I hate Mondays
Or at least that's what I tell myself whenever my alarm goes off at six thirty and I stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed me
Truth is it's not Mondays I hate — it's the predictable rhythm of my life, the way everything runs on schedule, the way I wake up, shower, dress in something professional but not memorable, pack Theo's lunch, check emails before I've even brushed my teeth, and move through the day like a well programmed machine pretending I'm fine
Happy even
After everything, I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone in again
Wouldn't trust my heart
Wouldn't give anyone the chance to walk away with pieces of me I'd never get back
And I've been very disciplined about that promise
Too disciplined maybe
On my way to work, I realize I have a little extra time so instead of heading straight to the office I stop by a café a few blocks away from the firm
It's not trendy or loud or filled with influencers pretending to read novels they'll never finish
It's warm
Small
Predictable
Exactly how I've grown to like things.
when I step inside and the scent of espresso and caramel wraps around me and fills the air. The barista, Mark — mid twenties, studying something complicated at university and permanently kind — smiles at me the way he does every morning
"The usual?"
I nod
Cappuccino with a single shot of caramel syrup
Comfort in a cup
He hands it over and I take it carefully, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I head toward my favorite corner table by the window
I like corners
Corners mean fewer blind spots
I take a sip and exhale slowly
I like it here
It's quiet
Maybe too quiet
Though I'd never admit that to anyone
Quiet gives my thoughts room to move and that's dangerous. There are things I've buried deep enough that they should stay there, memories that have no business resurfacing, names that shouldn't echo the way they sometimes do in the back of my mind. Still, some mornings like this one, they find a way to crawl back up.
Outside, the city hums with people heading to work, taxis weaving through traffic, suits walking fast like they're chasing something important. Inside, I have my bubble. A temporary illusion that nothing hurts, that everything is simple, I cling to that illusion more than I should
My phone buzzes
A message from Bianca
"mornin'"
Simple
But it's our ritual
Bianca has been my work-wife for three years now at Bradford & Co, dramatic, loyal, incapable of whispering even when whispering is required, and the only person in the entire firm who knows when I'm spiraling before I do...
That text means I've lingered long enough.
I grab my bag and what's left of my cappuccino and move a little too fast
Which is why I crash straight into someone solid and warm and very much not prepared for me
"Oh I'm so sorry" the man says quickly, steadying me before my drink spills
His hands are firm but not invasive
Confident
Controlled
"No harm done" I manage, adjusting my grip on the cup
"But maybe try watching where you're going next time"
He grins
Not embarrassed
Not defensive
Just amused
"You're Patricia right?"
My eyebrows shoot up
I don't like strangers knowing my name
"I'm sorry… do I know you?"
He chuckles lightly
"Not yet. But I know enough. Ryan Hale"
He offers his hand
I hesitate before taking it
His grip is firm and deliberate like someone used to introductions mattering
"I really should get going" I say, returning a polite smile that doesn't reach my eyes
"Great, I won't keep you. I'll see you later"
He turns and walks out before I can ask what that means
Weird
Very weird
And I don't like weird
Later that afternoon while having lunch with Bianca, my mind drifts back to the café
Bianca sits across from me in the firm's small break lounge, hair perfectly styled like she has a personal hair stylist following her around.
"Is everything okay? You keep spacing out" she says, narrowing her eyes at me
"Um… yeah, everything's fine"
"Patricia" she warns
I sigh
"Well I met — more like bumped into — some guy at the café this morning and he knew my name. Said we'd meet soon"
Her brows lift
"There's nothing to worry about. You're one of the best architects out there, of course he knew your name. Everyone does"
Not everyone
But the compliment warms something in me
"Well not everyone. But you're right I might just be overthinking this"
"Probably no big deal"
"Yeah, my stupid mind keeps replaying the incident"
She studies me for a second before dramatically setting down her burger
"I know just the right thing to keep your mind off of it"
"Please don't say Brian" I groan
"Brian" she squeals excitedly, though thankfully quiet enough not to draw attention
Brian Bradford
The boss's son
Fresh out of business school
Overconfident
Chronically underqualified
And always involved in meetings he barely understands
"You're literally the only person in this entire building who likes that entitled brat"
"Hey I only like him because he's cute"
"Doesn't change the fact he's dumb and annoying"
"Hey don't say that while we're at work. If the boss hears that he'll eat both our asses"
Harold Bradford
Founder of the firm
Perfectionist
Visionary
And terrifying when disappointed
"I mean you started it by bringing up his name"
"He's the future CEO of this company"
"And when that happens I'm quitting. He's nowhere near as good as his father"
"Speaking of which I hear there's a new client coming in tomorrow"
I groan softly
"I hope the case won't be assigned to me, I'm fully packed"
"Might be a good thing, he's VIP"
"The more reason I don't want the case. It'll mean long hours for me. I want to spend more time with Theodore"
My six-year-old son
My entire world
The only person who gets the version of me that isn't constantly guarded
"How's that cute little guy doing?"
"He's doing alright. He's made it a mission to drive me crazy. Just last Friday he got into a fight at school"
"Was he hurt?"
"Fortunately no one got hurt. He's got this short temper just like—"
No
I stop myself
I cannot go there
It's dangerous to think about him
It's worse seeing Theodore grow up to be so much like him
Like a constant reminder
"Hey you're spacing out again"
"I should get back to work"
She watches me carefully but doesn't push
She never pushes too far
The rest of the day blurs
Until I'm called into Mr Bradford's office and handed a file
A VIP client
Requested me by name
That alone sends something uneasy down my spine
When I open the folder and see the company name
Deveraux Resorts
International luxury empire, typical billionaire playground.
Something cold settles in my stomach
Because there's only one Deveraux that matters
And I haven't heard that name in seven years
Seven years of silence
Seven years of no explanations
Seven years of pretending I didn't care
When Mr Bradford tells me the client requested me personally, I know
I know before I even confirm it
This isn't coincidence
This is him
Later that night, sitting in the dark with only my laptop lighting the room, I type the name with fingers that feel heavier than they should.
SEBASTIAN DEVERAUX
The screen loads
And there he is
Older
Sharper
More controlled
CEO of Deveraux Resorts
The same unreadable eyes
The same dangerous composure
The same man who walked out of my life without explanation
How did I convince myself the past would stay buried
Why now
Why me
Does he know
No
He can't know
If he knew about Theodore…
No
I shut the laptop harder than necessary
Because if he knows
Everything changes
And I've worked too hard building this life to let him destabilize it again.