The 1

Chapter 1

I touched my face, as if the memory might still be there, his hands, warm and careful, framing my cheeks as though I were something fragile. The kiss had been gentle, almost reverent. That was who he had always been.

Kind. Thoughtful. Disarming in a way that made it easy to forget the boundaries that should have been there.

We had started at Philmores Enterprise as interns, two quiet people orbiting the edges of a loud, ambitious office. Back then, he kept his head down, spoke only when necessary. There was a hesitance to him, a softness most people overlooked. I noticed it early. Maybe because I recognized it.

Over time, that version of him faded. Confidence replaced uncertainty. He grew into himself, into his voice, his presence, even the way he dressed. The transformation didn’t happen all at once, but when it settled, it was undeniable. People noticed him. They were drawn to him.

I told myself I wasn’t.

What we had built didn’t disappear with that change. If anything, it deepened, quiet conversations, shared glances, an ease that felt earned. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. The lines blurred. The pauses lasted longer. The silence between us began to say too much.

And then, eventually, we stopped pretending it meant nothing.

I closed my eyes, chasing the impossible idea of relief, of existing without the weight of knowing. But her face came instead. Not imagined, but exact. Tearful. Unknowing. Trusting.

Tamar.

The guilt was immediate, sharp enough to feel physical.

I opened my eyes, breath catching as reality settled back into place. Whatever this was, whatever we were, it didn’t exist in isolation. It came with consequences I already understood too well. I had seen what betrayal did. I had lived in its aftermath. My father’s choices had rewritten our family in ways that never quite healed.

I would not become that story for someone else.

Especially not for her.

Tamar had given me nothing but kindness. She trusted me, welcomed me into her life without hesitation, without suspicion. I had stood beside her, promised to support her, to celebrate her. And all the while, there was this, unspoken, unresolved, growing where it shouldn’t.

It was unbearable.

Leaving had started as an opportunity. A job. A change of scenery. But somewhere along the way, it had become something else entirely: an exit. A necessary one.

A year in Hong Kong wasn’t just distance. It was survival.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

His voice was quieter than I had ever heard it. Hopeful in a way that made it harder to breathe.

I looked at him then, really looked, and it almost undid me.

He was composed in the way people learn to be when they’re used to being admired. Effortless. Certain. The kind of presence that drew attention without trying. But right now, there was something unguarded in his expression. Something real.

It would have been easier if he hadn’t looked at me like that.

This was the moment I had imagined for years. Replayed. Rewritten. Perfected in the safety of my own mind.

And now that it was here, I wanted nothing more than to escape it.

Because the truth would ruin everything.

And the lie might save it.

I forced my voice steady.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t feel anything.”

The words landed harder than I expected. Colder.

“This shouldn’t have happened.”

I kept my eyes lowered. If I looked at him, if I let even a fraction of what I felt surface, I would lose whatever control I had left.

“I don’t understand,” he said, almost to himself.

I swallowed, the weight of it pressing down on my chest.

“I wanted to,” I admitted softly. “I wanted it to make sense. For us to make sense.” A pause. “But it doesn’t.”

That part, at least, wasn’t a lie.

The silence that followed stretched between us, heavy and irreversible. When I finally looked up, the expression on his face was enough to make me wish I hadn’t.

I had hurt him.

Truly hurt him.

“I don’t love you like that, Landan,” I said, gentler now, though it changed nothing. “I never did.”

The words felt like betrayal, even as they left my mouth.

“You have Tamar. And if you care about me at all, you’ll choose her. You’ll build the life you already started.”

My throat tightened, but I kept going.

“I’m not the person you think I am in this. And this, whatever it is, it ends here.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Just stood there, as if the ground beneath him had shifted without warning.

For a second, just one, I almost broke.

Almost took it back.

Almost chose something easier, something selfish.

Instead, I picked up my bag.

And I walked away.

I didn’t look back. Not when I reached the gate. Not when I handed over my boarding pass. Not even when I felt, rather than saw, the absence of him behind me.

Some things only work if you don’t turn around.

By the time I boarded the plane, Landan Lakes was no longer part of my future.

Just the hardest part of my past.