Somewhere through the haze, Nico’s voice cut in. “Apologize to her, Karylle. Get on your knees and apologize for slapping her.”
I laughed. Or maybe I sobbed—I wasn’t sure. “No. I won’t.”
Another slap. Then another. The room spun, the floor rose up to meet me. When I opened my eyes again, the kitchen was empty. My ears rang in the silence.
I dragged myself to my corner, leaning my swollen cheek against the cold cabinet door. The only sound was the buzz of my phone. One ping. Then another.
My eyes focused on the screen, blurry through the tears.
Sasha: “Sweet dreams, darling.”
Attached was a photo. Mike and Sasha at the dining table, smiling wide. Another ping—Sasha’s lips pressed to Mike’s mouth, his hand on her thigh. A family portrait where I didn’t belong.
I pressed delete. Gone. I didn’t even feel the sting anymore.
Another notification buzzed in. This time it was from my lawyer’s office.
Lawyer: “Mrs. Reid, Mr. Kier is asking to reach out. Should I share your number?”
My brows drew together. Kier? That name felt like a ghost from another life. Kier Dela Cruz—my high school rival, the boy who challenged me at every design contest, who always fought me for top spot in class, and later, in the business world.
Why now? Why him?
I typed back, “Yes. Sure.”
Seconds later, my phone lit up with a call. I hesitated, then pressed answer.
“Karylle.” His voice was deeper, older, but the same teasing warmth lingered beneath it. “I heard about the divorce.”
I swallowed, tasting blood on my tongue. “Didn’t realize gossip traveled that far.”
He laughed softly. “It does when it’s about you. Listen, Karylle—”
“What do you want, Kier?”
“No,” he said. “It’s supposed to be real. I want you, Karylle. I’ve always wanted you. You were just too blind back then.”
I didn’t expect to hear Kier’s voice again, not like this, not after decades of burying that part of my life. The old me. The girl who fought for first place and dreamed of runways and sketches, not dirty floors and cold beds.
“Marry me instead,” he’d added so easily, like we were still seventeen, like we hadn’t lost each other to our separate wars.
A laugh slipped out of me, rusty and sharp. “Marry you? We’re old, Kier.”
“Come on, Karylle.” His grin almost crackled through the line. “Wouldn’t this be the sweetest revenge? They’d lose their house ghost and you’d finally live. What’s stopping you?”