he front page in bold, damning letters. Below it, an unflattering photograph of Naomi standing in the middle of the ruined ballroom, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. I clicked on

* (Later That Night) "Hey, bro, tell me you've seen the papers today..." Julian's voice came through from the other end of my phone. I sighed, leaning back in my car seat. "I have," I answered, my tone curt as I pressed a finger to the bridge of my nose. "And you have seen it." It wasn't a question but I knew what he was subtly asking me. I exhaled sharply. "Yes, I have seen the Lancaster scandal and no, I am not interested." Julian scoffed. "You've always been such a shitty liar, you know." "Fuck off," I muttered to which he laughed. "You should go visit her, see how she's doing," he added. This time I was the one who laughed out loud. "You did not just tell me to visit my ex-wife like we have been on speaking terms since our divorce?" "Well..." Julian drawled and I could imagine him shrugging. "You can never be sure until you see her." I contemplated his words long after our call ended, if what Julian said was the truth... I shook my head, trying to get rid of all the nonsense thoughts in them. I didn't plan to see her. Not yet. But when my driver arrived at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and I spotted her-sitting alone at an outdoor café, her phone in hand, her gaze far away-I told him to stop. The city was buzzing around her. Taxis honked. Pedestrians hurried by, absorbed in their own lives. But Naomi sat still, hardly touching the untouched coffee before her. She looked different. Not in the obvious ways-she was still stunning, still carried herself with the same effortless grace that used to drive me insane. But there was something else. Something in her posture. Something in how she stared blankly at her phone, as if preparing for the next disaster. I knew that look. It was the look of someone barely keeping their head above water. I could've walked away. Could've ignored the way my chest tightened at the sight of her. But I didn't. Instead, I got out of the car, adjusted my jacket, and crossed the street. Her fingers clutched her phone so tightly that I wondered if she even noticed. I stopped beside her table but she didn't look up as she was self-absorbed into staring at her phone "Still prefer your coffee black, or have your tastes changed?" I called out, my time light and vague. Her head jerked up so fast I almost smirked. Almost. Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, I saw it-the flicker of recognition, the memories of what we had been and what we weren't anymore. Then, just as quickly, her face turned cold. "What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered. "Resorting to stalking n