The first time I saw Conrad after everything that happened, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room. He was standing across the party, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever, like nothing had changed, but everything had. The dim lights cast a soft glow on him, highlighting the familiar lines of his face. It felt like time had rewound for a moment as if we were back before everything fell apart. But that ache in my chest reminded me—things were different now.

His eyes found me from across the room, and my heart clenched. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t prepared to face him. My hands tightened around my drink as I stood there in my white dress, feeling both seen and exposed, even though I was on the edge of the room, where I always felt safest. That was where I had spent most of my time these past few years—on the edges, never fully letting myself be part of the center again.

It was the first time we had been near each other since everything went down with Jeremiah. Since the wedding, that has yet to happen. Since I walked away from both of them, the weight of broken promises and shattered expectations hung between us, heavy and unresolved, as if we were still carrying all of it on our shoulders.

So much has happened since then. Jeremiah’s bachelor party was the night everything unraveled. Conrad had overheard Jeremiah’s friends teasing him, laughing about how he hadn’t slept with me yet, and that stung, even though I had tried to push it down. But what cut deeper was the revelation about Lacie during spring break. I had already known about that. I had known for a while. Jeremiah had told me, and we’d had our own reckoning and conversation filled with anger, hurt, and confusion.


When he finally told me what he had heard, when he stood in front of me, his face full of anger and betrayal, he didn’t realize I had already been living with that truth. I remember the way his voice broke when he told me Jeremiah had cheated. He said it was going to change everything as if I needed to hear it from him, but the truth was, I had already known. And when I told him that, I watched his face crumble. He had been holding on to that, thinking he was protecting me, only to find out I didn’t need saving.

And then, before I could even process it all, he confessed something else. He still loved me. He said he had never stopped loving me, not for a second, not through the distance or silence. He told me why he had pushed me away after his mother’s death, why he let Jeremiah step in, thinking his brother could give me something he couldn’t. But as much as I had wanted to hear those words, as much as they had haunted me for so long, it was too late. Two years too late.

I can still remember the frustration and anger bubbling up inside me that night. His confession was everything I had once dreamed of, but hearing it then, after everything that had already fallen apart. 

Now, standing across the room from him, all those emotions came rushing back. That love I had buried deep down, the love I had for him all along, was still there. It had never really left. But it was tangled up with so much pain and confusion. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, and I wasn’t sure if he was either.

I couldn’t help but glance at him. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the party around me—the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—it was like a magnet was pulling my eyes back to him over and over again. Every time I looked away, I found myself stealing another glance as if my heart was acting on its own, unwilling to let go of the past.


The truth was, Belly had always loved Conrad, deep down. Even during the years she spent trying to move on and trying to make her relationship with Jeremiah work, there was always a part of her heart that belonged to Conrad. It was hidden under layers of hurt, misunderstandings, and missed chances, but it was quietly waiting. No matter how hard she tried to bury it, that love never faded. It had shaped so many of her choices, her hesitations, and even her decision to walk away from both brothers when the weight of it all became too much.

Hearing Conrad’s confession stirred something in her, something she had been trying to keep locked away for years. She had always loved him, even when it hurt. And deep down, she knew that she never honestly stopped.
Then came the wedding day—the day Jeremiah ran away, and everything unraveled. Conrad had gone to find him, and it had led to the fight, fists flying and words thrown like knives. Ultimately, Jeremiah admitted what they both already knew: Belly had never been his. She had always been Conrad’s, even if neither of them had wanted to accept it.

But the wedding was canceled, and Belly had left. She had gone to Spain, disappearing from both of their lives. Conrad had written her letters, pouring out everything he hadn’t been able to say in person. And slowly, through those letters, they’d started to rebuild.

And now, here she was, standing just a few feet away from him, and it felt like everything was coming full circle. The room felt too small with her in it, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. His eyes were locked on her, and it was as if the world stopped moving. She wasn’t sure if he had seen her yet, and in some twisted way, she wasn’t even sure he wanted to. There was so much unsaid, so much unresolved between them.

Before that moment, the party had been in full swing. The sound of laughter and the steady clinking of glasses echoed through the room, blending with the soft hum of conversation and the faint music playing in the background. The lights were dim but warm, casting a golden glow over the sea of people dressed in their best. I’d spent most of the night hovering near the edges, keeping to myself, observing everything and everyone. Parties like these weren’t really my thing; I always felt like I was more of a spectator than a participant. But Conrad… Conrad fit in effortlessly, like he always did, moving through the crowd like he belonged to it.

I watched him from a distance for most of the night, surrounded by people, his easy smile lighting up his face. He always looked so comfortable, so at ease in places like this, as if the noise and the chaos of it all energized him. On the other hand, I felt out of place, like I was trying to keep up. And even though I was trying to blend into the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice him. I tried not to, but my eyes always found their way back to him.

Then, at some point, we found ourselves together by the bar. I didn’t even remember how it happened. Maybe the crowd shifted in just the right way, perhaps the universe tilted us into the same space, or maybe it was something else—something about us that always seemed to pull us together, no matter how hard I tried to resist.

He handed me a drink, our fingers brushing for the briefest moment, and it was like time slowed. Just that single touch, cool glass meeting warm skin, sent a spark through me. It was ridiculous, really, how much that tiny contact affected me, but it did. I tried to push the feeling down and bury it under layers of casual conversation, but it was impossible not to notice it—the way every little moment with him felt bigger and more important.

It always felt like that with him, like there was something unspoken between us, hanging in the air, waiting to be acknowledged. But I didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to admit to myself that after everything, I still felt this way about Conrad. That I still… cared. Maybe even more than I wanted to admit.

He leaned against the bar, his suit fitting him perfectly, the top button of his shirt undone just enough to make him look effortlessly cool like he hadn’t even tried. His presence was magnetic; I couldn’t look away, couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more simmering between us, just beneath the surface.

We talked, but it wasn’t about anything significant. Small talk about the people at the party, the music, the atmosphere. Yet, there was an underlying tension in the air, something unspoken that hung between us like a thread. I could feel it every time our eyes met, in the way his gaze lingered on me a little longer than it should have. There was always something about Conrad, something I couldn’t quite define—a pull, a connection that had always been there but had never fully come to light.

But I wasn’t ready for that connection to surface. Not yet. Not after everything we’d been through.

Then, as we started to move away from the bar, maybe to find a quieter spot or get away from the crowd, my heel suddenly slipped. It happened so fast—one second, I was walking, and the next, I was stumbling. My heart jumped, and I felt the rush of embarrassment heating my face, but Conrad was already there before I could even steady myself.

Conrad didn’t say anything. He just crouched down in front of me, his drink still in hand, and gently took my foot like it was the most natural thing in the world. My breath caught in my throat—not because of the stumble, but because of him. The way his hands felt steady on my ankle, the warmth of his touch spreading through me like a slow burn. I watched, my pulse quickening, as he fixed the strap of my heel with calm, careful precision, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

For a moment, it felt like the entire room disappeared. The laughter, the music, and the clinking glasses all faded into the background. It was just him, his hand steady and warm against my skin, his attention entirely focused on me. The heat from his touch sent shivers up my spine, and I had to remind myself to breathe, to stay composed, even though everything inside me was unraveling. I couldn’t believe how something so simple and small could feel so monumental.



I glanced around the party, pretending to be unaffected, hoping no one was paying attention to this little scene playing out between us. But even as I tried to act normal, my heart was beating faster than it should, and the soft fabric of my white dress swayed slightly as I shifted my weight, feeling a little unsteady.

He was always like this—calm, focused, doing things for other people without ever making a big deal out of it. It’s just who he was. It’s who he’d always been. And I loved that about him.

Wait… love?

The thought slipped into my mind, uninvited, and I quickly pushed it aside. I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. But still, the way he was looking at me, the way he was always there when I needed him, even when I didn’t ask for his help… it made me feel something. Something more than just friendship, more than just a fleeting moment.

"Thanks," I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended. My cheeks felt warm, and I hoped he didn’t notice the flush creeping up my neck.

He glanced up at me briefly, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "No problem. Can’t have you limping around all night."

I laughed softly, trying to downplay the moment and keep it light even though everything felt heavy and meaningful. "Yeah, that wouldn’t exactly scream ‘graceful.’"

He stood, his hand releasing my ankle, and I felt a strange sense of loss at the absence of his touch. His drink was back in his hand, but his eyes lingered on mine just for a second longer than usual, and my heart skipped a beat. He took a slow sip of his drink, the silence between us stretching, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like we were both waiting for something to happen, for one of us to say something that would change everything.

"You look… different tonight," he said, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. "In a good way."

His words caught me off guard, and I bit my lip, suddenly self-conscious. "Different, how?"

He leaned against the wall beside me, shrugging slightly as he looked at me. "I don’t know. Lighter, maybe? Like you're really in the moment."

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light despite the fluttering in my chest. "I’m just standing at a party. How ‘in the moment’ can I really be?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. You’re not overthinking everything. For once, you’re… here. And it’s nice to see."

The sincerity in his voice makes my breath catch, and for a moment, I can’t think of anything to say. How does he always know exactly what to say to make me feel seen? Sometimes, it’s like he knows me better than I know myself. I smile, letting the warmth of his words sink in, feeling that familiar tug in my chest, that pull toward him that I’ve been fighting for so long.

"Maybe I’m learning from the best," I teased, nudging him lightly, trying to deflect, to keep the conversation from getting too heavy.

He looked at me, and for a moment, the playful expression faded, replaced with something softer, something real. "Maybe you are," he said quietly, and the weight of his words settled between us like a secret.

The air between us felt electric, charged with something unspoken. The noise of the party was a distant hum now, barely even registering. It was just Conrad and me, standing in this bubble we’d created without even realizing it. For a second, I wondered if he felt it too—this connection, this pull that had always been there but never acknowledged.

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" he asked, his voice low like he was afraid to break the fragile moment between us.

My heart raced at the suggestion. I glanced around the crowded room, then back at him, my pulse quickening. His eyes were steady on mine, and at that moment, I knew I wanted to say yes. I wanted to go somewhere quieter with him, somewhere where it could just be us, without the noise, without the pretense.

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Let’s go."

And just like that, we slipped away from the crowd, stepping into a world that felt like it was only ours, the unspoken promise between us lingering in the air like a secret waiting to be told.

But as we moved away, a new question loomed in my mind. Was this a new beginning for us? Or just another moment we’d let slip away?


As we slipped away from the crowded room, the noise of the party became a dull hum behind us, like a distant echo of something no longer relevant. The venue's soft and golden lights created a warm glow that bathed everything in a honeyed hue. People mingled in clusters, laughing and chatting, completely absorbed in their own worlds. Glasses clinked together in toasts, and the air was thick with the scent of perfume, champagne, and something floral that I couldn’t quite place.

But all of that seemed so far away now. It was just background noise—like it wasn’t even happening in the same world I was in anymore. Because right now, the only thing I could focus on was the steady sound of Conrad’s footsteps beside me, the soft click of my heels against the polished floor, and the electric tension hanging between us. It was almost suffocating in its intensity, wrapping around me like a second skin.

The dim lighting flickered slightly, casting shadows across the room, but I barely noticed. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that it was all I could hear: Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. My breath felt shallow, my throat tight, as if something monumental was about to happen, something that could change everything between us, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it.

The fabric of my dress brushed against my legs as I moved, and I was hyperaware of every step I took, every slight shift of my body. The dress clung to me, a reminder of the weight of the moment. I could feel the warmth radiating from Conrad beside me; his presence was so strong that it was almost overwhelming. I didn’t dare look at him, not yet. My skin was buzzing, my thoughts racing.

What was I doing? Why did it feel like this was the moment I had been waiting for, even if I didn’t know I was waiting for it? Why did I feel this pull toward him, this connection that had always been there but never acknowledged?

The further we moved from the crowd, the quieter everything became. The chatter, the music, the laughter—it all faded away into the background until it was just a soft murmur. The hallway we were now walking down was dimly lit, with elegant sconces lining the walls, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever. It felt intimate, almost private as if we had stepped out of the bustling world and into our own bubble. It felt like it was just us like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

And yet, with every step, my nerves grew tighter. My heart raced, and my stomach fluttered with an anxious excitement I couldn’t quite name. I was nervous—more nervous than I’d been in a long time. But it wasn’t just nerves. It was something deeper, something more powerful. A sense of anticipation, of something inevitable. It was as if everything between us was building to this point, and I wasn’t sure what would happen when we finally reached it.

But I could feel it. Every glance he gave me and every unspoken word hanging between us felt heavy with meaning, and I didn’t know how to navigate it. My emotions were a whirlwind: confusion, longing, fear. The past was right there, shadowing every thought, reminding me of the hurt, the pain, the choices I’d made. But the present was pulling me in a different direction, toward him, toward this moment that felt too big to ignore.

As we reached the end of the hallway, where the noise of the party was just a faint hum in the distance, Conrad slowed down, and so did I. I finally looked up at him, and when our eyes met, it was like everything I had been feeling was reflected back at me in his gaze. His eyes were intense, dark, full of something I couldn’t quite read but felt deep in my bones.

I felt exposed under his gaze, vulnerable in a way that made my heart stutter in my chest. My hands trembled slightly at my sides, but I didn’t know if it was from the coolness of the hallway or from the weight of everything left unsaid between us. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and I could feel the emotions building up inside me—emotions I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

The silence stretched between us, thick with tension. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to break the moment without unraveling everything I had tried so hard to keep in check. But Conrad’s gaze never wavered, and the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to look away.

And then he spoke, his voice soft but full of something raw. “Belly, I—”

I cut him off, not because I didn’t want to hear what he had to say, but because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. “Conrad, please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, my pulse racing. I wasn’t sure what I was asking for—space, time, clarity—but I needed something to slow down this moment that felt like it was spiraling out of my control.

But he didn’t back away. He took a step closer, his expression softening as he studied me, and the space between us seemed to shrink even more. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of something—something that could change everything between us.

The world around me felt distant, and all I could focus on was the look in his eyes. There was so much unsaid between us, so much history, so much pain, but also so much love—love that had never really gone away, no matter how hard I had tried to bury it.