"I'm sick of sleeping with you. Let's break up."

Six years ago, Serena Caldwell, the eldest daughter of the Harlow family, threw out that one line and dumped Harrison Zander without a second glance, back when he had nothing to his name. Then she turned around and went into an arranged marriage with Ethan Caldwell, the mayor's son.

Six years later, the Harlow family had gone bankrupt. Serena was being abused by her husband, Ethan Caldwell, and had finally decided to divorce him. And right when she was at her lowest, at her messiest, at rock bottom, she ran into Harrison again.

At a café.

Serena sat by the floor-to-ceiling window in sunglasses and a baseball cap, checking the time again and again.

She had an appointment with her divorce lawyer today. But for some reason, even though the agreed time had long passed, the lawyer still hadn't shown up. She was just about to call and ask what was going on when the café door opened and a tall man walked in.

He was wearing a gray three-piece suit, a black shirt, and a striped tie. His whole vibe screamed money and status.

From the second he stepped inside, several female staff in the café kept sneaking glances at him. Fair enough. A face with bones and features that sharp, like it had been sculpted by some insane 3D artist, was the kind of thing you usually only saw in showbiz. Not in real life.

Other people would've been stunned by how handsome he was.

Serena was stunned because she was scared out of her mind.

Because the man who had just walked in was Harrison Zander, the first love she'd once brushed off with a cold, "I'm sick of sleeping with you."

Six years apart, and he looked like a completely different person.

The Harrison she remembered always wore a white linen shirt. Gentle, clean, soft around the edges, like the sweet guy next door. But the man standing here now had none of that boyish warmth left. His features had turned sharper, harder, more striking. His eyes were cold, severe, and openly aggressive, like a predator that knew exactly how to corner its prey.

Serena's heart slammed wildly against her ribs. Panicking, she tugged down the brim of her cap and prayed Harrison wouldn't notice her.

Her husband Ethan had beaten her just yesterday. Her face was still covered in injuries. She didn't want Harrison seeing her like this, didn't want him to see her at her most pathetic.

Honestly, she'd rather Harrison's final memory of her stay frozen on the arrogant, unreasonable woman she'd been when they broke up than let him witness the wreck she had become inside this marriage, a loser through and through.

But clearly, fate had zero intention of cutting her any slack.

Harrison walked straight to her table. Then he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down like he owned the place.

"Sorry. Traffic," he said.

Serena: "???"

Who exactly had Harrison come to meet? Had he sat at the wrong table?

"Sir." Serena kept her head lowered, the baseball cap and sunglasses hiding most of her face. She deliberately tightened her throat and changed her voice. "I think you've got the wrong person. This seat isn't yours."

"Miss Harlow, quit the act. I'd recognize you even if you were ashes."

Miss Harlow.

Serena froze.

Ever since the Harlow family went under, no one had called her that in a very long time. Back then, that had been Harrison's favorite way to address her.

When they were tangled up together, when he held her tight, when his voice got hoarse and blurred at her ear, he'd call her that over and over.

"Miss Harlow, can I come in now?"

"Miss Harlow, do you want more?"

"Miss Harlow, say you love me."

Those memories—skin brushing skin, breath mixing together, that fierce, almost suffocating possessiveness—came flooding back all at once.

Only this time, when Harrison said "Miss Harlow," there was none of the old heat in it.

Just hate. Clear as day.

"Sir, I'm not the person you're looking for. Please leave this seat. The person I'm meeting will be here soon," Serena insisted, still pretending not to know him.

"Jeffrey Stanton isn't coming." Harrison ordered a coffee and said leisurely, "Your divorce case will be handled by me from now on."

Serena shot her head up. "Why? I already made an appointment with Lawyer Stanton."

"So you finally feel like looking at me."

Serena paused.

Even through her dark lenses, she could feel his gaze—steady, unreadable, packed with the pressure of someone used to being in control.

She didn't have the energy to care about anything else and pressed on. "Why isn't Lawyer Stanton coming?"

"Jeffrey Stanton violated regulations multiple times during his practice. He was removed from the firm today."

"He was still in contact with me last night, and today he's suddenly been suspended? You expect me to believe that's just a coincidence?" Serena stared at him. "Harrison Zander, you did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"Why would I do that on purpose?" Harrison let out a cold laugh. "To come see you?"

He leaned back slightly, his tone full of mockery.

"Serena Caldwell, do you seriously think I still have feelings for you?"

Of course she wasn't that delusional.

She knew Harrison hated her. No man would stay hung up on a woman who had crushed his pride under her heel.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean..." Serena's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "Maybe you came on purpose just to watch me make a fool of myself."

"At least you know yourself."

He admitted it.

So that was it. He really had come to laugh at her.

Even though she'd already guessed as much, hearing him say it out loud still made something twist hard in her chest.

These six years after marrying into the Caldwell family, her marriage had been a disaster. Her husband couldn't stand her. Her in-laws didn't like her either. After the Harlow family went bankrupt, the Caldwells looked down on her even more. Every day felt like a dull blade scraping flesh, slow and endless. All the pride that once belonged to Miss Harlow had been ground away by reality until there was nothing left.

Plenty of people wanted to see her fall.

But if anyone truly had the right to laugh at her, then yeah, it was probably Harrison.

"Since you're here for a show," Serena said softly, "then fine. I'll let you see all of it."

She took off her sunglasses and baseball cap.

She wasn't wearing makeup today. Her pale skin looked like a sheet of untouched paper, which only made the redness at her temple and the purple bruise near the corner of her eye stand out even more. Brutal. Ugly. Impossible to miss.

The second Harrison saw the injuries on her face, his expression darkened.

His fingers clenched tightly around the coffee cup, so hard the veins on the back of his hand stood out.

Ethan Caldwell, that bastard.

"Enjoying the view?" Serena's voice trembled. "If it's not enough, I can explain it for you too. This cut on my forehead? Ashtray. And this by my eye? That was—"

"Enough! Shut up!" Harrison snapped.

It felt like something sharp had rammed straight through his chest, the pain spreading fast, mercilessly.

"This was your choice! You brought this on yourself!"

"Yeah. It was my choice." Serena nodded, eyes burning. "I asked for all of it. And now that you've seen how badly I'm doing, you can finally let it go."

She looked at him, and her eyes were red.

"What happened back then was my fault. I'm sorry."

Her voice got quieter.

"From now on, we're even."

When she finished, she grabbed her sunglasses and cap and left in quick, uneven steps, almost like she was running away.

Harrison stayed where he was, eyes locked on her retreating figure.

Everything inside him surged like a tide, too violent, too fast, like it might swallow him whole in the next second.

Then his phone rang.

"Harrison, where are you?"

"Meeting a client."

"You just got back to the country. What client could you possibly have?" The person on the other end paused for two seconds, then reacted. "No way. Don't tell me you really took over that divorce case Jeffrey Stanton had? Come on, you're the big boss of the firm. Since when do you personally handle tiny crap like this?"

Harrison ignored the jab and said flatly, "Do me a favor."

"What favor?"

"Look into Ethan Caldwell."