March 12, 2027.
The city was drowning in spring rain—sheets of it, turning streets into rivers, umbrellas useless.
I’d stayed late at Apex, finishing a pitch deck.
Ryan texted at 7:45 p.m.
Ryan: Still at the office? Storm’s brutal. Need a ride?
I hesitated.
Damien was out of town—quick overnight business trip to Boston.
He’d kissed me goodbye that morning.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night. Call if you need anything.”
I stared at Ryan’s message.
The rain hammered the windows.
I was tired.
Wet already from the walk to the subway.
Me: Yeah. If you’re close.
Ryan: 5 minutes away.
He pulled up in a black SUV, hazards blinking.
I ran through the rain, dress clinging.
He reached over, opened the door.
Smiled.
“You’re soaked.”
I laughed, shivering.
“Yeah.”
He cranked the heat.
H
