matter how much I tried to be.

My mother had already arrived at the restaurant.

Of course she had.

She always arrives first when she wants control of the narrative.

I walked in.

And there she was.

Perfect posture.

Perfect smile.

A man beside her holding her hand like it belonged there.

I paused.

Something about the scene felt staged.

Like I was stepping into a performance I wasn’t warned about.

“Livia, you’re late,” my mother said smoothly.

“You should be grateful I came at all,” I replied, sliding into the seat.

The man beside her squeezed her hand gently, almost affectionately.

I looked away.

Men and mothers.

Complicated combinations I never cared to untangle.

Then—

A voice.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

My body froze before my mind could catch up.

That voice.

Slow.

Familiar.

Impossible.

I turned.

And there he was.

The man from last night.

Standing at the entrance like fate had a cruel sense of humor.

For a second, neither of us moved.

His expression didn’t change.

Not a flicker.

Not a hint of recognition.

My chest tightened.

So I was the only one remembering?

Perfect.

He walked closer and sat beside my mother without hesitation.

My mother smiled warmly.

“Tim, you’re here. It’s alright.”

Tim.

So that was his name.

My mother continued, unaware of the chaos forming beneath my calm face.

“I wanted to introduce you both properly.”

She turned to me.

“Livia, meet my fiancé, George…”

She gestured to the man beside her.

“…and his son, Tim.”

Silence.

For half a second, the world stopped spinning.

Son.

Of my mother’s fiancé.

The man from last night.

The man I had tried very hard not to think about since sunrise.

My gaze shifted to him again.

Tim’s expression remained unreadable.

Calm.

Detached.

Like I was nothing more than a stranger.

Like I hadn’t already crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

A slow smile formed on my lips.

Not because I was amused.

Because I suddenly understood—

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.