Just for you

Chapter two

The drive was smooth, the steady rhythm of the wheels against the tarmac carrying us deeper into the heart of the city. As the familiar streets unfolded past my window, the tight knot in my chest slowly began to loosen. Whatever chaos was waiting for me in the future, right here, right now, I couldn't be in a better place than home.

My brother turned down the quiet street, pulling the car into the driveway of a beautiful, warm house. The moment the engine cut off, the front door swung open.

Standing on the porch was my sister-in-law, a brilliant, welcoming smile lighting up her face. In one hand, she held a chilled bottle of champagne, the glass condensation glinting in the afternoon sun.

Before I could even step entirely out of the passenger seat, she set the bottle down on the porch table and met me halfway. She pulled me into a hug so tight, so full of genuine warmth, that it took my breath away.

"Welcome home!" she beamed, pulling back just enough to look at me, her eyes dancing with excitement. "We have been counting down the days until you got here!"

I caught the word instantly. We.

"We?" I asked, looking between her and my brother as he hauled my luggage out of the trunk. "Are there more people inside?"

"Oh, come see!" she laughed softly, taking my hand and ushering me through the front door.

I stepped into the cool, bright living room, my eyes adjusting to the dim indoor light. Standing near the couch was a woman with a gentle, friendly demeanor—and right beside her was the one man I wasn't prepared to face just yet.

Favour.

He was standing right there in the flesh. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking before I could stop it.

Before I could even process his presence or look toward his wife, his voice cut through the quiet room.

"Joanna."

I froze, completely stunned.

It wasn't just seeing him standing there that stopped my heart. It was the name.

In all the years we had known each other—through every secret, every fight, every intense, messy moment we shared—he had never, not once, called me Joanna. He had always used pet names, teasing nicknames, terms of endearment reserved only for the two of us. Hearing my actual name fall from his lips so formal, so clean, and so distant was like a sharp slap across the face.

He wasn't just introducing me to his reality. He was drawing a line in the sand.

"Oppa!"

The word slipped out before my brain could filter it—loud, sharp, and dripping with memories. It was the name I had called him back when we were ours, borrowed from Korean dramas, a private joke that had turned into our sweetest term of endearment.

Without waiting for his permission, I closed the distance between us and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight, unyielding hug.

I wanted to undo him. I wanted to feel his pulse spike beneath his skin, to feel him tremble against me, to force him to remember every single thing we had been. I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, waiting for the crack in his foundation.

He didn't flinch.

His body didn't shudder, his breath didn't hitch, and he didn't stumble back. He stood like a stone wall, absorbing the embrace with a polite, measured stillness before his hands settled lightly on my upper arms, gently putting distance between us.

"Joanna, it's good to see you," he said smoothly, his voice level and entirely controlled, cutting through my desperate stunt as if it were nothing more than an excited family greeting.

He turned slightly, extending his arm toward the woman standing beside him. "This is my wife, Maya."

My eyes shifted from him to her, and the words died in my throat.

She was stunning—caramel-skinned, slightly curvy, with deep brown eyes that looked at me with soft, curious warmth, and a delicate, pointed nose.

I stood there staring at her, a cold chill creeping up my neck as the realization settled in.

She was beautiful. But more than that, as I took in the shade of her skin, the line of her nose, and the shape of her silhouette... she looked just like me.

I swallowed the sharp, bitter taste sitting at the back of my throat and forced my posture to stay straight.

Do I want to create a scene? Yes, God, I do. I want to shatter this calm little room to pieces. I want to scream at him, to tear off that calm mask he's wearing, to demand why he replaced me with a ghost of myself.

But looking around the room—at my brother's happy face, at my sister-in-law standing there holding champagne, ready to celebrate my return—the rage withered into something quiet and suffocating. I couldn't break the hearts of the people who actually cared for me. Not today. Not like this.

I turned my focus entirely onto Maya, softening the tension in my shoulders and offering her a warm, polite gaze.

"Hi, Maya. I’m Joanna," I said smoothly, stepping past Favour to extend my hand to her.

A dark, petty voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to say it—to look her in the eye and introduce myself as her husband's previous lover. To let her know who built the blueprint for the woman he ended up marrying. But I couldn't break the rules just yet. Game on, Favour, but on my terms.

"It's so lovely to finally meet you," I added, keeping my voice sweet and steady. "My brother has told me so much about you."

Maya’s face lit up with genuine warmth, completely unaware of the storm brewing inches away from her, and she took my hand with a soft, comforting grip.

The small welcome-home party ended shortly after. The moment the door to my room clicked shut, the fake smile slid off my face.

I tossed my bag onto the floor and kicked off my shoes, dropping onto the edge of the bed in the quiet stillness.

I was so exhausted. Exhausted from the long flight, exhausted from holding my breath, and completely consumed by a white-hot rage that was burning through my veins.

How could Favour be so damn calm?

How was he just standing there, breathing normally, looking at me like I was nothing more than his best friend’s little sister back from a long vacation? How is he married? After everything we went through, after every tear, every late-night promise, every beautiful, ruined piece of us—how could he just move on and put a ring on another woman's finger?

And why her?

My jaw tightened as Maya’s face flashed in my mind—the caramel skin, the soft curve of her jaw, the eyes that felt hauntingly familiar. Why did he pick someone who looks like a mirror reflection of me? Was it a sick coincidence, or was he trying to replace me with a version he could actually control?

Most of all... how could he act like nothing ever happened between us? Coming into my home, acting all family, using my formal name like the past was just something to be wiped clean with a quiet "Joanna"?

I buried my face in my hands, my breathing ragged in the dark room. He thought he could just bury us. He thought he could draw a line and force me to stand behind it. But he was dead wrong.