Breakfast was a tactical error. I should have known better than to come downstairs before my mother had her second cup of coffee, but I'd made the rookie mistake of thinking I could grab toast and retreat before the ambush.
Wrong.
She was waiting at the kitchen table, newspaper spread out like evidence, mug of coffee gripped in both hands. The stance of someone preparing for battle.
"We need to discuss something."
I poured cereal. Didn't look up. "Do we?"
"People are talking." Her voice had that sharp edge it got when she was embarrassed. "You and that Donovan boy at the party. Getting very friendly with him right after breaking your engagement."
My hand froze on the milk carton. "I didn't break the engagement. Daniel humiliated me on camera. Slight difference."
"That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
She set her mug down with a controlled click. "You were on the terrace alone with Chase Donovan for fifteen minutes. People noticed."
"We're working on the campaign together. School restoration. You're the one who invited him."
"Don't play stupid, Zoey." Her eyes narrowed. "I saw how he looked at you. How you looked at him."
My stomach twisted. "We were just talking."
"The same way you were 'just talking' years ago?" She stood up, pacing now. "That boy broke your heart once. Turned you into someone I didn't recognize. I won't watch that happen again."
The words hit like ice water. Because she was right about one thing—Chase had broken me. Or maybe I'd broken myself trying to be someone I thought he wanted.
"I'm twenty-three," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "I can handle my own relationships."
"Can you?" She stopped pacing, turned to face me full on. "You barely ate for months. Your grades dropped. You stopped playing violin. I watched you disappear into whatever darkness that boy brought with him."
My hands shook around the cereal bowl. I set it down before I could drop it.
"That wasn't his fault."
"Wasn't it?" She crossed her arms. "He was reckless. Dangerous. And when it all fell apart, you were the one who paid the price. You. Not him."
I wanted to argue. To tell her she didn't know the whole story. That Chase had been the only person who'd seen me, really seen me, when everyone else just saw Perfect Zoey who followed all the rules.
But my throat closed around the words.
"I'm not going back to him," I said finally. "We're just working together."
"Good." She picked up her mug. "Because Daniel called me last night. He wants to make things work. He's willing to forgive the public spectacle if you can commit to being the partner he needs."
The partner he needs. Not the partner I wanted to be. Just whoever would fit neatly into his five-year plan.
"How generous of him."
"Don't be flippant." Her voice hardened. "Men like Daniel don't come around twice. He's stable. Successful. He can give you the life you deserve."
"Maybe I don't want that life."
"Then you're a fool."
She walked out before I could respond, leaving me standing there with my untouched cereal and the taste of acid in my throat.
Around eight, my phone buzzed. Daniel's name lit up the screen.
We need to talk. Can we meet tomorrow?
I stared at the message for thirty seconds. Thought about responding. Thought about saying yes, showing up, performing the role of the apologetic fiancée who'd learned her lesson.
Instead, I deleted the text and opened a different conversation.
Need to get out of this house.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then: Outside in 5.
No questions. No demands for explanation. Just showing up.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, ignoring my mother's voice calling from the living room. Ignored the guilt trying to root me in place.
The street was dark when I stepped outside. I wrapped my arms around myself, breath fogging in the cold air.
Then headlights cut through the darkness.
Chase's car pulled up to the curb, engine purring low. He didn't get out. Just sat there waiting, one hand on the wheel.
I walked down the driveway, opened the passenger door, and climbed in without speaking.
He looked at me once—really looked—then put the car in drive.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Anywhere," I said.
He nodded and pulled away from the curb, from my mother's house, from the life I was supposed to want but couldn't quite force myself to choose.
For the first time all day, I could finally breathe.
Chase drove like he already knew where we were going. The school appeared through the windshield like a ghost we'd both been avoiding. Chain-link fence wrapped around the perimeter, bright yellow demolition notices stapled to every post.
He parked in the empty lot. Cut the engine. The silence that followed was loaded with five years of unsaid things.
I shifted in my seat, fingers curling around my phone.
"Can I show you something?"
He turned to look at me. Nodded once.
I pulled up my photos, scrolled back until I found it. The photo I'd taken of my journal from senior year. The list I'd written after everything fell apart.
I handed him the phone without explanation.
He took it carefully. Zoomed in. Started reading.
Learn to say no without apologizing. Stop making myself smaller for people who want me quiet. Kiss someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm too much. Break a rule that scares you.
That last one was underlined. Twice.
"You kept this?" I asked.
He looked up from the screen. "I kept everything."
The admission hung between us like smoke.
His finger hovered over one entry, then tapped it gently. "Break a rule that scares you." He glanced at me. "We crossed this one off together."
"That was a lifetime ago."
"Doesn't mean it doesn't count."
My chest tightened. Because he was right. That night in the gym had counted. Had changed something fundamental in me.
He handed my phone back, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. Searching.
"What would scare you now?"
The question landed like a dare.
I knew what he was really asking. This wasn't about breaking into buildings or spray painting floors. This was about us. About whether I was brave enough to risk it again.
My throat went dry. "Going back to that gym."
Something flickered in his expression. Not surprise. Confirmation.
"Then let's go."